#that man's eyes are as empty as my pockets after rent

[sleepynegress]

While I'm on celebrity bullshit... I am still amazed that Herny Cavill is still a thing, and I'll go so far as to predict that eventually, it will come out that he is just as much of a knob as the woman he dated back in the day, Gina Carano.

[sethcertified]

「 KNIVES OUT ! 」 . . . 📁 01

scream : billy loomis, stu macher

w.c. : 2.5k

⊹˚.⋆ synopsis . . . it was just another night til [name] got those two very odd calls

⊹˚.⋆ starring . . . billy loomis, stu macher, & male reader

The night had taken over Woodsboro, California. An unfamiliar blue breeze had swept through as the sun ducked down behind buildings and night emerged from the suns departure; a tiny golden blaze of warmth and light on the horizon marking the rebirth of a perfect night from the sun's ashes. On any other night, I would've been tucked into bed with a song blaring into my ear drums, surely destroying my hearing, but today was Monday, which meant that I had the displeasure of closing up the video store for the night.

Despite my lack of enjoyment in being there, it was mine turn, fair and square. Randy had closed yesterday, so it was rightfully my duty to clean the shop and lock it up until the following day when we would open back up for business. That was the mantra I had repeated to myself as I dusted the shelves and the many dvds that were placed against each other like dominos that occupied the space. It was a dreadfully boring task, but I needed the money, so I made due.

A yawn escaped my mouth as I finished up the sci-fi section. My eyes flickered up to the ticking analog clock above the entrance doors. The clocks hands pointed to a quarter past twelve. My cheeks puffed out as I blew a frustrated mouthful of air into the atmosphere. I'd have no time to finish Randy's pre-calculus homework and be able to deliver it to him before first period. I cursed under my breath at the realization. Hopefully he would be fine with me giving it to him after school.

I blinked tiredly as I stumbled towards the reception desk, dropping the duster off at desk's newly wiped down countertop. All I had to do now was check the register; my last task before I could go home and flop into my bed. Opening the register, my fingers agilely sorted through the money. I spoke in a hushed voice, counting how much we had made the previous day. As the dollars increased in price, my sorting got slower and slower 'til I arrived to see the crisps $20 and $50 bills that occupied the bottom of the stack. All of it put together was more than I made in a week.

I bit my lip as my hand clutched an $100 bill that rested at the very bottom of the pile. Rent was coming up soon, and I knew we wouldn't have enough unless a miracle happened. This could be that extra push that my family so desperately needed so we didn't end up on the streets. My eyes scanned the store, making sure nobody could witness my thievery. Luckily, we had no cameras, so my crime would go unnoticed. I stuffed the money into my jacket pocket before shutting the register shut. My eyes shut as I exhaled a breath of relief. The money burned in my pocket. Guilt chewed at me but I just shook the feeling away. We needed this. I needed this.

With that being my final task of the night, I moved into the break room to grab my stuff. My backpack laid pressed up against the wall alongside my packed lunch. I leaned down as I slid the sleeves around my arms, putting my backpack on. I grabbed my lunch pal before brushing the dust off my clothes. It was finally time to go home. My hand wrapped around the cool metal of the door handle before being rudely interrupted.

"RI-I-ING!"

...

"RI-I-NG!"

The clattering of the phone echoed in the empty store, startling me. Who would be calling at this time of night? I sighed as I closed the door to the break room and made my way to the still ringing phone. It shone under the light that streamed from the window, its red coat looking as beautiful as ever. My fingers wrapped around the phone as I brought it up to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hello." The assumed man replied from the other side of the phone; his voice not hinting any emotion. Despite that, I didn't mind the monotone inflection in his voice as a yawn escaped past my lips. "Is there any reason you're calling so late? We're closed, you know."

"Why do you think I'm calling?" The man answered with the same monotonous tone as before. My eyes squinted with confusion at the question. I had gotten weird calls before but never ones so vague. To be frank, it annoyed me. "To buy a movie?" I remarked sarcastically. "Call back during store hours, asshole."

"Such vulgar language," the man laughed, finally leaving behind his monotone cadence, "I should wash that mouth of yours with soap."

I rolled my eyes, "You're gonna spank me too?" My voice had gotten higher in pitch and whiny as I mocked the man by mimicking the tone of a child. A hum escaped the other line in an endless reply to my tease. As the hum continued on, I checked the analog clock once more as my patience wore thin. 12:20. My attention darted back to the phone as I stood waiting for the man to say anything in return. With nothing but the now dreadful sound of a hum escaping the line, I slammed the phone back into its rightful place.

"Dick," I mumbled as my had flattened on the cool surface of the entrance doors. What a way to make my night worse. I shook my head as the heel of my shoe clicked against the solid concrete of the sidewalk. Walking alone at night usually never unnerved me, but something in the air made my muscles tense in fear. My mind trailed back to the call, yet I immediately disregarded it. It was just some teenager trying to mess around with an overworked employee such as myself.

Maybe it was something in the atmosphere that unnerved me so, I reasoned. I wasn't sure what exactly, but tonight felt different from most nights here in Woodsboro, California. The air wasn't as suffocating, for one. Usually the air would be so thick it seemed to stick your to your body, yet I didn't feel any of that thickness tonight. In fact, I felt a slight chill.

My hands dug into my pockets, trying their best to a avoid the nighttime cold that swept through the area. The money laid in the palm of my hand, providing me some warmth. I looked up to see the night sky shining down on me. Stars lit up my way home, providing me a companion on my walk. My gaze darted back down as slight tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. "Not now," I mumbled. I quickly wiped away the singular tear the fell down my cheek.

As much as I hated to admit it, crying had begun a frequent habit of mine. I only allowed a few tears to slip out when I was alone, but my solitude didn't diminish my shame for being such a wimp. I crinkled my nose as I sniffled a bit trying to keep my composure intact. When I was younger and my calm composure would fall, Cotton or my mom would comfort me. But now, neither of those were options. Cotton was in jail and would be for the rest of his life. And my mom? She had become a shell of herself after Cotton's arrest. She wouldn't move or talk or do anything anymore. In truth, she was a living corpse. Bony face, bloodshot eyes, sluggish movements. The only difference between her and an actual corpse is the few times she would moan out "Cigarette" to me.

It was impossible to ignore the resentment that had built up towards my mother. She had abandoned me, yet forced upon the responsibility of taking care of her onto me all at once. I gritted my teeth as I kicked a decently sized rock. If Cotton was still here, Mom wouldn't have become this zombie. She would still be her regular self. Not this dead version of her. Another tear slipped down my cheek. It burned against skin.

Cotton should be here. Everything would be just fine if he was. Our family wouldn't be shunned, I'd have my big brother back: we'd be just like any other family in Woodsboro. I bit my lip as I looked up to the sky once more. Cotton's last words to me echoed in my head, "When you miss me, just know I'm not lightyears away." He had flashed me a grin so bittersweet before the guards dragged him away. They had yanked on his handcuffs roughly, motioning for him to start backing away. His eyes widened in panic at the feeling.  "I love you, [Name]. Tell mom I love her too." He said quickly before he was taken away. It had happened too fast for my sixteen year old brain to follow. He was there one moment, and then he wasn't.

I shook off the memory as I reached my front door. I didn't bother knocking as I unlocked the door. My mother wasn't in sight, causing my shoulders to drop with relief. I hurried to Cotton's and I shared room, jumping out the rickety, old mattress. The springs poked me, but I payed no mind. Being in a bed was enough for me to be satisfied. I groaned as I turned over onto my back. The ceiling had a couple stains, and the cracks in the corners were getting worse. "We gotta get that fixed," I mumbled although I knew better. We wouldn't be able to afford it.

My eyes closed in frustration. There was too many things to fix but never enough money. I sighed as my hand dug into my pocket. $100 dollars wasn't enough to fix any of our problems. It was a penny when we needed a quarter. A hundred quarters, actually. I shoved myself off my bed as I headed to the kitchen. It was too depressing to be in there alone with the leaky and cracked ceiling. But worst of all, the hints of Cotton that still haunted the room. All his possessions still laid untouched with the exception of his clothes. None of my old ones fit anymore but we couldn't afford a whole new wardrobe simply because I had a growth spurt. His action figures collected dust on the shelf above his bed, his bed was as messy as always, Cotton never took the time to make his bed,

The kitchen was lightly dimly by the small, slightly flickering light above the dining table. My index finger delicately traced the cool edge of the countertop, mindlessly, as I reached for the case of red, plastic cups that laid by the phone. I prayed water would settle my restless mind. The sink gradually filled the cup to the brim with the liquid that would hopefully quench my ranging emotions.

Bringing the cup to my lips, my gaze turned to the phone. My mind couldn't help but think about the odd phone call from earlier. What idiot calls at the middle of the night? I set the drink down as my finger ran up and down the spine of the phone. Maybe he was high, I figured. Or drunk. Hell, maybe it was just a teenager goofing around. My lips pursed in the wake of my troubling thought: why was I was bothered? The call didn't mean anything, so why was it lingering in my head?

"RI-I-ING!"

...

"RI-I-NG!"

My eyes squinted harshly at the phone. What the fuck? It was odd to get a phone call this late, let alone multiple, yet the phone continued to ring, reminding me that what I was seeing wasn't a hallucination. To add onto that, the call coming in just as I was thinking about it? This was either a crazy coincidence or something truly freaky was going on. My fingers clutched the phone, giving me a sense of deja vu, as I held it up to my ear. "Who is this?" I asked.

"You don't remember me?" I jerked my hand away as my eyes stared down the phone. It was him. How was it him? I bit my lip as my eyes burned. This couldn't be just a coincidence. There was no way in hell it was. "How'd you get this number?" I interrogated the man. He laughed a strangely familiar but equally as cruel laugh, "Small town."

My nails dug into the countertop at the force of my deafening grip. "This isn't funny, you know. And I swear, if this is you, Randy, I am going to snap your neck tomorrow."

"I'm not Randy." The voice replied laced in smarminess.

"Then who are you?" I asked. My question was by no means friendly. Which in truth, it wasn't meant to be interpreted in any means as friendly. There was a slight pause before that deafening voice answered me once more, "I'm the person that framed your poor, older brother." My grips on the phone loosened as my eyes gazed at the phone with the memory of that fateful courtroom day. Billy. Was this him?

It certainly didn't sound like him. I bit my lip harshly as my mind bounced back and forth. If I responded, would I be giving him exactly what he wanted? But if I did hang up, I would be angering someone dangerous. Before a clever response could leave my mouth, Billy's presumed voice broke out. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Is this who I think it is?" I barked out. I didn't care for the taunts or tease. All I wanted was for this torture to come to an end. Billy Loomis had made my life a hell ever since that courtroom. He painted me as murderous, a freak, someone to avoid. Billy Loomis had a way with words, and with those words he had outcasted me. Made me laughed at, teased, bullied. It was my own personal form of hell.

"Depends. Who do you think I am?"

"Billy," I mumbled under my breath. "Billy Loomis."

"You're gonna have to speak louder than that, or else I won't be able to hear you." The voice replied. I scowled as my knuckles turned white. "I said I'm hanging up on you," I lied. The phone slammed against the kitchen wall as I clutched my head in pain. What was happening? And why now? I shook my head as I head back to my bedroom and flopped into the bed. The smell of Cotton still hung in the room and I inhaled it sharply, trying to wash away any remainders of the odd phone call.

Yet the call remained in my head, smothering me. My fingers clenched the sheet in frustration. There was no way I was getting much sleep tonight so I let myself stay awake, gazing into the blackness of my pillow. All I could do now was pray it was a meaningless prank call, and not the devilish boy that haunted my dreams.

✎ notes . . . slow start, I know, I know, but trust me things will get intense very soon...

©️ sethcertified 2023

[fetusharryluvr]

knight in shining armour

in which a single mother moves in three doors down from harry, and her two year-old finds herself outside his flat…

Harry fumbled with the keys after locking the front door to his flat, shoving them into his pocket. Whilst humming some random tune that, if you asked him where he’d heard it, he wouldn’t be able to tell you, he turned around, stopping in his tracks when he was met with a strange sight. A little girl standing all alone in the hallway. Well, ‘little girl’ may be a bit of an overstatement, she couldn’t have been any older than two.

He crouched down so he was more at her level, giving her a warm smile, “Hello, little lady.”

The 2ft child sniffled, rubbing her nose with one hand and giving Harry a small wave with the other.

“Where’s your mummy, love? She must be worried sick.” He felt a bit silly asking her, nor did he expect her to tell him, but what else do you ask a toddler wondering about on their own?

She pouted. Her little lip started to quiver, and she looked up at the man with sad, puppy dog eyes.

“Hey, it’s alright.” He soothed. He stretched out his tattooed arms, picking up the girl and propping her up on his side. “It’s okay, bubs, we’re gonna find your mummy.”

He carried her around, trying to work out where she could have possibly come from. The little light bulb inside his head lit up when saw the door to flat 106 was slightly open. Despite that, Harry didn’t want to intrude into your home, so he lightly knocked three times.

It took a couple of minutes for you to open the door, and when you did, your face fell, eyes widening at the sight of your daughter in the arms of a stranger.

Harry could clearly see how worried and confused you were, which why he was quick to jump in and explain. “She was wandering outside my flat. I saw your door was open and I assumed she’d gotten out. Uh, I live three doors down - flat 109.”

“Oh my god,” Your voice was shaky, as if you were on the verge of tears. The brunette loosened his grip on the toddler, allowing you to take her from him and hug her tightly, her little arms wrapping around your neck. “I’m so sorry. I was too focused on the washing up— I must’ve left the door open— I didn’t realise she got out.”

Harry simply nodded his head and smiled. He didn’t quite understand why you were apologising to him. You had nothing to apologise to him for. “She’s adorable.” He stated, unable to pull his eyes away from the little angel.

Just as intended, his words brought a bright beam to your face. “Well, I definitely think so, but I suppose I’m biased.”

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You informed him. “An’ this is Noelle.”

Now he could see the both of you side-by-side, Harry realised just how similar you and Noelle looked. She was like a mini you, and, my god, you were gorgeous.

“Do you wanna come in for a coffee?” You offered, “As a thank you.”

“Yeah, I’d love to.” He smiled, and you were secretly relieved. You couldn’t thank him enough.

Harry followed you inside, shutting the front door behind him. He looked around in reverence. For such a small flat, you kept it unbelievably tidy, especially considering you were the mother of a toddler. The rug by the sofa was spotless, with a plastic container full of toys in the corner of the room, and a rather empty bookshelf in the other corner - which consisted of a small collection of Paddington Bear books stacked in alphabetical order, and a couple of true crime novels.

“You’ve got a lovely place.” He observed.

“Thank you. It’s not ideal, but it’s got the extra room for Elle.”

Whilst you hovered around the kitchen counter to make coffee, Harry sat himself down at the table, making faces at the little girl in the high chair opposite him. “Have you lived here long?” He asks, “‘S just I haven’t seen you around before.”

You grabbed two mugs out from the cupboard, “We moved in two weeks ago. The rent on my old place was gettin’ too expensive. Plus, Elle was getting too big to be sharing a room with me.” You heard her laughing, prompting you to turn around. Harry was playing a game of peek-a-boo with her, causing her little lips to turn up in a wide smile. “She likes you.”

“Yeah?” He peers over his shoulder at you with an endearing grin.

“Yeah.” You nod, returning the expression. “She’s normally not great with strangers, but that’s probably the most I’ve seen her smile in a long time.”

He turned back around, continuing his string of goofy faces. “Well, she’s got a beautiful smile. Just like her mum.”

You bent down and opened the door to the fridge, hissing out a quick, “Shit.” Under your breath.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, concerned.

“We’re out of milk. I’m so sorry.” You sighed, rubbing your temple. It was clear in your tone that you were embarrassed.

Much to your surprise, Harry wasn’t mad. Far from it, in fact. “It’s okay.” He softly assured you.

You shook your head, beginning to feel another headache coming on, something that tended to happen when you didn’t get enough sleep. “No. No, it’s not. I should’ve checked— I could’ve sworn I had at least half the carton left—”

“Y/N.” Harry calmly cut you off, “Really, it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“I’ll pay you back somehow.” You assured him. “I promise.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” You nodded, not wanting to take no for an answer. “I can’t thank you enough for bringing her back, I dread to think what would’ve happened if—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, but the look on Harry’s face told you that you didn’t need to. “You’re our knight in shining armour.”

You visibly cringed the second the words left your mouth, “Sorry,” you laughed. “Been reading too many fairytale stories.”

His cheeks flushed red. “No, I like it.” He breathed out a chuckle, whilst Noelle wrapped her hand around his forefinger. “I’m always happy to help a little damsel in distress.”

[nordschleifes]

the prophecy

➝ jenson didn't want money, just someone who wanted his company. is that too much to ask for?

➝ word count: 4k

➝ warnings: mentions of death, alcohol, and a particular bad time for jenson

➝ author's note: well, the last two weeks have been horrible, i completely doubted my ability as a writer and my health decided to abandon me in every way. i still don't feel very good and i really think i should give up everything, but ally won't let me, so here we have another one-shot that i had shelved out of frustration with myself. enjoy!

Driving down that street was bittersweet.

The night was beautiful. The sky was spectacularly clear and the silver light of the moon illuminated the gentle waves of the Mediterranean. The pleasant breeze disguised the heat that had been on the French Riviera all day.

However, you weren't looking at the goosebumps in your arms or the stars twinkling in the sky. Your eyes were fixed on the large butter-colored house that stood discreetly among the shady trees just to his left.

As you stopped the MINI you had rented at Nice airport, you allowed yourself to roll down the window and contemplate those familiar walls.

It felt like an eternity since you had last been there, walking up the stone steps, the gray mixed with red. You closed your eyes, trying not to pay attention to your stomach, which churned at the memory. However, it was something you couldn't help.

After all, that had been your last sight of John Button.

You clearly remembered the day you had met him. Wearing a white shirt and with red cheeks from the heat in Melbourne, he approached you and your boss, Richard, with a wide smile. After some typically English jokes about the intense sun, he invited the two of you to join him at the table where he was sitting with his daughter-in-law, Jessica, and son, Jenson.

It was with that moment in mind that you noticed something strange in the house.

With the swaying of the tree branches that covered the facade, you could see that the front of the residence was illuminated, as if there was a light on. In addition to being sure that no one was in the house, you were almost certain that you hadn't left any lights on the last time you were there.

“Someone broke in”, you thought, rummaging through your bag for your house keys.

After typing a message to Jenson, stating that you had seen something strange at John's house and that you would check out what was going on, you made your way to the main gate, finding it ajar.

— My God — you murmured, as you followed the path in silence. With wide eyes, you were trying to make out the sharp sound that mixed with the rustling of leaves and the waves of the sea when a particular loud noise made you jump.

Taking your phone from your pocket, you rolled your eyes when you read the name on the caller ID. “Bad timing”, you thought, as you dragged your finger across the screen and brought the device to your ear.

— Now I can't, Jenson, I'm here at John's house…

However, instead of a humorous comment or an ironic question, you heard a loud sob.

— Y/N — Jenson murmured, taking a sniff.

— Are you crying?

— I'm here, Y/N.

— Here? Jenson, where are you?

— Here — he stammered, before crying again, this time louder.

So loud that you realized what he was talking about.

Walking a few more meters, you saw the staircase that led to the front door of the house, as well as a man sitting on the steps, accompanied by a half-empty bottle of whiskey and his face wet with tears, leaning against the wall next to him.

— Jenson! — you exclaimed, hanging up your phone and running towards him. Climbing the steps two at a time, you approached the driver practically out of breath, your heart almost coming out of your mouth — Jenson, are you okay? What happened? What are you doing here?

He looked at you with a blank stare.

— Y/N…

— Jenson, tell me, what are you doing here?

— I want my father — the driver replied softly, the words dragging on his tongue. Holding his face, you noticed more tears falling from his eyes — Where is my father?

— Jense — you murmured, before pulling him towards you for a hug. With his head buried in the crook of your neck, he cried loudly, his gasps making his entire body shake and your eyes filling with tears. You allowed them to fall from your eyes as you blinked a little harder, tightening your arms around him.

— He wasn't supposed to come alone — he stammered against his shoulder, before looking up and sniffling — He couldn't, he shouldn't…

— I know, Jense, I know — you replied, running your hand over his face to dry the tears.

— He died alone, Y/N — Jenson murmured — He died without anyone by his side. My father died alone, without anyone…

You pressed your lips together, feeling more tears streaming down your face. It was ironic and particularly sad, considering how loved John was by everyone around him. Dying like that, in the open and completely alone, was something you didn't wish on anyone.

— I don't want to be alone — he continued, rubbing his nose — I don't want to be alone, I don't, I don't…

— You won't be alone — you said, trying to calm him down, as the driver reached for the bottle of whiskey, taking a large gulp before you could protest or stop him.

— I will, Y/N — he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand — I will, I know I will...

— No, you won't — you said, as Jenson brought the bottle to your mouth, only for you to abruptly remove it from his hand — And you're going to stop with that whiskey now.

He tried to retrieve the bottle, but you tipped it over the steps, spilling the rest of the contents onto the stone.

— No — the driver protested, as the amber liquid ran down the steps.

— Yes — you returned — You can't keep drinking, Jense.

— I can…

— No, you can't and you won't — you said, your tone somewhat harsh, almost like a mother scolding a naughty child — I'm not going to watch you drink yourself into an alcoholic coma with my arms crossed. Now get up.

He looked at you with an expression that mixed confusion and sadness.

— Y/N — he stammered.

— Come on, Jense — you said, giving your hand to help him get up.

The task of taking the driver into the house was not simple. Far beyond the darkness of the rooms, courtesy of the curtains that covered the large windows that faced the sea, Jenson seemed determined not to cooperate with your efforts to take him to the main suite to take a shower.

After some struggle to drag him up the marble stairs to the second floor and tripping over a painting that was leaning against the wall as he slurred about how much his father liked that place, you managed to make it to the spacious bathroom. of the room that had once been John's. Asking Jenson to lean on the white stone sink, you allowed yourself a few seconds to breathe before continuing on your mission to save the driver from the worst hangover of his life.

— You can take off your clothes — you said, seriously.

— For what? — he asked, frowning.

— So you can take a shower. You reek of sweat and cheap whiskey.

Your observation made him take a step forward, losing his balance and placing both hands on your shoulders.

— It’s not cheap whiskey, it’s a very good brand…

— Which you probably bought for five euros in some dodgy liquor store in Monaco, right? — you asked, as you took your hands to the white shirt he was wearing and started to undo the buttons, revealing his chest.

— But it was a good whiskey, you could have tried it — Jenson murmured — But you threw it all away...

— It was either throw it away or let you keep drinking it until dawn.

— That was my plan.

Your hands stopped at the last button of his shirt, your lips pursed as you lifted your face to look at the driver. The seconds of silence that stretched inside the bathroom made your heart sink. After swallowing hard, you asked him to take off his shirt, which he did without saying a word.

Next, you moved on to his belt, unbuckling it and undoing the button on his pants.

— What are you doing?

— Taking off your pants.

— For what? — Jenson asked in a naive tone.

— So you can get in the shower — you replied, bending down slightly to slide his jeans down his legs, leaving him in just his underwear — Come in.

— And the underwear?

You felt your face heat up.

— I definitely don't need to see your dick today, Jenson. Now go to the shower.

Balancing himself with his hand on your shoulder, he carefully entered the bathtub, sitting on the edge. Watching you turn on the shower, he hissed as he felt the cold water splash onto his legs. However, that didn't stop you from placing your hand on the driver's tattooed shoulder to encourage him to get wet.

— No, Y/N — he grumbled — It's too cold.

— The cold water will help you…

— I don't want help.

— Come on, please — you said, bringing your face closer to his — You'll feel better after the shower...

Turning his head to you, his gaze seemed empty.

— I'm not going to get better, Y/N — he said in a low voice — This is me now, this depressed and pathetic thing that no one wants around...

Something about those words made you adjust your posture, irritation rising up your neck in a hot wave.

— Get in the shower, Button — you said, harshly, pushing his shoulder.

Silently, he stood up and placed himself under the cold spray, letting out a loud grunt. After searching the cupboards and only finding some soap forgotten in the corner, you returned to the shower to clean Jenson's skin and hair. “It’s going to look terrible without conditioner”, you thought to yourself, as your fingers rubbed his scalp. After rinsing off the soap that was on his skin and hair, you turned off the shower and wrapped him in a towel.

— Can you dry yourself? — you asked, earning a positive nod from him — Okay, then I'll make the bed.

Leaving the driver to dry off, you went to the bedroom, testing the lamps that flanked the bed, which looked somewhat imperious with its canopy, and condemning yourself for having forgotten that there was no power in the house. The furniture was old style, however, contrary to what you would expect in a lived-in place, the cupboards, shelves and desk were empty. You knew that this was the result of a day's work by Jenson and his sisters with the intention of keeping their father's memories.

Removing the sheet, you felt relief fill your chest when you discovered that there were still pillows and a blanket on the bed. You had just thrown the dusty fabric in one of the corners of the room when Jenson appeared in the bathroom door, completely naked. Staggering, he dropped face down on the bed without any ceremony.

— Jense, I was finishing…

— No need — he murmured, his face against the pillow.

Pursing your lips, you dropped the blanket onto the mattress, making a conscious effort not to look at his butt.

— Okay, so — you stuttered, while the pilot fidgeted, turning his head towards you — I'm going to see if there's another blanket for me to take to the couch downstairs...

— Why?

— Because I'm not going to leave you alone here.

— So stay.

You gave a small smile.

— I'll stay, Jense, but downstairs.

— Stay here — he stammered, stretching a hand across the bed.

— Here?

A positive grunt was the only response you got, heavy breathing indicating he had fallen asleep. Facing his calm expression, you didn't have the courage to deny his request, especially at that moment. Settling down on the mattress, you felt Jenson shift next to you, grunting in reaction to your movement. Then, he placed an arm over your stomach, as if he was trying to hug you or just make sure you stayed there.

And you stayed.

The sun was rising over the horizon and entering the room through the window without any ceremony when you woke up. A little confused, you rubbed your eyes, focusing again on the ceiling, realizing that the checkered pattern was from the fabric covering the canopy and not an eccentric painting choice by John. The memory of the man made you look to the side, finding Jenson still lying down, sleeping soundly, a string of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

The scene made you give a restrained smile. The habit of drooling was something you had already used to upset Jenson, who claimed that it was a lie and that he had never drooled in his life. However, his denial didn't make you stop your jokes.

Rubbing your eyes, you stood up carefully, making your way to the stairs slowly, evaluating the way the sun entered the rooms and illuminated the spaces.

“No wonder John loved this place”, you thought to yourself, as you passed through the dining room towards the kitchen.

As you expected, there was nothing in the cupboards or refrigerator, something that seemed obvious considering the house had been empty for six months. However, at the same time as you could feel your stomach growl, you didn't feel comfortable with the idea of leaving Jenson there, especially after what he had said to you during the cold bath you had given him.

Jenson had mentioned that he was afraid of being alone and that he didn't want that for his own life. However, inside the bathroom, the driver said that no one wanted him around because he was sad, going so far as to say that he was pathetic for that. As you approached one of the windows, you pursed your lips tightly as you remembered the way he had said those words, as well as the pain that permeated them.

At that moment, you didn't know what to say to him, limiting yourself to putting him under the cold spray of the shower. However, the answer didn't come with a night's sleep, much less with a walk around the house or long minutes of contemplation of the Mediterranean that stretched blue and infinite between the trees. You knew it shouldn't be so difficult, that you could limit yourself to a few words of comfort and a hug, but it didn't seem like much.

— Good morning — you heard someone say behind you. When you turned around, you found Jenson standing in the middle of the room, his hair completely messed up as he rubbed his eyes.

— Good morning, Jense. Did you remember that underwear exists? — you gave a little smile. Looking down, the driver assessed his own underwear for a few seconds before looking back at you.

— I thought I should redeem myself after what happened yesterday. In fact, I apologize for — he hesitated for a few seconds — Everything.

— I appreciate your intention, but you don't need to apologize for yesterday.

— But I…

— It's alright. These are things that friends do.

A smile appeared on Jenson's face, but something told you he wasn't entirely sincere.

— Have you done this for other friends of yours?

— To some. You're not the only one I know who likes to drink, Jense.

— Lucky them to have you — he said, running a hand through his hair — And me too.

— Yeah, lucky you too.

The silence lasted for a few seconds until Jenson let out a sigh.

— Is there anything to eat in this house?

— I didn't find anything.

— I think Natasha cleaned the kitchen that day — he murmured, placing his hands on his hips — Do you want to go for coffee?

— In your house?

— Yeah, I guess — Jenson replied, with a little smile — I'm going to get dressed and we go, okay?

— Okay — you said, crossing your arms as he turned around and headed for the stairs.

You headed to Monaco in your rented MINI, navigating the tight, winding streets at a leisurely pace. This was clearly not something Jenson was used to, considering he was shaking his leg non-stop. However, you preferred to remain silent, trying not to get lost in the tiny entrances spread across the city.

You finally spoke up as you parked in front of the building, a white structure neatly placed against the hill that squeezed the city against the sea.

— We’re here — you smiled.

— Yes, we're here — Jenson murmured, without much excitement.

— Let's go up?

He hesitated for a few seconds.

— I don't know if it's a good idea.

You raised an eyebrow.

— Jense, you live there.

— But I don't know if I can...

— Why couldn't you go up to your apartment?

Passing a hand over his face, he merely muttered a swear word before exiting the car with heavy steps. You followed him in silence, particularly confused. Greeting the doorman, you walked down the hall to the elevator, which opened its doors promptly. Inside the metal cubicle, you could see the tension in the way Jenson clenched his jaw.

Tension that dissipated when he opened the apartment door and found that the place was empty.

— Thank God — he murmured, running his fingers through his hair.

— For what? — you questioned him.

— What?

— Thank God for what, Jense? — you repeated, seriously — What happened? Does it have something to do with what happened yesterday?

— Y/N…

— I know this is a complicated time, but I need you to trust me. You know I'm here to help you, it's always been like this, Jense.

— I know…

— So tell me. Tell me what happened and I will help you.

Jenson walked to the sofa, laying down between the pillows with oriental prints.

— It's complicated, Y/N...

— How complicated?

— Complicated in the sense that you can't fix it — Jenson replied, looking impatient — In fact, I don't even think I can do that...

— Tell me, for fuck’s sake! — you shouted, irritated by that damn suspense he was making.

— Jessica broke up with me! — he returned in a scream that seemed to carry all his anger and sadness — And before you ask, it wasn't friendly or anything like that.

You stared at Jenson for long seconds, carefully thinking about your next words. Something told you to try to talk to him to better understand the situation, perhaps even to orchestrate a reconciliation, however, you remembered something he had said the night before.

— Was she the one who said you were pathetic? That no one wants you around?

The question hit him in a sensitive spot, his blue eyes filling with tears. Upon seeing that reaction from the driver, you didn't hesitate to put yourself in the space between his legs and hug him tightly, his head against your stomach. Jessica had said that to him and, in a way, it filled you with anger.

Jenson wasn't pathetic, much less someone nobody wanted around. In fact, there were days that you just wanted him to be close to you, making you smile with his good-natured comments about trivial things. In your view, Jenson was like the sun, brightening even the grayest of British days. And he didn't deserve to be erased, especially by someone who didn't appreciate him the same way you did.

— You know it's a lie, Jense...

— But I can't stop crying — he murmured against her body — I don't feel like I used to, I just feel...

— Sad?

— I miss him — Jenson replied, looking up at you — I miss him all the time...

— This is normal…

— Not for Jessica. She doesn't want a guy like that, who keeps crying all the time, sad, missing his own father. She wants the happy guy that likes to party, have fun and stuff...

— But I don't want to — you murmured.

Suddenly, he raised his head, looking startled by his response.

— No?

— I want Jenson. And know that, whoever truly loves you, will always be by your side, no matter if you're happy or sad — you said, running a hand through his hair.

The driver gave you a small smile before hugging you again, his head against your belly. The scene could even seem romantic, considering the stunning view from the apartment and his almost intimate touch on your waist. However, any suggestion went out the window when you heard an uninteresting sound.

— I think you're hungry — Jenson murmured, looking up at you. The comment made you laugh.

— I came here because someone promised me breakfast — you replied.

— Well, if you insist — he said, letting go of you and getting up from the sofa.

The meal preparation was simple, with some scrambled eggs, toast and a cup of coffee each, courtesy of Jenson's inability to make anything more elaborate. Sitting at the kitchen counter, you were eating practically in silence when the driver broke the silence.

— Thank you for finding me yesterday.

— Oh, there’s no need to — you replied, taking another sip of your coffee.

— I need to, Y/N. I don't even remember how I ended up there without using a car, especially with that horrible whiskey.

— Yesterday you said it was great — you laughed.

— So you could see that I wasn't doing well — he replied, bursting into laughter along with you.

When the laughter stopped, you looked at each other for a few seconds.

— Any problem?

— None, I just remembered something my father said — Jenson replied.

— About what?

— About Jessica.

You rolled your eyes, picking up your coffee cup.

— Are you going to talk about her again, Jense? — you questioned, punctuating the sentence with a sip.

— No, it's just — he said quickly, hesitating a few seconds before continuing — He had told me once that she wasn't the right woman for me.

— When?

Jenson poked the scrambled eggs with his fork, somewhat disinterested.

— I think it was after I went to McLaren. It was a conversation we had after an argument I had with her. And he said that Jessica wasn't the woman for me and that there was no point in insisting on that relationship.

— No?

— “It’s a waste of time to continue with this girl, she doesn’t care about you”, he told me — he continued — But I didn’t listen. I thought it was nonsense of him, but he kept talking...

— Talking?

— That the perfect woman was right under my nose and that I was ignoring her.

You raised an eyebrow.

— And you were?

— I like to think not, but — Jenson hesitated, looking at you — I think he was right. Again.

You just smiled.

— John always had a good eye for these things. Especially when it came to you.

It was the driver's turn to smile, without saying a word. And in a way, it didn't need to. John knew his son like no one else, and if he said something was better for Jenson's life or career, he was almost always right. “Maybe that’s why he misses John so much”, you thought, turning your attention back to your plate.

After finishing your meal, you helped Jenson with organizing the kitchen, before checking the time and realizing that you were quite late.

— I need to go — you murmured, heading towards the door.

— Do you have any engagements?

— I have to pack my bags at the hotel.

— I thought you had them at the car — the driver said, with a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

— No, they're in Nice. I had gone to visit a friend here when I stopped by John's house and, well, everything happened — you explained — But now I can't stay, my flight leaves in the early afternoon.

— Where are you going?

— London.

Jenson pouted.

— What a shame, I thought youI would take the opportunity to make a stopover in Ibiza.

— No, I need a guide to the best parties and he's not available at the moment — you returned, in the acid tone that you knew disarmed him every time. And just as you expected, he laughed.

— In fact. So, I guess I'll see you later.

— Yes, you have to be in Woking in a week.

— Thank you for reminding me — he said, approaching you for a goodbye hug — Have a good trip.

— Thanks.

You were arranging your bag on your shoulder when Jenson said your name.

— Yeah? — you said, looking back.

— My father was talking about you.

A hot wave rose to your cheeks, your hand tightening on the door handle. Your heart was pounding inside your chest, almost as if it had suddenly come back to life.

— I imagined — you managed to say, before leaving the apartment.

[margowritesthings]

Te Beroya: I

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Mandalorian!Arthur Morgan x reader crossover: Star Wars x Red Dead Redemption prompt: 24. “Your charms won’t work on me, pretty. I’m not that kind of bounty hunter.” & 45. “You’re prettier than the stars above, you know that?” (from @saradika's Star Wars prompts!) word count: 3359 words warnings: brief mentions of harassment in a flashback, implied non-con intentions but flashback ends before anything happens, somewhat suggestive fighting authors note: this is shameless self care where I have no idea if anyone will even read this, but I totally just sat and wrote the whole ass thing last night in one sitting?? anyway, this is 100% inspired by @saradika's incredible fallout/star wars AU, and it will be a mini series! I hope y'all enjoy, cause Mandalorian!Arthur has my whole ass heart. If you're here from Red Dead and have no idea whats going on, I've left a little glossary at the bottom of the fic with any terms I've used!!

i haven't tagged anyone cause i didn't know if my usual Arthur people would like a crossover or not, so please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next part!!

beta read by @cowboydisaster, divider by @saradika

Max Rebo is on tonight, so the Cantina is busy. More so than usual, which gladly works in your favour. It’s much easier to blend in with the rabble when there’s so many of them, diminishing the danger of getting a simple drink after a long day. You miss the time when danger wasn’t something you had to consider before something as simple as a trip to the watering hole, but that’s life now. 

You’re sitting at a table for two, the second chair pulled away by a group of Klantoonians playing Dejarik and making bets amongst each other, which works fine for you. An empty chair might invite guests, which is the last thing in the Galaxy you want right now. 

When you throw your drink to the back of your throat, it burns just how you like it, though the sight of a now empty glass pulls your brows together in an almost pout. You have very few credits left, and with your face coded into half the bounty pucks this side of the Outer Rim, work is pretty sparing these days.

A knight in shining beskar turns heads as he strolls into the Cantina, a Mandalorian whos helmet catches the dim spotlights scattered around the dusty bar when he appears to survey the clientele surrounding you, capturing your attention in the process. It’s a rare sight, seeing a Mandalorian walk so openly around the place, and the man instantly ignites a fascination in you. Sure, the Daimyo around here has the armour, but Boba Fett doesn’t claim to be a part of any creed, so you’re not entirely sure where he stands.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that it isn’t until the stranger is right in front of you, two glasses in hand, do you realise he was even approaching. 

“Mind if I sit? I can pay rent.” He asks, his low, gruff accent hinting at origins in Mos Pelgo Freetown- as he gestures to the two glasses grasped in gloved hands. Curious eyes scan over his figure, tall and built as he is, landing on the full glass of whiskey with your name on it. A solution to your dry problem, albeit a risky one. It all depends on how much you’re willing to gamble for a drink…

“If you can find a seat, sure…” You shrug, fauxing a nonchalant air about you to keep suspicions low. You have no reason to trust this man, but showing that so openly would surely attract questions you’re not prepared to answer. 

The glasses are placed down, the mystery Mandalorian taking a few steps, winding around the merry crowds to reach the nearest table. You watch on, amused, pretty sure anyone in this whole place would choose a fight over giving up their seat; the Cantina hardly has the clientele of the highest calibre. It’s an apprehension you feel, almost an excitement, at the thought of a fight breaking out and distracting everyone enough for you to pick a few pockets. And you’ve already got your drink… 

You’re busy planning who you’re gonna steal from when you notice the presence this man commands. He’s tall, built up with muscles packed under his beskar. You can’t see his face, and you wonder if he’s one of those Mandalorians who never remove their helmets, your curiosity officially piqued. He approaches the group who took the seat in the first place, one of them scoffing at what you assume to be a request for the seat. You sit up, ready for the ensuing fight, but it never comes. Instead, the Mandalorian leans down, right up to the other’s face, and it’s far too loud in here to hear what he’s said, but stars would you love to know what has a Klantoonian scrambling up like that and offering out the stool. 

Disappointment and a strange sense of admiration mixes in you as you lean back into your seat, your new tablemate following suit and sliding one glass across to you. 

“Cheers,” You announce, lifting your glass to clink it against thin air before taking a sip, savouring the burn over your tongue a little more this time. The Mandalorian nods his head in response, and just as you think you’ve worked him out, he reaches for his helmet and pulls it off his head, placing it down on the table and taking a gulp from his own drink. 

It takes you a moment to take him all in. His sandy hair, tousled from the helmet, a couple strands falling in front of his tanned skin. He has the jawline of a deity, spattered with stubble that is only broken with a small scar on his chin. 

Dank Farrik.

You know his face. You know this man, you’ve seen that scar, those eyes, (though even in the dark cantina you can see an incredible ocean hue that no hologram nor poster could never hope to capture) before, hanging on the walls of  the underground bars you used to frequent before every crime family on the planet were after your head.

Arthur Morgan, bounty hunter.

It’s too late to flee, and the disruption you’d cause by bolting would only draw more attention to you, so your only option appears to be complacency, for now. Act the fool, pretend you don’t know exactly who he is and why he’s here, and let whatever little plan he has in store for you play out until you can excuse yourself and get the hell out of here. 

You school your expression to as much indifference as you can, though the rather long sip of your drink may have given you away. Arthur watches you intently, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was buying you a drink to flirt with you. But you do know better, unfortunately. 

“You know,” he starts, drawing out the statement and retaining your attention with a long sip of his own, “You’re prettier than the stars above.” 

Whiskey shoots down your throat and back up again with your little splutter, not expecting this to be his plan. You just about manage to suppress the scoff rising up like bile,  concealing it in a cough. Your fight or flight is in hyperdrive, and the reverend Arthur Morgan laying on the fake charm in order to cash in on the price on your head really isn’t helping. He’s good, though, you had to give him that. It’s a mighty fine pickup line coming from a mighty fine looking man, it’s just a shame he’s trying to capture you.

“Afraid your charms won’t work on me, pretty boy. I’m not that kinda girl.”

“Pretty boy, really?” He doesn’t seem mad, more amused, a raised brow meeting with a little chuckle and a head shake as he throws the last of his drink back down. 

It’s now or never. 

You throw the last of your own drink back, part for the plan, part for the Dutch courage needed to actually pull the plan off. 

“Same again?” You ask, your stool squeaking awkwardly against the stone floor when your straightening legs push it into the wall, “I think this rounds on me.”

It’s a near perfect act of indifference, with only a single, traitorous voice break right at the end. You hope he doesn’t notice, but it’s wishful thinking. Arthur stands too, echoing your stools creak, his hand reaching on instinct to the holster hanging by his hip.

Dank farrik dank farrik dank farrik!!

“Don’t you worry about that, pretty girl.” The way he throws your pet name back at you… he knows you know, and you have seconds to act.

Eyes wide, like a bantha in headlights, you take your chances in throwing the last of your drink back, before throwing the glass over to the table of gamers and gamblers. It hits one of them on the back of the head, and everybody turns to him, the music cutting off abruptly for a few seconds of silence before the chaos erupts. 

You’re the first to move, breaking the almost comical freeze frame to put one boot on the table and push it into Arthur. He lunges for you, missing by inches, so close you feel the air rush past your skin where he nearly grazes you. The table hits him in the stomach, and he’s forced to bend over it, giving you the perfect opportunity to risk everything and grab the blaster jutting out. You shoot twice, high into the ceiling, which really kicks things off. The cantina soon descends into riot status, with punches thrown, drinks flying and the like. The distraction you’ve been after ever since he walked in here with his uneasy air and the hairs on the back of your neck first began to stand on edge.

The path out is far from easy, and you’re pretty sure you stood on more than a few limbs, but when the dry heat of a Tatooine night hits you, you’ve never been so grateful.  You don’t look back once, not knowing if he’s following you or even if he saw where you’re going, you just run until your lungs burn and your muscles scream at you and then you run some more. There’s a spot you know, an abandoned farm house just outside the city that’s covered in sand and looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. You hid out there once before, the last time a bounty hunter tried their luck with you, successfully prolonging this never ending hunt where you’re the prey every damn time.

It’s a long night, one where you don’t sleep a wink nor dare to light a fire. It doesn’t seem like Arthur followed you, but it was a few hours after reaching the farmhouse did you release the grip of your stolen blaster enough for it to no longer press each metal marking into the skin of your palm. You keep your back pressed firmly against the wall of one of the sand-filled alcoves, keeping hidden from sight until the suns are both well above the horizon. The mid-morning heat is a grateful relief from the biting cold; even the desert cools in the dead of night. 

You spot the bantha first, letting it lure you into a false sense of security before it gets close enough for you to make out the details of its silhouette, one detail in particular being the goddamn bounty hunter sitting atop it. 

The fact that he’s here at all means he knows he’ll find you here, but logic doesn’t get in the way of you scuttling back into the house, climbing to what used to be the second floor and pulling the blaster back out to press against your chest. 

Not exactly the faster creatures in the Outer Rim, it takes the bantha and its rider a few torturous minutes to reach you, but when they do arrive, Arthur dismounts casually, with no indication that he intends to send you back to your maker. Your breath hitches as he walks down the little incline of sand into the ruins of the house. 

He turns on his heel, and you notice the spurs on his boots make a little circle in the sand around his feet. 

“I know you’re here, mesh’la,” he taunts, bringing out a Mando’a translation of the newly formed inside joke you seem to share now, “Ain’t no point hiding.” 

He’s right, you know he is. There is no way out, no possibility you’re going to escape him, and even if you did, there’s no cover out here. He’ll be able to sit back and watch wherever you run, just waiting to follow. You could shoot him, but the weight of the blood you’ve already spilled is already becoming too much. Could you really carry more?

Tears threaten to prick at your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refuse to let the shaking of your hands carry on for any longer than your cover does. He won’t see the cracks in your facade, that you’ll make sure of.

“You’re prettier than the stars above, you know that?” 

It will be a cold day on Mustafar when the great Arthur Morgan bows to flattery, but that doesn’t stop you from poking whatever fun you can reach. 

Your voice echoing around the remains of the farmhouse alerts Arthur of your general location, so he turns to it, giving you a full view of the amused grin on his face.

“Your charms won’t work on me, pretty girl. I ain’t that kind of bounty hunter.” 

You laugh. A genuine, true laugh, despite yourself. Despite everything. 

“Come on out now, no-one needs to get hurt…” He pleads, wandering eyes indicating he’s still not 100% sure where you are.

“Except me, when you hand my ass in for a few credits.” You point out, noticing that your back and forth seems to have quelled the tremors in your hands. Let’s not ponder that right now…

Arthur looks taken aback, like he genuinely doesn’t know what to say to that. Good. Let him stutter to death for all you care. 

“Well, maybe you shoulda’ thought of that before you started sloggin’ off some mighty powerful people, sweetheart…” 

His comment seems to spark, igniting a firework of anger deep within you. It explodes loudly, albeit quickly, when you aim Arthur’s own blaster to beside his feet, firing a warning shot that smokes in the sand. You wouldn’t be surprised to see one of his boots singed with how close you were, but when he jumps back, pulling out another identical blaster from a second holster and aiming it right at your alcove, you curse inwardly. How did you not notice that?

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, bounty hunter.” You seethe, that anger burning hot as he claims to understand your situation. 

“Well why don’t you come out here and we can talk about it?” 

That earns a scoff, which Arthur responds to with a long sigh.

“Look… way I see it, you’ve got two choices. You can come out, do this the easy way, and I can bring you in nice and warm, get my full fee, and you live to see another day. Or-”

“Yeah, I get it, beroya,” You spit the Mando’a name out like a curse, “Or you can kill me right now and have a real lonely drive back to wherever the hell it is they want my corpse.” 

You hate that he’s right, hate that you’re cornered, hate that it’s over, ignoring the small part of you that sighs relief at the prospect of no longer having to live life with one eye on your back. 

There’s one last, long, deep breath, the exhale feeling like letting go of something, though you’re not sure if it’s freedom or the captivity this hunt has kept you in, and then you’re jumping from the second floor, landing in the sand with a thud. You’re still clutching the gun, but so is Arthur, and you’re not sure you’d fare well in a duel against an actual sharpshooter, so you toss it over to him, sand flying off at him in a final, petty move. 

Arthur picks it up, holstering a pistol at each hip as he slowly approaches, hands raised like a keeper trying to tame a wild rancor. You can’t decide if you like that allegory on not, rancors can get pretty vicious… 

The handcuffs you also didn’t notice last night hang from the bounty hunter’s belt. You’re still while he corners you, appearing willing when he plucks the binders from his belt. It isn’t until you feel gloved hands against your skin do the prickles on the back of your neck start burning and the urge to flee rises up again like bile. 

Phantom hands, Trandoshan ones, appear all over your body as you’re flung out of reality from a single touch. 

“Aren’t you a gem?” his whisper just about reaches your ear, warm breath bubbling at the skin of your neck like acid. He runs a claw across your jaw, resting it below your chin so you can’t look away. 

“Please don’t touch me.” You demand, though your voice is weak. Scared. You know what happens to girls who don’t do what they’re told around here.

That displeasure spreading across his face twists and contorts it when he registers your disobedience. Notably, his claws remain on you, and when you try to step backwards, he crowds you, following until your back hits the cold stone wall. Claustrophobia sets in, your breath hitching when you feel his chest press against yours. 

“Hm… I think I will, girl. Nobody says no to me, you’ll do well to remember that.” 

The stench of whatever cologne rich Trandoshan boys wear lingers in your nostrils like it so often does, but your mind catches up with where you really are faster than your body does. It’s instinct, when you bring your knee up to hit Arthur hard in the gut and completely wind him. He lets out a groan, doubling over and dropping the binders in the process, which you kick across the sand. 

You use his distraction to push him over onto his back, but he grabs the lapels of your jacket and drags you down with him so you’re straddling him, crotch to crotch as you attempt to pin him down into the sand. Your thighs squeeze together in an attempt to constrict his wriggling, but he’s pretty strong. You’re not thinking straight when you pull your fist back, with every intention of striking Arthur in the face, but the shock of his catching your fist in his much bigger hands seems to bring you back to reality and you realise what you’re doing. 

Frozen, for only a second, but it’s enough window to give Arthur chance to overpower you, twisting your bodies together until you’re below him instead and he can pin down each arm by the wrist. Your thighs remain wrapped around him, and with Arthur towering over you, it has suddenly become an awfully intimate position shared between the two of you. His face is inches from yours, his hot, panting breaths mixing with yours. Both of your chests rise and fall, just barely touching as you glare into eachothers eyes. 

“The hell was that?!” He demands, and you’re trying your absolute hardest to ignore the prodding you feel against your thigh. Maker help you…

He doesn’t deserve a response from you, only the ceasing of your strained muscles trying to escape his iron grip as a silent admit to defeat. With the way you fell, your satchel is digging awkwardly into your lower back, so you raise your hips slightly to ease the ache. An unexpected effect of that is your pelvis grinding oh-so gently against Arthur’s, which seems to bring a surge of energy to that bulge pressing against you. Your eyes widen, as do Arthur’s, and there’s one single moment shared between the two of you before he quickly scrambles off you, not releasing his bruising grip on your wrists. 

When he stands, he doesn’t give you the chance to before he’s walking to the direction you kicked his cuffs. It drags you along the coarse sand, your wrist screaming from the strain of carrying your weight.

“Ow- you’re gonna break my wrist, you fucking nerf herder!” You hiss at him, kicking your legs in protest as sand flies about the place and you’re dragged to the cuffs. 

“Shoulda’ thought about that before ya tried to break my goddamn nose, mesh’la.” The term of endearment is anything but sincere, coupled with rough movements as he cuffs you that hint that he may be pretty pissed about the sudden unexpected fight. The binders are a little too tight to ever be comfortable, but you’re pretty sure that’s intentional. A slice of revenge for trying to run again.

“These are too tight.” You complain, lifting your wrists up to his standing form. 

“Well, you better get used to it. We’ve got a long ride to Mos Espa, Princess.”

beroya - bounty hunter dank farrik - curse word mesh'la - beautiful trandoshan - an alien species, one of the crime families of tatooine

[shawnaise]

Carlton, Take A Break

ok so overworked!lassie meets a concerned!shawn

pairing!! shassie <3

hijinks ensue//fluff

————9:50PM SBPD————

“if you spend another hour here, vick told me you’ll have to start paying rent.”

lassiter had been slumped over his desk for the past… well. shawn couldn’t exactly recall; all he knows is that this morning lassie was asleep on one of the waiting couches by the door when he came in, and god, that could NOT be comfortable.

“go home, spencer. don’t you have a crystal ball to ponder or something?”

the mildly pissed off response didn’t even compare to what carlton usually packed in terms of snappy remarks.. something was bothering him. shawn recollects himself to examine the man;

eyebags, crumpled files in the garbage can, a shaking hand wrapped around a nearly empty fountain pen, and a small downturn of lassiter’s lips.

a case had gone wrong. it had been lassiter’s fault, or so the man thought. but now he was staying up late hours and writing extra reports to compensate for this; and potentially to punish himself.

when shawn sat on the corner of the desk, lassiter couldn’t even muster the energy to scoff.. the psychic, a little downtrodden by this, snatched the pen from the other’s iron grip. shushing the protests before they started.

“shh, lassie, come on dude, when was the last time you went home?”

a fury was slowly being stoked behind tired eyes, “none of your business, spencer. if you had a real job, maybe you’d understand how people usually have to… well.. I don’t know….WORK!”

this sort of weird deflection was not dissuading shawn, if anything it was motivating him. lassie was clearly beating himself up to a degree not yet seen by spencer. one that proved dangerous to the detective’s health.

“ok buddy, I get it, you’re working hard; I can respect the hustle. but you’ve gotta see that at this point you’re not helping your prospects, only hurting them. and yourself.” shawn gathers the last few reports, almost as evidence and spreads them out in front of the man.. the handwriting is sloppy and the sentences either run on for ages or make no sense at all.

with a huff, carlton lays back in his chair for the first time in what must be hours and begins to examine them for himself.. the expression on his face slowly morphs from stoic, to surprised, to defeated as he lets the files slip from his finger tips into the bin beneath his desk.

shawn stands at the helm of the desk and holds out his hand to the other, gesturing mildly,

to his surprise, the older man threads his callused fingers between his own.. and the palm that kisses his is warm and tender from countless hours of writing.. something shifts in shawn’s chest and he finds that it’s not entirely unpleasant..

after the shock wears off.. shawn can’t stop himself from laughing gently at the soft nature of the gesture from lassie of all people..

“i wanted your keys, carlton.”

the detective seems a little shocked at his own actions, if not a bit pink at the realization of what exactly he just did. perhaps he would’ve put up more of a fight about shawn driving his car if he didn’t want to immediately change the subject.

removing his hand from it’s subconsciously executed hold, he digs his keys out from his internal suit pocket and lays them in the palm of the psychic’s hand.

“you need my address..?” carlton seriously doubts that shawn does but it feels almost courteous to ask..

“no, I’ve read your personal file.”

of course he had.

——————————

[returnofnonya]

From Thief To House Husband Part 1

Sometimes, life just deals you a shit hand. My parents both died when I was young, and I had been on my own since then.

I survived by being a petty thief. I’ve been caught a few times, but it’s all that I can do. I know the Holidays are times where stores step up their security, but I needed to steal some things to sell just so that I could make this month’s rent. I chose a high end mall where boring rich people shopped, knowing their security would be a bit more relaxed due to the usual clientele. I found a decent department store that sold a ton of knickknacks and chose the gems.

Everything was going well, until Mr. Suburbia found me…

He seemed to be some boring house husband shopping for his kids. He kept cracking jokes to the staff that seemingly knew him well and caught me stuffing my bag. He pointed it out to a security guard who quickly stopped stuffing his face with homemade candy and started to approach me. This would be my last strike, and they’d charge me for a felony!

I quickly dug through my bag and found a familiar black case. Inside of it were five vials filled with a dark blue liquid. One day, a guy traded me these for some stolen goods. Said that he was working for some shady company as a lowly janitor. Allegedly these would allow you to push your consciousness out of your body and into someone else’s, taking control of them. I tried pawning them off immediately and failed, so I kept them around for emergencies. In a panic I took a vial and tossed the case aside so they couldn’t take it with me. I locked eyes with the stupid dad who ratted me out, deciding that becoming my body would be a fitting punishment for making me abandon this one. I popped the lid open and drank it in a hurry before I collapsed…

…then woke up seconds later, watching security swarm around my old, now empty body. I looked down and saw the tacky penguin button-up and knew that it worked. They knew this guy well though, which meant that I had to get out of here before they noticed I wasn’t acting like him. I scurried over to where the case dropped, sliding it in my pocket and quickly rushing out the store, leaving his cart behind.

When I was in the parking lot I pulled out his wallet, finding a picture of him alongside his wife and college aged kids. “Rick Smith…what a boring name for a boring man. But it’s mine now I guess.” I sighed and pulled his phone out, using Face ID to unlock it. I checked his planner and sure enough, it was filled out with his agenda for the day. In fact, it has the entire family’s!

His wife was out of the country for business, and his sons away with friends for the day. He was getting his shopping done apparently, but I didn’t really care since I didn’t feel the love for these people he did. After finding a pic of his car I searched for it and got in, driving to the address on his phone.

I gasped in shock at the mansion I drove up to. Just yesterday I was trying to get my landlord to fix the lock on my shitty door, and now I had a house that looked like it could be worth billions!

I parked the car and rushed inside, heading to his bathroom first and stripping down to take a look at my new body. “Kind of basic, but there’s a certain fatherly charm you’ve got going…” I said and grinned as I looked at myself.

I was about to get to know my new body when the doorbell rang. I sighed and rolled my eyes, not bothering to get the rest of his clothes on and walking down to the door to open it.

I was greeted by a good-looking young man around the age of my body’s youngest son.

“Hey Mr. Smith, I’m glad you remembered-“ he cut himself off as he saw me standing in my underwear. “Remembered what?” I smirked a bit, looking him up and down. “T-that we were going to discuss Blake’s Christmas gift…are you sure you remembered? You told me you’d put a bunch of fake things in the family planner so he wouldn’t know I was coming…” Well, what a lucky coincidence.

“Of course I remembered, come on in, stud.” I winked at him, earning a quick blush. I sauntered towards the living room, making sure he got a good look at my body’s likely virgin ass. He followed slowly, trying to collect himself. “So as I was saying earl-“ I cut him off, “You know what I think, cutie? I think my son just wants to see his Dad happy. He’s that good of a son to me. And do you know what would make me happy?” I asked, spreading my legs open. He gawked, tugging at his collar. “N-no, sir…I’m not sure…” he said bashfully. “A good pounding.” I said simply, but confidently.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“A good, honest-to-god pounding. Like I used to get in college back before I got tied up to the missus.”

“O-oh…”

“So come here, and give my son his gift by making his Dad happy.”

The boy slowly came over, placing a hesitant hand on my thigh. I just chuckled and pulled him in, kissing him passionately and hungrily. Within seconds he dropped the shy act, stripping all of his clothes off and pulling my underwear off. He got on his knees, placing my legs on his shoulder and dragging my hips towards the edge of the couch. “I’ve wanted this for so long sir! I just thought you would never want this, you seem so happy with Misses Smith!” I grinned from ear to ear, petting his hair. “Well, I put on a good act. Speaking of good, you better get to it. If you can eat my ass well enough I’ll let you skip the prep and start pounding right away!”

That was all he needed to hear. He leaned in and slid his tongue into my hole, starting to swirl and move it ravenously. He ate me like he was starving and needed this to survive. My new voice’s moans filled the room as I titled my head back, enjoying the sensations of my sorely neglected hole feeling a pleasurable touch for the first time. My cock stood rock hard at 11 inches, surprising me. “Good for you, old man…” I muttered under my breath, the boy too enveloped in fulfilling his fantasy to notice.

Soon I had gotten all I needed, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him up, making him lay over me. “Now give it to me, boy. No holding back!” He smiled from ear to ear, a dopey look in his eyes. “Yes sir! With pleasure!” I saw his cock fully hard now, standing at a girthy 10 inches. What was in the water here? He shoved himself in eagerly, earning a loud moan from me as he leaned down, starting to kiss over my neck and slide his hands all over my body.

As I enjoyed the pounding all I could think about was the fact that this son of a bitch would absolutely hate this if he could see what was happening. His body getting fucked by one of his son’s good friends, defiling his marriage right in the living room! And most of all, some dirty poor thief holding his life in his hands!

“Harder!” I commanded, enjoying the pounding immensely. The boy was already sweating and panting, practically a dog in heat as he pounded into me, defiling his friendship with my new son. Both of us were sinners, and both of us were getting lost in pleasure. Soon enough he found my prostate and earned a piercing cry of pleasure for me. Like a dog with a bone he continued to pound into it, determined to impress me with his performance.

We lasted for a half hour this way until I finally came without ever touching my new cock, all over my chest and even getting a few splashes on my face. He didn’t last much longer after that and tried to pull out, but I quickly moved my legs to his waist and forced him to stay inside, moaning in another wave of ecstasy as I felt him shoot a load into me. Once he was done cumming I released him and pushed him out of me, chuckling and panting. “Mm…good job boy, you’ve made his dad very happy. Now…don’t tell a soul about this, and get the fuck out of my house. Send me an Amazon link to whatever he wants and I’ll get it, money is not an object.” I smirked as I laid there, inside of Rick Smith, a loving house husband now painted in and dripping cum from a man half his age in the house he raised his children in.

The boy was shocked by the new side of his best friend’s father, but obliged and quickly got dressed, fumbling his way to the door. “W-will do sir! Thank you, I hope we can do that again!“ he said before rushing off, leaving me to lay in ecstasy.

“Ohhh…thank you for reporting me, Rick. I never knew using those vials could bring so much pleasure. I wonder what I’ll get into next with your body. Or should I say who…”

[paperficwriter]

"The Second Floor" (Metal Bat x Garou)

I figured I'd go ahead and start doing some cross-posting here...I don't know if I'll post everything here because not for nothing but I get harassed more here than Twitter, which is saying something.

Regardless, here I am, coming back to my roots. It's my take on what all has been happening in the main comic, so a bit different from the 'Monster in my Bed' universe. Enjoy!

Cut is for length, not for content. AO3 link and tags in the reblog.

“Alright, so…here it is.”

Badd opens the door to the second-floor apartment, stepping inside of it to let Garou pass. He’s glad, then, that he came up before and gave it a good cleaning, got the windows open, the place aired out a bit. That was the first time he had been back inside since his parents died, and even though his uncle had straightened it out and made sure there wasn’t anything left for Badd and Zenko to have to take care of, the place had felt…strange, like it had been put into some kind of suspended animation for the past eight years.

Badd watches as Garou wanders around with the kind of caginess that Tama had when they brought her home the first day. There’s a wariness to his movements, and…did he just see his nose twitch. “This is the main room,” Badd says. “You can see the kitchen right there.” He nods at the window cut into the far wall, showing the small, sunlit space with a full-sized fridge, stove and sink. “The door across from that’s the bathroom…s’got a bath, though it might be small for ya. Then there’s a bedroom.”

Garou looks down at the squat table in front of an old television—already old when Badd was a kid, when he would come up here and pretend he was a squatter if there wasn’t anyone living in the apartment. “It’s gonna be a tight fit,” Garou finally says in his cold, rough voice. “But I guess I’ve lived in worse places.”

A flash of anger rises up suddenly in Badd’s belly like the gas on the old range had been turned on in a rush of blue flame. “Now, listen—”

“I guess I’ll take this front room, though.” He scratches the inside of his ear with a pinkie finger. “Just don’t wake me up when you’re cooking.”

“Wait…no, dammit, I’m not living here!” A warmth travels across his nose and pinks his cheeks as Badd stuffs his hands in his pockets. He’s not wearing his hero uniform today, but a bomber jacket with a tiger on the back and jeans. “This place is just for you.”

Garou looks surprised, white eyebrows going up and then back down. He starts wandering around again, somehow even more suspicious, touching the walls, opening the cabinets in the kitchen. Badd follows him.

“I got a couple of things…some basic stuff. Noodles, sauce, some canned stuff. There ain’t much in the fridge ‘cause I didn’t know what you liked other than…meat. Though I did get ya some of what was on sale at the supermarket.”

When he says that, Garou has his spiky head shoved into the fridge, taking out the wrapped packages, eyes gleaming. Badd can’t help but grin a little because he has the kind of expression he’d expect to see if he left him a basket full of candy and not a couple of strip steaks…

After a quick inspection of the bathroom and then the bedroom, which has a desk, an empty bookshelf (what the hell is going to go there, Badd wonders—this is Garou living here, does he even know how to read?), a dresser and a rolled up futon, the former Hero Hunter turns to Badd. His gold eyes are narrow as he steps up to him. “What’s the catch?”

“Huh?”

“You said you’re not living here. Is the old man paying you? Or are you going to start charging me rent or something?” He says it like he’s expecting Badd to tell him he needs to start selling his organs downtown.

“What? No!” Badd growls and cracks his socked toes against the soft wooden floor. “I don’t need any damn money, alright?! I live downstairs in the apartment under this place! The first floor!”

“Why do you have a spare apartment?”

“My folks bought the place like this and used to take tenants…anyway, it don’t matter! Do ya want it or not?”

It’s a little weird, but Badd only realizes after he’s said it that they actually haven’t discussed at all or not Garou wants to live here. Because initially, the conversation didn’t even happen with him. It happened with Bang, at a cafe, after Badd’s patrol but before he had to go pick up Zenko from piano practice. “You want me to let Garou come live with us. Are you serious, old man?”

Bang had picked up the tab for their tea and a few small desserts, and he was eating a pastry and taking a stupidly long time to answer Badd. “I am. He doesn’t seem…comfortable, living with me. Not that we haven’t mended some of what was broken between us, and I wouldn’t ask you this if I didn’t think it was safe.”

“Maybe he’s uncomfortable because he doesn’t think he can get away with being him when you’re watching.”

Bang shrugged, sipping his tea. “I think you two will have more in common with each other than he does with me. It’s good for young men to spend time together. They grow from mutual experiences.”

What planet was this geezer on?! “There is no way I got anything in common with that guy! And if it’s about age, why not one of the other heroes?!”

For a moment, Bang took a breath, like he was gathering his words. Then, finally, he said, “You two have the most shared history at this point. And I have caught him watching the news about your hero work from time to time.”

Badd didn’t know what to say about that. He didn’t know what to say when they parted ways, except that he did have some space and so long as Garou didn’t do anything to make him regret it, he could stay there. And he still doesn’t know what to say now, because Garou is staring at him like he’s still waiting for this all to be taken out from underneath his feet.

Finally, Garou shrugs. “Sure. Whatever. It’s better than being stuck up in that place above that smelly dojo.”

The tension in Badd’s shoulders lessens immediately. Even though he should be dreading the fact that Garou has decided he will be living above him now, having to deal with him thinking that he was trying to con him out of something was worse. And at least if he’s there, maybe Badd will be able to catch him if he tries anything…

When he tries anything, Badd mentally corrects himself. Because he will. He’s sure of it.

Once he’s handed him the key, Badd walks back down the same set of stairs that he ascended. At one point, before his parents bought the place, the stairs would just lead to different levels of the house, and the landing where Badd has left his shoes would be the foyer. Now, there is a door that leads to his apartment with Zenko. He’s about to open it when he feels a prickle at the back of his neck and—

Badd jumps back from the door to shoot his gaze at Garou, who is watching him with catlike eyes from his upper floor, leaning over like a burglar. “Oi!” Badd growls. “What’re ya doin,’ punk?!”

“What? We’re neighbors now, right?” Garou has a sly smile. “I can’t check out what my neighbor is up to?”

Nevermind, Badd thinks as he goes inside of his apartment and closes and locks the door. Probably nothing could be worse than this.

It’s quiet, for a while…and Badd almost thinks that Garou has changed his mind and decided to run out. He comes back from his hero work and hears nothing from upstairs, and at one point he asks Zenko about it. “Have you heard anything from Garou?”

She’s working on her homework at the table where they eat dinner, as Badd cooks. He’s cut up some bell peppers that are softening with onions, and there’s some beef browning in a cast-iron skillet. They’ll have it with rice. “Yeah,” she says. “I hear him go out before I go to school and you leave for work.”

“Huh?! Only then?”

“Is that weird?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been working day shifts since he started living here. Don’t you think he would be going to his job too?”

That’s true. He figured that if Garou was going to do something, it would be under the cover of night, now that everyone knows who he is. Badd grabs the pan handle and gives it a shake that’s maybe a bit too aggressive, because two green slivers of pepper escape onto the stove top. “There’s no way a guy like that’s got a job,” he mumbles.

Zenko puts her pencil down then and he hears her sniff the air. “Big bro…something smells funny.”

“Eh?” He frowns. Zenko’s always liked his cooking…but then he realizes there’s a tickle of something else…acrid and burning…and there’s a haze outside the window. Could that be coming from— “Stay here!”

Making sure to move his pans to other burners, Badd runs to the door and opens it into the landing. Sure enough, there’s more smoke in the hallway, and he leaps to the top of the stairs in one bound. “Garou! What the hell’re ya doin’?!”

When there’s no answer, Badd acts on instinct and punches a hole in the door, tearing his way through it. The apartment is cloudy, although the window in the kitchen is open. He darts in to look through it and there’s Garou, perched on a section of the roof, holding a skillet with something on fire in one hand and his phone in the other. “This recipe is bullshit!” he curses, and he seems like he’s about to throw the pan probably into oblivion but then he stops, showing a degree of self control that Badd didn’t expect.

So there he is, just pouting, the flames going out slowly…and Badd has to laugh. It’s not like there’s any damage to the apartment other than the smoke, so…

Garou’s eyes snap over to him. “Hey! Shut the hell up!”

“Okay, okay…you just…look like you’re having a hard time.”

“I followed the stupid video. It’s not my fault.”

Badd turns on the water and watches as Garou crawls back in the window and puts his pan under the running sink. Whatever it was, it’s charcoal now. Badd could leave him to it to figure out what else he’s going to eat, but…Garou looks so pathetic and angry, instead he finds himself asking, “You want to come down for dinner? I’m making bell peppers and beef. I usually end up havin’ enough for a few nights in case I gotta work, so…there’s plenty.”

Garou doesn’t reply for a second, and Badd prepares himself to get shot down, probably with some snide remark. But then, there’s a high, strange noise that ends in a sort of warbling grumble, and Badd realizes it came from Garou’s stomach. Garou puts his hand over it like he can push the noise back in. With his long fingers over his abs, Badd realizes for the first time how thin he is, and, sure, he’s lean with all those muscles but…then he recalls the report from the fight in the woods between that gang of heroes, Genos and Bang, the one that mentioned him being found in a shack.

And other than that kid…he was all alone.

“Well,” Garou says loudly, with an exaggerate shrug. “I guess I’ll try it. It can’t make me any sicker than this would…”

Any sympathy Badd was feeling evaporates like the water hitting the hot pan. “Ya know, you could starve for all I care.”

“Nope, you can’t take it back now.” As Badd goes into the bedroom to open the other windows in the apartment, he hears a sharp, “What the fuck did you do to my door?!”

“Shut up! I thought you were burning the house down! I’ll fix it!”

When they get back downstairs, Zenko has already set a second place. Badd returns to the stove, grateful he had the foresight to move the food so it wouldn’t burn up too, and he finishes getting the rice done as he carefully listens to Zenko and Garou talking.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, how could I forget? You were the dumb brat who tried to butt in the middle of our fight.”

“Who’s dumb?! I got you all to stop, didn’t I?”

“Okay, maybe you have a point. What’s that you’re doing?”

“Math homework. It’s Advanced Geometry.”

“Ugh…what do you need that for?”

“I want to be a veterinarian!”

Badd is ready to interject if Garou makes a smart-ass remark, but then he hears him go, “Yeah, guess you need to work really hard for something like that. Better give it your all and not quit school like I did.”

“I am!”

Did he really say that? It was…surprisingly thoughtful. Did Garou really drop out of school? They’re about the same age, and Badd just finished the year before, so…it would make sense.

Then, he hears Garou laugh. “Unless you’d rather just do something that doesn’t require any level of intelligence, like being a hero—”

“Alright, I’ve got plates of food here, so why don’t you shove this in your mouth, eh?”

Garou smirks as Badd puts down the plate of food in front of him, but when his eyes settle on it, he really does get quiet. With a quick ‘itadakimasu’ he’s stuffing his mouth like someone is going to take the plate away from him. Zenko and Badd exchange glances before beginning to eat as well.

Badd continues watching him out of the corner of his eye. How is it that the longer he interacts with him, the more he questions everything he thought he knew about him?

It doesn’t feel like he’s trying to trick him either…

After dinner, Badd walks Garou to the door. “I’ll fix the door this weekend. So just…don’t do anything dumb, yeah?”

“Like what? Leave it unlocked?”

“Okay, goodnight, smartass.”

It isn’t the last time that Garou eats some of Badd’s cooking (and to his knowledge, enjoys it). In the days to follow, Badd notices there are less leftovers in the fridge over the subsequent nights after he’s made a big meal. If there are three plastic containers, the next day there are two. If two, then one.

Is he seriously breaking in and stealing food?! Can ’t believe I was beginning to trust that guy…

He heads upstairs to confront him about it, but when he opens the door he nearly runs right into Zenko. She trips backward and lands on her rear. “Zenko! Are you okay? What are you doing?”

Then, he sees the empty container in her hands. She’s clutching it to her chest. “Nothing!”

“Are you…giving him food?”

Zenko stands back up, her nose in the air. She always does that when she’s trying to meet his height, to match his energy. “So what if I am? Clearly he’s terrible at cooking. Recently all he brings home are convenience store foods—”

“How do you know that?!”

“I say hello to him! Like a good neighbor!” Zenko crosses her arms over her chest. “Why don’t you say hello to him more? He’s your friend!”

The desire to fire back that no, he is absolutely not his friend, tickles his tongue, but Badd stops himself. Because he doesn’t hate him like he thought he would. But he doesn’t like him either, so…he takes the empty container from Zenko. It looks like it’s been practically licked clean… “It’s fine. I’ll…put some extra servings to the side so he gets a bit of everything.”

Garou doesn’t say anything for a while, and Badd wonders if Zenko has told him that Badd knows now that he’s feeding him. One evening, though, he’s about to take the trash out when he sees Garou coming down the stairs. He’s got the leftover box in hand. Badd nods at him. “Hey.”

It’s the first time he’s gotten to take a long look at Garou in a while. He’s different from how he was when he first arrived—softer, his brain supplies first, comfortable, less starved. There’s still that same air about him, like he’s prowling, ready to pounce, even if his form of attack is just to quip. Now, though…his body looks lived in, stretched out a bit.

Badd is surprised at how he kind of likes that look on him.

“I think this was my favorite,” Garou says, without any greeting of his own. This was a honey garlic stir fry he made with chicken and mixed vegetables.

“I hadn’t made it before. I’ve been trying some new recipes.”

“Mm.” Garou follows Badd outside as he goes to deposit the bags of garbage at the street. The fireflies are out, the late evening easing in and bringing with it a cool breeze. “How do you even…” He shakes his head. “There’s so much in it.”

Badd realizes he’s still talking about the dish, and at first he’s about to talk about all the steps he took to sauté the chicken and thicken the sauce before tossing it all together, but…instead what comes out is, “You could come down and watch. Maybe help a bit.”

A distant cicada starts buzzing. It fills up the silence, and Badd is grateful, because it’s taking Garou a while to answer. Finally, what he gets is, “…sure.”

The agreement is not nearly as surprising as when he actually knocks the next evening, ready to get started.

After a few weeks of dinners, Garou is about to head back upstairs when Badd asks him if he wants to give breakfast a try. “Broaden your horizons a bit. We could do some eggs, pancakes—”

“No,” Garou says quickly. “No mornings.”

Badd frowns. He’s really wanted to believe that Garou hasn’t actually been up to something, ignoring the fact that he’s gone before he and Zenko get up and always home by the evening. He’s even walked home with Zenko from school a couple of times. But… “Why?”

It’s like a door between them closes, and evenings of cutting vegetables and talking about hero movies and things that normal people might bond over disappears. “None of your business.”

Badd can’t let that slide.   

A few days later, Badd switches his hero patrol day with Genos so he can see where Garou goes when he thinks he’s gone. It works out perfectly since Zenko wanted to sleepover with one of her friends from class, and he gets up early without having to worry about coordinating it with her school day. Sure enough, Garou rises before the sun, leaves the house and starts running towards the east end of the city.

Badd takes off after him, dressed in a nondescript sweatsuit with his hair down. Granted, he can’t exactly be as covert as he’d like to be, because keeping up with the human monster requires jumping from building to building lest he chance catching up with him. They run for almost a half hour, so far that it’s almost out of the city entirely. But then Garou stops, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks into the konbini at the corner. There’s only one other person shopping and an old woman is stocking some drinks towards the back. Badd watches as Garou walks around behind the counter and into the back room.

When he comes out again, he’s got his hair wet and pressed down as much as he can get it, and he’s wearing an apron. From the rooftop across the street, he can’t hear what’s being said, but Garou and the old woman exchange words. She’s smiling and patting his arm, and as she disappears to get more products, he takes his place at the register. If Badd had never seen him before, he might believe it’s someone else—a cute guy with a serious face, who could even be someone’s boyfriend.

Garou has a job…and Badd feels like a complete asshole.

There are a few things he learns on his phone as he heads back to the house: the neighborhood where the konbini is located is small, largely made up of senior citizens. It wasn’t affected by the battles that had happened those few months back…in fact, it hasn’t been affected by any villains in years. It’s not even on the patrol map that’s used by the lower-tier heroes, let alone the S-class ones like him.

One article catches his eye about some kids who had been playing in the road when a moving van cut a corner too fast. They were saved by a mysterious man who dashed in and grabbed them so quickly no one could get a look at him. One of the kids, however, said he had “wolf ears.”

Subtle, Badd thinks.

For the rest of the afternoon, Badd sits in front of the couch without actually watching what’s on television. He thinks about the Garou he was convinced he knew before, and the Garou he’s coming to know now. And that Garou is the one that is making something tug in his stomach, an invisible thread that is coming out and trying to get to him.

When Garou comes home that night, he walks into Badd’s apartment, more than a bit doggedly. Badd has left the door unlocked for him now for…how long, he’s not sure. There’s that pulling sensation again…why does Badd want to give him a hug and welcome him home? He’s been working all day behind a counter miles away.

“Hey.” Badd gently elbows him as Garou washes his hands at the sink. “Listen, sorry if I was pushy a few days ago, askin’ what you were doing and all. You were right. It’s none of my business.”

Garou squints at him. “Did you hit your head today?”

“What?! No!”

“You don’t apologize for anything ever. Weirdo. What’s your deal?” With his hands occupied, he uses a foot to kick Badd in the ass. He’s grinning at him, though, so Badd can’t actually be mad. Instead he runs his hands through his own hair and grabs Garou’s fingers just as he finishes drying them. “Ugh, gross, I just washed these!”

Badd laughs. “What’re you, fuckin’ five? Think I’m gonna give you cooties?”

“Nobody wants to find your nasty gooey hair in their food!”

“It ain’t gooey!”

Garou stares at him for a minute, and his smile softens in a way Badd has never seen it do. “Actually, yeah…you wore it down today.” He starts soaping up again. “Not bad.”

In his stomach, Badd feels a fluttering like wings. Not butterflies, something bigger, more important. “Heh…thanks.”

They start cooking after that in silence. The quiet isn’t awkward, though. It’s warm and comfortable, a blanket they are sharing between them.

On the weekend, Badd comes home from a morning patrol to see that Garou’s door is open. It’s the first time he’s actually seen him reciprocate the availability that Badd has put forth. Not that he’s ever pressured him too—Garou seems like a man who needs his privacy—but then he’s also rarely there during the day and…

Before he can think better of it, he’s walking up the stairs.

Garou is sitting in the living room, facing the television and watching some kind of sentai show. The first thing he can’t help but notice is that he is very shirtless, his pale skin smooth and light in the sunshine coming in from the window. Once again, he notices how Garou has softened considerably since he’s come to live there with them; there’s a little roll of plushness that’s developed at the base of his stomach, and where the angles of his muscles once seemed sharp, like they would cut you if you touched them the wrong way, they’ve smoothed a bit.

Badd catches himself staring, even moreso as Garou lifts a wrapped taiyaki to his mouth. There’s a red bean filling, and it crunches in his teeth, warm and fresh. Badd realizes he’s never seen Garou eat something sweet before. Come to think of it, whenever he’s offered him dessert, Garou has turned him down…

Seeing him like this, it’s almost as though he’s kind of vulnerable.

He doesn’t want to spoil the moment, but he also doesn’t want Garou to suddenly catch him sneaking up on him. So he announces himself with a little clearing of his throat. “Hey.”

Badd expects Garou to jump, but he doesn’t. Instead, he puts down the taiyaki, turns off the TV, and pivots so he can nod at him.

Now, Badd thinks. Tell him now. “You got a minute?”

“Sure.”

Badd leaves his bat at the door and walks inside, sitting down beside him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

“Ready to kick me out?” Garou jokes, but then his face changes when Badd puts his hand on his wrist. His pulse quickens under his fingers, and his eyes seem to adjust, blinking slowly and catlike.

“No. I want ya to stay. Now maybe more than ever.” Badd takes a breath, trying not to feel totally scrutinized as Garou watches him. “I like ya. Not just…as a neighbor, either.”

Garou’s chest rises so much that his shoulders go with it. He doesn’t pull away.

“And I’ve been tryin’ to figure out how to tell ya. It’s hard, y’know?” He uses his free hand to rub the back of his neck. His voice is rolling into that delinquent drawl that comes out when he’s working. “And that ain’t all. I gotta tell ya, one day I—”

“Yeah, I know.”

Badd’s eyes move up from where they had been focused in on the table, on the point of contact between his tan skin and Garou’s wrist. “Which part…?”

“All of it.” Now it’s Garou’s turn to search the room for everything but Badd’s face. “Knew you followed me that day. Knew you weren’t just…being neighborly for a while now. And I knew you were outside a couple of minutes ago.”

Badd’s face flushes, but worse than that his heart twists uncomfortably. Is Garou about to let him have it for creeping around on him? Or, worse, is he going to let him down and tell him he doesn’t like him that way? “Guess I wasn’t doing a good job hiding it.”

Garou chuckles. “No, you weren’t. But…” He finally does meet his eyes, and the gold there is bright, like sunshine through honey. “I don’t mind.”

“Really? Do you—”

“Yeah.” Garou cuts him off, and the way he sets his jaw makes a very clear message: I’m not spelling it out for you.

Badd takes a long breath. “Why didn’t you just say you got a job?”

“I don’t know.” Garou sounds annoyed, but not with Badd. He scratches his belly. “Everything about me is changing. I don’t recognize myself anymore. And if I said it out loud to someone it would mean that I have to admit that it’s happening, that I can’t get away from it. But…” He mrrrrs like a grumpy animal. “I don’t hate it. I guess.”

Badd nods. The hand that’s been on Garou’s arm moves to his hand, the cool skin there. Garou has pretty nails…he’s never noticed that before. “If it helps, you still seem like a huge jackass to me. Same as ever.”

Garou makes a short cackling laugh, a genuine one, and Badd grins at it. “Oh good. I’m glad.”

They look at each other, and Badd finds himself staring at Garou’s mouth. But instead of leaning towards it, the way everything in his body wants him to, he picks up the last pieces of the taiyaki and lifts it up to him. Garou is wary again, like that first day, but then he slowly parts his lips and takes a bite of it. The pink tip of his tongue picks up a scrap of a crumb, and Badd waits until he’s swallowed to bring the treat back. This next time, Garou takes the rest, and his pink lips brush Badd’s fingers—linger on them—and then he finishes it.

This time, Badd doesn’t ignore the tugging, the pull of gravitation, the magnetic drive that brings them together to meet in the middle. And that’s where he stays with Garou, longer than he ever believed could be possible.

[wrecklessimagine]

Hello, everyone. Life has been challenging, and the post-pandemic existence is rough. My therapist encouraged me to find the last time I remembered being truly content, and I couldn't tear myself away from this blog. So, maybe writing will help give me some hope again. And, maybe, for you guys, too.

This story takes place after the last season of Criminal Minds. Things fall through with the girl we see him with because of the pandemic. In this multi-chapter fic, we will see a fully adult, grown Spencer, with his traumas, memories, and his addiction. He will still be running his one-month-on-one-month-teaching schedule as well.

For what it's worth, I hope you guys enjoy it.

Take Two

Staring at the blank walls of your new apartment, darkness overcame you. The sun finally set behind the tall concrete buildings that surrounded your new apartment, shrouding your uncurtained windows in the twinkling lights from the street. Cars raced past. People talked and laughed as they rushed by. The built-in bookshelves loomed over you with their empty caverns, seemingly laughing at the pathetic expanse of what you brought with you.

Six suitcases and two cardboard boxes.

That was all you had after six years of marriage. Six years of laughter. Six years of tears. Six years, two apartments, one rented home, and a broken heart.

Broken mind.

Broken soul...

The divorce had been hard.

The cold, harsh metal of the apartment keys in your hand contrasted the warmth cascading down your cheeks. Your entire foundation had crumbled beneath you. The man you thought you'd spend forever with left you for another woman.

Another couple, actually.

The divorce had been really hard.

It took you two and a half years to get back on your feet. To find some semblance of normalcy. To wrap your head around the fact that the divorce had, in fact, happened. That your ex-spouse wasn't, in fact, coming back. That it wasn't, in fact, a nightmare. That you really, honestly, were alone again. After baring your soul. Baring your past. Baring your body...

...to someone who threw you away like trash.

"Guess it could be worse," you muttered to yourself as you shoved the keys into the back pocket of your jeans.

That was the motto of the last two and a half years.

Guess it could be worse.

Looking around at the dark green walls trimmed with black accents, you heaved a heavy sigh. You had no furniture. No decorations. No pictures. Nothing but your clothes, toiletries, and the few books you owned.

The mere idea of rebuilding exhausted your dwindling energy stores.

Knock, knock, knock. "Hello?"

You whipped around at the sound of the lilting voice behind you. "Huh?"

The door to your apartment creaked open, revealing a tall, slender man with curious hazel eyes and brown hair that could only be described as dramatic.

He waved his slender fingers in the air softly. "Hello, new neighbor."

You blinked. "Across the hall?"

He thumbed over his shoulder. "Yep, that's me."

"Do you always go around opening random people's doors?"

He didn't skip a beat. "The door was cracked already."

"Oh."

His soft smile grew cockeyed. "Hi."

You nodded slowly. "Hello."

You watched as he peeked around the edge of the door at your empty new apartment. God, you could only imagine what he thought.

"I'm Spencer, by the way," the man said as he held out his hand when the door has finally swung all the way open.

You looked at it before walking toward him, shaking his hand softly. "Y/N."

His cockeyed smile grew, lighting up his eyes. "Well, it's nice to finally have a neighbor."

You still hadn't dropped his hand. "Finally?"

He snickered, not dropping your hand either. "Yeah. It's been vacant for a little while."

"Why? This place haunted or something?"

His smile grew so big that it closed his eyes. "You'd think so, with how hard my landlord's been trying to fill the place."

"I'll let you know if the ghosts come with any juicy gossip."

He chuckled. "Perfect. I love a good bit of gossip."

Was it weird to still be holding the man's hand? Yes, you determined, it's still very weird. So, you quickly dropped it and cleared your throat.

"Sorry about that," you mumbled beneath your breath.

The man named Spencer cleared his throat. "Well, I don't wanna hold you up. I just wanted to introduce myself. You know, neighbor to neighbor."

You turned back to your empty apartment. "I appreciate that."

"And if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to knock on my door. This month, I'll be home a great deal more than usual."

Your brow ticked in curiosity and you peered over your shoulder. "This month?"

He nodded as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's my work schedule. I travel heavily for a month, then I stay put and teach for a month."

That turned your body back toward him. Like a gravitational pull you couldn't escape. "What do you teach?"

He snickered as he tilted his head. "Sure you wanna know? It's kind of... dark."

You felt your curiosity piquing for the first time since your divorce. In fact, the conversation with your newfound neighbor was the longest one you'd had with anyone since your divorce.

And you didn't hate it.

"You'd be surprised what I can tolerate," you said.

The man's eyes grew focused as he stared you down. Almost as if he were studying you.

"I work for the FBI," he said after clearing his throat. "When I'm not out on cases, I'm teaching classes on profiling serial killers."

You felt your eyebrows hike up onto your forehead. "Wow."

"What do you do?"

"Nothing as impressive as you."

A grin ticked his cheek. "You do me, huh?"

You sucked in a short breath of air. "No, no. Not like that. I just meant--."

He chuckled again. "I know what you meant. Just trying to break the tension."

The sound wafted over you like red wine over a King's tongue. Velveteen and soft, it was as innocent as they came. You felt it disarming your senses. Your nostrils flared. Your shoulders relaxed. Your breathing leveled out. And as the ending sound trickled from his lips, you found yourself wanting to illicit the sound again.

It was the first time something had been pleasant since your divorce.

The first time you felt anything since your divorce.

"So," your new neighbor said as he took the smallest of steps through the door's threshold, "do you have any furniture that needs to come up?"

Reality came slamming into you and you quickly turned away from him. "No."

"Well, if it's coming later, I could-."

You sighed heavily. "I don't have furniture coming because I don't have furniture."

"Oh."

Your shoulders tightened again as you steeled yourself against the world. You'd wasted enough of your neighbor's precious time. After all, he had more important things to do. Lives to save.

Lives that were more important than yours.

"It was lovely meeting you, new neighbor Spencer."

His voice came soft, as if he were trying not to spook a fawn. "The pleasure is mine."

"If you don't mind, could you close the door in your way out?

"Of course. It was nice to meet you, new neighbor Y/N."

You shook your head softly as tears arrested your voice. "Your attempt at a compliment is kind, but not necessary. Have a good evening."

He paused for a long time. "You, too."

And the second you heard your door click closed, you let the tears fall. Tears you allowed to flood your neck as you waited for his door across the hall to open... and close.

Before your trembling hands snatched your car keys off the kitchen countertop.

I need an air mattress.

[circusgoth-dotcom]

The Most Annoying Man I've Ever Met

Ship: Wade Wilson x Gabriel MacHammer (Rival Mercenaries AU)

Word Count: 1217

Summary: Deadpool and Black Death have the same target in mind when it comes to making some cash. CWs for suggestive themes throughout, Wade being Wade, alcohol references, violence, brief blood/gore mentions, murder.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife

It was Masquerade Night at the Black Rain Nightclub, and as badly as Gabriel had wanted to dress elaborately, he had dressed practically and appropriately for his job instead. He supposed his “uniform” still technically fit the event's theme, as he hid his identity behind a mask modelled after that of a crow’s skull, but that was beside the point.

Given the choice, he would’ve gone all out. Alas, he had a contract to fulfil tonight, and something lacy and alluring would’ve only gotten in the way.

He was watching his target from the opposite side of the club, fiddling absently with one of his pockets, when he suddenly sensed a presence to his left. Subtly glancing over, he spotted a familiar black and red suit.

“Deadpool,” Gabriel acknowledged respectfully. The merc whipped his head around as if he hadn’t purposefully stood beside them and gasped.

“BD!!” He squealed excitedly and threw his arms around them, to their slight disgruntlement. “What brings your cute little ass here??”

“I could ask you the same question, minus the comment about my-slash-your ass.” They coolly pried him off of them, returning their gaze back to their target.

“Awhh, you know you love my ass. Anyway, maybe I’m just here because I wanted to get a discount since I’m always in maskerahd.” He indicated his mask as he emphasized the word masquerade in a poor, vaguely French accent. Gabriel glanced at him again.

“Unlikely, considering you’re armed.”

Deadpool silently laughed at their observation before sighing dramatically. “Okay, fine, since you so easily saw past my brilliant ruse- is that one of your superpowers?? Anyway, I’m chasing a bounty.”

“What a coincidence, I’m currently pursuing a contract.”

“No way, that’s nuts. Hey, maybe it’s a sign! Can I get you a drink, my fine gentleman?” Deadpool winked and bowed, gazing eagerly at Gabriel with his empty white voids.

“And have my identity leaked to the public when I ultimately have to take my mask off to drink it? Thanks, but I’m not falling for it.”

He groaned. “Oh, you’re no fun. If you don’t want a drink, how about we just skip to it, then?”

“Skip to what…?”

He then leaned seductively against the wall. “How does you, me, a pizza, and a kingsized bed on Friday night sound to you, schnookums?~”

Gabriel stared at him for a long moment. “You don’t strike me as a man who even owns a kingsize bed. You have an extra large twin mattress at the least.”

“If I stole a bigger bed would you do it??”

"I'd rather go at it alone."

"I mean, hey, that's cool, I don't judge what gets people off. Can I watch?"

Gabriel scoffed, restraining himself from slapping his fellow hitman. "Gods, you're worse than a gnat. I always see you and I can't do anything about it. The answer is no, Deadpool, and it will always be no."

They turned back toward their target, who had begun to walk away from the bar. "Shit!"

"How do you know I'm not devilishly handsome under this mask?!" Deadpool called as Gabriel sped off, quickly following him.

"Piss off, you'll blow my cover!"

He looked over Gabriel’s head and toward the man they were now both chasing. "Hey, that's my bounty!"

Gabriel's eyes widened behind his mask. "No, that's my target! I was hired specifically to execute him!"

"Well, I guess a couple of people want him dead because I just saw an advertisement and wanted to claim some cash! No interview necessary!"

Gabriel growled in annoyance as he followed his target out the backdoor of the club, Deadpool hot on his heels.

“I’m getting the money.”

“I’d let you have it if I didn’t need to pay off several months' worth of rent! Besides, aren’t you like the golden child of the mercenary world? Your dad can pay you what you’ll be missing out on.”

“It’s my responsibility to carve out my own path, now. He wouldn’t pay me shit, he’d just be disappointed.” With that, Gabriel removed his fold-out staff from his belt, extended it, and gave Deadpool a hearty jab to the stomach, briefly slowing him down. As they moved forward, he crumbled, coughing and rubbing his midsection as he tried to keep up.

“Hey, wait!” He wheezed, “I-I’ll suck you off if you let me have this!! Please!!!”

Gabriel didn’t bother responding, too far ahead now and too close to securing his contract. He was following his target down an alley, now, and halted when he came to a sudden stop. They ducked behind a dumpster as he removed a box of cigarettes from his pocket. Their fingers twitched at the sight. Holding their breath, they snuck forward as the man stopped for a smoke. It was now or never--

A shot rang out, missing the man by several feet and causing him to run. Gabriel hopped up, looking back at the encroaching Deadpool.

“You useless fucking assmuncher, now neither of us are going to get paid!”

“I wouldn’t have missed if you hadn’t hit me with that metal stick!”

“It’s a staff and I should be shoving it down your throat right now for what you’ve cost me!”

“God, that’s kind of hot… bad Deadpool, focus! Well don’t let him get away!”

And off they were sprinting again, though it was much harder to catch up with a target that knew he was in trouble.

“I know a shortcut!” Deadpool announced happily as they reached the main road, barely glimpsing where the man was running next.

“So do I,” Gabriel responded less joyfully as he ran a large dagger through the back of the mercenary’s head. He knew the wound wouldn’t last long, but it would at least keep him from progressing too quickly.

“Motherfucker!”

Swiftly removing the blade from his skull, Gabriel continued after his target, climbing up the fire escape of a nearby building to get a better view from its roof. It didn’t take long to find the man attempting to hail a cab. Leaping across buildings, Gabriel began his strategic descent until he was practically on top of the man.

“Hello Moto,” they greeted with sadistic amusement before leaping down onto the sidewalk and wrapping their exposed hands around the man’s neck. He gasped for air and attempted to pry them away, but the moment their skin had made contact with his, it was over. Black, spidery veins pulsed up and down his neck as the colour drained from his face and his mouth contorted in a silent scream. When they released him, he fell like a brick. Breathing heavily and slightly sweaty from the adrenaline rush, Gabriel retrieved his phone and his personal copy of the paper contract he had signed. He placed the paper beside the man’s head and took a photo, texting it to his client, before pocketing his items and looking up and down the street. Seeing no bystanders, he slipped into a nearby alley and took off his mask, gratefully inhaling the cool night air.

“Wow, you’re even sexier without that mask.” A highly unwanted voice had reached his ears. Deadpool had caught up with him, a profusely bleeding hole still closing between his eyes. He giggled in a loopy manner. “Same can’t be said for me, unfortunately.”

[homerforsure]

For the I love you action prompts, if it sparks joy— 24. Shielding their view from something scary. ❤️❤️

Em, my darling! Thank you so much for the prompt. It, um, got away from me a bit. I hope you don't mind but I combined it with my first BTHB prompt also.

Rating: T (language, blood, gun violence/death)

8100 words

Buck wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was extremely susceptible to a well-lit, temptingly-filtered instagram sandwich. He loved trying new things! And really, wasn’t it his job as a member of the Los Angeles community to support new, homegrown businesses? Places that had soul! Places that relied on word of mouth to survive and thrive in the cutthroat food world! 

Eddie pretended to be exasperated by the prices and the cutesy names (Hot Noods! Sugar³, Lettuce Eat), but he was willing to follow Buck wherever the foodfluencers sent them on date night. Which meant that everything that happened was ultimately Buck’s fault. 

“I’m going to marry this sandwich,” he said, slouching down in his chair to make a show of how full his stomach was. “I mean, I always thought it was going to be you, but… you’re not topped with pickled radishes.”

With his mouth full, Eddie shrugged, “Just leaves me free to propose to whatever the hell is in this sauce.” 

“It’ll be a beautiful wedding.” 

“I’m thinking June.” 

“So soon?”

“Well, when you know, you know,” Eddie answered. 

He kicked Buck’s foot under the table, making them both smile, and Buck knew he was thinking about the rapidly approaching late summer day that was circled in red on both of their calendars. 

Tossing his napkin back on his empty plate, Buck stretched his arms over head with an exaggerated groan before settling again and saying, “Do you want to walk down to that ice cream place before we go home?”

Eddie snorted, “You can roll me down to that ice cream place.”

“I’ll rent a bike and you can ride on the handlebars.” 

“Deal.” 

It didn’t matter how many times they did this. From the hundreds of times they went out as friends to that terrible, nerve-wracking first date, to now as new fiances, the one thing that was always the same was how much Buck never wanted the night to end. How much neither of them ever wanted the night to end. 

“I’ll get the check,” Buck said.

“I’m right behind you,” Eddie replied, quickly knocking back the rest of his beer.

Buck picked up their bill and they made their way back up to the front counter to pay. It was a little bit after the dinner rush, but still plenty busy. Wait staff bustled between the tables and joyful conversation almost drowned out the sound of the radio playing overhead. Rather than shout to be heard while they waited in line to pay, Buck and Eddie just stood close to each other, Eddie’s fingertips toying with the front pocket of Buck’s jeans, exchanging smiles that were easy and comfortable and fond. 

Two other men were ahead of them, settling their tab. One was leaning on the counter while the other was looking back out over the restaurant. He made eye contact with Buck and lifted his chin in acknowledgement before his gaze shifted again, flicking to his left where a hallway led to the restrooms and then back again. It was the ceaseless motion of it that unsettled Buck. Not that he didn’t know more than a few people who were prone to hypervigilance in public places. It was just that other people’s anxiety tended to make him anxious and looking at the man in grey and his darting eyes made Buck feel like he should take a quick look over his shoulder, just in case. 

Keep reading on AO3

[casspurrjoybell-27]

Claimed by the Beast - Chapter 7a

*Warning: Adult Content*

War - Part 1

- Everett -

"Take me to bed?" Everett mutters to himself.

"Have I lost my fucking mind? Why did I say that? Why did I almost let him..."

Everett glances at the stairs leading into the basement for the hundredth time, wondering what's taking Knox so long to come back.

The movie he started is now at the midway point and it shouldn't take someone this long to move their motorcycle down the street.

Not unless something bad happened.

"Oh, no. What if..."

Everett hops off the bed and races upstairs as his thoughts take a dark turn.

He immediately inspects the ground for blood and a body once outside, silently praying the body doesn't belong to Knox.

It's frightening and alarming how close he feels to Knox while also hating everything about the man.

Maybe even closer than what he felt towards Shaun and they knew each other longer.

"Fuck. Did he just up and ditch me, then?" Everett questions after clearing his empty, spotless driveway of any crimes.

Eager for an explanation, he reaches for his cell phone, only to find it isn't in his pockets.

As he turns to head back into the house, his parents pull up and park.

They step out of the car and look as miserable as Everett feels on the inside.

"Did you come out here to greet us?" his father jokes.

Sarah gives a pitiful smile before scurrying into the house while clutching her stomach.

"I was, uh, just getting some fresh air," Everett lies. "Is there anything you need me to do for you guys?"

His father shakes his head.

"But if you could go back in time to prevent us from going to that damn restaurant, I'd really appreciate it."

"I'm afraid I haven't mastered that ability yet," Everett teases.

They head inside the house and go their separate ways.

When Everett locates his cell phone, he sends several texts Knox's way.

Hours pass without a reply, leaving Everett to assume the worst has definitely happened.

He doesn't sleep well that night, tosses and turns through the majority of it.

The little sleep he gets comes in the form of a terrifying nightmare, instead of Shaun being the one lying in a pool of red on the floor of Club Inferno, it's Knox.

But the pain doesn't end there.

The knot in Everett's chest expands when the nightmare switches to Knox's funeral.

Everett is the only one in attendance.

No one mourned for the man, no one showed up to send him off to the afterlife properly.

He entered this tragic world alone and that is also how he left it.

The next morning, Everett wakes with dried tears on his cheeks. 

He does a few breathing exercises before rolling out of bed, hoping his nerves will eventually calm.

He then checks his cell phone but much to his dismay, the messages with Knox remain the same as it did yesterday, unchanged.

Everett exhales a frustrated breath while marching to the bathroom for a shower.

If only he remembered the way back to The Fallen Angels clubhouse, he could 'borrow' his father's car to verify with his own eyes that Knox was still alive. 

"What has you frowning like you've lost your best friend?" his father asks during breakfast.

"More boy troubles," Everett answers while taking a seat at the kitchen table.

The bowl of cereal he made for himself suddenly looks a lot less appetizing when he picks up his spoon.

"I can't seem to stay out of it."

His father grunts and then glances over his newspaper to meet Everett's eyes.

"I remember the biker that came over here last week. The tall, skinny fellow with all those wild tattoos. Has he been giving you a hard time, or is it someone else? Either way, it's no problem for me to step in and handle it."

"Dad, calm down," Everett laughs, deciding to play along with Finn being the biker that's living rent free in his mind.

"Whatever you're imagining, I promise it isn't anything like that. Miscommunication is to blame but we'll get through it..."

Everett looks at his phone again, impatiently waiting for the text his heart knows isn't coming.

"Hopefully, anyway."

"Well, if you don't, I will happily dust off my pistol..."

"Dad."

"What? I have every right to look after my kid."

"I know, I know."

"I never get on you about the men you date but if I ever find out one of those assholes has hurt you in any type of way, then it's war." Everett smiles.

"Glad to know you're my ride or die. And for the record, the same thing goes for Sarah if she ever ends up breaking your heart."

"Let's pray neither of us ever has to step out of character like that."

His father laughs, then gets back to reading the news.

Everett spends the rest of the day moping around the house and blowing up Knox's number with more panicked texts, half of them cursing him out.

Relief doesn't come until after his father asks him to make a run to the grocery store, and outside he sees a familiar motorcycle speeding down the street.

The man riding the beast of a machine has a large, muscular build that makes Everett's stomach flop.

He nearly drops the car keys in his hand after the uninvited guest parks his in his driveway and removes his helmet, freeing long, tousled locks.

Grey eyes meet brown and Everett's cheeks instantly heat with a feeling that he shouldn't embrace.

Pure delight.

[thisblogisboundforglory-blog]

#18 - Yes. Ellen Degeneres. Sorry.

"Wheel! Of! Fortune!"

Las Vegas slot machines are now, of course, computer games. They do more than clink and clank and thunk. They still jingle, although no coins ever come out. But they talk to you, coax you closer as you walk by, insult you in the voice of Homer Simpson, entice you in the trustworthy tones of Ellen Degeneres. Many of them mimic popular TV game shows, and so regularly burst into song or familiar catchphrases every six minutes and thirty-two seconds. Not that any casino employees are counting, mind you. Nope -- not like they parse their whole working day by the six minute, thirty-two second interval programmed into the fairly common and freakish fucking cuckoo-clock of a game.

"Wheel! Of! Fortune!"

He watches her slide into the café, one hand in the pocket of her cutoffs and balled into a fist, clearly hanging on for dear life to the collection of bills she's got in there. Probably hard-won. Certainly just enough to cover the cost of a meal.

There are cheaper meals in Las Vegas. But there are damned few places left that will serve them to an unaccompanied underage female in cutoff shorts. Not that the El Cortez is low-rent. Just the opposite. Recent years have seen it become the unreconstructed gambling hall of choice for the young and ironically hirsute.

Tisha sees what the old man sees, and smiles.

Suddenly, the café's greeter stops leading the young woman to the back of the restaurant, notices an empty table next to the odd couple up front, and seats her there.

"Mitak'oyasin," Coyote says, when the greeter has gone.

The girl lifts her eyes from the menu without moving her head. Peers at the posh lady and the bony old guy. She steadfastly refuses to let her eyebrows reveal emotion.

"Uh, hi," she answers, struggling to put together the odd syllables she just heard. If the cowboy is trying to talk Tonto, he's getting it wrong. It was Tarzan who confused the objective and subjective. Tonto didn't bother with personal pronouns at all. But the pretty lady and the old guy are both staring at her, now, and it is important not to piss anyone else off tonight. So, "Hello, uh, Taquaseen? Me Tay."

"Pardon me?" Tisha asks.

"Um, sorry," Tay says, and turns her attention back to the menu.

"Wheel! Of! Fortune!"

After a few moments of thought, Tisha says, "Oh, I see. Me Taquaseen. Me Tay. Me Tisha." She points to each of them in turn as she speaks. "All T-words!" Tisha says, "What are the chances of that?" Her lacquered fingernails click on Formica as she slaps the tabletop.

"I am not a T-word," Coyote growls.

"Trouble."

"Well."

"Troubadour? Truant? Trick--"

"Tree-mendous. And not just in the hat department."

Tisha makes a flicking gesture at him.

Tay did not notice the Lady's fingertips dip into the water glass, yet drops fly at the old man just the same. 

The Lady says, "And this creepy old coot is staring at you because a little while ago, he watched you thwart an attacker out on the LINQ. Don't panic," Tisha adds in a whisper, when every muscle in Tay's body tenses for flight, "You were assaulted. It will show on camera, if anyone comes looking for you. But you don't want anyone to come looking for you. There would be – complications, yes?"

"Wheel! Of! Fortune!"

"Who are you?" Tay asks.

"I am a friend of the Mission up the street, although I am astonishingly fickle in my spiritual practice." Flash of sparkling white teeth. "Have you heard of the Mission? Know it by reputation? Yes, I can see that you do. I was wondering if you'd be interested in sheltering there for the night. There will be others. Reasonably safe. No obligation."

"The Jesus Joint?"

"No joints," Tisha smiles again. "Some zig-zags."

But she's almost drowned out by her companion's bark of laughter. Or howl of laughter. No, to be honest, it is a yip. Tisha is almost drowned out by Coyote's yip of laughter. "Jesus Joint." He nods his head in approval. "That's it. That's the one. Holy rollers! Good one." He holds out his hand, palm up. There's a crumpled piece of paper there. Tay's face is just recognizable among the irregular folds. "Took this from the disrespectful one’s big dumb friend," he says.

She snatches the thing away from him. He lets her do it.

"Probably slow them down," he says.

"Slow who down?"

Tisha pitches her voice low, under the ambient jingle and jangle of spectral jackpots, so only the girl might hear. "He died, running after you," she says. "Suicide by Ferris wheel. So I think you don't want to go home tonight, even if you have a safe place to go. And I think you should join us for dinner," and here, the silk ribbons of her speech tie themselves into knots, "You like prime rib?"

[empress-eclipse]

Prologue

"Take as much as you like! I sell at the best prices here in my little corner!" The diseased man chirped, grinding his hands together with vigor. Emy couldn't help but stare at the warts decorating his exposed skin, playing a mental game guessing which ones were warts and which ones were tumors. "Anyone selling it any cheaper is six feet under! Hehe~" Emy's fingers caressed the engravings of their junk. Dead batteries, a rusted gear, the cable to an old heater..."Ah, an excellent choice, my dear! This is golden!" The man admired the filthy nickel, his nail collecting a fair bit of dirt. He wasn't as stingy as he looked, as he handed them the record in seemingly mint condition. Hopefully it actually works on Chia's record player, unlike the last three. "Come again, dearest! And bring all of your friends next time! As a treat for the-" The man's voice grew more distant as they quickly made their way to the other stalls. This small bazaar was the only area for humans and mutants alike to gather to exchange supplies for miscellaneous items. Their appearance, at least here, wasn't an unusual sight. They knew their appearance was odd compared to a full-blooded human. Their skin was a pale blue, the whites of their eyes were as black as coal, and speaking of eyes they had seven. (Three on each side, and a large, bulbous one that rested on their forehead) Here, though, they didn't need to worry about that. Like most creatures with a humanoid form, they bore a cloak to hide their true inventory. 70s records, empty vials, seeds, nuts, water, sewing materials, what else? Emy made their way down the lantern-lit wooden road as they pondered their next stop.

"Snelin guts! Chumilae skulls! Get 'em before the flies get to 'em!"

"Human children! One for three, two for five!"

"These Lucin women are out of this world! Buy for gold, rent for silver!" They'd never grown used to this, they never would. They gripped the dingy dagger in their pocket, just out of view due to their cloth's fabric. Its' presence brung them great comfort, though they couldn't use it well.

"Gimme your eyes! Please!" A slimy mutant pleaded, digging its nails into Emy's flesh. The act of speaking terrified them, it's not like it'd do much in this particular instance. Even now, as the mutant brought its claw near their eyes, the surrounding crowd simply parted. Avoiding the conflict like it was some sort of plague. "L-Le... eh...!" Emy croaked, clutching the mutant's arm with a free hand. Their larynx burned dreadfully at the sudden tension forced upon it, it'd been years since they were in use after all.

"You have too many! Give one to me! Don't be selfish! So selfish!" Their dagger was simply swallowed up the creature's mucus, and their kicks didn't seem to affect it all. They had a vial of salt, but it was buried somewhere in their bag. Which was currently out of reach. "Do... n-no..." If they were any more feral they'd be foaming at the mouth. This thing? It's wasting their time.

They weren't quite sure what happened. A dense blade erupted from the mutant's chest, it was enough to break its hollow bones as the mucus holding it together began to dissipate. When Emy glanced up to the one that saved them, there only stood a mutant woman in its wake. Her hood was a blanket of obsidian, concealing her delicate features and her dark brown skin. Whatever was left of the mutant coveted her hands in a blanket of lukewarm mucus. Though she was covered in soot and mucus, she still managed to look... regal. Every part of Emy was telling them to run, yet their feet remained still. Their dagger, their only means of defense, was in the hands of this peculiar woman who wielded a machete made of old copper.

The woman brought a finger to her lips, seemingly amused by Emy's distress. "Shh. All is to be quiet." She calmly let the mass of slime slosh to the ground, glaring down at it as if it were vermin. "Others are loud. But you have been quiet." Her voice was never above a whisper, only a melodic wisp left her lips.

I'll run. If she comes any closer I'll run.

The dagger rested between the woman's fingers, teetering to and fro with the softness of her breath. The woman placed her palms together. Her movements were slow as she brought herself closer to the mutant child, her weapon sheathed. Anxieties welled up in Emy's chest. Their arms were pinned to their chest as they pondered the dagger before them. A multitude of scenarios and consequences spurred about in their mind. They uncurled their fingers, pondering the aftermath of such a simple action, only to shrink away from the woman.

A smile spread across the woman's face, a caring one. She grasped Emy's hands, her grip loose and gentle. "We are okay." Her voice was soft. It was more so a question than a statement. "Breathe. We are alright, we are safe, we are breathing." It was those words. Those few words released all the tension in Emy's body. They would've known better if they weren't so young, if it wasn't so warm. If they didn't crave such a nurturing feeling, it wouldn't hurt so much when it inevitably was withdrawn.

Emy simply looked at the mucus writhing beneath the woman's foot, which they swiftly scooped up with an empty vial from their bag. They looked at the remnants of the creature, all the wrinkled flesh, and moist mucus was nothing more than garbage. Something to scoff at and sweep into the gutters.

They rubbed the nape of their neck with their index finger, it was sore with the occasional sting when they swallowed. They don't look the type to speak in hands, how unfortunate... "Thank you. For the help."

The woman simply held a finger to her lips, her golden eyes bearing an emotion Emy couldn't comprehend. "All is to be quiet, little one. Nothing but a whisper." Emy could only gaze into the vacant darkness that leads into the woman's hood, ingraining those gentle features into their memory. The tide, once low, made itself known, swallowing the woman's silhouette in its grotesque mass. And Emy was alone once again.

The woman's existence wormed its' way into Emy's head and clung to its walls, no matter what they focused on. Life must move on, however, no point in lingering in the past. The shrill bong of the bell towers rang throughout the smoke-ridden air of the bazaar, calling all mutants to return to whatever cave or crevice they crawled out of. The unwavering blue flames that blanketed the bazaar in a warm glow were put to rest, decorative streamers that made a stand glisten and shine were removed from their wooden posts with care. All tension that may have lingered had melted off their backs and had calmed the most hostile of patrons.

The power of the bell.

Emy made their way into a back alley that was flush with masses of rotten meat from the surrounding restaurants, scanning the surrounding area for prying eyes. Luckily the only ones that paid the small thing's mind were the surrounding flies. Close your eyes. Control your breathing. Their eyes met the building's ledge. Ignore any and every distraction. They bent their knees, eyeing the ledge just a few feet above them. And... release. When they opened their eyes for the final time, they released all of the energy buildup in their legs... and leaped. Their claws dug into the building's walls, giving them just enough leverage to leap to and fro. Once on the roof, they ran. They ran, and didn't look back.

[peterbarnes]

We’ll Say Hello Again

🚨*SPOILER WARNING DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN NWH*🚨

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: This is gonna be a series bc nwh killed me and I need closure. And yes I stole this title from wandavision

Masterlist | Series Masterist

Summary: Post NWH. For the past few months, you’ve been consumed by loneliness. You felt like a piece of you was missing. But one day, you get an unexpected new neighbor: Peter Parker. And once he shows up, the puzzle slowly starts falling into place. 

Snow fell onto your hair as you walked down the streets of New York. It covered you in a beautiful white flurry, but a smile never fell upon your lips. Winter always came with cold weather and dread, but this winter was different. As holiday cheer pulsed through the streets, lighting up stores and children’s faces, you remained totally, utterly empty. It was an itch you couldn’t quite put your finger on. A tingling that told you something was missing. You just had no idea what. The mystery rang in your ears day after day after day, driving you mad. It almost felt like grief- but how can you grieve when you don’t know what you’ve lost?

Your old apartment had been destroyed, you don’t remember how, but you didn’t think much about it. There’s always incidents happening all over this city. Being in the center of the world means being in the center of the chaos. Sometimes it was like a war zone. 

You trudged up the stairs of the walk-up, panting once you reached the third floor. After fumbling to get the keys out of your jacket pocket, you finally managed to open the door. You sighed at the mess in front of you, the already small and cramped space cluttered with clothes and unopened boxes. You didn’t have the heart to open any of them yet, remnants of the before taunting you. High school photos of you, Ned, and MJ- the only friends you had that were now hundreds of miles away. And in each memento was an abnormally empty space where you swore someone had once been. You dropped your keys onto the nightstand and went to take off your jacket when you heard voices from the other side of the front door. You recognized one of them- Mr. Ditkovich, the landlord- but the other you didn’t know. It was like a melody from a song you’d listened to as a kid, a stinging familiarity but not enough to be identifiable. You slowly made your way to your door, opening it and peeking out.

It was a boy. Or a man? He had the body of a boy about your age, but his face was so worn and tired that it made him look at least a few years older. He was holding a box of his stuff as Mr. Ditkovich explained the rent situation with his signature abrasive tone.

“Ah! Perfect timing [Y/N]- meet your new neighbor!”

You and the boy turned to look at each other at the same time, locking eyes. The ringing in your ears was back and the stinging familiarity only grew. He was looking at you in shock, eyes wide, as if you were the last person he expected to find here. You cleared your throat before stepping forward to him and stretching out your hand. It dangled there for a good few seconds before he seemed to collect himself and took your hand in his. You both jumped slightly as an electric spark shocked both of your skin. You chuckled awkwardly, mumbling an apology. 

“It’s okay, [Y/N],” the boy spoke, smiling softly at you. The smile never reached his eyes.

His voice was both smooth and raspy, an evident mix of emotions that almost overwhelmed you.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you edged on.

“Uh, Peter,” he responded, his tone laced with a deep sadness. “My name’s Peter.”

“Peter,” you whispered back, trying it out. “Cute name. Cute boy.”

You saw Mr. Ditkovich roll his eyes as Peter’s skin tone faded to a rosy red. 

“[Y/N], enough flirting with my new tenant, help him with the boxes will you?”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary, sir-”

“No, it’s not a problem, really,” you chimed in, picking up one of the cardboard boxes from the rug. “This is really light- not a lot of stuff?”

“No,” Peter shook his head, shyly looking at you. “Fresh start.”

“Where’d you move from?” You asked, pushing his front door open with your back.

The apartment was small, just like yours, but it was completely bare other than the twin bed shoved against the wall. At least your apartment had some liveliness to it. You lay the box right beside the bed and turned back to Peter. 

“Uh,” he stumbled. You could see the gears turning in his head. “San Fransisco.”

“Wow,” you responded. You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, not fully believing him, but choosing to let it go anyway. “You’re pretty far from home, then.”

“You have no idea.”

An awkward silence fell over the two of you, like a thick blanket. This is usually the part where you would squeak out a goodbye and leave with whatever dignity you had left, but something was tugging at you, whispering for you to stay. So, you plopped down on his bed and tapped the spot next to you, signaling for him to sit down.

He hesitated, eyes clouded, before eventually taking a seat. The bed was so small that your knees were touching his. You didn’t get that electric shock again- this time you felt pure warmth. 

“Is it weird to say I feel like we’ve met before?” You finally blurted out. “I mean, I know it’s not possible and all with me being here and you in San Fransisco, but…”

He looked like a deer caught in headlights as he fiddled with the hem of the blue sweatshirt he wore. 

“Um, no. Definitely not…I would remember,” he told you, his widened eyes slacking and turning to stare at the floor. He was deep in his thoughts, you could tell. 

Probably homesick. 

“Well, it was nice to meet you Peter…” you trailed off.

“Parker.”

“Peter Parker.”

The melody danced on your tongue into a great crescendo as a smile came over you face for the first time in months. The warmth in your chest grew until your face started to heat up too. 

“Well, Peter Parker, I’m right next door if you ever need anything. I have utensils, food, or if you just need to talk,” you told him sincerely, smiling at him.

His eyes trailed up from the floor directly to your eyes. His gaze was intense, but not unwelcomed. You’d never had anyone look at you like that before- with such respect and adoration.  

“Thank you, [Y/N],” he said, voice breaking. 

“Anytime. Here.”

You took his phone that sat on the small, wooden nightstand and turned it towards Peter to put his password in. Once he did, you went to his contacts and put in your number.

Your Future Best Friend

He chuckled at the contact name and you mentally high-fived yourself for being able to get him to laugh, to make such a beautiful sound. 

“See you around, Peter,” you whispered softly before turning around and walking out of his apartment.

You could’ve sworn you heard a sniffle after you closed the door, but you didn’t want to come off too overbearing, so you left him to sit in his feelings. 

Peter Parker.

His name rang in your head as you made your way into your apartment. You crashed onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a bright smile and eyes filled with daydreams.  

Maybe you’re who I’ve been waiting for.

[fic-dumpster]

Deer in headlights | Part 2: meeting Sanzu Haruchiyo

Bonten X reader | Canon divergent

Part 1 | Warnings: decisions you shouldn't make IRL, this is fiction, not official smut so minors can interact. CLICK ON MY RULES BEFORE ASKING ANYTHING!

When he said stay and repay his supposed debt, you were not expecting all the changes he made. On the first day of your new arrangement, he commented that your place was too small, which you agreed before leaving for your morning classes.

Coming back to an almost empty apartment, you saw a bunch of guys carrying boxes out of the building and Manjiro standing at your door, talking to the building manager.

“What is the meaning of this?!?” You were trembling like a newborn deer.

“You agreed it was too small, so we are moving,” he commented as if it was clear what was happening

“I didn’t mean it like that! And I don’t know if I can afford something bigger! I could barely afford this one.” You were in a panic thinking of your rent and living expenses.

“You can’t” ouch yeah, of course, I can’t, “but I do and I am repaying a debt; you can take it like that.” He said, walking away with his hands in his pockets.

Unbelievable. That, and the size and location. He had to be joking.

It wasn’t much different now that you inspected the place, it was still for only one person, but the kitchen and living areas were a lot more spacious.

Sitting down with Manjiro after unpacking, well, more you than him. He sat on top of the counter eating sweets.

A knock on the door interrupted your conversation. Not soon after, a tall individual strode in. He seemed to be uncomfortable in your new place. He had scars on the corner of his lips and a bunch of earnings dangling in his ears between his rosy pink mullet. What left a horrid test in your mouth was that he gave you a side glance and purposely ignored you.

You cleared your throat, trying to make yourself known to the pair. And it worked but not how you expected it to.

While Manjiro was munching on something and reading the papers that the pink mullet guy brought, the latter decided to give you a once-over. His eyes were stripping every fiber of your body and soul, and not in a good way.

“Mikey, why her? She's... plain,” commented the still nameless and rude visitant.

You made a throaty sound of indignation. How dare he say something like that?!?

But Mikey ignored the pink mullet man. “Y/N? This is Sanzu. He works with me.” that last sentence sounded more like a warning; you felt that Manjiro tried to say something like -be careful the dog bites- What dog? You thought.

“Hi,” you gave your best smile and waved your hand in a friendly manner towards Sanzu, which he didn't seem to appreciate.

“Sanzu, this is Y/N. She’s a very important person for me right now, so I expect not a single hair to be out of place when I get back.” Mikey, once more, used that commanding voice. Sanzu was as surprised as you were with that last statement. Both of you must have an alarmed expression because Mikey snorted as soon as he looked up.

“I’ll be checking on Bonten and your reports. Also, Kokonoi and Kakucho wanted to see me. So while I'm gone, I need you to keep Y/N company and make sure she’s okay. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” responded

“One more thing, not a word about her to anyone.” that startled Sanzu even more. Why is she so important out of nowhere?

Manjiro gone, and now you are here with a new stranger in your new apartment. Great, just great.

“So...-” you hugged a pillow out of nervousness.

“Look, sweetcheeks, I won't be pampering you or anything,” Sanzu said as he sat on a stool.

“I didn't ask you to! And I'm y/n. Not Sweetcheeks.” you wanted to throw the pillow at him.

An uncomfortable silence, at least to you, began. He was there doing nothing, not even blinking your way. You were fidgeting in your seat to do something, to break that awkward silence in the room.

“Do you, perhaps, play Mario Kart?” you couldn't keep quiet, could you? You had stuff to unpack and what you do is ask the dangerous-looking man if he plays video games. You gave yourself a mental facepalm.

Sanzu was quite surprised at your sudden question. He wanted to laugh out loud. Did the pills he took that morning were that strong? Now they made him hallucinate? “Maybe? Why do you ask?” said Sanzu, still not looking directly at her. A side glance should be enough, he thought.

Well, he was right. A glance was enough. You looked like a chipmunk with your red cheeks like little balloons ready to pop because you were mad. And then he couldn't hold his laughter anymore. Sanzu was howling, hand in the counter so he wouldn't lose his balance. After you surprisedly jumped at his outburst, another round of hysterical laughs escaped his throat.

“Yah! Stop!” Was he making fun of the little courage you managed to obtain? “Will you play or not?” that’s it. You wanted to throw the pillow so bad.

“Sure, but if I win, you owe me something. What do you say, sweet cheeks?” He was still chuckling a little from the previous outburst. But a devilish smile adorned his face. It gave you the chills.

You hummed in response, watching him with half-closed eyes. “Let me go get the console,” you said. You ran through the living room as fast as your fuzzy orange socks could take you. Sanzu saw the orange flash and couldn't help but think you looked cute. He stopped mid-thought but shrugged it off. Mikey was on the right track with this girl, after all.

After countless games, all in favor of Sanzu, you groaned in frustration. As for him? Sanzu looked like the Cheshire cat, grinning like a madman. It's been a couple of hours since Mikey left. You’ve been playing a variety of games with Sanzu and made some snacks. He wasn't so bad, you concluded.

“You are definitely cheating!” you said out of frustration once again.

“No, you just suck.” he had his eyes still on TV. So you thought you could get some revenge.

You picked up the nearest pillow and acted on your early desires. You bashed the pillow on his side. Bad idea. Sanzu slowly turned around and glared at you. Although, it didn't last long. He threw himself on the floor and acted wounded. For a second, you panicked. He had a different line of work! What if he had been hurt there?

“Oh my god, Sanzu! I'm sorry!” You scrambled to his side and tried to find any sign of a previous wound. That's when you heard it; he was laughing.

“You are too innocent, Sweetcheeks.” in a blink of an eye, you were on your back. Sanzu on top of you. He saw what Mikey did not long ago. Your eyes weren't scared but shining. Not with tears that reflected the lights. There was something; he now desperately wanted too.

The sound of the door snapped Sanzu out of that trance and made him sat up. You, in contrast, were fuming. Picking up another pillow, you smacked Sanzu in the head.

“I’m glad you two are getting along,” spoke Mikey. He stepped in just in time to see you delivering the hit.

After Mikey’s arrival, Sanzu was dismissed but not before reminding you of the bet. You owned him something. Such action didn't escape Mikey. Both men walked to the door while you stayed to fix the living room.

“What do you think of Y/N, Sanzu?” Mikey commented as they reached the door.

“She wouldn't survive a day,” said Sanzu. Mikey nodded in agreement.

“I know,”

“Then, why are you-” Sanzu was cut off

“You should know by now. After all, you spend an evening with her”

-

“Doe!” Mikey called as he came back.

“In my room!” you answered.

He saw you in your pajamas. He was glad you felt so comfortable in that little amount of time. But at the same time, it worried him. And that last thought made him smile. So little time? And you already made him worry.

“Tomorrow, I will have to leave early, and I won't be back until later at night,” he spoke as he sat on the foot of the bed.

“It’s okay; I have classes all morning,” you reassured him.

“One of my associates will pick you up after your last class.” and again, it wasn't a question nor a statement. It was a command.

“Uh, okay? But are you sure? I don't want to impose.” you were putting on a fuzzy green sock this time. “I don't think your... Hmmm men are made to babysit.” you finished with a giggle.

You turned around since he didn't answer you back. Mikey was in your bed with his eyes closed. Way to end a conversation, you said to yourself.

“Wait, where am I going to sleep?” you murmured.