plush seating

To Spot a Friend

Request: Hello, dear Author. Can You do the following request. Hope it will interest You. Reader is a famous singer, whose voice gets is a voice of a angel, but she hides her face behind a mask. Newt running after niffler is in concert hall and heard her. He sees her singing and fell in love with voice. But she had an abusive boyfriend, who is heating her… and here can be any variation of action…

Word Count: 5,703

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous but tagging @caseoffics @red-roses-and-stories @dont-give-a-bother

WARNING: Allusions to an Abusive Relationship


The silver lights cast the room in a sultry glow that drapes over the red plush seats and diamond-and-pearl covered guests like a silken shawl. Their conversations, soft under the intimidation of the glow, drift languidly toward the high ceiling of the theater and mingle together as they wander through the room.

A soft jazz tune weaves through the crowd, no more than a lazy cat no one pays much attention to as it sneaks over their heels and between the legs of their black slacks. The song wafts from the open orchestra pit, a moat between the seats and the massive wooden stage that juts out, looming in front of the crowd, a stage with such a history of grandeur that few agree to step onto it.

Some women shift in their seats in an attempt to peer around the velvet curtains that guard the back of the stage, separating audience and artist for now. They murmur to one another, wondering if the brave artist is back there, hidden in the folds of the shadows, listening to the conversations swirling around. Their chairs squeak as they move, trying to earn the first glimpse of the acclaimed performer with the voice of a cherubim.

They never see her, though, never notice you as you lean against the cool stone wall and try to understand the bits of muffled conversation that amble past you. Your eyes are shut, arms wrapped around your stomach, while you take slow breaths in through your nose, let them out through your mouth. The terror you’d known your first time on stage still haunts you, a ghost you can never rid yourself of no matter the amount of glowing reviews in newspapers or number of sold out concert halls. Terror is a constant in your life, one of the only constants you’ve known for the past four years.

Two hands wrap around your waist, covering your own hands, a wave of thick cologne that ruins your slow breathing and causes you to cough accompanying them.

Theo’s hot breath, smelling of cigarettes and whiskey, scrapes across the side of your face. “You know you’re not supposed to hang out side stage before the show, darling.”

“I needed a break.” You murmur as his stubble scratches your cheek and his chin digs into your shoulder.

“Your wardrobe team tore backstage apart looking for you. They want to get you ready.” He tugs you against his chest.

“They have plenty of time.”

“They need to start soon or you won’t look radiant tonight.”

The insult doesn’t upset you, not anymore. “What does it matter how I look if they’re here for my voice?”

His fingertips dig lightly into your stomach. “No one wants to listen to an ugly person sing. You need to shine, darling. We’ve been over this.”

The bile in your stomach simmers and you feel sick, but you nod at his words. “I’ll meet with wardrobe soon.”

He presses a rough kiss against your exposed neck. “Don’t be long. They need to get to work or we’re paying them for nothing.”

“I know, love.” You whisper as his arms unwrap from around you with one final squeeze.

Keep reading

5

Interior Pullman Car.

Beveled mirrors, ornate carvings, and polished brass were the hallmarks of travel in a Pullman parlor car, such as the one depicted here from 1893. First-class passengers enjoyed plush swivel seats and could eat their meals in equaling lavish dining cars. The wealthiest Pennsylvanians owned their own luxuriously appointed private cars.

Credit: Courtesy of the Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania

Touché // j.j.

You can’t pin point when. Somewhere between the steady typing and the flipping of pages, between the constant supply of french fries and chocolate milkshakes, between the occasional eye contact and the brief smiles. Somewhere between the hours of three and seven o'clock, you fell.

To be specific, you fell in love with Jughead Jones, Riverdale’s resident tall dark and handsome, at least in your opinion.

It started one afternoon when Pop’s was busier than usual, every booth and table full except one.

“Do you…do you mind if I sit?” You ask, rocking slightly on the balls of your feet. “Everywhere else is full.”

You expect him to say no; he is, after all, Jughead Jones, and this is, after all, Riverdale, probably the smallest town in the world and everyone at least knew of everyone else, and you definitely know of Jughead and his preference to being alone, especially when he’s writing.

Jughead ceases his typing, locking eyes with you. He glances around the diner, almost surprised at how many people were in it.

“I’m not the best conversationalist,” he says, looking back at you, “I can’t promise anything good.”

This surprises you, you expected a flat out no or for him to even just ignore you.

“I’m not looking for conversation,” you say, shrugging, “just somewhere to sit and read my book while enjoying a milkshake.”

“Depends,” he smirks, folding his hands in front of his laptop, “what flavor milkshake?”

“The best one of course,” you smile back, “chocolate.”

Jughead smiles, actually smiles, and nods.

“Yeah, yeah you can sit,” he says.

You thank him, sliding into the booth and setting your bag next to you. You pull out your book, thanking the waiter as he set down your milkshake.

“Oh, I’m Y/N by the way,” you say, stirring the drink a bit.

“I know.”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side.

“You know who I am?”

You remind yourself again that this is Riverdale, probably the smallest town in the world, where everyone knows everyone.

“I know more than you think,” he smiles.

“You take this dark and mysterious thing seriously don’t you?”

“I thought you weren’t looking for conversation?” He raises an eyebrow, half a smirk on his face.

“Touché,” you say, opening your book and settling into the plush seating, sipping occasionally at your milkshake.

This continues for days. Regardless of whether Pop’s is bursting at the seems or it’s just you and him, you always sit together. The two of you sit in that booth, you with a book in one hand and a milkshake in another and Jughead with his laptop on the table and fries next to it.

“You know,” Jughead says one day, fingers still whizzing across the keyboard, “you can sit somewhere else if you want.”

“And ruin the work we’ve been doing?” You smile, “I’m good.”

He stops typing, you feel his eyes on you.

“And what work are we doing exactly?”

“Bonding, Jug,” you say, turning the page.

“Is this what bonding is?”

You look up at him, shrugging.

“What would you call it?”

“Touché.”

Weeks pass, the time you spend at Pop’s growing from a one or two hours into several, your time together stretching into early dusk.

“Hey Jug?” You ask quietly one day, closing your book for once.

He notices, he stops typing, he even half way closes the top of his computer.

“What’s up?”

“How’d you know who I was?” You ask, stirring your milkshake. “That first day…you said you knew who I was before I told you. How?”

“This is Riverdale,” he says, “I think it’s physically impossible to not know someone in this town.”

Jughead opens his mouth to continue, then closes it. You can see the wheels turning in his head.

“I notice things, I notice people,” he resumes finally, “I notice when people are different and you’re different. A good different, but different.”

With that, he raises the lid of his laptop, eyes focusing back on the screen.

“You noticed me?”

He looks back up at you, a smile on his face.

“Course I did.”

When you get to Pop’s one day about a week later, Jughead’s not there, Archie is.

“Oh um…hi,” you say, stopping short in front of the booth.

“Hey, Y/N right?” He asks, motioning for you to sit.

You do.

“Yeah, that’s um…” you shift your weight slightly, feeling uncomfortable, “that’s me.”

“Sorry, this must be awkward,” Archie says with a smile, “I’m Archie.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Archie’s eyebrows scrunch up slightly in confusion.

“Sorry, that sounded weird,” you rush, “I just mean, you’re a sophomore on varsity football, the whole school knows who you are.”

Archie smiles a bit, nodding.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he shrugs, “anyway, Jughead sent me.”

You feel your shoulders relax involuntarily, leaning back into the seat.

“Okay.”

“He had to stay after school, make up a test or something,” Archie explains, “he told me to come tell you that he’d be here though, just a bit late.”

You smile.

“Thanks Archie,” you nod, “that’s really nice.”

“Anytime,” the boy replies, smiling, “look uh…this may sound super weird but um…you and Jughead…is that anything more th-”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “no we’re…we’re just friends. At least…I think we’re friends. We just…we sit together and we do our own thing. That’s all.”

“I know Jughead, that’s definitely a friendship,” he smiles, “okay, I gotta head back to practice before I’m missed but yeah, he’ll be here.”

With another smile he scoots out of the booth.

“Archie,” you stop him, looking up at his face, “look um…god this is going to sound crazy but…is Jughead…is he seeing anyone o-or som-”

“No,” Archie cuts you off with another smile on his face, “he was, for a bit but…not anymore. Do you like him?”

You’re surprised by his bluntness, your eyes widening a bit.

“I uh…n-no I was just curious,” you shake your head, pulling your book out of your bag, “you better get to practice, don’t want coach to bench you.”

Archie smiles again, always with the smiling, and walks out of the door just as Jughead walks in.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he says, sitting down across from you.

“I didn’t know we had a set schedule,” you smirk, tilting your head slightly, “nice of you to send your friend though.”

Jughead looks at you, a sarcastic smile on his face.

“Didn’t want you to think I stood you up,” he says, pulling out his laptop.  

“Don’t you have to be on a date to get stood up?” You ask, sipping at your milkshake as Pop places a basket of fries in front of Jughead.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he replies, shrugging.

“So are you telling me that these are dates?”

This time you surprise yourself with your own bluntness, and Jughead as well. He recovers quickly though, the shock on his face only evident for a few brief moments.

“You tell me.”

There it is, his smile, his actual smile. Not a smirk, not some no effort half smile, an actual, full blown, Jughead smile.

Looking back on it, you think that’s when you first knew, when you first realized that you were falling for him.

The rest of the night is spent in silence, well, besides the sound of Jughead’s typing and your book pages begin turned.

You arrive at Pop’s the next day to see Jughead already sitting at the booth, typing furiously. That didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you, however, is the chocolate milkshake already sitting on the table in front of your side of the booth.

“I didn’t see you at school today,” you say, sitting down, “did you skip?”

“Yeah, yeah I um…” he pauses, finishing the sentence he’s typing before looking at you, “I got here this morning because I forgot one of my notebooks and I sat down to finish this paragraph I was on and uh…next thing I knew it was one o'clock in the afternoon so I…figured I’d just stay here.”

“Archie asked me if I knew where you were,” you say, “he came up to me during lunch and asked if I knew if you were sick or not.”

“What did you say?”

“The truth,” you reply, “that I didn’t know.”

Jughead nods, looking back down at his computer screen.

“Jug?” You ask, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows.

He continues to type, oblivious to your calls of his name.

“Juggie!” You exclaim, finally drawing his attention.

“Sorry, got caught up in the story,” he shakes his head, “what’s up?”

“What’s going on with you?” You ask, sliding your book off to the side. “You seem…I dunno, off.”

“Sorry just um…a lot of stuff on my mind I guess,” he says, shrugging.

“About Jason or…other things?” You ask.

“It’s nothing important.”

“Juggie,” you say softly, sliding your hand across the table to touch his arm, “if it’s bothering you this much, it’s important. You can talk to me, always.”

“We’re friends right?” He asks, closing his computer all the way.

“Yeah, yeah course we are Jug,” you nod, “please, tell me what’s going on.”

And he does, he tells you everything. About his parents splitting up, about his dad being part of the Serpents, about his mom taking his sister and leaving, about living at the drive in, about living at the school, everything. And you let him talk, you let him go on for as long as he needs with no interruption, just listening.

“Sorry if that’s a lot but um…I needed to get that stuff off my chest,” he finishes, taking a deep breath, “thanks though.”

“Come stay with me,” the words are out of your mouth before you even think them through, but you don’t take them back, “seriously Jug, my dad’s away on business and my mom won’t care, we’ve got room.”

“No Y/N I can’t expect that from you I do-”

“Juggie, you’re my best friend,” you say, cheeks burning slightly, “please, let me do this for you.”

Jughead looks down, staring your hand touching his, both of your fingers practically intertwined on top of the table.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” He asks after a minute or two silence, looking around the diner. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“I’m absolutely positive it’s okay,” you reply, catching his gaze, “but I’m not going to force you.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he says, nodding, “I’d really like to not live under the stairs like Harry Potter.”

You were right, your mom doesn’t care, she even convinces your dad that it’s okay for Jughead to stay with you, and after three weeks of it, you’re convinced it is the single best idea you’ve ever had.

The two of you still spend most of your time at Pop’s, something about the neon lights and plush seating and the constant supply of chocolate milkshakes makes you feel more at home than you do at your actual house. Or maybe Jughead does. Maybe Jughead makes you feel like you’re home.

“Do you ever wonder how some people end up with the worst luck?” He asks one day, eyes never leaving his computer screen as he chews on this thumb nail.

The two of you are going on four hours at Pop’s that day, and you notice that Jughead has barely written anything.

“Are we talking about Jason?” You ask gently, closing the book you were reading and placing it on the table.

“We’re talking about everyone,” he says cryptically, “how some people are born with everything they could ever want available on a silver platter and others are born with nothing, but somehow the golden boy ends up with the worst kind of luck.”

Jughead rarely ever spoke directly about Jason Blossom, you knew by now how to read between the lines of his novel-ish tone of voice.

“I think that it doesn’t matter what you’re born into,” you reply, “I think what matters is the choices we decide to make throughout our lives, and that that’s how we end up with good or bad luck, by the choices we make and by how we live our lives.”

“Jason never had to make a choice though,” Jughead exclaims, closing his laptop and sliding it out of the way, “that’s the thing, he never in his life had to make one choice for himself and somehow he still ended up murdered.”

His bluntness surprises you, this being one of a few times he directly tells you he’s talking about Jason.

“He did make choices, Jug,” you explain calmly, “everyday, just like you and me. He made the choice to let his parents give him whatever he wanted, he made the choice to follow that stupid book Chuck made up, he made the choice to be with Polly regardless of what his parents said, he made the choice to try and fake his own death so he could be with her without fear of them, he made hard choices, some of them more tough than you and I will ever make in our entire lives.”

Jughead stares at you, and for a minute you think he’s going to get up and leave.

But then he grabs his computer, mumbling a quick thank you under his breath and he begins to type furiously.

That night you’re laying on your bed, Jughead in the guest room across the hall and you can’t help but feel like he’s a million miles away.

You can’t sleep. Grabbing your phone, you squint at the brightness before you’re able to turn it down, looking at the clock.

2:37 am

“He’s probably asleep,” you whisper to yourself as you unlock the device, fingers moving almost on autopilot to Jughead’s message thread.

Can’t sleep, you awake?

You lay the phone on your stomach, staring up at the dark ceiling and willing your body to sleep. The vibration of the device pulls you out of your thoughts.

You okay?

You smile, two simple words causing happiness to bubble up in your stomach.

Yeah, just can’t seem to sleep.

You want to come talk?

If you don’t mind.

You’re always able to come talk to me.

You don’t reply, instead you get up out of your bed, quietly opening your door and then closing it behind you. You take three quick steps across the hallway, opening and closing Jughead’s door as quietly as you did your own.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing in front of the door.

Jughead props himself up on his elbows, the first thing you notice is the lack of a grey beanie upon his head.

“Hey,” he says back in the same tone, “you okay?”

Those two words again, this time sounding even better as you can hear him say it in his own voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, pushing some hair behind your ear nervously.

Why are you nervous? You ask yourself as Jughead motions for you to come join him. It’s only Juggie.

You slide under the covers, but only because the room is cold, and you’re next to him, but only because it’s his room, and his arm is around your shoulders, but only because he’s a good friend and he wants to comfort you.

“Why can’t you sleep?” He asks, rubbing his eye with one hand.

“Did I wake you up?” You ask.

“No I was working on my book,” he explains, pointing at the computer on the bedside table, “don’t change the subject.”

“I dunno…overthinking I guess,” you reply, shrugging a bit.

“About what?”

“Everything I suppose,” you say, “about how if Pop’s wasn’t full that one day or if I had decided not to go then we probably wouldn’t have ever met. About how if I hadn’t continued to sit there we probably wouldn’t have become best friends, about what Archie sa-”

“Archie?” Jughead cuts you off. “What about Archie?”

You curse yourself silently. You didn’t mean to say anything about Archie.

“Nothing, nothing,” you reply quickly, but the look on Jughead’s face told you that he wasn’t going to let it go, “okay um…back that one day when you sent him to Pop’s to tell me that you were going to be late uh…he said that you had been seeing someone but that you weren’t anymore and I was…I guess I was just thinking about who it could’ve been.”

He’s silent, more silent than you’ve ever experienced with the many months of knowing him. Minutes pass, they feel like hours. Finally, you decide to break the silence.

“Juggie?” You whisper.

“Sorry I um…” he shakes his head, raven colored hair flying everywhere, “why were…why were you thinking about that?”

“Curious, I guess,” you explain, “sorry if that seems intrusive or weird or whatever bu-”

“No no it’s…it’s okay,” Jughead replies, wrapping his arm around your shoulders a bit tighter, “it…it was Betty. We had a thing for a few weeks but in the end we decided we were better off as friends.”

“A few weeks?”

“Before I met you, we stopped about two days before that day at Pop’s”

“And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“You and Betty, are you better off as friends?”

“Definitely.”

You nod, falling into silence once again.

This time Jughead breaks it.

“Look I’m not…I’m not good at this whole feelings thing,” he says, “Betty was the first girl I ever really had those types of emotions for but it wasn’t…it wasn’t what I’m supposed to feel. Or rather what I want to feel.”

“Do you know what you want to feel?” You ask, tilting your head up to look at his face.

He looks almost angelic in the pale light streaming through the semi-closed blinds.

“Yes.”

“Do you know anyone that makes you feel like that?”

“Yes.”

The answer comes quick, almost too quick.

“Who?”

Another pause.

“I can’t say.”

Your stomach drops on slightly, but enough for you to feel it nonetheless.

“Oh.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he rushes, running one of his hands through his hair, “it’s just that I don’t really know how to.”

“You’re a writer, Jug,” you say, “I know you’ll figure out how to tell her. You’re good with words.”

“Not when it comes to these kinds of words,” he laughs lightly, “I don’t want to mess up.”

“Don’t psych yourself out,” you encourage, regardless of the weight on your heart, “maybe you don’t need your words this time, maybe actions is the way to go. I believe in you, I know you’ll figure it out.”

Jughead finally looks at you, dark hair falling in front of his face as it’s still free of the infamous crown beanie.

“Actions?” He repeats.

“Yeah, you know what they say,” you smile, “actions speak louder than words.”

He blinks a few times, it’s almost like you can see the thought processing through his brain.

And then suddenly his hands are cupping your face and his lips are on top of yours, your eyes closing as if they had minds of their own. You’re shocked, who wouldn’t be, but it only takes a fraction of a moment for your mind to kick into gear and then your kissing him back, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his neck.

If I’m dreaming I hope I never ever wake up.

He pulls away too soon for your liking, both your chests rising and falling little faster than usual.

“That thing you said about actions,” he says breathlessly, “I believe it.”

You smile wide, Jughead pressing his forehead against yours.

“You were talking about me?” You ask, still a bit shocked.

Jughead nods a few times, a smile on his face as well.

“I like you, Y/N,” he finally says, “I know that’s not poetic or artistic or anything like that but I just…I don’t have any other words. I really like you.”

You think your face is going to split in half by the giant smile you can’t keep off your face.

“Juggie,” you bite your bottom lip lightly, shaking your head, “god I can’t even tell you how much I’ve been wanting you to say that.”

Jughead’s smile widens and you swear the room brightness a bit.

“I’m really glad you couldn’t sleep tonight,” he whispers, laughing quietly.

“Me too,” you smile even wider, if that’s possible, “Juggie I’m…I’m really really happy right now.”

“God I am too,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “do you maybe want to have dinner with my friends tomorrow? I know they’re going out after the game, I can finally introduce you, properly too.”

“Ooh, dinner with the friends,” you say sarcastically, “I don’t know, you think our relationship is ready for that? We’ve only been together all of five minutes.”

Jughead laughs loudly and you shush him, the two of you falling silent to make sure your parents were still asleep.

“My dad will kill you if you wake him up and he finds us like this,” you whisper, shaking your head, “but in all seriousness, do you think it’ll be awkward for Betty? I don’t want to cause any trouble or anything I know you guys ar-”

“Y/N,” he stops your rambling, a soft smile on his face, “it’ll be fine. Betty and I are good, like I said, we’re better off as friends. Trust me, she’ll be okay. I wouldn’t bring either of you to meet each other if I didn’t think she’d be okay.”

“Okay, I’ll come to dinner with your friends,” you say, “on one condition.”

“Oh god, what?”

“I get to wear the infamous beanie,” you rush out, reaching over Jughead’s body and plucking the hat from on top of is computer.

“Y/N!” Jughead exclaims, trying to grab the hat back from you.

“Hold on hold on,” you say, pushing his hand away.

You put the beanie on your head, smoothing your hair out under it and looking back up at him.

Jughead stops struggling, half a smile on his face.

“Well you do look adorable,” he says, brushing a stray piece of hair off your cheek.

“I wear the beanie tomorrow,” you ask with raised eyebrows.

“You can wear it to dinner,” he compromises, tilting his head to the side.

“Touché.”

Jughead keeps his word, and when the two of you leave your house that evening and head for Pop’s, he takes the beanie off his head and places it on yours, shaking out his hair. Jughead intertwines your fingers together, smiling at you and at how happy you look.

Jughead explains his friends to you, telling you a bit about each one of them as you both walk towards the diner.

“They’re probably going to say something,” he says, “about the beanie.”

“Have any of them ever seen you without it?” You question.

“Archie has a few times, Betty once or twice,” he explains, “but other than that, no.”

Jughead’s warnings were a bit understated. In fact, when the two of you walk into Pop’s and find his friends at a booth, it seems all conversation in the entire diner ceases.

“Jug,” one of the girls, Veronica, says, mouthing wordlessly for a few seconds, “you made it, we thought you weren’t going to come for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah we left a bit late,” Jughead shrugs, “guys um…this is Y/N. Y/N, this is…well this is everyone.”

Once the awkward formalities were out of the way and Pop had brought over everyone’s celebratory milkshakes (the football team won that night), everything felt normal.

You laugh at all the jokes, even tell some of your own. You feel like you’ve been part of this group for years, and you know Jughead can tell.

“Hey um…sorry guys I gotta take this,” Jughead says after he pulls out his phone.

“Juggie?” You ask. “Everything okay?”

“What? Yeah,” he replies, “it’s just…it’s my mom. I should take it.”

“Yeah, yeah of course go ahead,” Betty says, “we’ll keep her company,” she smiles at you.

Jughead thanks them, walking out the door to the diner with the phone up to his ear.

“So,” Veronica says, holding her head up with her hands, “you and Jughead.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“Oh come on, don’t make her spell it out!” Kevin says, “he’s letting you wear his most prized possession for pete’s sake!”

You feel a blush spread across your cheeks, looking down at the half empty milkshake in front of you.

“I think you guys make a cute couple,” Betty says, licking some whipped cream off of her straw.

“Thanks Betty,” you reply, smiling again.

“This is going to sound awkward but uh…” Archie trails off, “has Jug told you anything about what’s going with his family an-”

“Yeah,” you cut him off, “he has. About everything, including his dad and that stuff. He’s um…he’s staying at my house. Has been for a couple weeks.”

Veronica smirks, Betty elbows her in the ribs. Archie and Kevin rolls their eyes at the two girls.

“Hey, I think he’s talking about you,” Kevin says, nodding in Jughead’s direction.

The four of you look over at him, you watch as he talks into his phone with a huge smile on his face, running a hand through his hair to push it back every couple of seconds.

The night draws to a close all too soon, everyone heading back to their houses as you and Jughead walk hand in hand down the asphalt road.

“I think that went really well,” you say, smiling at him.

“I agree,” Jughead says, stopping you both from walking and standing in front of you.

Before you can ask what he’s doing, he places his lips on yours, cupping your cheek with one hand while simultaneously tilting your head up. You feel him lift the beanie off of your head, but honestly you don’t really care. He pulls away with a smirk, fixing his hat back on his head.

“Archie,” you say, looking over Jughead’s shoulder.

“Really?” He asks with semi-wide eyes, “that’s what you’re thinking about in the middle of our moment?”

No, god you’re an idiot,” you shake your head, pointing over his shoulder, “Archie’s window, which happens to show Archie watching us right now.”

As soon as Jughead turns around Archie slides his curtains closed, causing you and Jughead to burst out in laughter.

“Did you kiss me just to steal your hat back?” You ask in a fake shocked tone.

“Possibly,” he replies, quirking an eyebrow.

“Touché Jones, touché.”

Rental Contract (Namjoon/Reader)

Originally posted by simondismydaddy

Summary: Late, late, late. You were always late - to work, on bills, and more importantly, on your rent. Fortunately, your landlord is kind enough to help you find alternate ways to pay for that pesky rent you were always late on.

Genre: Smut - Alternate Universe

Words: 6K+

Author: Admin Kaycie

Tags: Oral, fingering, dirty talk, dom!joon, etc. 

Note: To clarify any confusion, I am reposting my old fics from BGS/theofficialrapmom here on HOBI since I previously removed them from Tumblr. Please do not attempt to send in plagiarism claims, as I assure you, I am the original content creator. For any questions, please feel free to contact me privately off of anon. Anonymous messages in regards to the reposting may be deleted if deemed rude/hateful.


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Beauty in Simplicity|Ch. 1 (Yakuza!Hanzo x Hostess!Reader)

It was much too early.

Twisting your wrist you glanced at the time as it projected itself an inch above your skin, grimacing slightly at the time. ‘0714’. Carding a hand through your hair you couldn’t help the soft sigh that tumbled from your lips, the soft click-clacking of your heels against the concrete sidewalk picking up. This was ridiculously early for you. If Ayane hadn’t called you with this ‘urgent favor’, you had no doubt you would still be wrapped up in your comforter, dead to the world until 10 AM at the earliest. The older woman, who you affectionately referred to as mamasan, was your boss and dear friend but you swore that as soon as you made it to the club you were going to have a talk about your ‘business hours’. Still, you couldn’t be upset with her, it appeared that a ‘special’ client had reserved an early trial meeting and she wanted her ‘best girl’ there. Her flattery worked, obviously, pulling you out of your bed and sending you down the road towards the coffee shop on the corner before catching a cab to Roppongi.

She had kept details scant, as was normal, not wanting any prying ears to possibly pick up anything over ‘unsecure lines’. The patrons of the club valued their privacy and every girl that worked there as well as mamasan were more than happy to comply. Club Rosebud was a members only club that served the elite; politicians, CEOs, oyabun of the upper crust yakuza families, military leaders and the like. As long as they paid their dues, respected the ladies and didn’t become too disrespectful or belligerent, they would always be welcomed back with open arms. The building itself was discreet; a Vishkar commissioned project, sleek and modern with solid black privacy glass covering the outside. Ayane had balked at the thought of subscribing to the neon signs that often decorated the hostess and nightclubs in the area, instead vying for a hologram that projected the name in stylish cursive and katakana,  hard light roses and petals constantly falling down and onto the sidewalk. It was chic yet discreet, beautiful and classy; the exact image mamasan wanted to convey and what kept their clients both happy and impressed.

Club Rosebud location was a calculated decision on Ayane’s part, a street that existed an arms length away from the hustle and bustle of downtown, yet close to several embassies and five star hotels. The street was fairly calm; wide sidewalks leading to high-end cafes and bistros and a small two-lane road that had a small side lane that cars could take directly to the front of Rosebud. A side street led to a private entrance for those that required it, although it was most often used by the women that worked there as a quicker way to the back. This is where you often entered the club and where you were headed that morning.

Lifting your wrist to the panel next to the door, you hummed idly as you waited for your credentials to be verified, the small security pad turning blue before the door slid open smoothly. You barely paid any mind to the environment around you as you moved through the warmly lit hall, continuing the softly hummed song as you made a beeline towards the back. The art deco theme left the place brightly colored and yet tied together with dark walls or decor, seating plush and comfortable and inviting. A long bar was attached to a door that led to the kitchen, the different bottles of high-shelf liquor on the wall looking like twinkling gems. There were private rooms, of course, with varying themes; Japanese-style tea rooms, traditional conference rooms, hell, there was even a small private theater. Anything the clients needed, Ayane wanted to be able to provide.

You carried on past them, walking through a door that was affectionately marked ‘Roses’ Only’, signifying an employee only area. A little ways down was another door that led to the dressing rooms; a pastel explosion of a room that was fitted with a dozen pearlescent white vanities, soft lighting and two dozen or so rolling racks filled to the brim with clothing from designer clothing from all over the world. Tucking your purse underneath your personal space, you sighed as you sank into the soft pink skirted vanity chair, stretching before crossing your legs.

‘Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster’- Sun Tzu.

The quote from the great Chinese philosopher sat permanently affixed to the mirror of your vanity, a silent reminder of your life’s philosophy. You jokingly would tell the other girls you worked with that you were preparing for a battle; dressing yourselves in fine silks and chiffons like they were armor, your warpaint high-end cosmetics, your simplistically intricate hairstyles your helmet. The war ground is one that you had fought proudly on for years and would continue to do so for however long your spirit compelled you to, the battle of courtesans and their wealthy, upper class clientele.

Your battle hardened statements were all in jest, of course, but you enjoyed the playful distance it allowed you to practice whenever you entered the club. You were skilled at your job and you knew what was both wanted and demanded of you. An amicable warmth, lively conversation, class and professionality, charm and attractiveness all wrapped into a package with a pretty little bow. You were fortunate. Within the walls of the club and the mouths of patrons and advertisers, you were sought after not only for your beauty and charisma but your intellect as well, known for being demurely scintillating. For now, however, you worked on accentuating the beauty that was seen before the brain, primping in front of the vanity in the changing room.

You kept your vanity clean and tidy, makeup neatly stored away and sorted in a deep blue makeup case, your hard light styling multi-tool laid across the top of it. Assorted hairsprays, perfumes, brushes, accessories and jewelry were scattered, albeit tidily across the back of your small table. A place for everything and everything in its place. Your fingers moved over your items in a practiced manner, humming softly to yourself as you considered the look you were trying to go for this afternoon.  Bold, glittering neon matte lips had become popular recently, appearing on magazines and in talk shows but you felt that it was much too flashy, at least for the client mamasan had assigned you. Your look had to be perfect, demure and respectful, enticing and seductive. Chewing lightly on the inside of your cheek, you visualized several looks before opening your eyes and looking at your reflection. You had an idea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Hanzo rolled his shoulders as the hovercar came to a stop, eyes glancing up at the building, barely suppressing the groan that tumbled from his lips. Hanzo could feel anger begin to lap at his insides like fire, doing nothing to hide his agitated expression from his brother. Hanzo made a soft dismissive ‘tch’ in the back of his throat as he stared at the name, ‘Club Rosebud’, the fluttering flower petals aesthetically pleasing and yet…irritating.  

“A hostess club”, Hanzo deadpanned, shooting his younger brother a scathing look. The frown on Hanzo’s lips only grew deeper as Genji returned the look with a shit-eating grin, clapping his hand down on his older brother’s shoulder and shaking. “This is the last time I trust you with picking the venue Genji.”

“Relax aniki”, Genji says, his tone much too lackadaisical for Hanzo’s taste, purposefully sliding directly next to the man despite the car’s roomy interior. Genji wrapped his arms around Hanzo’s shoulder, the older pushing against the younger, drawing laughter from the man. “Rosebud is one of the classiest joints in all of Japan! I promise, aniki, even Prime Minister Sakamoto goes here!”

That earned a small upward quirk of the eyebrow from Hanzo, skeptical yet easing the shoving match he and his brother were locked in.

“I don’t think you would know ‘high class’ if it bit you on the ass”, Hanzo stated matter-of-factly, finally managing to untangle himself from Genji’s hold. Hanzo’s hands immediately began straightening the tailored black suit he wore, readjusting the deep blue button up with an agitated precision. He shot another glare his brother’s way, only earning yet another wide grin. “What exactly was wrong with Suzume?”

“No offense but during the daytime that place is boring”, Genji said bluntly, nose wrinkling up at the thought of returning to the empty, musicless, patron-less club in the daytime. “It doesn’t create a ‘welcoming’ environment! We want to make our ‘partners’ feel welcome, Hanzo! Not bore them to death in an empty night club. Plus the girls here are gorgeous and they are very generous with alcohol. You know how that loosens lips, right? Plus today is only a trial run aniki! No pressure!”

Genji wiggled his brows conspiratorily, a knowing smirk on his lips as he gently nudged Hanzo with his elbow. Hanzo gave a grunt, an unspoken, if temporary, concession that he would try this for the time being, twisting his body towards the door as their Omnic chalet opened the door. At the very least, if the location was subpar, Genji had actually come prepared for the meeting. The 25-year old had actually worn one of his nicer suits, albeit was a crisp snow white in color. The inner button up was a forest green, his cufflinks golden dragons with emerald eyes, much like Hanzo’s own white gold and sapphire ones. His younger brother had even managed to dye his garish lime green hair back to black, just solidifying how serious he was about assisting Hanzo with this transaction. Although the elder sibling had no doubts that his brother would soon dye it again when things were set in stone with the Americans.

From birth, both brothers had been molded, trained to take over the Shimada-gumi, one of the strongest and largest Yakuza factions in the Tokyo area. The older the heir and the younger his right hand man, each imbued with their own skills. Hanzo was the tactician, blessed with a naturally analytical mind with a scathing wrath that could, and would, crush anyone that dare to buck against their Shimada reign. He was protective of what was his; his family, his assets, his livelihood. Genji was the amiable social butterfly, a man able to read the room and the people around them, able to draw people to him with his innate charm. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a naive playboy, his ability to disarm people allowing him to gather his fill of information before flashing even a modicum of his true nature. Both had extensive training in both hand to hand combat and various weapons; pistols, assault rifles, swords, bows. Name it and it had been in their hands. And while their father, Sojiro, still handled a bulk of the responsibilities, he trusted his two sons with managing new business deals in his stead.

Giving one last vexed grunt, Hanzo turned towards the door as Yosuke, their Omnic chalet pulled the door open. Hanzo stepped out into the subtle warmth of the spring morning, straightening up and rolling his shoulder before stepping to the side to allow his brother room to move out as well. Genji practically jumped out of the car, arms raised high as he waved at the elderly woman who was walking towards the two of them, both waving enthusiastically before each approached the other with open arms. She was short, definitely no taller than five feet tall, dressed in hōmongi-style black kimono, soft pink and creamy yellow primroses and tea roses stretching from her feet to her back then over her left shoulder and to the edge of both sleeves. As Genji spun her around, Hanzo caught sight of the simple graying bun she wore, adorned by a fresh pink-red rose pinned in her hair.

Setting her down, Genji and her continued to talk animatedly as Hanzo observed, taking in the yellow obi with the intricately tied knot. An obvious refined taste was felt in the clothing, but her nature only helped to solidify her classiness. Her gaze was affectionate yet sharp, focused on Genji yet not missing anything happening around her. She wore very traditional clothing and yet her mannerisms were nothing if contemporary; hands on hips, grabbing Genji’s chin and pinching his cheeks. However when her gaze twisted to Hanzo, the playful chiding in her tone gave way to a warm professionality.

“Shimada-san”, she said, stepping away from Genji and giving a respectful bow that Hanzo returned with one of his own. Straightening up, a small sage smile settled onto her lips as she returned Hanzo’s once over before giving a quiet chuckle. “Your brother has told me much about you. My name is Ayane Takahashi. Let me assure you that we, at Club Rosebud, are both honored to be at your service and understanding of your need for discretion. Genji has enlightened me on the company you are expecting and I do believe I have the perfect accommodations for your needs, Shimada-san.”

Hanzo gave a short half nod, disguising the look of skepticism with a small bow to the elderly woman. Her eyes twinkled as she returned the bow, turning on the heel of her foot and beginning to move smoothly towards the building. Hanzo kept himself a few paces back, Genji walking backwards between the both of them, a Cheshire grin on his face. As Ayane approached the front doors, two well dressed men, obvious bodyguards, pushed the doors open from the inside.

As soon as he stepped foot within a door they were greeted by a comfortably sophisticated ambiance; lighting warm but frosted, casting a well lit yet relaxed vibe. The soft scent of perfume hung in the air, constant yet not overpowering; base notes of vanilla, musk and amber were accompanied by notes of citrus and stone fruits. Plush fauteuil armchairs in colors of pink and key lime and powder blue and creamy peach were spaced around the room, some near wrap around black hard light tables, others stand alones with small cherry wood coffee tables placed in front of them. To the left of the room was a long bar counter, black marble with glittering gold flakes locked under a highly shined surface, ambient lighting shining beneath top shelf liquor and fine crystal glasses. The floor was hardlight as well, sturdy and slip resistance, twinkling lights following the steps of the three of them as Ayane came to a stop in the center of the room.

“This”, Ayane started, sweeping her arm left to right across the room. “Is our general sitting room and bar. This is where most of our one on one meetings between our ladies and their patrons, although small private rooms are readily available if requested. Our bar is one of the, if not the best, stocked bar in the area. However, if you do have a particular brand which isn’t located here, we will be more than happy to order it for you. We also have a fully stocked kitchen and chef on call, so if you have any requests for your guests or if you’re anything like your brother, we can supply almost any sustenance you’d like.”

There was a satisfied smile on her lips as she casted a brief glance over here shoulder, able easily read the subtle impressed look that rested on the elder Shimada’s face. Hanzo had seen some of the clubs that Genji frequented and this definitely differed from the playboy’s normal. Hanzo had half expected a gaudy interior, fraught with the acrid smell of cheap liquor and perfume, cigarette smoke clinging to everything. This was actually…nice. More than nice if he was being honest. Genji smiled, breaching the gap between his brother and him and clapping a hand down on his shoulder.

“Nice isn’t it aniki”, Genji practically sang, the smug smile on his face only growing as Hanzo rolled his eyes yet didn’t push him away. That was as good as an admission as he was going to get from the hardass.

“Security seems lax”, Hanzo stated, more to his brother than Ayane as if to pull some of the wind from his presumptuous sails. Ayane turned completely with that, her grin slick and filled mirth.

“Oh Shimada-san we take security very seriously here”, Ayane said stated warmly, reaching into her sleeve and pulling out a tablet from a hidden pocket. “We value privacy here and you cannot uphold privacy without superb security, right? Every single guest, employee and Rosebud members are authenticated into our systems. If you are not in our system, you do not get in. If by some chance, let’s say, some paparazzo snuck in here we have automated security systems that not only notify our security team but short circuits any electronics they have on their person. If they happen to fight back, well, we do have other means as well.”

Hanzo hummed softly before looking at the woman and giving a small smirk at the dangerous glint in her eye. Well, it appeared that this place could be…acceptable.

“Shall we continue”, Ayane asked with a soft chuckle and a graceful turn back around. She didn’t wait for their acknowledgement, steps picking back up as she led them down a warmly lit hallway. “The conference room your brother requested is one of our mid-sized rooms, more than enough space to accommodate up to twenty people if need be. Light refreshments and drinks will of course be provided within the fees for the room, as well as the services of my girls. Now you both are in for a treat. I have picked two of my loveliest, most charming girls to attend to both of you personally. It always looks nice to have a pretty lady on your arm, especially with those Americans doesn’t it? Oh and Genji, do watch out. She is not happy with you.”

Ayane waved her hand over a small console built into the wall, the screen coming to life as her credentials were instantly accepted.

“These doors are secured as well”, she stated simply as the console turned green and the doors began to slide open. “Just as an added measure of privacy. Ah, Aiko, Hitomi, come and introduce yourselves!”

Ayane stepped to the side as the doors to the roo fully opened, allowing the two Shimadas to enter before her. Hanzo hummed in approval as he looked around the room. Two bright, avant garde chandeliers hung over a mahogany conference table; glasses, holopads and bottles of premium spring water sitting in front of each plush, leather upholstered chair. A small bar was tucked into the corner, a small holopad denoting an automated bartending system. Across from the table was a large screen, obviously for projecting any presentations, pictures or videos to anyone who hooked up to their system. What set the room apart, however, was the sitting area that had been included. A large, cream wrap around couch sat spaced apart from the conference table, fluffy pillows and throws of various shades of orange adorning the piece of furniture. Two women were just beginning to turn as Hanzo’s eyes finished assessing the room, his focus now on them.

“Genji-kun”, the shorter of the two squeaked out, a playful, scolding look on her features as she stormed over to the younger Shimada. The woman was petite but the heels she wore placed her just under Genji’s nose. She was dressed in a glittering blue lace bodycon dress, her light brown hair styled in loose waves around her shoulders. Her hands rested on her hips, her frown faltering as Genji grinned back at her, bottom lip quivering as she tried to keep her expression downturn. “Where have you been mister?”

“Ai-chan”, Genji exclaimed, taking a half step back so he could give the young woman an exaggerated look up and down. Aiko rolled her eyes at him before cocking her hip to the side and continuing to stare him down, any real malice in her actions lacking. “You are looking as beautiful as ever. Did you do something with your hair? It accentuates your cheekbones!”

Aiko’s face lit up, her hand moving to wrap around a lock of her hair before moving to her cheek, the hard look on her face melting away as she dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“You’re lucky flattery works every time”, she stated simply before throwing her arms open and laughing as Genji’s arms wrapped around her in an affectionate huge. The two began talking back and forth rapidly, the increasing volume and pitch of their voice making him cringe.

“So excitable. I’m envious, I wish I had an iota of that much energy. Although, I highly doubt I’d get half as loud…”

Hanzo’s gaze snapped to the left, eyes dancing over the woman he could only assume was the ‘Hitomi’ Ayane had mentioned. She wore an ombre strapless chiffon dress; the bodice fitted and white, the color gradient slowly trickling downward until it was a warm orange marmalade color around her feet. Her exact shoewear wasn’t clear but she stood right at Hanzo’s chin,dark eyes glancing up at him as she addressed him. A rose gold bracelet with pink and white diamond hung loosely around her wrist, shifting with the subtle movements of her hands as she commented on the pair in front of the two of them.

Her dark hair was half up and half down, loosely pulled back with a twist and secured by a pink crystal hair comb, the shape a large sakura blossom flanked by smaller closed buds. Her makeup was simple yet elegant; a soft pink glow across the cheeks, lips glossed with copper and bronze eyelids, mascara and eyeliner tight. Confidence poured off of her in waves as she stood next to the man, the smile on her lips demure and inviting, eyes respectful yet curious. The eldest brother was intrigued. While attractive people were not a rarity to either brother, he couldn’t help the way his heart picked up as he looked her up and down. Hanzo hid the gulp that unconsciously wanted to follow as he stared, his eyes locking onto hers before snapping to her hand as she extended to him.

“Oh where are my manners”, you asked softly, head tilting to the side as you admonished yourself. “My name is Hitomi. It is nice to make your acquaintance, Shimada-san.”

Hanzo lightly grabbed your hand in his, feeling a rush of lightning arc through his system at the physical contact. This was new. Lifting your hand to his lips, he pressed a chaste kiss against the back of it before looking down at you with the slightest ghost of a smile on his lips.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

His Wife in Hiding

Warning: None

Word Count: 1933

Summary: Unbeknownst to many, Klaus Mikaelson is a married man but years ago, after an explosive falling out, she left Klaus and he’s been chasing her ever since. But when Klaus finds her hiding out in New Orleans…

Pairing: Reader x Klaus Mikaelson and Reader x Elijah Mikaelson (platonic)

Part Two

This morning had been extremely productive for you. You’d worked out, organized and cleaned your lavish apartment, you’d caught up on your favorite shows and successfully mastered the spells you’d been studying in your grandmother’s old grimoire and you’d done it all before the clock struck noon.

You’d practically raised Marcel so he allowed you to practice as much magic as you wished.  

You were in the parlor with a cup of tea and good book when you heard a knock at the door.

You flinched, startled. You rose from your seat with your brows furrowed. You so rarely received visitors and rarely left the house. Marcel’s men would gladly do you the favor of running your errands, hoping that it would bring them favor with Marcel and move them up in the ranks. After living a life such as yours so full of drama and despair this apartment, so peaceful and quiet had become your safe haven.

With caution you moved towards the door. You glanced through the peep hole and released the breath you didn’t know you were holding. You sighed in relief and threw the white double doors open with a flourish.  

“Hello, brother,” you said with a bright grin.

Elijah Mikaelson returned your smile wholeheartedly. “Sister,” he said in greeting. He looked you over, taking you in, in that over-protective, brotherly fashion of his. “Isolation has been good to you.”

I dipped my head in thanks. “I’m glad you think so.” You stepped aside so that Elijah could come in.

Elijah sauntered into the apartment. He was the only member of the Mikaelson family that could enter your apartment. In fact, he was the only Mikaelson who even knew that you had an apartment. The less people that knew your location the better.

You shut the doors behind him. Turning around you met his worry-filled gaze.

You cocked your head to the side, taking him in. He’d gotten here in a rush. You could tell from his heavy breathing and his tousled hair and clothing. Elijah Mikaelson was usually well put together and ready for anything. His hair was always well done without a flyaway in sight. His clothes were usually wrinkle-free and as immaculate as he was. Something was wrong and he was doing a poor job of hiding it.

You put your hands on your hips. “What is it, brother?”

“Klaus is in New Orleans.”

You sucked in a breath. Your heart hammering in your chest.

“He knows you’re here. You have to move. Now. If you want to escape.”

You moved around the apartment in a literal blur. You knew this day would come. No one and nothing could stay hidden forever. Especially not from a Mikaelson. Let alone from Klaus Mikaelson.

“He’s a hybrid now. He’s awoken his werewolf side.”

You swore under your breath as you gathered your necessities and most prized possessions.

“How did he find out?” you asked, on the verge of hysteria.

“One of the witches told him.”

Your blood began to boil beneath your skin. When you got the chance, when you returned to your home in New Orleans, you would hunt down that witch, feast on her flesh and use her bones for tooth picks. You shook your head as if shaking the thoughts of bloodlust and revenge out of your head. You needed to be of clear mind. You needed to be in top shape if you were going to do this.

When you’d packed the last of your things, you looked around the apartment with tears in your eyes. These walls had been the closest thing you’d had to a true home in centuries. It had been your safe haven after years of running from your former husband and now it was time to part ways. You’d prayed that this day would never come and now it was here.

Your future was a blank slate and you hated it. You preferred having a destination in mind when it came to running.

“Got everything?” Elijah asked.

You nodded, swallowing the bile that had risen in your throat.

Your former brother-in-law opened the door and waved you over to it.

You nodded again and picked up your full suitcases and headed out the door and into the warm sunshine. You inhaled the clean fresh air. It was a stark contrast to the stuffy air back inside but you would still miss it all the same.

Elijah took the suitcases from your hands and placed them into the trunk of an awaiting black sedan. “I’ve taken the liberty of procuring a car for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You shook your head and laughed, “No. No I don’t mind.”

You ran to him, wrapping your arms around your brother’s neck. “You are the best brother I’ve ever had, Elijah.”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Don’t you dare tell Kol I said that!” you threatened.

He laughed harder. “I won’t, I promise. I love you too, y/n. I wish that our time together wasn’t cut so short.”

“As do I,” you agreed. “I’ll let you know when I find a safe place.” You told him, stepping out of the embrace. “I only wish that I could tell Marcel goodbye and thank him for his hospitality.”

“I’ll give him your love,” he assured you, opening the passenger door for you. “I’ve compelled the driver to take you anywhere you wish.”

“You are too kind to me, brother. I don’t deserve you.”

He pecked you on the cheek as he ushered you inside the sleek vehicle. “Don’t talk like that. I love you. Stay safe.”

“You do the same. I love you.”

With some reluctance he closed the door and sent you off.

And then you were riding through the noisy, crowded streets of the French Quarter. You watched enviously as trumpets blared and people danced and sang and paraded down the streets and sidewalks like no one was watching. A pang of jealously hit you square in the chest. For a moment you decided that it wasn’t fair but then you remembered that it was your own fault. That’d you’d chosen this life and made this bed and now it was time to lay in it. You were just a moment ago, planning to feast on some poor witch’s flesh.

You leaned back against the soft leather seats.

“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked. It was the first time he’d spoke since you’d met him.

“The nearest airport please.” You told him in a small voice.

You still hadn’t figured out where you were going. Mainly because there was nowhere else you wanted to be. New Orleans was home. You wanted to go back to your apartment and reminisce about the good old days with Elijah. You wanted to baby and cook for Marcel. You were tired of running but you were tired of fighting too.

You sighed and closed your eyes, leaning your head against the plush leather seats.

You were nearly asleep when the door opposite of you opened.

Your eyes flew open. You gasped in horror when you saw who’d just gotten in your car.

“Don’t I get a goodbye too, love?”

“Klaus,” you gasped.

“Calm down, my lovely. I only want to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you!” you spat.

“Good. Then you can sit here and listen.”

“And if I don’t want to?” you challenged.

“You want to keep running from me then go ahead,” he invited. “Be my guest. I’ll even give you a head start if that’s what you want.”

You folded your arms across your chest and gestured with your hand for him to go on.

He cleared his throat, dramatically.

You rolled your eyes in response.

He opened his mouth to speak but he let out a rare nervous laugh.

“What? You wanted to talk so talk.”

He rubbed at his beard. “I never thought I’d get this far,” he told you with a grin. “I’d dreamt of the day that I’d get to talk to you. To beg your forgiveness and now that we’re here, you’ve got me tongue-tied. Just like when we were kids.”

You turned away from him, biting your lip.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you and I’ll never stopped. The day you left was the day when immortality felt more like a curse than the gift I’d always made it out to be.”

“Why is that?” you asked him.

“Because what is the point of forever without you?”

You leaned your head against the window with a soft thud. “Don’t do this to me,” you whined. “We’re not good together Klaus.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth! Together we are chaotic and deadly and cruel and I don’t want to be that anymore!” You said turning to looked at him.

His eyes were clear, blue, calculating and smoldering, they raking over you with unmistakable hunger that sent chills down your spine. “Leave it to you to focus on the negative.”

“And leave it to you to be the one to act like the negative never happened.” You said throwing up your hands.

“I know what happened and I know what I did. What we did. But I would take it all back if I could, if it meant that you would come back to me or that you would have never left in the first place.” He inhaled running his hand through his curly, ginger brown hair. “We may have been chaotic, deadly and cruel but we were also happy and madly in love. We belong together, y/n. Don’t you see that? We were meant to be together, always and forever.”

“But at the expense of other people, Klaus.” You told him. Anything to keep from him how his words affected you. You loved it and hated it when he got all romantic like that. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

He sighed when, leaning back against the seat. “I can’t make you stay but I’m begging you not to go. Let’s work this out, my darling. I know we can. There is no way in the world that you could have forgotten how good we are together.”

You remained silent.

He put his face in his hands. “I won’t come after you if you choose to leave again. And if you decide to stay and you want to work this out, I’ll be staying at the old plantation. If you want to stay and live in peace…I’ll leave you be.”

He leaned in towards you.

Your breath caught.

He kissed your temple and then your cheek.

His lips were warm against your skin. You were relishing in the familiar sensation of his lips on you when he pulled away.

You sucked in a breath.

“Stop the car.” Klaus told the driver.

The car pulled to a stop in the middle of the road. Thankfully they hadn’t been moving very fast but that didn’t stop the drivers behind them from furiously honking their horns.

Klaus looked back at you one last time. You could see the fear in his eyes. You could tell that he thought this would be the last time he’d see you.

Klaus stepped out of the car and walked back in the direction of the French Quarter. You watched him through the back window until he disappeared from your line of sight.

“Ma’am?” the driver called, startling you.

“Yes?”

“Still to the airport?”

For a moment you couldn’t speak. You were so torn. “Yes…to the airport,” you said unsurely.

Author’s Note: I had such a good time writing this! Please let me know if you enjoyed this story and if you would be interested in reading a part two!

Part Two

UGLY

Anon prompt: Wondering If you could write a Jughead x Reader fic where the reader is super self-conscious about her body and Jug notices and helps.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: body image, self-confidence issues, self-harm, angst

A/N: This is another song fic, based around the song Ugly by Nicole Dollanganger.

-

The alarm rings for the third time this morning and I hit snooze once again, looking back to myself in the mirror.
I’m standing in my bra and underwear, eyes moving over the parts of my body I don’t particularly like.
My shoulders are too broad, my hips jut out in a strange way, my legs are too long and my calves are thick. I look at my face, my nose is too big, lips too thin and my eyes are small and hooded. Thick, pale scars line my thigs and hips, I run my fingertips over the small bumps they create.

The picture of Betty, Veronica, and myself at Sweetwater River catches my attention. I wish I was as gorgeous as Ronnie and Betty, they’re so beautiful, perfect in every way; and I’m just plain and ugly.

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No, It’s Bucky: Part 11

Fic Type: Reader insert

Relationship/pairing: Bucky/ Female Reader

Word count:  2,665

Warnings: Bad writing (lol) A few curse words, more bad writing and more curse words

After a fight in the 12th grade, the reader and Bucky don’t speak for 6 years until the reader moves back to her home town for a work.

THINGS THAT ARE VERY GOOD WILL HAPPEN BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN BUCKY ISN’T A LITTLE SHIT. AU story

A/N: Here is Part 11. I think the next Chapter will be the last so guys, It’s nearly over!!!

All errors are mine.

| Part 10 |                   | Part 12 | - Coming soon     




Job interviews are actually the bane of your existence. How does answering a series of predictable questions show your work ethic and prove to the potential employer that you are the best person for the job?

And why the hell did you insist on being interviewed for this job, honestly!  Are you insane? Have you actually gone off the deep end?!

Your potential new boss Peggy looked at you with a smile on her face, it was a look that scared you and comforted you at the same time. With an exhale, you continued on with the interview. From what Peggy had explained about the position was that this class is the outcome of an influx of new students and no space in other classrooms. Basically you had a whole new class to teach if you accepted the position. And the pay was about double what you are making now.

Your heart was definitely torn. This was the kind of position that you have dreamed of, not many out of college students get the opportunity to have; let alone be offered a full time position this soon. And if you take the position, all you have to do make arrangements with the school you are at and then you can start Monday.

With a smile you shake hands with Peggy and make your leave. Your decision had been made. Now it was time to let everyone know.

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All My Days I’ll Know Your Face

Summary: When a new kid starts at Phil’s school, Phil certainly doesn’t expect him to be everything he ever could have hoped for in a friend and more. Can he convince him to let go of the past and audition for the school musical? And what about those feelings that somehow seem to pop up when he least expects them?

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: Fluff, High school AU

Extra tags: Getting together, strangers to friends to lovers

Warnings: Bullying, homophobia mention, some swearing

Read on ao3

A/N: Inspired by Dan and Phil’s recent comments, “I really think that 14-year-old Dan and 14-year-old Phil would have gotten along quite well.” “I think they’d have been friends”, as well as my recent Glee rewatch and obsession with theatrekid!Dan. Big thanks to Kirsten (cafephan) for encouraging me to write this, as it probably wouldn’t have happened otherwise. I hope you enjoy!!

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Imagine walking through New York City with Tom. You’ve just had dinner when you hear the sound of someone playing the piano; the tune leads you down a back alley - a complete dead end apart from a large wooden door, next to a sign that says “knock twice and speak-easy.” He gives it a knock, and when they let you in, Tom takes your hand and leads you inside, where you see a grand piano with a beautiful woman in a flapper costume behind the keys. The entire space is decked out in Victorian glamour, with velvet curtains and plush seats. You can’t believe your luck in finding this hidden gem, and spend the rest of the evening drinking champagne cocktails, dancing to the best jazz of the 1920′s.

Phantom of the Opera - Bruce Wayne x Reader

A/N: I didn’t do nearly as much with Two Face as I intended but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. 

Prompt: Hey! I’ve been waiting so long to request this. A phantom of the opera modern au with Bruce as Raoul, batmom as Christine, and two face as the phantom. Please and thank you. I really love your writing. ❤️

Despite being raised in a wealthy cultured household, he had never been all that fond of the opera. He just simply had other things on his mind. Tonight his mind was focused on the rumors that a ghost haunted this opera house. A murder had taken place and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. The police had written it off of a freak accident but Bruce suspected there was something sinister at play here.

He was escorted to his private box by a friendly, smiling usher. He sat down in one of the plush seats and waited for the show to start before he would slip out and begin his investigation while everyone was distracted. The curtains pulled away and that was Bruce’s cue to begin his work but before he could leave the box your beautiful familiar voice filled the theatre. He stopped in his spot turned to see that it was in fact you standing on the stage, the perfect picture of elegance.   

“Can it be?” He whispered to himself.  “Can it be [Y/N]?” You had been but a memory for him, all but forgotten in his past. You were his first friend, his first crush, his first girlfriend, his first everything. He smiled to himself thinking of the beautiful woman that you had grown into. Maybe once all this is over he could drop in backstage to say hello to an old friend.

Bruce forced himself to turn away from your enthralling performance and he traveled around the shadows performing his investigation. He found a few clues but little pointing to an actual culprit. He would need to come back when the theatre was empty to some of the areas that were just simply impossible to get to while a performance was going on.

Normally this would be the point where Bruce would go home and work on the case in the cave but he felt compelled to stay this time and listen to you sing. It had been so long since he heard your voice, he had forgotten how amazing you were. When the performance was done he snuck backstage and let himself into your dressing room.

“You were beautiful out there tonight.” He said. You back was turned to him. When you heard his voice you gasped and turned around in surprise.

“Bruce?” You asked, not quite sure if the handsome man in front of you was indeed your childhood friend.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it?” He asked with a laugh. You got up from your seat and rushed over to him to envelope him in a tight hug.

“I’ll say! Look at you! You got all handsome and dapper on me!” You said jokingly.

“Are you implying I wasn’t always handsome?” Bruce asked in mock offense.

“Well we were kids. I couldn’t always appreciate it then.” You rolled your eyes. “So what brings you here Bruce? You never really liked the opera when we were kids.”

“Tastes can change can’t they?” Bruce reasoned, avoiding giving you a real answer. He should have known you would see right through him. You were always uncannily perceptive, even as kids. “Fine. I heard rumor of a murderous phantom haunting this place and I was curious.” He answered a little more honestly when you gave him a look that said you didn’t believe him. Your face went pale at his second answer.

“The phantom?” You asked fearfully.

“Don’t tell me you believe in the Phantom of the Opera.” Bruce laughed. You were always so logical, he couldn’t believe that you so suddenly developed a belief in the paranormal.

“No of course not.” You whispered lifelessly, your gaze not meeting his. “Um, excuse me Bruce. I have to go check on something. It was great catching up with you, truly.” You said hurriedly. Before Bruce could protest you rushed out of the dressing room and ran down the hall. Sensing something was terribly wrong, Bruce ran after you calling after you.

“[Y/N]! Wait! Tell me what’s wrong. I can help, whatever it is.”

“The Phantom of the Opera is here inside my mind, Bruce.” You cried. Your eyes shone with tears which Bruce wiped from your cheeks.

“What do you mean, [Y/N]?” Bruce asked searching your eyes for the answers he was looking for. You wrenched your eyes shut and shook your head.

“He’s real Bruce. The Phantom’s real and he’s always here in my head, whispering to me.” You sobbed. Bruce wrapped his arms around you and brought you to his chest, gently rocking you back and forth.

“These voices-?” Bruce started to ask before your eyes shot open and you gave him a hard look.

“You think I’m crazy. I’m not crazy! I’ve seen him Bruce and I’ll never be able to forget that grotesque deformed face. He’s killed people Bruce. You need to leave. If he finds out that you’re here with me, he’ll -” You cried, panicking. Bruce cut you off with a firm kiss. Your lips moved desperately along with his. It had been so long since you broke up that you had both forgotten what this felt like. “He’ll kill you.” You murmured against Bruce’s lips when you separated briefly. Bruce only grunted in response before reconnecting you lips.

You’re mine. Your chains are still mine. I will get rid of this suitor and I’ll teach you once and for all who you belong to.’ The Phantom’s voice hissed in your ear. Your eyes shot open, wide eyed in fear. You pushed Bruce away and fell to the floor hugging your knees to your chest.

“What is it, [Y/N]? Please talk to me. I’m here, nothing can harm you.” Bruce encouraged, taking you hands in his.

“He’ll always be there singing songs in my head.” You whimpered.

“You said yourself he’s nothing but a man.” Bruce asked. You didn’t responded and just stared blankly in front of you. The Phantom’s voice filled your head and his threats chilled you to the core. Bruce didn’t know what he could do to help you. He didn’t even know if he could help you.

Bruce stared at you searched for some sort of answer when he noticed the earrings you were wearing. He remembered you always wore them when you were younger. They were one of the few items that belonged to your mother who died when you were just a young girl. You rarely ever took them off.

“Are those your mother’s earrings?” Bruce asked bringing his finger up to your ear to get a better look at the small pearls.

“Yes. You remembered.” You smiled softly.

“[Y/N] I need you to trust me. Take the earrings off.” Bruce said. You looked up at him with the utmost trust in your eyes. You reached up and took off the earrings, feeling naked when they were both out.

To your surprise, the voices in your head ceased when you removed the earrings. You let out a sob of relief and threw the earrings to the side. You closed the distance between you and Bruce and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Take me away from this nightmare, Bruce. All I want is freedom, a world with no more night.” You sobbed against his chest. He gently ran his fingers through your soft hair and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re safe, he won’t find you ever again. Your fears are far behind you, [Y/N].” Bruce reassured you.

“Promise me.” You insisted.

“Anything.” Bruce responded immediately.

“Promise me you need me with you now and always. Promise you’ll stay beside me to hold me and hide me.” You continued. “That’s all I ask of you.”

“If you promise me something in return.” Bruce said gently intertwining his fingers with yours. “Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me with you, here beside you. Anywhere you go let me go too. [Y/N], that’s all I ask of you.” He said in return.

“Say you love me.” You prompted weakly, reaching your hand up to gently cradle his jaw. You wanted to hear the words that had been too long foreign to you.

“You know I do.” Bruce swore, leaning in and connecting your lips in a passionate kiss. No more wasted time, no more obstacles. You loved each other and you weren’t about to let each other go ever again.

So, Tuesday was @writegowrite’s birthday and I’m going to tell you why she’s such a lovely person and such a lovely author. She has always been incredibly sweet and kind, she has so many nice things to say to others, and I would adore her whether she’d written a single word or not, whether she ever writes another word. She’s a positive presence in this fandom, she always makes me feel better to see her posts on my dash, and she’s always so thoughtful and insightful about these characters we love and she has such a warm, steady feel every time I’ve spoken with her.

She is one of my favorite people in this fandom and I say that completely separate from her fic writing.

But, oh, her fic writing.  I’m absolutely in love with everything she writes, from her happier stories to the beautiful angst to the almost poetic way she can weave together words, and so I’m collecting together all the recs I’ve done for her work and I want to tell you why you should snag everything on this list and read it all and your life will be so much more fulfilled for it. (Equinox and Broken both have updated recs!)

Equinox by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin, sith!obi-wan, 9k
   During the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan and Anakin crash on a remote planet and take shelter in the ruins of a grand estate only to find they are not alone.
Home Again by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, dom/sub, light kink, 1.7k
   When Anakin’s emotions overwhelm him, Obi-Wan is always there with a firm hand and clear eye to help him find his way back from the dark.
Broken by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & rex & cast, NSFW, dark themes, sith!obi-wan, 30.8k wip
   The Twins are unstoppable enforcers of the Emperor’s will, the sun and moon that hang in the black void of his rule. It is said they are not the same age and that under their hoods they do not look alike, but they fight as one entity, silent and terrible as an eclipse in a spring sky.
Release by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, ~1k
   A quick and dirty story about quick and dirty things.
Family by lilyconrad, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & darth maul & cast, sith!obi-wan, 6.8k
   Seven years after the duel on Naboo, Obi-Wan Kenobi has turned to the dark, Maul has turned to the light, and young Anakin is caught somewhere in-between. Can Qui-Gon rescue his Padawan before it’s too late?
A Walking Shadow by lilyconrad, obi-wan & anakin & padme & luke & leia & palpatine & cast, 74.6k
   It is five years into the Empire’s ascension, an order built on the blood and bodies of the Jedi. None survived, they say, and the handsome, icy profile of Lord Vader plastered across every Imperial city leaves no room for doubt in the minds of many. But Vader knows there is at least one left, one that escaped him on Mustafar all those years ago.
The World Undone by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & maul, nsfw, sith!obi-wan, 143.3k
   Anakin Skywalker, proud symbol of the strength and purity of the Jedi Order, is the target of a strange and handsome Sith named Obi-Wan, whose only goal seems to be pulling Skywalker down into the dark with him.
The Warp and the Weft by FireflyFish, lilyconrad, obi-wan & anakin & rey & cast, 3.2k wip
   Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force. “We are all a part of the great Cosmic Force and whether we like it or not, when called, we must answer. Even if we’re dead, Anakin.”

full details + recs under the cut!

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The Other Prince + A CS Modern Royalty AU [Chapter 4]

Modern Royalty AU: HRH Prince Killian has grown up in the shadow of the crown while enduring tragedy and the burdens of being the spare to the heir. With a desire to escape his past, he agrees to play host to the visiting general’s daughter in exchange for an eventual life outside royal bounds. Moving on is never that easy though and he quickly learns that being the ‘other’ prince is even more difficult when you find yourself falling for the girl everyone wants your brother to marry.

Catch Up On Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three
Also on FF.net and AO3.

Word Count: 5,549

Okay, here’s the next Emma chapter. I’m sorry it ended up taking so long to post - life got really crazy for about a week and this took longer to finish than planned. A little more backstory here and the next chapter will be the one we’ve been waiting for :) thanks for being patient with me. The reviews and flails are all so wonderful and they make my day! As always, all rights, characters, and my soul belong to OUAT.


“So you still don’t believe me?”

Emma nearly laughed at her father’s quickly drawn conclusion as he flopped down in the seat across from her. Peeking up from the recent issue of Time magazine she’d borrowed from her mother’s bag, she found the analyzing eyes of the man who’d just asked her something of a question.

“I never said that,” she replied with a sly smirk. “Just trying to process your new level of popularity. I guess I didn’t realize how much things have changed since I’ve been gone.”

His gaze was understanding and the tiniest bit concerned, almost as if he needed to hear that she was okay with this little venture. She’d assured him she was a few times over the past couple of days and even if it wasn’t totally honest, Emma knew it was the right thing to do. Normalcy was the next step in her father’s recovery process and if being in regular communication with a few members of the royal family fell into their now typical realm of “business as usual"….well, she would just have to learn to deal with that.

"It’s not that different, Em,” he started with a raised eyebrow. “I used to tell you all the time about how I was in the active ranks with the Queen’s son years ago. We were quite good friends even back then.”

“Yeah, but you also used to say you’d help slay the imaginary dragon under my bed,” she replied, matching his expression. “You can’t blame me for questioning what sounds like the stuff of embellished fairytales, Dad.”

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anonymous asked:

What if when the Host is upset and/or nervous and begins to narrate to himself like he does, the Ipliers around him try to keep the environment around the Host as calm and positive as possible so the Host doesn't need to talk about negative things when trying to calm himself down? Both in physical looks and in their actions in general. You think Warf or Dr. Iplier would do something like that for the poor Hosty?

!! Yes!!

Warf, who is a surprisingly good artist, draws the Host’s cat or the birds singing at the window and the Host maps out the scene, describing the soft scratch of the graphite on textured paper, how occasionally Warf will twirl his bubblegum pink mustache or move a lock of hair from his face.

Dr. Iplier would gently massage the tension out of his shoulders, hands calloused but warm, humming a sweet tune under his breath. It would be somewhere the Host is comfortable so he could describe the plush seat he’s sitting on and the Doctor’s dulcet tone.

Google plays ambient videos like waves crashing against a beach, seagulls crying in the distance or the rustling of trees as the wind brushes through them. He might even pull up a Bob Ross video to paint along with, sharing his own way of relaxation with someone he considers a friend.

And Dark, in a rare showing of what one might call kindness, plays the piano, notes coiling their pretty melodies around the Host’s tongue. The piano is smooth and sleek and the ringing that usually surrounds Dark is muffled into a quiet whistle that sounds right at home with the haunting notes.

Our Cloud

Prompt: Guardian


Seated in the plush red seat across from Don Pecora, Tsuna listened to his angered rant. He kept particular attention on the overweight man’s tone and body language, but he did not have concerns over Pecora attempting to harm him. At least, not by his own hands. Tsuna didn’t miss how he was placed rather neatly in front of a large plate-glass window, his back facing the scenery displayed outside. He also knew how enraged Pecora was over his continuous refusal to integrate their Families a little more closely together. Doing so would ensure a surge in business transactions, which Pecora was lacking. But the Vongola worked alone, and the Family Alliance was mostly a truce between dozens of other Mafia Families with the Vongola—to keep in their good graces.

Pecora didn’t seem to understand the role of the Family Alliance, but that wasn’t surprising. He was incredibly stupid, especially considering why he had lured Tsuna to his mansion (with rather strict instructions that Pecora preferred he come alone). Pecora seemed a bit taken aback that Tsuna had agreed but had taken it in stride. He was seeing this as a rare opportunity to rid himself of a pest, an uncooperative rival, and probably had unattainable visions of usurping the Vongola throne for himself after the assassination was completed.

He clearly did not get what ‘most powerful Mafia Family in the world’ encompassed.

Tsuna waited calmly, discretely shifting his gaze between Pecora and the watch strapped around his wrist. Pecora did not notice his divided attention, no doubt believing this was his chance to call the Vongola Don every name under the sun before he was disposed of.

Obviously delusional.

The seconds ticked down and in the moment a bullet was meant to pass through the glass and into the back of his head, the heavy oak door flew off its hinges. Pecora halted, words dying in his throat at the figure that loomed in the doorway.

Tonfas in hand, flickering with Cloud Flames, Hibari turned a murderous stare on the petrified Pecora. Tsuna stood, stretching his arms over his head and moving aside as Hibari strode forwards. He grabbed the stammering man by his neck, bones cracking beneath his fingertips, and threw him through the broken doorway.

Pecora found himself sprawled out against blood-stained hardwood, his Mafioso prone and moving, scattered down the corridor. A gasp escaped his lips when a foot pressed down against the base of his spine with deadly pressure.

Tsuna crossed his arms over his chest, expression unimpressed. “It’s very insulting, for you to think I would be so moronic as to walk obliviously to my own death. I am not quite sure what you hoped to accomplish here, other than an impulsive grab for power and notoriety. I do not tolerate those who attempt to harm me or my family. This is your doing.”

There was a sickening crack and the man fell limp on the floor. Tsuna let out a quiet sigh and turned his chin, looking down the corridor. He did not like to kill, he despised it. But he knew it could not be helped, not when they were people like Pecora who would like nothing more to destroy him and everyone he loved.

“You didn’t kill all of them, did you?” he asked his Cloud, taking in the carnage properly for the first time.

Hibari turned to face Tsuna with a flat gaze. “What do you think?”

A quiet moan sounded from the other end of the hall, and a beaten Mafioso turned over in agony. Tsuna glanced at Hibari in amusement. “Pretty sure he got the hint after the first couple of blows.”

“Herbivores like these are imbeciles. Only a strong demonstration will teach them the full lesson,” returned Hibari. “They will be scrambling like ants to restore order to their broken hierarchy. Pecora did not get around to choosing an heir. It will be entertaining.”

“Have I ever told you how glad I am you’re on my side?”

“For now.”

There was a smirk on his lips as Hibari turned and stepped over stirring bodies, Tsuna walking beside him. Hibari had taken care of every possible threat to Tsuna’s life, all before the time the plan was meant to be executed. Tsuna knew that Hibari would never fail to protect him or the others, a barrier between them and the enemy.

Gray eyes roaming over the mission file splayed out on the glass café table, Hibari swirled the water around his glass with the straw, the ice clinking together. Ensuring that everything was in order, he closed the beige folder and slipped it into his black leather messenger bag. He shifted his stare to scan the bustling street, his ire increasing when he did not spot the two illusionists amongst an otherwise faceless crowd.

They had arranged to meet him so they could hand over their reports and finish the mission file. Hibari had finished his component of the job two hours ago, and he knew Mukuro and Chrome had already wrapped up their loose ties. They had no reasons to be late.

Hibari was just about to leave when a flash of blue caught his peripheral vision. Mukuro strode down the sidewalk, a lazy expression on his features. He caught the punch Hibari aimed at his face and said, “I’m only ten minutes late.”

“It’s disrespectful to be even a minute late,” snapped Hibari. “I should have left nine minutes ago.”

Mukuro smirked. “Am I that vexing that you would leave Chrome behind to spite me?”

Hibari stared, eyes narrowing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

It was Mukuro’s turn to become confused. He had noticed Chrome was not around when he arrived, but assumed she was either in the bathroom or ordering food from inside the restaurant. “She left before me. I couldn’t locate my portion of papers, so I had to search for them. She’s not here?”

“No. When only you arrived I thought you were delivering her report as well.”

Hibari did not feel any negative emotions from Chrome, but he was not going to rule out foul play completely. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialling the girl’s number. When she did not answer, he scowled and hung up. Mukuro frowned, brow furrowed. “She’s not responding to my mental summons either.”

Activating the app that let him track other cell phones, Hibari entered Chrome’s number. Immediately a blue dot appeared, a few blocks away from where they were. Mukuro peered over his shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”

Slipping a hand beneath Hibari’s arm, Mukuro transported them to the location. When they rematerialized, they found themselves outside of an animal shelter. Children and adults were playing with the dogs and cats tied to their cages. Sitting against the building, an armful of fluffy white, black and brown kittens in her arms, was a blissful Chrome.

Mukuro stared for a moment, his tense muscles loosening with relief. “Kufufufufu. Should have known.”

Hibari strolled across the street and Chrome looked up. Her eye widened at the sight of him, suddenly realizing where she should be. “I’m sorry—”

Her apology was cut off by a quiet yip when Hibari threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling sharply and craning her neck at an uncomfortable angle. “When you’re not holding fragile baby cats, you’re getting bitten to death. Be where you’re supposed to be and if you’re taking a detour, tell someone. Why didn’t you answer your cell phone?”

“I might have forgotten to turn on the ringer,” said Chrome sheepishly.

At the glower he directed at her, Mukuro strode forwards. “Relax, Kyoya. She got a little sidetracked—”

Hibari’s other hand shot out and planted against Mukuro’s chest. “You need to stop wasting my time and learn punctuality.”

His annoyance was clear, but beneath Chrome could feel subtle concern. She tugged on his pant leg. “I’m sorry. I should have let you know where I was. But I saw all the animals and I got so excited that I completely forgot.”

“Explains why you didn’t answer my mental summons. It’s never good to let yourself get so distracted,” said Mukuro, tone holding a rebuke.

“I’m really sorry.” Hibari did not seem completely appeased (considering he still had a grip on her short ponytail) Chrome extended a black kitten. “Would you like to hold a kitty?”

The kitten pawed at Hibari’s shirt and the Cloud gathered it into his arms with little hesitation. Chrome and Mukuro exchanged a grin, which Hibari did not miss. Running his fingers through the kitten’s fur, he glared at the two illusionists. “You’re both useless.”

“We love you too,” sang Chrome.

“Take out your reports. We’re getting the paperwork done now.”

“Here?” asked Mukuro, slightly incredulous as Hibari lowered to sit on the concrete beside Chrome.

“Yes. Get your sorry backside down here.”

Chrome was sure no other Mafioso had ever completed mission reports sitting on the ground, covered with kittens. But she was also certain there was no other Mafioso who could accomplish a feat while still looking menacing and threatening like Hibari.

The alley was narrow, and mostly dark with the exception of the pinpricks of dirty yellow light flickering feebly from streetlights, the bulbs most likely haven’t been replaced in years and miraculously still functioning. Footsteps pounded against the cracked concrete, curses and shouts echoing in the night air. The sounds were promptly cut off, one by one, until the alley was once again silent.

Stepping over the bald, tattooed body in front of him, Hibari scanned the area. There were no more thugs charging at him and he continued forwards. His gray eyes were focussed on the bent, rusted steel door at the end of the alley. When he was close enough he raised his foot and it look very little effort to dislodge it from its hinges.

After the dust had settled from the impact of the door striking against a concrete floor, he found himself in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. The four thugs lounging around hollered in shock and anger, immediately charging forwards. Hibari flicked them aside like ants, not breaking his stride.

“Ha ha, I’m glad to see you.”

Hibari did not respond, gray eyes critically studying Yamamoto’s condition. He used his tonfas to break the chains holding his wrists to a half-destroyed metal shelving unit and Yamamoto flexed them to get the feeling back. There were dark red marks indicating where the chains had restrained him, and his right eye was swollen shut, black and purple. There was a cut on his upper lip, dried blood creating a trail on his chin.

“What the hell happened?” demanded Hibari.

Yamamoto stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I was in my car, getting ready to go home, when there was a knock on my window. There was a guy asking for directions so I rolled it down so I could help him. Next thing I know I wake up in this warehouse.”

“You opened up your car to a disgusting herbivore like this,” snapped Hibari, angrily kicking a prone piercing-laden punk in the side.

Yamamoto shrugged. “I didn’t open my car—just put down the window. He looked he needed help. I wasn’t in a bad part of town, anyway.”

Hibari shook his head in disgust. “You let your guard down.”

“I did,” admitted Yamamoto. His tone made it clear he was displeased with his inability to handle a simple situation and Hibari knew he had no doubt been humiliated by the thugs. Yamamoto’s turned more sincere and sheepish as he said, “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Don’t be stupid. Let’s get out of here.”

Yamamoto retrieved his katana, which had been thrown carelessly aside after his assaulters had tied him up. The two walked out of the warehouse and down the alley. Hibari caught sight of a cut on the back of Yamamoto’s neck. It was most likely caused by the shelving he was chained to and Hibari said, “Are you up to date on your tetanus shot?”

“Yeah. Why, am I bleeding somewhere?”

Hibari caught Yamamoto’s fingers as they reached back to search for the injury that had prompted his question. “No, but there it is a wound. Don’t touch it or you’ll infect it.”

“Right. Hey, did you see my car?”

“Across the street, in a parking lot. Found the keys in one of the herbivores’ pockets.”

They reached Yamamoto’s car, which was relatively unscathed. Hibari removed the keys and slid into the driver’s seat. Having no protests, Yamamoto lowered into the passenger seat. “I guess they wanted my car to use for parts or money,” he mused.

“Or they were hoping to get some money out of you,” drawled Hibari, pointedly pulling on Yamamoto’s designer shirt, the logo stitched perfectly onto the right breast. “It’s almost ten thirty. What are you doing out here so late?”

“Oh—I wanted some chips, but we didn’t have any.” Yamamoto reached behind him and removed a plastic bag, where a jumbo bag of potato chips was nestled. “Want some?”

Hibari stared at him blankly before starting the car. He inched to the exit of the parking lot, rolling down his window slightly. He nimbly plucked the chips from Yamamoto’s grasp and tossed it out into the trash bin they passed on the edge of the sidewalk. Putting the window back up he pulled onto the street, smirking at Yamamoto’s rather scandalized expression.

“You shouldn’t put garbage like that into your body, herbivore.”

There was a light drizzle, raindrops gently pelting the world below. Ryohei tugged his gray hood further over his head to block the water, eyes roaming the empty park. Hibari was a few feet away, leaning against the metal pole of a broken lamppost. They were shrouded in shadows, only detectable by those who were paying close attention to their surroundings.

There had been news reports of a sexual harasser prowling parks at night, targeting young women out for evening strolls or returning home from work. As the police were having trouble pinpointing the location of his next attack, Ryohei and Hibari were tasked by Tsuna to bring this creep down.

The always talkative boxer was quiet, his body tense and senses on high alert. Hibari knew Ryohei was thinking of the girls in their household, of how they could be just as much at risk of being assaulted. It was a possibility that disturbed Hibari as well, of course, but instead of worrying about the what-ifs, he focussed his attention on finding and eliminating the threat.

After about an hour, Ryohei finally spoke. “Are you sure this is the right park?”

“There’s five he hasn’t staked out yet,” replied Hibari. “It’s the closest to the one he committed his last assault in.”

Ryohei nodded, though his expression remained uncertain. It was another hour before a scream sounded throughout the vast space. It was abrupt, so short that it could have been easily missed if they were not listening for such a sign. Hibari’s ears immediately pinpointed the direction the cry had come from and the two were running, charging down the path and into a small section of trees and bushes.

Halfway through the thicket there was a thick, burly man, kneeling on top of a thrashing brunette female, his hand firmly covering her mouth. He was wearing a baggy hoodie and one hand was working to undo his pants.

The man’s head snapped upwards at the sound of crunching branches, but he did not get a chance to react. Ryohei launched into a flying tackle and brought the man off of the girl. The Sun expressed his disgust with the man’s utter repulsive actions with his fists and a string of curse-laden insults.

Hibari strode forwards, hooking an arm around the sobbing female’s shoulders and bringing her to her feet. Her shirt was torn and she was covered in bruises and dirt, but they had gotten there in time. She choked out words of gratitude and Hibari made a noise of acknowledgement, watching Ryohei unleash his aggression.

When the assaulter was properly bloody Hibari acted, grabbing Ryohei by the back of his sweater and hauling him up. “You made your point,” he said quietly, feeling his back heave with hard breaths.

“Yeah…yeah,” managed Ryohei, struggling to see past his furious haze. The crying of the terrified girl snapped him out of it completely and he hurried to her side, setting a hand on her shoulder in a soothing manner. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Hibari removed his cell phone and called the police, relaying their location. He took a moment to break the criminal’s arm, his screams music to his ears. The cops arrived and took the beaten and blood-soaked man into custody. The girl refused to get into the ambulance without her two rescuers, so Hibari and Ryohei found themselves waiting into the hospital waiting room at one in the morning.

When his adrenaline died down and his mind was clear, Ryohei realized that Hibari only intervened to tell him that he had done enough. He studied the Cloud, expression speculative. Eyes locked on the newspaper, aware of Ryohei’s intent gazing, Hibari spoke up. “What?”

“You hate it when someone takes your prey away from you. Why did you let me do the brunt of the damage?”

“You needed it. Fighting is a thrill, a sport, an activity, a release, therapeutic. It can be all of these at once or only one. Depends on the person, on the fight. You were tightly wound up. If you did not fight the object of your agitation, your aggression, your anger, your emotions would remain bottled up.”

Ryohei was stunned for a brief moment by Hibari’s observation. Eventually he smiled and said, “You’re an interesting character. Thanks to the extreme, Kyoya.”

Warm affection flooded through his bonds and Hibari finally looked up from the newspaper, regarding the white-haired man. “This won’t become a habit,” he warned.

“I know. I just…I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stop thinking about the girls, about how awful it would be if this happened to them.”

“There’s a stark difference between our girls and this one,” said Hibari, gesturing in the direction where the injured female was being treated.

“What?” asked Ryohei.

“They have me.”

“Don’t you mean us?”

“No.”

But Hibari’s lips turned upwards and Ryohei rolled his eyes good-naturedly, feeling better than he had all night.

The country roads snaked across sprawling green fields, seemingly endless. Gokudera’s tinted shades protected his pale green eyes from the afternoon rays. The car was silent and the radio would have been on if he had a desire to be bitten to death while he was driving. He shifted his gaze to the rear-view mirror, adjusting it so he could glance into the backseat. Hibari had his head leaning back, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest.

Gokudera let his gaze linger before returning his attention to the road. The bright blue sky and emerald scenery was blurred by a scene flashing through his mind, replaying as if on a loop.

Finishing his meeting with Don Gemelli, he was walking down the corridor. He paused upon hearing loud voices around the corner, his name being mentioned. Being referred to as bastard spawn. Brief, obnoxious laughter followed and before he could confront them there was the familiar sound of metal hitting bone. Then there was quiet. He stayed rooted in place for a moment before venturing around the corner, where the two Mafioso were on the ground, unconscious, and Hibari disappearing out the door.

“That was a pretty ballsy move,” he said at last, his mind returning to the present. “One of those guys you clocked is the Don’s son.”

“You woke me up.”

Gokudera rolled his eyes. “You weren’t even sleeping. I could tell by the pattern of your breathing.”

“…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You knew I was in the next corridor. I could have handled those jerks myself.”

“You were too slow.”

There was a solid smack to the back of his head and Gokudera nearly drove off of the road. “Are you trying to kill us?” he snapped. “What’s your problem?”

“The second you start believing such asinine remarks is the moment I bite you to death.”

His serious tone caused Gokudera to shift his gaze briefly over his shoulder. “I don’t,” he returned. “Not anymore. It was hard, when I was younger. I never properly knew my mother, and my life up until that was a lie. I didn’t know who I was.”

“You are who you choose to be. Your past does not have to define you.”

“I know that, now. But thanks.”

Hibari made a hum of acknowledgement, Gokudera’s contentment and affection humming through their bonds. It wasn’t the first time the Cloud had punished those for slandering the Storm’s heritage, and it wouldn’t be the last.

The warm spray of the shower coated his aching muscles, Lambo leaned against the shower wall for support. As much as he wanted to spend eternity underneath the water, he finally unfurled himself and turned off the tap. He stumbled out of the stall and used a towel to pat himself dry. He flinched at the pain that tore through his limbs as he pulled on his pajamas.

He had just finished a hard, intense workout, as well as a session in utilizing and perfecting his Lightning Flames. His body wasn’t used to such physical exertion and it was furious with him. Every fiber of his being was in agony.

Lambo walked sluggishly to his room across the hall, dropping almost weightlessly into his bed. Through the haze of his exhaustion, he managed to process that there was a glass of milk on his nightstand table. With a great amount of effort, he reached for it and chugged the lukewarm contents. The glass clattered back into place and his arm fell to his side, eyes falling shut.

He was half-asleep when footsteps crossed the threshold. Cracking one eye open slightly, he saw Hibari move over to the edge of his bed. His fingers smoothed through his raven curls and the soothing action caused Lambo to let his eye fall shut again. He felt the blankets jerk and shift as Hibari covered his body and then arranged his arms and legs into a more comfortable position.

“You did well, small animal,” said Hibari softly.

The words sent a sharp flare of pride through Lambo and he tried to say thanks, but his tongue would not cooperate. He soon fell asleep completely, and when he awoke the next morning with his muscles stiff and sore, there was a bottle of pain-relieving cream waiting for him.

Hibari was cold, aloof, violent, distant and indifferent. But those who knew him best, those he allowed to be an intimate part of his life, knew there was much more to him. He was reliable and there was never any doubt if he would always be able to come through. He was protective of those he considered his own and fought for them, sometimes subtly and sometimes obviously. He did not let his family think negatively about themselves and gave his advice when he believed it was needed.

He was their Cloud Guardian, the one who would always watch over them.

Five Surprises

Chris Evans x reader (mostly between Chris and your daughter)

Warnings: literally just all fluff. like you might die from all the fluff. you’re welcome.

Words: 1.7k

All credit goes to Marvel.

Originally posted by mysharona1987

The first time Chris ever surprised your daughter, Daisy, was when she was four years old. She loved having Chris as a dad and loved hearing his stories from all the different movies he worked on. Her first words to almost everyone she met were: “Do you know Captain America? That’s my daddy!” On “Bring Your Parent to School” day, a skype call was set up so Chris could still be there and tell everyone about what he does. Nothing made Daisy happier than hearing from her dad.

On this day in particular, you and Daisy were getting ready to go pick him up from the airport. She had been talking about it non-stop and counting down the weeks and days until you got to go see him again. “Momma, hurry up! Daddy’s plane is landing soon and we’re going to get caught in traffic!” You couldn’t help but laugh from your place at the kitchen sink, doing some last minute dishes before Chris came home.

“Just let me finish these up, okay? How about you go brush your teeth and get your coat on? Bring the flowers out, too, okay?” She nodded eagerly and bounced off to the bathroom. When you heard the lock, you smiled and were nearly jumping out of your skin.

You quietly opened the front door of your home and all but jumped into Chris’s arms, peppering him with kisses and hugging the life out of him. He gave you one long kiss before setting you back on the floor and letting himself in, pulling flowers of his own from behind his back. “Where’s the bug?” He whispered.

“Bathroom.” You mouthed. He nodded and got down to his knees on the floor with his arms outstretched, flowers in hand, waiting for his daughter to come. He couldn’t help the dorky smile etched on his face, but he couldn’t find a reason to care. Both your smiles grew when you heard the bathroom door open.

“Momma, what if-,” she paused, seeing Chris. Her mouth fell open and she ran. “Daddy!” She screamed.

“Hey, bug! I got you flowers!” He said, still squeezing Daisy. She pulled from him, pushing her flowers into his face, making him laugh.

“Daddy, I got you flowers, too!”

“That’s great, let’s go put them in a vase so they can be together, okay?” Chris looked up at you and you shared a big smile.


The second time Chris surprised Daisy was at her ballet recital when she was 9 years old. She had been so discouraged that her dad couldn’t be there to see her, and skyping him before the big show was the only thing that brought a small smile on her face. “Hey, you go out there and you kick ass, okay? And don’t tell your mother what I just said,” she finally laughed. “I gotta go, bug. You’re going to do great. I’ll see you soon, I promise.” With that, Chris ended the call and you walked inside the building together to find your seats before the show began.

“You’re a great dad, you know that?” You asked him. Chris smiled and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“I try my best.” He said casually. You laughed with him and sat down in the plush red theater seats.

“You’re a great husband, too.” You said, he looked down, smiling at you before placing a kiss on your forehead. You snuggled into his side.

“Well, having a great wife helps. I love you, Y/N Evans.” You tilted your chin up, locking your lips in a kiss that melted your heart like so many times before. You pulled apart when the curtains pulled open and you watched with pure glee as Daisy’s eyes quickly scanned the audience, looking for her mother.

But when her eyes landed on Chris, not even the brightest of stars could outshine her smile.


The third time Chris surprised Daisy was when she was five days away from turning 15 years old. Following in her dad’s footsteps, she joined drama club at her new high school and going to acting workshops every Friday night. She completely invested herself into acting. Her dream was to one day star side-by-side in a movie with her dad.

One night at one of her workshops, she was given a script and was told she was only allowed to read it as she was acting it. It was a small class this night, only five or six other people, and everyone was dressed for the cold New England, February weather with big jackets and scarves and beanies.

This confused Daisy because they were inside and it wasn’t that cold in the building, but she didn’t ask. The director called up Daisy and a tall man who still hadn’t removed the scarf covering his lower face. He was wearing a pair of glasses and a blue beanie with a grey jacket and jeans.

The pair began going back and forth in lines for fifteen minutes and it was going really well, until Daisy got to one line that made her pause. “Maybe the man in front of me is someone I don’t expect,” she peered up at the man curiously. He nodded at her, signaling for her to find out who the mystery man was. She slowly and cautiously removed his scarf. She didn’t even have to remove the glasses or beanie before she burst out laughing at the sight of her dad.

Chris had been filming a long, gruesome movie in Antarctica for the past year and he hadn’t been able to find time to come home. He had told Daisy that he’d try his best to be home in time for her birthday, but not to get too excited just in case he couldn’t make it work.

But here he stood, in front of Daisy as happy tears spilled from her eyes. The audience stood up, making to clap, but instead peeling off their own disguises. Sebastian, Anthony, Scarlett, Elizabeth, and Robert all came up to the stage, embracing your daughter in a bone-crushing hug. “I knew you’d be home in time!”

“When have I ever let you down?”


The fourth, and possibly biggest surprise Chris had planned for Daisy was for her 16th birthday. “I can’t believe you got our daughter a Lexus for her birthday.” You said. Chris laughed as your daughter squealed in delight at the eggshell white car parked center squared of your driveway. A big pink bow sat on top.

“Well what were you planning on getting her?” He asked.

“Something that won’t cost half of her college fund to fix.”

“That’s what insurance is for. Besides, tell me this isn’t the happiest you’ve seen her in a while.” You finally gave in and smiled, leaning into your husband as his arms wrapped tightly around you. “No boys in there!” Chris shouted out to Daisy, who was running around the car, taking pictures of it. You gave his arm a light swat.

“Oh, like you weren’t trying to get with girls at her age!” You laughed.

“But I was respectful about it, I took them out to dinner first. I paid the bill, and then they faked nausea and I drove them home.”

“If only they knew back then that they were dumping Captain America.”

“I’m glad they dumped Captain America, I wouldn’t have found you if they hadn’t,” He pressed a kiss to your temple and you smiled, leaning further into him until you were impossible close. “This may be Daisy’s big day, but 16 years ago, you were the one that brought her into this world. I know I may not be the best father, but you are the best mother. You make the sacrifices that I can’t. I know I’m not home often, but you still always leave the light on for me. I don’t thank you enough.” You reached up to him, taking his face in your hands and pressing a long kiss to his lips, earning a loud groan of disgust from Daisy.


The fifth, and possibly the best in Daisy’s opinion, wasn’t even really a surprise. Her happiness was just equal to all of the joy Chris has brought her since the first surprise.

Daisy was distractedly straightening out her gown and her hair, making sure she looked picture perfect. Her mom and dad and all of their friends sat in one of the back rows, giving her encouraging smiles. She pulled lightly on the tassel from her cap, sending them a bright smile back. This was it. She was 18. She was finally graduating.

She had spent nearly all day doing her hair and makeup with all of her friends. Tears were shed at the thought of not seeing them every day anymore, but it was mostly a breath of relief to be out of there. “Daisy Evans.” Her head snapped up to her principal. She hadn’t even been paying attention. She took a deep breath.

She smiled brightly, walking across the stage. Despite the principal politely asking everyone to wait until the end of the ceremony to clap, loud whoops were still heard from the back of the auditorium coming from Sebastian and Anthony. You reached over, clapping a hand over each of their mouths before smiling apologetically at the people who turned to look at them.

Seb let out a quiet “woo!” making everyone in the general area start laughing hysterically. Daisy couldn’t hide the blush creeping up on her cheeks from her “uncles” antics. This wasn’t an uncommon thing, either. They did this every time she won an award from her sports or her academics. They all made sure everyone knew who Daisy was.

Daisy ran off stage, launching herself straight into you and Chris’s arms, making all of us stumble slightly backwards. We laughed nonetheless. Soon enough, everyone else piled into the hug as some laughed and some cried that Daisy was done with high school. Having known her all of her life, the “Avengers” cast became her family and they, as much as you and Chris, dreaded seeing her grow up.

“I’m proud of you, kid.” Chris mumbled into the hug.

“Me too.”

“Me three.”

“I’m more proud.”

“I’m proudest.”

“Shut up.”

Finding Home (4)

Summary: Avengers High School AU. Gender neutral reader-insert. You, the new kid, just want to be left alone. But instead, you get the Avengers gang – and maybe, a new home too.

Warnings: Cursing. Drinking / alcohol. Campfire. Tons of feels and angst. Slight ScarletVision. Mention or implications of bullying, thievery, drugs, domestic abuse, bystander effect, parental death and porn. Lots of references from the movies and a few from the comics.

Author’s Note: THIS TOOK SO LONG OMG, and it’s SO LONG. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. So, keep in mind that the backstories they mentioned here are just the backstories I come up in parallel to what they’ve experienced in the MCU, mixed only a tiny bit with their origins in the comics. I only hoped I balanced all of them well, they’re so many. Have fun with your Avengers gathering! 💖️

Finding Home: Part #1: beginning. Part #2: accusation. Part #3: restless. Part #4: coin.Part #5: haze.


4: coin

n. a flat, round piece of metal

Holy shit. Arms around yourself, you stopped pacing as a limousine – a limo, of all things – slid down the road with the ease of T’Challa and the swagger of Tony Stark, glistening beneath the orange glow of a nearby streetlight. It stopped right in front of you.

A large man in a suit stepped out from the driver’s seat, and approaching the passenger door, gave you a nod. “G’evening,” he said, then clarified your name. You bobbed your head in return, and he beamed. “Name’s Happy. Tony sent me.”

Your wide eyes swept across the length of the vehicle. “This is really unnecessary,” you said, just as he opened the back passenger door.

“Tony wanted to show off,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. You stepped inside, and sitting on the plush, black seats, you scanned its stylish and elegant interior, all black and grays and silver, and –

“Uh, hi.”

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