IMAGINE….being new to town and your first impression of Drogo, “Khal”/President of the local motorcycle club known as the Dothraki.
((I may have….got too into this…I’m not sorry haha))
y/f/s – your favorite soda/pop/they’re called something
different in England aren’t they? Or am I thinking of somewhere else?
y/l/n - your last name
You were filling up the gas tank to your vehicle when the
unmistakable rumble of motorcycles could be heard coming down the street.
Lifting your hand to shade your eyes, you looked left and right and then left
again just in time to see two dozen, if not more, bikes of different makes and
models come speeding around the corner. Your breath caught, your eyes lighting
up with curiosity, when you realized they were coming to the gas station, but your
gaze was on the man in the front of the progression.
He was wearing leather from head to toe. His boots, his
pants, and the sleeveless vest…all leather. He had bracelets on his wrists that
you immediately wanted to know the use/story of. You had always liked long
hair, and his was pulled up into a “man bun.” His legs were long and the
tightness of the leather jeans showered the power in them. He was just…a very
attractive and muscular man.
As the mc progression came to a stop, you quickly averted
your gaze and tried to hide your blush as you finished pumping and put the
nozzle back. You screwed the cap back on and closed the little “hood” to the
gas tank before grabbing your bag from off the passenger seat and heading
inside to pay.
There were two people already in line to pay so you moved to
the back of the small room and grabbed a bottle of y/f/s and a candy bar before
moving toward the cash register.
The girl behind the counter was a teenager, probably about
sixteen, and seemed to find her nails were interesting than the money behind
handed to her. She handled the transaction with the two people in front of you –
an elderly man and a woman in her late thirties or early forties – all the
while loudly, and obnoxiously, popping a piece of chewing gum.
Finally, it was your turn and you stepped up to the counter
handing over a twenty and telling the girl which pump you had used. It wasn’t
until you had finished speaking that you realized she wasn’t paying any
attention. Huffing in annoyance, you turned your head to see what she was
looking at just in time to see the biker man you had been checking out minutes
earlier open the door and step inside under the soft jingle of the bell on top
of the door.
“Hey Drogo,” the teen smirked and popped the gum once more. “We
have those smokes you like,” she pointed out, sounding proud of herself.
Drogo was staring at you, a raised brow of curiosity on his
face, as he replied to the teen with only a fleeting look and a, “Good. I’ll
come in and get some once your brother comes in.”
The girl seemed to deflate some, a scowl pulling onto her
face. “I can sell them to you,”
“You’re seventeen, last time I checked, girl. I’m not
getting anyone in trouble.” The biker chuckled and you felt your stomach
flutter. It was deep and low and so hot.
“And who are you?” he was talking to you now, and you barely managed to find a
“Y/n…my name is Y/n…Y/l/n. I’m new to town.” You tore your
gaze away and once more handed the money to the teen and told her which pump
you had used.
This time she did the transaction and then turned away,
grabbing her cell from off the counter behind her.
“Y/n Y/ln. I’ll have to keep an eye out for you.” Drogo
murmured, stepping closer to you as you went to move for the door.
You nodded, swallowing was difficult, “Alright. You do that.”
And you practically ran for the exit.
His chuckle was the last thing you heard from him.
Born in 1878, Eva Dugan worked in cabaret before being hired as a housekeeper by Andrew J. Mathis, a Pima County, Arizona, resident. For reasons unknown, Mathis fired Dugan and shortly afterwards, he disappeared, seemingly into thin air. While his home was not in disarray, his cash box as well as his car were missing. Neighbours of Mathis reported that Dugan had recently been selling some of his belongings, however, when investigators went to question her, she was nowhere to be found. An investigation into her background revealed that she had been married five times. All five husbands had inexplicably disappeared. Eventually investigators tracked Dugan down - she was working in a hospital in White Plains. On 4 March, 1927, she was extradited back to Arizona. Months later, Mathis’ slain body was discovered in a shallow grave on his land.
Dugan denied any involvement in the murder and all evidence entered into trial was purely circumstantial. The prosecution claimed that Dugan had been assisted by a teenage boy named Jack. However, Jack was never identified or found. Despite the lack of evidence, she was found guilty and sentenced to hang. While incarcerated, she permitted interviews for $1 and knitted handkerchiefs which she sold. With the money earned, she purchased her own coffin. As her execution date loomed, a rumour began to circulate that Dugan was going to end her own life as opposed to die at the gallows. The morning before her execution, a search of her cell turned up a bottle of raw ammonia as well as three razor blades. She was led to the gallows at 5AM on 21 February, 1930. The noose was tied around her neck and the trap was sprung. The executioner had misjudged the distance and the snap of the rope decapitated Dugan, with her head rolling into the group of spectators.
Following the gruesome execution, the gallows were replaced by the gas chamber, making Eva Dugan the only woman to be executed by hanging in Arizona.
kc + au where supernaturals are known & the mikaelsons are vamp royalty & caroline is their new vampire publicist :))))
Well, this got away from me a little bit.
Caroline blamed Katerina.
Staring at the vampire sitting in her office, trying to explain his reasoning for accidentally eating a few sorority girls, she ground her teeth in frustration. She didn’t particularly care that he’d eaten the girls; what she cared about was that he’d done it in public, and in front of cameras. Maybe that was a bit callous of her, but the girls had known what they were getting into.
But cameras meant that footage of the incident, and that became her problem. She really didn’t want to deal with it. In the five hundred years since humanity had become aware of the supernatural, both races had been teetering on a careful blade. In the last century, public perception had become an important part of both sides strategy to maintain the current status quo.
Which was where her office usually came in.
But tonight was supposed to be her last night after a decade of solid work. Pressing two fingers between her eyebrows, she tried to quell the headache that had started growing behind her left eyeball since Kol and delivered this idiot into her office with his familiar shit eating grin. That she’d quit that morning had seemed to bother Kol, he’d left her to the mess, whistling, that bastard.
Promising herself that she’d get a snack at her first available moment, she lowered her hand and smiled at the vampire across from her. Two hundred years older than her and coming off a blood high, whatever he saw on her face had him blanching.
“Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? This time, perhaps you’ll give me a better reason than ‘I was hungry.’”
Hours later, Caroline dragged her hand tiredly through her limp curls and tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. Three additionally emergencies had landed on her desk, and the box she’d brought in to pack the last of her things hadn’t been touched. If it hadn’t been for the fact that it had been Elijah who’d taken her resignation she’d have sworn she was being stalled.
Lips compressed, she toed off her shoes and headed to determinedly locked her office door before turning her cell phone off. The office was silent, the spells she’d demanded after listening to Kol serenade her outside the door for five hours.
If she hadn’t had a plane ticket to Bora Bora that was leaving in six hours she’d have already called Bonnie to test out long distance cursing. Kol was riding her last nerve. But that would take an explanation, and she’d had every intention of making that flight. A few weeks of beaches and cabana boys was just what she needed to keep from going on some sort of rampage.
This was particular job was supposed to just have been a temporary thing, a favor to Katerina. Her sire was finicky and a bit of a bitch, but Caroline had found herself enjoying her friendship a few decades after the whole debacle that had gotten her turned. But that had been more of Elena’s fault than anyone’s, and Caroline liked being a vampire.
Majoring in PR had been a whim, but she’d discovered she was good at it. The camera liked her and she was young enough to relate to the more modern population of humans. More importantly, when she stressed that she didn’t think of people as heards of cattle, people believed her.
So when Katerina had called her with what she’d promised had been a temporary position, just an emergency patch job until they could find someone, she’d reluctantly agreed. What Caroline never could have expected was that the family that needed someone to handle their struggling PR Team was the Originals.
That had been jarring, but Katerina had insisted that they’d mostly stay out of her way if she just did her job. Reluctantly she’d stick around, and somehow found herself still there a decade later. It did have its perks. New Orleans was a fabulous city, the pay was good, and her closet had never looked better.
If only the Mikaelson’s had actually left her alone to work as she’d been promised. It’d taken weeks before Elijah had stopped trying to offer suggestions on her spreadsheets. Rebekah was all bitch, but one who was at least mostly manageable. She liked to be considered as the saner of her siblings, and Caroline worked hard to make that angle stick.
Kol liked to fling himself into her office chairs and practice his innuendo, waiting until she was heading out before dropping the real reason he’d come by. The third time he’d left her scrambling to deal with an emergency she’d called Bonnie and had the wards on her office adjusted. Then she’d hired a minion to troll the internet looking for any mention of Kol in any capacity. And she’d incentivized the position, making the bonus dependent on avoiding bad publicity.
The first time Kol had bounced off the invisible barrier in her doorway had been a moment she honestly cherished. She hadn’t bothered to look up, had merely waved as he stared at her from the floor and gone back to work.
When Detective Joe West was charged with investigating a few of the more corrupt cops within the CCPD, he wasn’t as careful as he should have been and wound up dead, leaving his daughter in the care of his closest friend, Henry Allen, and never knowing the fate that would soon befall the Allen family.
Blaming the Families for both the corrupt cops who killed her father and the deaths of Henry and Nora Allen, Iris used her time in the system to re-invent herself in order to infiltrate the Families. From there it was a simple matter to turn them against each other, all the while rising through the ranks in the hopes of reaching the top, where she could slaughter them all and topple the empire that ruined her family.
On the night she was invited to dine with them, the night she poisoned the meal and took the antidote hours before, the particle accelerator exploded and turned every cell in her body toxic.
Iris was ecstatic … until she discovered her dear brother kidnapped, without any clues as to who had taken him or why.
She took Central’s underworld by storm, building up her power and using her resources to find the only link she had left to her childhood, only for Barry to return to her himself, lightning sparking alongside his skin and an emaciated, half-mad shadow at his back.
With Barry discarded in favor of Velocity, it was time for Iris to take a new name of her own.
She could smell them before she could hear them. Michonne tilted her
head, staring through the narrow bars of her cell. She’d been in here
for hours, nearly a day by her estimate. The cold was beginning to take
its toll. She drew her knees up, pressing them into her bare stomach,
choosing the warmth of her own body over the comfort of stretching out
her sore muscles. The concrete was brutally cold in this cell. Her
muscles were beginning to spasm. She cursed lowly under her breath,
shivering in the dark.
The Governor stood, watching her expectantly.
about my shirt?” Michonne glanced down at her sensible cotton garment.
She had borrowed it from Rick the day before, dressing for a day spent
at home instead of a day out at work.
“Take it off.” His instruction was simple. He looked at her expectantly. Michonne stood still.
“Why?” she crossed her arms over her chest.
can give it to me, or I can take it,” he took a step towards her.
Michonne realized his size in one terrifying moment. Without her sword,
without food for nearly two days, without water, without sleep, she had
no chance of overpowering him. His voice was carefully controlled,
almost pleasant. It nearly disguised the madness burning in his eyes.
Her mind raced back to the Haven, to Carl and Rick. She needed to get
back to them.
Reluctantly, she pulled the shirt over her
head, tossing it at the Governor casually. She stilled her shaking
muscles, holding his gaze without flinching.
pants,” he draped the shirt over his shoulder, his lips quirking in a
smirk. Michonne glared, but went to work, shrugging the tight pants down
her hips. She was acutely aware that Rick was the only man who had seen
her in a state of undress like this. A bizarre kind of pang shot
The Governor ambled lazily toward her. She
balked as his hands reached for her, hooking into the belt loops of her
jeans. He jerked the fabric down, nearly taking her underwear with it.
Michonne clung to it tightly, suddenly desperate. Emotions swirled
inside of her, anger and fear, and something almost murderous. The
mixture was heady. She stood dizzily before him, watching his eyes rake
over her scantily clad form.
“Not bad,” his gazed
lingered on the faint tiger stripes that her pregnancy had left on her
skin. “Not perfect,” he tilted his head as though he were studying a
portrait, “but not bad.” His fingers brushed her stomach, tracing the
lines. Michonne’s guts roiled. She swallowed hard, holding in her
disgust. The Governor watched her carefully, amused. When she refused to
react, her gave her another a self-satisfied smirk. With a final nod,
he turned, leaving her inside her cell. “I’ll see you real soon,” he
grinned at her like they were old friends, pulling the bars shut snuggly
Michonne stood, her legs shaking, whether
from rage or terror, she was not sure. Minutes dragged on, then nearly
an hour. Finally, she lowered herself to the ground, her eyes on the
cell doors. Her eyes prickled but she willed the tears back. Sadness was
counterproductive. She honed in on her anger. She stared at the bars,
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Elektra, Gwen Stacy, Kate Bishop, Peter Quill and others.
A/N: Be warned the romance will not be the center of this story, hell, it’s probably gonna take a backseat to other characters and relationships. Just enjoy this lighthearted fun fic, let the story go where it must.
Summary: Zee & The War Machines is your band, your life, your baby. Your bandmates and you are preparing for a US tour and have enlisted the help from your personal assistant Natasha Romanoff and new body guard, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes to get things ready. When James introduces you to his best friend, comic artist, Steve Rogers, you realize life could get even sweeter. But then a rumor surfaces, a rumor you started in harmless fun. Will it destroy any chance of something real with Steve or can the two of you get past it? Or will Steve just be another bump in the road?
Prompt: Proposal (via @hanzome-hasashi) I loved this prompt! Thanks for sending it in.
Like most of his best ideas, the proposal had stemmed from necessity. From the moment he stepped into Harry Winston on Fifth Avenue with Arato’s exact measurements of Erina’s ring finger, Souma knew he had to come up with something creative for three reasons.
Number one—Nakiri being Nakiri, she would say no if the proposal wasn’t up to her standards even if she wanted to marry him. And honestly, he wasn’t all that convinced that she did.
Number two—If he couldn’t best Kurokiba’s proposal to Alice or Hayama’s to Arato, those two would never let him live it down.
And number three—It was generally understood that of all their friends in the 92nd generation, he and Erina had taken the longest to get their shit together. Some, in fact, speculated that they would never have their shit together. So naturally they had to let them know that they’ve been saving the best for last.
When Souma got back to the San Francisco apartment they shared—when he wasn’t in New York, Paris, or Sydney, and she wasn’t in Tokyo, Madrid, or Vienna that is—Erina greeted him coldly, as she always did when she felt he’d been gone too long.
“Did you remember to get the mail?” she asked as she sat in her bathrobe going over the monthly expenses for Canvas, the haute cuisine paradise they’d opened together half a year ago. Her hair was up in a ponytail and still dripping from the shower.
Souma leaned down and kissed the scowl off her lips before handing her an impressive stack of letters and glossy culinary magazines.
“How was New York?” she asked, warming up gradually like a human potage.
“The A train broke down while I was heading to JFK, so I almost missed my flight back home.”
Erina scoffed. “I don’t know why you even bother with the subway.”
He shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “When in Rome, right?”
“If the Romans had Lyft they would have used it,” she quipped before turning to her cell phone that kept buzzing with emails and texts. From what she could tell, they were all variations of ‘congratulations’ and ‘have you accepted?’
“Did I win another culinary prize or something?” she asked.
“Why don’t you check in Food & Wine?”
It was one of the few magazines most Totsuki grads read religiously, so Erina supposed it might be the source of the huge fuss her entire contact list seemed to be making.
After skimming through the usual fare—hot new restaurants, pro tips, drink recipes—she came across an ever conspicuous op-ed.
“Why Marrying Nakiri Erina Would be Better than a Hundred Michelin Stars” by Yukihira Souma.
Prompt suggestion: As soon as Ed can move just a little he waits till Myrtle turns her back, snatches her cell phone and calls Oswald to come get him, because Oswald is so much the better option here.
It wasn’t the fact that he was paralysed that scared Edward: his mind was lucid enough to point out that after months of being trapped in ice, unable to even twitch a finger, his muscles would have at least lost their strength - if not atrophied.
No, what scared Edward was the realisation that he was in the hands of an obsessed fangirl who had tied him to the bed.
He didn’t think his heart had ever beaten that fast - hadn’t Edward had a better knowledge of anatomy, he would have been terrified of his ribcage being smashed open from the inside.
Maybe the gory scene would scare Myrtle away.
Sure, he had wished for recognition as the Riddler - especially from Oswald but he couldn’t afford thinking about him in that moment, his thoughts would get all jumbled and he needed to stay focused - but he had never stopped to think about the possibility that admiration could be twisted into obsession.
Edward watched Myrtle happily move around the room-turned-shrine, her pace almost dizzying after months of absolute and pure stillness; he didn’t remember her - not at all, not even after she gave him such specific coordinates to find her in his memories - but he obviously wasn’t going to tell her that.
Edward smiled around a half-grimace, nodding slowly; the stilted movement caused a shower of pinpricks to crawl under his skin - a sensation he would have normally found rather unpleasant, but that he welcomed with relief in that moment: his body was waking up.
He’d never been one to stay still - it meant being vulnerable, posing the perfect target for the bullies and his father alike. So, Edward forced himself to move.
God, but it hurt.
And his mind conveniently decided that passing out in the middle of an attemot at curling his pinky was the best course of action.
When he woke up, it was only to almost immediately faint again at the sight of the obscenely long needles protruding from his skin.
This time, giving a name to what was happening to him didn’t help much to calm down: Edward’s every single brain cell was horrified that someone would violate his body in such a way while he was unconscious.
It was the last straw.
Edward faked to agree with Myrtle’s idea, absentmindedly vomiting facts about acupuncture and its medical properties while his eyes frantically scanned the room in search of something…
Edward was reasonably convinced that he could operate it, that wasn’t what made hesitation settle in his bones - the real problem was: who would he call?
Not the GCPD, he’d end up in another prison - Arkham, probably. And if there was a place Edward never wanted to visit again, it was Gotham’s prison for the criminally insane.
He couldn’t call Barbara either: she had wanted him out of the way as much as Oswald - the only difference being that he had been momentarily useful to her and they had shamelessly exploited each other.
Edward didn’t have friends or allies.
He only had enemies and one in particular shone amidst them: Oswald.
The Penguin would definitely come to his rescue - if only to reclaim his prisoner and show the whole city that nobody escaped from the Penguin’s revenge.
It would also put Edward in a tight and risky spot, reduced to begging his former captor to escape the madwoman currently holding hin hostage.
Still, if Oswald still had feelings for him - and he must have because Edward couldn’t be the only one still reeling at the thought of him - he could play them in his favour to avoid being put on ice again.
He didn’t like the less than favourable odds but he definitely hated being tortured in his sleep.
Edward didn’t have to do much except stay awake and await a moment of distraction: despite the fuzziness of his thoughts, Oswald’s phone numbers were easy to retrieve.
Edward licked his dry lips, hands trembling as if an earthquake was happening in his marrow with the effort of holding the phone up to his ear “Help me” he whispered.
He should have expected the other man to not understand. Edward cleared his throat and pressed the phone closer to his ear “Oswald, it’s Edward. Help me. A woman.. Myrtle Jenkins.. she’s holding me captive”
“Where are you?”
So business like - it was something about Oswald he had always admired, the way he could shut down his feelings when he needed to be lucid: Edward wouldn’t have been able to do the same, that’s why he tried to avoid wasting his time with them “I don’t know” he answered “I can’t move. Can you find her?”
A long second of silence - a full one, his mind had been counting the milliseconds as they passed: one, two, three, four.. twenty.. thirty-one, thirty-two.. fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine..
“I can. See you soon, Ed”
He was so relived that he couldn’t even find it in himself the strength to be angry because Oswald wasn’t calling him the Riddler.
Since coming back to life again, Edward laughed for the first time and his muscles moved: maybe he wasn’t as lost anymore.
It had been a decent week, one she wouldn’t be complaining about for a while. Seekng as she spent most of the week away from her cell due to various renters getting her out of her personal hell. No, complaining would be bad and it would be like she was ungrateful. Which she wasn’t. The brunette was lying on her cot on her back, staring up at the ceiling of it with her knees up, one leg was crossed over the other and she was shifting them from side to side as she hummed a silent tune in her head. Her peace was interrupted by the sound of keys and the heavy door to her cell being opened. She really didn’t make a move to sit up as she opened her eyes and turned her attention to the cell door.
Stepping off the plane, Katerina smiled as she turned her cell phone back on. For the past month, she had been in the states, promoting her newest project – 13 Reasons Why. After the premiere in California, Katerina re-packed her bags and prepared for her journey back to London – and now here she was, back on the lovely UK soil. Unlocking her phone, the brunette smiled and dialed the first person that came to mind and waited for them to answer. When the voice echoed back on the other end, Kat smiled wide before speaking. “Guess who’s back.” She grinned before pausing and then speaking again. “And no, I know what day it is – but I promise you, this is not an April Fool’s joke. I just stepped off the plane back onto British soil.” Katerina promised her companion on the other end of the phone as she leaned against the airport wall, waiting for their response.
Request: Can you do like a Jin roommate thing where his roommate comes home late and Jin is was worried about her. So they have a little argument of where she has been. So Jin just kisses her to stop the argument. (The girl’s mom had cancer and she wanted to stay with her mom). Thank you!
Word Count: 1,732 words (short I know, bite me)
You were heavenly, your hair messy tied with loose strange falling into your eyes as you sleepily drink your morning tea. He saw the coffee maker going, knowing you always made him some even though you weren’t fond of the smell.
“Morning. Did you sleep well?”
“I guess, cheap mattresses tend to have loose springs. I’ll save up for a nice foam mattress. What about you?”
“Huh? Oh, I slept well.” My dreams strung together into delicate frames of you. Seeing you twirling around in a sundress, you dancing in a field of posies, waking up next to you and that bright smile of yours.
He held these images dearly; it was the only place where you saw him beyond your roommate. You never spoke in these dreams, not that he minds, your eyes spoke all the words your lips could never say.
“I made you breakfast too, it’s in the microwave.” You disappeared into your room and it was as if you never left your room again. That you, his bright daisy never appeared before him after that day.
His days became a metronome, school, work, and home. He would rush home, hoping to catch you working on a paper, or watching the last episode you missed during the week because you were too tired. He didn’t see you anymore.
Every day, you were home at 12. No words, no glances, just simply going to bed and leaving. No morning conversation, late dinners when both of you were too lazy to cook. Those nights when in his tired state, he sat down with you and watched your shows. Seeing you so immersed into the characters in our show, explaining the relationships between each character for him so he could enjoy along with you.
He caught you this morning, your face blank, dazed and confused and you didn’t mutter a word. He placed a cup of tea in front of you and you shuffled in your seat. You covered your face, just leaving the table and his body wouldn’t work. He could only stand, able to watch you retreat your room once again.
You came out, faster than a bullet and he couldn’t muster out a bye before you left him alone in the apartment.
Did you not see him suffer in your silence?
He didn’t understand what made you close yourself off from him. He went to school; the large building feeling inviting and he hoped it could distract him from you. Today, he was acting out scenes with Seohyun, one of the worst girls in his class. She was lazy, snappy, and all she cares about which party was going to tonight. Did he forget to mention she was obsessed with him?
“Oh, Jin oppa~! You look so good in this coat.”
“Do you want to start acting out the lines together or do you need time to go over the time again?”
“Oppa, aren’t you listening to me? I’m giving you a compliment and the opportunity to talk to someone like me.”
“Seohyun, we’re in class. I’m trying to learn because that’s what school is for.” She scoffed at him, turning her attention to her cell phone and he went over his lines. He was glad the professor marked individually, even if she messed up, his grade wouldn’t be affected by her. By his nature, he didn’t want her to fail when he could hear her but she was being bratty with him.
“Have you decided that I’m more important than school?”
“Go over you lines.”
“You’re really boring, oppa.” He snatched her phone, putting it in her bag across the room and handling her the script instead.
“Practice first. This is worth 25% of our grade.”
“So? As long as I have you, I won’t fail.”
“Aw, Oppa, why are you so mean today? Is something wrong?” She touched his crossed arms, pouting like a child and he turned around from her to see you watching. Your eyes were puffy and red; you quickly wiped your cheeks before looking away. He felt Seohyun’s hands grab his face, making him look at her and he saw her grin. She did this on purpose.
“Does she look sad? I wonder what happened to her.”
“You did this on purpose.”
“Why would I do that, oppa? We have a script to rehearse, right?” He crushed the rolled script in his hands as she basked her false victory and he practiced with her. She didn’t mess up, reciting every line with accuracy and he wondered. Did she actually put in the effort or was because she was acting out a love scene with him? Knowing her attitude, it was definitely the latter but he didn’t care as long as the performance was going to be excellent.
“Can we take a break?” She whined, sitting on a table and he rolled his eyes. She really does know how to act.
He went over his own lines, the thought of you sneaked its way back into his mind and he never wished so badly to be at work. Somewhere when the thoughts of you couldn’t pierce his already bleeding heart. The tears, the puffy eyes, was it him? Had he wronged you? Your actions were a maze he was hopelessly trapped in and no matter where he turned; he couldn’t find an exit.
“What is wrong with you? You’ve been messing up orders. This isn’t like you.”
“I’m sorry; I just have a lot on my plate.”
“Are you alright?” Of course, I am not. I have thoughts of my crush and her tear stained face while I simply stood there with my body, frozen and unable to chase after her.
“I think I’m fine.”
“I know you’re just saying that so you won’t let me down. It’s okay to not be fine, Jin.”
“I’m sorry, Team leader.”
“Take a break, Jin. Come back in two days, okay?”
“Thank you.” He bowed before taking off his apron and grabbing his coat. The chilly autumn night winds hit his chest and he buttoned up his coat properly, shivering at the chill air and making his way to the apartment. His mind took a trip back to you, making him want to tear his hair out.
Why can’t he escape you?
Why must his thoughts be imprisoned by you?
Why can’t he be free?
He got off the bus, walking up to the apartment and saw you sitting down with a glass of wine. He picked up the bottle, feeling it lighter than usual and he slammed down on the table.
“What the hell is your problem? Huh?”
“Are you trying to drink your problems away, Y/N?”
“What’s it to you, huh? You haven’t been in my shoes, Kim Seokjin.” It stung to hear you talk so formally with him, even though you were younger than he was. He was comfortable with you, but right now, he felt like he was suffocating. The smell of wine, the intoxicated look in your eyes but he could see the tears that were there. He could see you.
Tears down your cheeks as you threw back every sip of wine. The bottle starting to feel emptier but you were still full. Full of despair, anger, why won’t these feelings disappear like the wine did from your glass? Why won’t they just drown in the wine?
“I know that whatever you’re looking for at the bottom of the bottle isn’t there. There’s nothing there.”
“I’m sick of this.” You tossed the bottle at the wall behind Jin and he grabbed your hands.
“Y/N, what the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you see that I’m worried about you? Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
“Shut up! You’ll never understand. Mr. Perfect. Perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect life. Do you have to be a fucking show off? Huh?”
“I’m far from perfect, Y/N! I’m broken.”
“By what? You have–”
“You. It’s you. You broke me.”
“Jin–” He grabbed your face, he couldn’t stop himself. When he tasted your lips, it wasn’t the wine that made him drunk; it was you. He knew it was cliché, he knew that kissing you was something he shouldn’t do but he didn’t care. How could he control himself around you? He shut his eyes; maybe he’ll wake up from this nightmare that was dressed as a beautiful daydream.
“I just… I couldn’t let this go on and we both say things we can’t take back.”
“I understand…” You both decided to sit down and he wouldn’t look at you, the tension thick in the air. He really shouldn’t have kissed you, but he didn’t wish to take back the feeling. Your soft lips pressing against his, the heat that radiated from you two being so close, his hand against your waist. He would trade anything in the world to be able to feel like that every day.
“Can I ask what happened?”
“I guess I haven’t been myself lately, huh?” You managed to crack a grin and he returned the gesture, it’s been a while since that smile that took his heart by storm appeared.
“My mom, she’s been really sick and then, she told you she had breast cancer… And I…”
“Y/N, you don’t have to say anymore.”
“I feel like I owe it to you, Jin. I’m sorry.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You already have.”
“Jin~!” You whined and he laughed a little; it was as if you were never gone.
“What is it, Y/N?”
“C-Can you kiss me again?” He looked at you, seeing you looking down with your bottom lip caught between your teeth and you looked at him.
“I know I sound strange and maybe I’m drunk, I liked–” He didn’t hesitate, pressing his lips against yours and you tugged on his hair. He took it a step further, pulling you into his lap and you let his tongue into your mouth. He explored this new territory, prepared to claim every inch of your mouth as his. He want to claim ever part of you as his.
“I love you.” You place your hands on his cheeks, looking at him and he watched a tear trickle down your cheek.
Three months after the disappearance of Hawkmoth,
Marinette threw a party.
It was, ostensibly, to celebrate the upcoming
holiday season, but Marinette had never put so much effort into a Christmas
celebration before. To be fair, she had good reason to want to make the first
akuma-free Christmas since she was thirteen one to remember. For the first
time, she could enjoy the holidays with her family, friends, and new husband
without the looming threat of Hawkmoth’s yearly yuletide temper tantrums.
The butterfly Miraculous was safe back in Master
Fu’s hands, Nooroo was having Christmas with Plagg and Tikki, and all was as it
should have been. Marinette had filled her new home with family, friends, and
enough food to feed them all. She could not have asked for a better Christmas…
…except for the fact that her husband had been
missing all day.
Tired, Anika was thrown into a cell. They still wanted to get information out of her for what her family stole. Apparently it was an important thing they needed, or they wouldn’t have gone through the torture they delivered on her. Her left eye was sealed shut with dry blood and her lip was busted. Looking over to her right, she saw her cell mate. She was covered in scars and was missing her arm and both legs.
Turning her head towards her cell mate, she tried to scoot over to greet her. “Hi, I guess I’m your new cell mate.” Anika leaned her head back onto the wall, sighing.
When Kel had woken up to news of the Sokovia Accords she had been terrified. The Avengers were splintered and there was a new law of the land that meant she had to register or be arrested. Looking at the clock, Kel knew she was late for work and quickly turned off her cell phone. Looking around her apartment, Kel couldn’t help but began to panic, and yet at the same time the girl was frozen in fear.
Knowing that Pepper would soon start looking for her (and it was right now that she thanked God she had given her family home and not her real address in her employee paperwork), Kel quickly packed a bag with a few belongings and left the apartment. Getting into her rarely used car, Kel began to drive out of the Bronx. Kel drove for just over an hour before she pulled over on the side of the road to empty the contents of her stomach.
How can this be happening. Everyone will know who I am and any inhuman hating freak could find me. But I love my job and my life and-
Kel stopped thinking and took a deep breath, wiping her mouth off with a tissue in her car. Briefly turning her phone back on, Kel ignored the dozens of calls and texts she had missed and looked up where she could register. Finding the nearest point, she took a deep breath and fought off the tears.
Driving to the nearest registration point (about two hours away from where she currently was) Kel parked her car and nervously walked into the building. Explaining to the person at the front desk why she was there, Kel was immediately rushed into a room to sign the accords. She had to list everything about herself including her powers. Even though Kel rarely used them, it was either sign or be thrown in jail.
By the time Kel had finished filling out her registration paperwork it was late in the evening and she was being ushered into an unmarked vehicle with several other people to go to a training facility. It was there that over the next two days they would test her powers and make sure she was stable enough to be in the public eye. Not only that but she was grilled about possibly knowing the location of other inhumans. At the end of the two days, Kel was dropped off at her apartment in the Bronx, tired and feeling violated.
Going up to her apartment, she realized that she would need to get her car back. It doesn’t matter not like you ever drive it anyways. Tossing her bag on the floor by the door, Kel didn’t even notice that she had passed Stark security on her way into the building.
Going into the bathroom, Kel turned the water on as hot as it would run and stripped before stepping under the scalding stream of water. Not realizing that she had left the door unlocked to her apartment in her exhaustion.
“You’re not mad, are you?” The childish pout on that
supple mouth made it near impossible for Lydia to answer the question in an
honest fashion. There was a tinge of bitterness poisoning her heart, not a sole
trace of happiness at the thought of you accompanying Aiden on a date. Of the
countless women on campus, the egotistical werewolf had to choose you. She understood the appeal; lord
have mercy upon her soul if she didn’t empathize with the werewolf on the
tenacious allure that glowed from your celestial self like a compelling invisible
aura. Lydia had been your best friend since Kindergarten; years of sleepovers,
lavish birthday extravaganzas, shopping trips and heartbreaks under your metaphorical
belts. The connection had an electrical element, she’d been holding onto the
hope that you’d felt the magnetism but as you gushed about how attractive Aiden
was and the expectations for the date night, she could feel the hope slipping
through her fingers.
long story cut straight to the chase: 3x01 is one of my top five episodes of cpd for a lot of reasons and the fact that erin lindsay came back for jay halstead is one of them. plus i love just thinking about her headspace through the entire episode, and here we are as a result.
mentions of alcohol and drugs, as might be expected.
erin & life is fluid
erin using her sunglasses as a shield, another layer to keep halstead–not her partner, not jay–at arm’s length.
(”say what?” “that you’re no longer my partner. that you’re throwing it all away. look me in the eye and tell me it’s over.” stop. s t o p. “are you done talking?” get away before i hurt you too. “i don’t know who you are, but tell lindsay she made me a better cop… if you ever see her again.”)
(at least she didn’t get you killed.)
erin refusing to recoil from the sting of jay halstead forcing space between himself and her wreckage. (she forgets the last time he called her just lindsay.) it feels like they’re strangers again.
erin slinking back home after watching jay halstead drive away in their his 300, letting bunny press a bottle of jack into her hand and feeling it burn on the way down.
erin sleeping the afternoon away, downing a handful of pills at her mother’s insistence and they fade everything. from the dull throb of nadia to the fresh wound that sounds like his voice and tastes like his kiss.
(she misses him, she misses him, she misses him.)
“jay’s been kidnapped.”
erin hanging up on alvin and stumbling to her bathroom to be violently ill. bending over her toilet, gagging on the alcohol that burns on its way up her esophagus. the fear is c r i p p l i n g.
i just saw him, he was just here, he was fine. he has to be alive.
erin flushing the pills still clutched in her palm down the toilet when she’s done and laying on the bathroom floor to try and get her nausea under control. the tiles are cool against her cheek and they help her focus.
erin spending the remaining hours before sunrise getting sober, leaving her apartment and bunny behind to go find cheap, hot coffee and carbs to soak up the liquor that’s making it hard to see straight.
(she has maybe half a day before withdrawal kicks in from the drugs.)
erin calling for a cab to get her to the district when the gym where she showers reads seven-thirty but her hand doesn’t tremor when she hands over cash to pay the fare.
erin swallowing the bile that rises when she stands in front of the old brick building and knows that if she can’t do this, jay won’t come home.
(you’ve always been a good cop, jay. it’s us who are stronger because of our partnership. i threw that away and you’re the one suffering for it.)
erin waiting ten minutes for platt to deign to speak to her–or even glance her way. i know he’s gone, sergeant, and i’m here to bring him back.please. buzz me up.
hank’s pissed at you. don’t say i didn’t warn you.
erin being glad that she has to go alone because sitting in the 300 stops her heart in her chest, fingers wrapping around the steering wheel while she forces herself to breathe. it smells like him, carries the evidence of his presence.
(his aviators attached to the visor, a forgotten gatorade bottle in the back seat, a bag of almonds ensconced in the door since she’s not been there to move it.)
erin not feeling anything when she stares down the revolver’s barrel and demands, again, to see her partner. (there’s no point without him.) and she wins.
“she wouldn’t hand over the box without seeing her guy.” and erin realizing she’s screwed if they can’t get out before the files are checked. derek keyes knows, and he will use it against me.
erin putting herself between jay–jay–and keyes when they are forced to remain while the files are checked. (they’re probably going to die here but erin is where she wants to be.)
erin sitting close enough that her leg is pressed against jay’s and she draws off his presence for strength–of course he hadn’t broken. of course not. (he’s always been the strong one.)
erin helping jay sit up after everyone else is dead, freeing his hands. touching her stainedbloody trembling fingertips to his cheek for a moment. i’ve gotta let hank know we’re okay.
(there is pain and exhaustion, but grim relief in his eyes that she doesn’t want to look away from.)
(we’re gonna be okay. i’m not walking away from you again.)
erin sitting in the 300 after, with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a stack of cotton squares, scrubbing at the blood on her skin until there are tears in her eyes and scratches marring her flesh.
(i’m just glad it was you.)
(i should’ve been here.)
erin knowing she’ll accept hank’s terms–both of them knowing it–because it is with him that her loyalties lie, in the end, because he is always there. (bunny never was.)
erin leaving the district but not going back to her apartment that night, turning off her cell to block out bunny. she watches the sunset from the riverwalk as the shakes set in, no longer warded off by adrenaline, and when she turns around, voight is there. i almost lost him, hank.
yeah, you did. but you should know; will said that he’ll make a full recovery. come on, let’s go. you’ve gotta dry up still tonight and i expect you at work in the morning. always moving, always the sergeant, and when it counts, her father.
(hank grips the back of her neck with one hand and that’s how she knows. he accepts her decisions, no matter how painful, but the porch light will always be on to guide her home again.)
(this time it was an honest smile and green eyes and a laugh that warms her soul, her anchor in a storm, that showed her the way.)
erin having nightmares about jay’s blood smearing her skin that night, not coming off no matter how hard she scrubs, how deep she tears, as she trembles in the corner of hank’s bathroom.
when the sun dawns again, a day and a lifetime since she lashed out at her partner to keep him safe, erin is weak, nauseous, and fighting a pounding headache, but she’s never seen more clearly.