#I was playing the sims the other day and man my back was ACHING from the shitty posture I had to sit in

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

Fun fact! Apparently the text on my phone is super large- this is because I went into the accessibility setting and turned up the text size, this is because recently I tried to turn in back down and see if that would work.

Turns out when my phone text is normal size I can’t fucking see it.

In conclusion: No, no I can not see that thing.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Liability ||

Summary: When you nearly compromise The Organization on a job because of your impulsiveness, your boss August Walker decides it's time for a demotion; since you clearly still have much training ahead of you.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own August Walker or any of the other Henry Cavill characters mentioned. This is a mature and morally gray story so browse at your own discretion. Minors do not interact.

Pairing: Mafia Boss!August Walker | Hench(wo)man!You.

Warning(s): D/s dynamics, m!dom, f!sub, the relationship is probably morally gray, slapping, throat fucking, power imbalance, pet names, hair pulling, deep throating, gun play, smut with plot (I am sorry I just couldn't stop), humiliation, degradation, camera play.

Note: Oh, my God! It's finally here, first Auggie fic go boom~ 

MASTERLIST

✟

"You're out, do not call again." You sighed into the phone and momentarily shut your eyes in frustration as you kept an eye out through the window of the dingy motel that you crouched next to, trying to stay one with the darkness of the room. 

"Boss…" It had taken you risking your life to buy a new sim card just to get him to pick up your call. "Come on, the whole thing would have gone south–"

"You have been told more times than can be counted to not take matters into your own hands" your form stiffened when you noticed a man from a rival gang casually stroll by the motel as he pretended to be a passerby. Fuck. As your eyes scanned the area you realized that you were slowly getting surrounded. "If anything goes against the plans it is protocol for the team to regroup and–"

"Boss… The Angels…" Had it not been August on the line, you would have masked the panic in your voice with not much effort or hesitation. "T- They're here…" There was a brief silence.

And then;

"That's your problem now, Y/n" your throat tightened when he did not use your gang alias. "I told you" there was shuffling on his side. Sweat broke out on your skin. That meant he was done with the conversation. "You're out." 

The line went dead.

Your tongue felt swollen as you glanced at the briefcase you had put everything on the line for. 

Just to lose anyways. 

Yes, alright. Maybe you had ignored Marshall's order to abort the mission and fought off Shaw because Kent had been incompetent enough to mess up hacking the target car's engine in time. And yes, maybe you had risked exposure by following the vehicle. But the fact of the matter was, no one had died and the asset was recovered all the same. The mask that you wore on missions had ensured the protection of your identity and though anyone from your line of work could tell it was Walker's notorious Wraith, no identifiable features meant no evidence.

But no. 

How could things ever end that easily? 

Solo being the asshole that he was just had to rat about the entire ordeal to Walker. 

Okay sure, maybe you had to shake off cops because one of the men inside the car had noticed you following them. And maybe you had had to wait for the streets to cool off for the rest of the day but that did not mean you had betrayed them by running away with the asset or something! 

Even if you had gotten caught -which you never did; hence your alias-, your boss should have known that you would sooner die tortured in a shithole slammer cell than rat.

You bit your tongue as you tossed the phone on the table after breaking the sim card, watching the inevitable unfold before you with vigilant eyes that stung from the moisture accumulating behind them as you readied what little weapons that you had on hand. 

The growing tightness in your throat was tugging at the back of your oral muscle and your jaw was aching from the strength it took you not to cave into emotion. But you held your nose high and snorted at the rivals– enemies before rolling your moist eyes at them. You could not help but critique them even then because if they were trying to blend in, they were frankly doing a shit job. 

"Of course" you snickered as you got up and went to stash the briefcase in the best spot you could find. 

The Diablos had teamed up with The Angels and the irony of that was not lost on you. 

So it took the State's top two gangs -that were arch rivals under usual circumstances- to bring The Wraith down, huh?

Being young and impulsive as you were, you had pissed all the wrong people off under August's wing.  You had earned it through your knack for casual brutality which was so devastating and sickening in nature that it seemed something innate for you. 

But now that the affiliation was gone, it seemed everyone wanted a piece of the once mighty Wraith. 

You burst into a cold chuckle again. 

All these men just to try to take down one girl, huh?

Crouching behind the bed with your gun aimed at the door after you had successfully hidden the cause of your demise in the most secure spot you could find -not wanting your foes to succeed even now-, you sucked in an icy breath and braced yourself for what was coming. "Here goes" you whispered to yourself as you pushed your airpods in your ears and blasted your music through them probably one last time. 

For if these were the last minutes of your life, you wanted to go out guns blazing with your favorite tunes blocking the ugly out.

That, and the emotions that were trying to dominate your mind and crawl down your eyes in your body's attempt to deal with the overwhelming sentiments surging through your body like electricity. 

No. 

August Walker's Wraith didn't do emotions– 

Wait. 

Fuck. 

You bit your tongue as you cussed at yourself. You did not belong to anyone. 

Especially not an asshole who had the audacity to doubt your intentions even after you had submitted to him everything you had had to offer. 

Service, body, mind, soul… heart. 

Your true drive behind striving to always get the job done was only to please him. It had been for a long time at this point. And so yes, you sometimes resorted to undesirable, disobedient means to achieve the goal but it was all only to make him happy. 

Richer. 

Contrary to the popular belief which had been spread around The Organization by Solo, you did not do it to move up the hierarchy. At least, not anymore. Sure, ambition had been your initial motivation before everything but nothing in the world mattered except for Master anymore. 

… The same Master that had abandoned you when you needed him most.

A humorless snicker escaped you at the thought and you couldn't help but shake your head. At the end, you were just like all those foolish girls that had come before you in different shapes and forms, belonging to different times and contexts; discarded cold and teary eyed at a crossroads for anyone willing in the end.

You had gotten lost in your thoughts, eyes focused on the door but peripherals ignorant to your surroundings; the flashes bouncing off the windows and the smoke of dust and gas permeating the air outside. 

You lost track of the minutes and songs that passed in mere fleeting moments to you as you forced yourself to recall basically everything despite the agony that you felt. You deserved the torture. A reflection on your entire life and how futile it had turned out to be in the end was important. It was only fair.

A man had been your undoing, this sentence wasn't enough. But it was all you knew in the moment. 

You were so completely focused on denying yourself any tears that you failed to take notice of a member of The Angels slamming into the glass of one of the windows as he was obliterated with some 7mm bullets.

It was only when the door shook by getting kicked that your heart and body jumped alike; pulling you back to the present, your heart strings tugging. Your hand tightened around your weapon. This is it. Clenching your jaw tight, you stabilized your breathing and waited for the enemy to kick the door in. The thought of just how pathetically you were cornered made you snicker as you shook your head.

Only, when the door swung free and you went to press the trigger did your chuckle die in your throat. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Your heart weighed down in your chest until it was too much for your chest to hold and it let the organ fall into your stomach. 

Your breaths tightened.

The strength from your lungs drained.

Your fingers yanked the melodies away from your ears faster than you could register. 

Almost as though your body was suddenly on autopilot.

"B- Boss…?" 

The silhouette of a seething August blocked the doorway, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each pant of his breaths as his lungs churned. When his fingers roughly clawed at the switchboard to turn the lights on, his dark, glossy eyes came into your view before the rest of him did. 

The man was covered in blood as his pistol that held a metallic hue glinted in one of his hands. If you didn't know any better you would have said it seemed as though brief relief washed over his otherwise furious face when his bulging eyes finally located you in the room. Though his face instantly hardened of any emotion the moment it happened. His jaw clenched tighter as his eyebrows drew apart from each other, the cold blue of his eyes that were livid with chaos somewhat calming down while you gaped at him in shock.

The Boss never came down to the field himself. 

You had heard it had been a long time since he had last done it.

… All you had asked was for some backup.

What were you to make of this?

How–

"Kneel" oh.

But Master could. 

And he had. 

A ghost of a smile played on your lips as you rose and walked over to the middle of the room quicker than you could think, eyes wide and glassy. Your weapon slipped through your fingers the same time as when you collapsed on your knees in front of him; awaiting his next command with all the self-respect and ego you had conjured up in the last few minutes long forgotten. 

Nothing else mattered anymore. 

For Master was here.

There was no need for you to think anymore.

All that needed to be done now was to sit back and obey without question. 

August calmly walked over to you and stopped when he was towering over you, letting out an intentionally exaggerated sigh as he propped the tip of his weapon under your chin. "Liability" he had called you that the day Gus -your mentor and guardian figure in the whole organization- had finally presented you to him; The Boss, after months of trials. 

Your bottom lip wobbled with all that was cycloning through your head but you dared not speak. 

He had a way of making you feel so small and vulnerable it melted away your resolve every time.  

"Impulsive" the back of August's free hand that was covered in splatters of blood struck across your face and your head lolled to the side. "Stubborn" now your other cheek was caught in his fingers and you let your face swing free in the direction of the slap. Master was the only man who could treat you that way and you were nothing to deny him of his wishes. 

The barrel of his gun brought your chin back to the center again. "Headstrong" as another strike caused your face to sway in the same humiliating way, the knowledge that were he some other man you would have torn your revenge for treating you like this out of him sent tremors down your abdomen. 

You could but you wouldn't. 

Because it was August; the sole proprietor of your entire existence. 

The tip of his Sig Sauer brought you back in idle position again. "Non-compliant" as you received another harsh strike, you bit back your rising ire for though you submitted to him wholeheartedly, getting pushed around had never been your forte. 

But Master can do whatever he wants, you're his for treating however he desires. 

He was worthy of being worshiped.

Maybe he was the only man who deserved such service. 

And perhaps that was the reason why your hips clenched as hard as they did each time he treated you like you were nothing but part of the dirt under his shoe.

Like right now.

August centered you again and your insides threatened to boil over when you noticed that the broken door was open wide as it swayed with the gentle breeze of the night, the gap helping the guys to a perfect view of the inside of the room. 

You. 

And Master.

Whilst Syverson and Phillips had the decency -the latter probably only because you were a daughter figure to him- to look away, Solo, Shaw and Kent watched on shamelessly as they stood clutching their rifles, ready to shoot down any potential threat. 

"Disobedient" as your head lolled aside again, you felt your cheek sting just a bit harder than the other one due to the way your teeth dug in it, the gazes from outside only making it all the more worse. 

Your eyes traveled back to Master's darker, much stern ones. Fuck. You felt hot slick pool in your underwear. "Amateur" a whimper escaped you as the realization that the others could see you so vulnerable and submissive pricked the skin of your ears. "Overconfident" besides, this very personal dynamic you shared with your boss was private and none of your colleagues knew about it. So either August was ignorant of the door or he was so serious about whatever he was about to do to you, he didn't care. 

Although, since the man had an extremely vigilant nature, you doubted the former was the case. 

Which only left you with the latter conclusion… 

This time around, your face was recentered -you were never to do that yourself unless ordered to do so- not with the Sauer but with a harsh grip on your hair. "Seems to me you were not trained well enough to know your place, little girl" he had bent down to put his face in close proximity to yours, pulling you up by the grip he had on your head to meet him halfway.

Your lips fell agape as your knees burned, shaking just a little as you tried to triumph the induced Parkinson's. It was not easy to make the Wraith tremble. But championing impossibilities had always been August Walker's specialty. "Y- Yes, Master…" Cold, shaky breaths left you as you trembled under his glare. Your loins ignited to life and you couldn't help but subconsciously rock your hips against empty air. "P- Please t- teach me, Master…" You risked speaking out of turn, determined to win him back no matter what for you no longer remembered how it was like to function without him.

Without the sense of sanity and balance his commands created for you. 

And you were not willing to relearn it.

Ever. 

"Hm" August mused with obvious sarcasm. "Or," he let go of your hair and stood back up to his full height, raising the gun before pressing the cold, bloody tip to your forehead, "I could save us all a whole lot of time and just put you out of everyone's misery." His thumb moved to click the safety off, the sound flipping your stomach in the most vile of ways, none of which were concern for your wellbeing. 

"Whatever you deem fit, Master" keeping your eyes trained on him, you went on a limb and slowly moved to crane your head backwards and let the barrel crown trail between your eyebrows and down your nose. "Thank you, Master" the silent yet bright rage in his cold blue orbs caused for a shiver to run down your spine. 

Suddenly, the certainty that you were now sure to survive the night that had kindled after his arrival was extinguished just like that.

And yet, you parted your lips when the beginning of the barrel reached your mouth, sheathing it in your oral cavity and between your cheeks, the length causing them to hollow as you looked up at him. The metallic taste of the blood spatters that the Sauer was covered in caused your taste buds to sting as it further invaded your balmy cavern and the apex scratched against your throat. You tried not to cough, breathing through the nose as your hips helplessly rocked again with a mind of their own, the discomfort in the back of your mouth bringing tears to your eyes.

You were too far gone for this man. 

And there was no rationalizing or denying it.

"Now that's more like the pet I raised" your pussy clenched and you whined softly, wanting nothing more for the still seething man to take you against every surface available in the most depraved of ways. Each one that you were familiar with. "Remembering your place already, aren't you?" His now eased up breathing slowly started to clamber again as he reached for his fly with his free hand, pistoning the weapon in and out of your mouth to demonstrate how his cock was about to defile your mouth. Though you were to never move a single muscle out of turn, you could not help but bob your head along the Sauer in a horizontal fashion while your holes clenched again. 

You had come too close today. 

It could never happen again… if your boss would even allow there to be another time, that was. 

But for now, there were amends that needed making.

"Now then, what do we say?" August nearly slithered as he pulled the Sauer out of your mouth but didn't holster it, instead letting it dangle by one hand whilst the other tangled in your hair to pull you closer to his cock. 

"Want you in me, Master…" You resisted the urge to just open your mouth and move up on it.

You had angered him enough for a while. 

"Want me?" You cowered at his faux amusement that came out as a growl due to how enraged he was. 

"N- No…"

"No?" You gulped to yourself before trying again.  

"No–" you shook your head in panic, raking your mind to come up with an appropriate response. "I- I mean… N- Need you, Master…" Yes, that was certainly better. "Please…" Your bottom lip quivered as your words wavered with a pleading wanton in them. "N- Need you."

"And where do you need me?" The lack of contempt in his manner indicated that you were on the right track. Or at least somewhere near it.

"M- Mouth, M- Master…" Your nails dug into your thighs as you tried your best to hold back from touching him.

Disobedient girls didn't deserve to touch their Masters.

"And why do you need me in your mouth?" He let go of your hair to pump his monstrous girth a couple times as he stroked your cheek with the barrel of the Sauer. 

"T- To fuck my face, Master." You answered honestly, completely ignorant of how shocked Kent was at what was unfolding. 

Usually you were much more vigilant than this single minded mess you had become, but this was just the effect August had on you. 

"Is that right?" A twisted smirk made its way on his face. "And why do you need me to do such a humiliating thing to you, little girl?" You hadn't realized that your heart was thumping until its erratic beating began to put strain on your chest. 

"To be reminded of my place, Master." That seemed to finally create at least a semblance of satisfaction and your Master allowed you the tip of his cock at last. 

"And where is your place?" He waited patiently even though his body was clearly having a hard time holding back now that your warm lips circled his leaking tip. 

"Under you" you spoke through a mouthful of dick. "On my knees" you tried to kiss it to show your devotion but the puckering of your lips caused a loud suckling sound. His features twitched. "At your service, always" something else, a hungry dark, now mixed in with the bright lividness of his cold blue eyes and he grunted before pulling you closer by your hair, trailing the gun all the way down to your chest now. 

"That's right" he let go of your hair to slap your cheek before resuming his hold on the strands, grunting at the way his cock felt the vibration of his own palm from when he had struck you. "And you better remember that the next time you want to break protocol" your eyes widened in realization and hope flashed in your eyes. 

A chance. 

You tried to respond but his cock was too far into your mouth for you to be able to let out a coherent answer. Ao you chose to hum and unintentionally sent waves of pleasure all the way down to his balls. Well, all's well that ends well, right? You began to bob your head up and down with a newfound optimism, peeking up at his humongous form with pure adoration in your eyes. 

August cursed under his breath at the sight of you so submissive and comfortable in your humility. The sheer love and devotion in your eyes as your warm cavity clung to his cock, the mass of your lashes fluttering each time your face slid all the way down his length and the way his tip brushed your gag reflex with each movement, the stubble on his crotch tickling your nose as you did, it was all too much for him to handle with civility. 

"Use your hands" so he finally allowed you what you had been craving for. You felt your pussy throb when his thick veins twitched against your grainy tongue. "Go ahead, show me what you are good for" his voice was gravelly as the Sauer slipped into the neckline of your shirt and he let you feel the cold metal against your skin. 

You gladly complied, moaning at the feeling of the weapon against you, hoisting yourself further upwards on your heels as you reached for his balls with one hand and palmed them generously. Your head rotated each time you moved in on his cock, other hand working fast to pump him each time you pulled back until you were only sucking on his tip. 

"Look at you" August hooked one foot against your knee and pushed it apart to create more distance between your legs. "Maybe you should retire as solely my toy for the rest of your days, huh?" Leaving the weapon hanging from your shirt and tucked tightly in your bra, the older man clicked the safety on before clasping his fist around your throat. "You're much better at it than the job, anyway" the corners of your shoulders jutted upwards when his cock finally breached your swallow tract and tears fell from your eyes at last in thick drops at last.

Glancing up at August with your bloodshot eyes, you darted your tongue out to trace as much the circumference of his ballsack as you possibly could. He cursed heavily. "Just like that… good girl" the back of your throat was warm and even more inviting, enveloping him in such a way that an imprint of his cock appeared on your delicate skin, the ridges grazing against August's palm that pressed against it. 

Your head was now dizzy due to the lack of air but you did not care as you unplugged your mouth just enough to wheeze in as much air as you possibly could, releasing a fat wad of hot spit down the intimidating length of his cock that you pumped messily with your hand. There was a dull ache in your scalp because of the taut grip that he had on your hair. Your lungs burned. Your ears were on the verge of melting along your brain. Your jaw ticked due to his size. Your throat stretched each time he violated its inner cavity. Your pussy throbbed for attention and your abdomen pulsated painfully.

But none of it mattered. 

So long as you got to satisfy your Master, everything was bearable.  

"Fucking hell" August groused as he stilled your head in one place to reach as low as he could possibly go down the back of your oral cavity, pistoning short-paced thrusts up and down the space to fuck his orgasm out. Your trembling hands gripped his knees as you felt a strain in your jaw due to how his sack was widening it, obediently licking and sucking at his balls to the best of your ability. 

Somewhere amidst the thrusting and swallowing, your windpipe catched a drop and you coughed, further intensifying the man's pleasure as the turbulence caused a mix of your spit and his cum to spray out of your nose before it trailed down to your lips. 

August fished his phone out of his jacket and quickly snapped a shot of your state. 

Hair disheveled, mouth full of cock, red eyes full of tears that stained your flush cheeks, thick strings of drool and his seed dripping down your chin. 

"Make yourself look pretty for me" he nodded at you with a brief glance to his cock and where it connected with you. 

The camera was still trained at you when you obediently pulled him out with a gag and cough while pumping the rest of his cum out and onto your face. The flash of the lenses nearly blinded you as you looked up in the video that he was recording now, your tongue and swollen lips glistening as you painted yourself pearlescent. 

"Now, what do we say?" August panted once you were done. 

"Thank you so much f- for giving me a chance a- and fucking my face, Master" your voice was hoarse and a near whisper as you forced it out through your worked out mouth, licking your lips to collect as much of him as possible. 

"That's fucking right" he ended the video by squeezing your cheeks in his grip until your cum covered features scrunched in the most humiliating way before he landed a last slap to your cheek. 

August fixed himself up professionally like he didn't just fuck your throat into oblivion and you submissively waited on your knees, awaiting his next command. After he was satisfied with his appearance, the man wiped his hands on your jacket before he took his gun out from between your boobs and holstered it. 

"Up" raising one of his hands above his head, he snapped his fingers and allowed you the privilege of leaning on one of his arms as you scrambled up to your feet. 

A very stunned Shaw was by his side within the next second, his ears a deep, almost embarrassed red. "Retrieve the asset" the younger male awkwardly looked at your obscene state as you wordlessly nodded in the direction of the briefcase stash. "Now," August's fingers snaked around your hair again as he glanced down at you, "let's get my estranged Wraith home" your head lolled in his direction as he began to walk towards one of the many sleek black SUVs parked outside. 

"You have been demoted" he informed you once you had both settled in the backseat of one of the vehicles. August thrusted his phone in your hand. It displayed the picture that he had taken just a few minutes ago. "We will begin right from the start; the basement" your heart dropped. Oh, fuck. You had only been down there once and it was not a place where August was pleasant in any sense. And your sadistic lover was never much agreeable in the affectionate sense anyways. You definitely still had a lot to atone for. "Keep looking at this picture. I don't want your eyes off it for a second" the menace in his tone made you gulp as the humiliating picture burnt its way into your eyesockets.

A few seconds passed before you felt August's hands slip around your ass but you dared not look up to express your wonder. "Now… about that weeping little pussy of yours…" Honestly, it was hard not to notice. The stain you had made for yourself was too dark and wide for anyone to miss.  

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Thots and reblogs are much appreciated <3

Tags <3: @kittymiaow @enchantedbytomandhenry @thearcana-moonlight @lainiespicewrites @diannana @juliaorpll78 @slut-for-henry-cavill @chocolatecherryblossomsweets @sonnenbroesel @lovenewfandoms @secretdream2

[simluvbot]

Enhypen’s reaction to when you punch a guy (hyung line)

a/n: this was a request ! I said I could upload this a few days ago but due to it being my birthday and it currently being exam week I didn’t have the time to edit this so that’s why I uploaded without proofreading at first TT // ok I finished editing 😁 Jake and sunghoon’s one is so bad don’t read it pls sorry

Although as this fic includes violence I only wrote for hyung like members and not maknae line, I hope you understand

Warnings: descriptions of physical violence (punching), mentions of being in a crowd, mentions of wanting to harm others (thoughts)

+ note: this is a work of fiction and in no way am I encouraging violence ! I wrote this in a way that I thought would match the member’s personalities although this is definitely not a true depiction of the enhypen members ^^

Lee heeseung

You and heeseung had been in the library studying together for your exams, and although you both had luckily reserved a secluded spot in the library that was both quiet and spacious for your revision, it wasn’t soon before some inconsiderate assholes had decided to occupy your desk too.

There were only two of them, yet they still managed to take up over half of the table whereas you and heeseung only had one small portion to yourselves

Plus they were very noisy, and the only librarian being on the seconf floor didnt help either  😐

You and your boyfriend had both made several attempts to sheepishly ask them if they could please quieten down before the librarian came back and kicked them out and more importantly so you mad heeseung could focus ??

But they simply ignored you, paying attention to the… online games ?? They had came to the library to play???

You were starting to get very annoyed, but decided to bite your tongue and instead have you and heeseung focus on your work

But it was when one of them spilt their coffee on heeseung’s expensive   textbook and even laugh afterwards which is what you decided that you finally had it

You don’t know how it happened, but soon you were standing up and landed a solid punch on the guy’s face

Heeseung was really shocked, just as much as you at your brash movements

And he would be even more concerned for you when he sees the person you punched egret aggressive to you and start getting close in your face.

“Hey man, that’s enough.” Despite heeseung’s shock, it didn’t take him longer than second before he stood up and grabbed at the man’s arm easily after he got up close you you intimidatingly, heeseung’s strong grip preventing the stranger from hitting you back and you swear you’ve never heard heeseung’s voice so deep and authoritative before as he told the man to sit down and focus on his stupid game

Due to your own surprise at your actions, you barely payed attention to what was going on as heeseung had a polite (on his end..) whisper-argument with the two guys, packing his things up as well as yours before grabbing your hand and safely leading you out of the library

You two ended up going home where he cleaned at your busted knuckles gently, sad at the fact that you got hurt and overall bummed out at two guys who got you so worked up and that his go-to textbook got ruined ):

“Baby, why did you do that, Hm? We could have just left to another place. You could have gotten hurt if they fought back!”

More than anything, your boyfriend was upset at the idea of you potentially getting more than just a few cuts and bruises on your knuckles, and so you promised heeseung right then and there that you wouldn’t do it again

After both of you got changed into your pyjamas, you and heeseung had set up your own study area in the dining room table, where you both continued with your study session for the rest of the day, with lots of cuddles afterwards as a reward!

Park Jongseong

You and jay were walking back home and it was already dark outside as you were both walking through the streets.

Approaching a heavily crowded place outside a club which included several people under the influences, it was pretty hard for you both to squeeze through the crowd as you were walking past.

They literally were spilling onto the road.. :/

“Jay.” You gasped when you lost hold of his hand on yours, leaving you in the idle of the crowd alone. There were so many bodies around you and as you got quickly pushed to against a wall from the movements of the people you found it hard to make your way through the people who were much taller than you.

You were starting to get anxious and when someone came directly in front of you, literally ignoring you asking for them to move and plainly blocking you for no reason you started to get frustrated, adrenaline in your veins as you lost your boyfriend and wanted to get out asap before you started fo panic.

You had asked the person to please move out of the way so you could pass through and they even had the audacity to look at you and make eye contact — only to simply ignore you when you asked for the nth time for them to scoot.

So, with your anxiety peaking and frustration soaring, you punched them hard on their face as soon as they turned around, and when they went stumbling backwards you finally had enough space to escape from your trapped position against the wall.

Jay had finally found you and was right there a few steps in front of you, and you were almost reaching him when a hand pulled you back suddenly, slamming you against the wall aggressively and leading you to hit your head hard.

Jay saw the whole thing. and he was livid

He shouted at the guy and grabbed his hands in his, pushing him so he was off of you once again. Jay was so angry he literally thought he could see red. How dare a man not just refuse to let someone obviously distressed through, but to touch you and hurt you?

You had to calm him down and urged hin for you both to leave before the stranger started getting aggressive because he was already shouting at you both and some heads were turning 😟

He eventually listened to you when he saw your glossed eyes and you clutching at your aching knuckles, so gently grabbing your unhurt hand in his he swiftly led you both away from the crowd in less than a minute, face fallen and heart aching ah ):

“Hey, let me look at you. are you okay? Did that bastard hurt you a lot?”

You could tell he was still so agitated with what happened, checking at your bruised knuckles and looking a the back of your head that was starting to form a lump from the force of being pushed against the wall earlier.

“I’m so sorry, I should have held tighter. I should have brought some security guards with us today.”

You had to tell him it was okay and you defended yourself and the guy was just a jerk and can’t hurt you anymore.

Jay was still so sad at the fact that you got hurt all because he let you go accidentally for one second ): seeing you so anxious and literally in pain made him feel so bad.

He showered you in many kisses once you both got home and you had a relaxing bath together, as well as helping treat your bruise , promising for this to never happen again 🥺

Sim jaeyun

You were hanging out with your old classmates as a reunion and it was getting close to the time where Jake had said he would pick you up to take you home.

Your classmates had asked you if you had a partner and when you told them that you did, they all got instantly curious.

You of course got so excited and was ecstatic to flaunt off your talented and handsome boyfriend to them :D

So you showed them a picture of Jake, however the reaction that you were met with was not what you were expecting.

Your classmates were silent for a few moments as they looked at the photo, before one of them eventually asked,

“Oh, so that’s the guy you’re dating?”

You could see two of them exchange glances for a reason you could not possibly fathom and your heart fell to your stomach when you saw them stifing their laughter.

“What?” You asked, frowning as you looked at the photo you showed them on your phone. What was wrong with the photo?

“Oh.. nothing it’s just.. well.. he just doesn’t look like the best option..”

“It’s pretty cute actually. Of course you would end up with a guy that looks like he matches you in social level.. he’s probably a loser.”

You were so confused and the comments kept coming as they talked amongst themselves, openly criticising Jake for no reason.

You gotta admit, you never were the closest my with your classmates in the first place but still decided to agree to the meet-up for old times’ sake.

You could put up with their side glances towards you ever since you arrived because you barely cared, but when they dared talk about your boyfriend like that??

You were so angry you felt yourself almost shaking.

“Hey.” You said, standing up abruptly from your seat on the picnic table at the park you guys were hanging out at.

“Why are you insulting my boyfriend like that. What is wrong with you?”

Once again, they simply laughed in your face, seeming to think of your reaction as hilarious.

You were gonna start crying soon because the rage boiling up inside of you was reaching to the point that you were finding it hard to contain it and breathe deeply to keep calm and not cause a scene.

But they kept insulting Jake, liking watching you get angry under their gazes.

One of your classmates in particular kept offering comments, too many and you had enough - you snapped.

You punched them square in the face.

And you had done so just when you noticed Jake exiting his car right outside of the park, when it was obvious that he saw you.

You didn’t care, and in fact you started laughing almost hysterically in front of your classmates at their shocked expressions.

You were in tears because the person you punched started having a nosebleed… to you it was hilarious and you were in your own world trying to catch your breath from laughing so much until you heard your name being called.

“Y/n.” Jake said worriedly, finally reaching yoy and placing a hand on your shoulder.

He led you to his car, and after you both left and as you sat silently in the passenger seat having calmed down, you were staring to feel awkward with all the little glances Jake threw towards you ever so often.

He didn’t ask or push, instead just remaining silent and gripping at your hand you had punched your classmate with, thumb swirling over your red knuckles as he stared down at them with a bothered expression.

“Sorry.” You finally said, giving him a sheepish smile. “They just kept talking so badly about you when they found out I had a boyfriend.. I couldn’t resist.”

Jake if anything was a bit disappointed that you had reacted violently, and he was silent for a few seconds as he sat unknowing of what to say, frowning and licking his lips like a confused puppy trying to work out a solution.

“Please just don’t do it again. Violence is never okay, you should have just left. I don’t want my y/nnie getting hurt or getting into fights because of me, okay?”

You both drove back and cuddled a lot on the sofa, and Jake made sure to give your knuckles several kisses, his heart aching with the memory of what happened );

Park Sunghoon

“Ha, if it isn’t the ugly y/n.”

You bit your lip as you heard the familiar laugh of the rink bullies behind you, plainly mocking you.

“Still friends with that weirdo, park sunghoon?”

Ever since the members in the same extracurricular figure skating club had found out you were friends with sunghoon, the ice boy that they liked to torment for reasons forever unknown to you, you had soon too fallen victim to their evil teasing.

“I told you to stop making fun of sunghoon like that.” You said plainly, sighing as you sat down on a bench to undo your skates.

The group members laughed and would just not leave you alone, even going as far as sitting next to you and entering your personal space by constantly poking at your sides sharply.

And you swear to god the temptation of slashing open their faces with the bottom of your skates was very tempting—

But no, you had told sunghoon that you would meet him at the entrance of the rink to walk home together after your individual practices; and you were already running late.

“Where you going? To go see sunghoon? Huh? Go tell him that we messed with his skates so he fails in the competition.”

Your hands froze as you were tying your converses. You looked up, meeting the leader’s gaze.

“What?” You had enough. You could never understand why they had sunghoon as their punching bag. Sunghoon was used to it, not one to start arguments and the type to only keep to himself when things like this happen.

You just went along with it and followed his lead in ignoring your other club members, but them going this far to try to sabotage the performance sunghoon had been training months for? You had enough of simply doing nothing in retaliation to their bullying.

Standing up abruptly, they stood back at youe sudden movement, but not quick enough for being able to dodge the punch you swung directly on the nose of the nearest one in front of you.

“Y/n?”

Looking over to the doorframe of the changing room — there was park sunghoon.

“Sunghoon.” You said in shock, glancing over towards the group in front of you as they started guffawing at the sides of the person you punched

“Sorry, I got caught up with-“

You were just making your way speedily over towards hoon when you were pulled back by the wrist painfully.

You gasped when the force that you were let go of led you to be flung over to one side and practically topple onto the sticky matte floor.

Wincing as you landed on your wrist, you hissed at the fresh pain and the loud crack that came with it.

It was silent as everyone paused, having heard your wrist snapping as much as you had felt the pain of it.

“Y/n!” Sunghoon was at your side in an instant, pushing his way cut though the others standing around you in shock.

His pretty face was frowned with worry, eyes wide as he came in front of you, assessing your wrist without touching it.

“Let’s get out of here.” He scooped you up, and if you weren’t busy trying to breathe in and out deeply to calm yourself down after your injury, you would have been surprised at the skate bullies making space for a clear path Sunghoon to carry you through.

From all your time of knowing the talented ice boy, your skating partner and friend — you had never really seen him show much emotion apart from the small smiles and laughs he gave only to you. His long legs were able to stride quickly to a bench outside as he called an ambulance for you, a distressed expression as he meticulously cared towards you.

And gee if you breaking your wrist didn’t hurt like hell, but after all, did you regret that day? No. You finally were able to stand up to the bullies for the first time, and even more importantly — that moment had started the beginning of a new chapter for you and Sunghoon.

[dameronology]

love in the time of PTA meetings {marcus moreno} - 1/5

summary: despite what pinterest shows, being in a parent in the twenty first century is hard; especially a single parent. your kid takes up your entire life and the idea of finding a fairy tale is laughable - that is until you finally attend a p.t.a meeting and cross paths with a certain marcus moreno.  {series masterlist}

warnings: i do not have children. i don’t know children work. this written entirely what i have seen them do in the sims 4. also, swearing. 

- jazz

Leaving work early was never a good look.

Leaving work early because your child had managed to set fire to a trash can was...well, it was something else entirely.

After rushing out of a very important meeting and parking your car in a did-you-park-it-or-crash-it manner, you were sprinting across the play ground and towards the front entrance. Having given up half way through, you’d kicked your stupidly high heels off and held them in one hand, trying to organise your slightly disheveled hair as you entered the building. Most parents might have been nervous to collect their kid after a call from the principle, but this was a regular Tuesday for you. Jack was a good kid, perhaps just a little...misguided. In your books, it was impressive that a five year old had managed to discover pyrotechnics, though you sensed the school might have been a little less lenient about it. 

‘Hey!’ You greeted the principle with a smile as you breezed through the doors. 

Jack was in a chair by the front desk, a gleeful look on his face when he saw you. As far as he knew or cared, he got to go home early and watch Paw Patrol for the rest of the day. 

‘Afternoon.’ He replied. ‘You’re lucky it was only a phone call.’

‘I know, I know.’ You grumbled. ‘I’m sorry. He’s...adventurous-’

‘ - he singed off his class mate’s eyebrows!’ The principle cut you off. ‘Given Monday’s biting incident, I see it fit that Jack take the rest of the week off.’

‘Right.’ You sighed. ‘Thank you. And sorry again.’

‘I’ll email you a list of...behavioural specialists.’ He muttered.

‘There’s nothing wrong with my kid. He’s just...curious.’ You insisted. ‘C’mon, buddy. Let’s go home.’

Jack sprung up from the chair, taking your hand in his and skipping out the door beside you. Parenting had been hard enough when you’d been married, and even harder now that his dad was out of the picture. It meant that everything fell on your shoulders; school runs, packed lunches, earning money, staying sane. You barely found the time to sleep, let alone go to soccer matches or take him to extra curricular activities. It meant that the stay-at-home mums - the ones who drove minivans and had specified walking shoes and shared memes about parenting on Facebook - muttered about you. 

I heard Jack’s mum couldn’t make it to the parent-teacher association meeting because there was a divorce hearing. 

Look at the kid’s lunch! Oh the saturated fat, the horror!

What do you MEAN your five year old isn’t vegan?!

Frankly, you wanted to whack them over the head with their own damn vision boards. So what if your kid was a little rough around the edges? He’d discovered fire today! If it had been in the stone ages, that would have been impressive. The kind of thing that would have earned him a McDonald’s, had the fast food chain been around at the dawn of time. With the way things were going, paired with the fact you knew your fridge was empty, it looked like you were heading for a Happy Meal anyway. 

‘So do I get all week off?’ Jack peered up at you, tugging on your arm.

‘Yup, all week.’ You sighed. ‘But it’s not a reward, okay? It’s...’

You stopped in your tracks when you saw Marcus Moreno’s car pull up in the lot. Naturally, it was expensive and electric and perfectly between the white lines. He gave your less-than-stellar parking a frown as he breezed by - not that you noticed. Frankly, you were too busy admiring him. You saw his face more on the news than you did in person, but he was beautiful. Talk, dark, handsome and mysterious, but also...friendly and approachable. He’d held the door open for you once two years ago and that had been it for you. There had been whispers about the fact he was a widow, though you’d tried not to pay attention to them. It wasn’t anyone’s damn business. You knew he was a good dad; you’d had the chance to meet Missy when Jack had got his head stuck between the playground fence and she’d helped pull him out. She was sweet and well-behaved and clearly well brought up. Could you say the same for your own kid? Eh, parenting was all trial and error. 

‘It’s what?’ Your son’s voice dragged you back to reality. ‘Am in trouble?’

‘What?!’ You jumped at the question. ‘No, I just...’

‘Because Principle Eikner said I’d done something bad.’

A small sigh escaped your mouth; placing his backpack on the ground, you knelt down to his height, gently placing your hands on his shoulder. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong, little man. We're just gonna take a few days out to talk about the rules and what it means to do the right thing, okay?’

‘Dad always said not to listen to the rules.’

‘Your dad said a lot of things.’ You reminded him. You stood back up, offering your hand to him. ‘Let’s go home.’

After a few minutes of bartering and the promise of a McDonald’s, you finally made your way back to the car, now with Jack attached to your back. If giving him a piggy back ride meant getting home quicker, it was a price you were willing to pay, especially since the other mums were starting to arrive to pick up their kids. The parking lot was slowly filling up with minivans - compared to your decade-old Honda Civic. It had seen better days, and one too many run ins with other cars and parking lot bollards. Still, it got the job done. 

‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you!’ You froze in your tracks again. This time, it wasn’t because of Marcus Moreno’s otherworldly presence, but rather due to the sound of the resident soccer mum. 

‘Carol.’ You turned around to face her (slowly, given the five year old on your back) with a forced smile on your face. ‘Hi.’

‘I take it you’re here for the parent-teacher’s association meeting?’ She gave you a phoney grin, handing you a leaflet. ‘I know you couldn’t make the last one, because of your...d-i-v-o-r-c-e hearings.’ 

‘I can spell!’ Jack chirped from behind you.

‘It’s okay, buddy.’ You reached up to ruffle his hair, smile not faltering. ‘But yeah, you’re right. And what about it?’

‘Nothing.’ Carol quickly shook her head. ‘So you are coming to this one? It starts in ten minutes.’

Truth be told, you’d no idea there was even a meeting tonight. You usually ignored the damn things until the news letter came out, and then you could read it from the comfort of your sofa with a glass of wine. There was nothing you stopping going tonight, aside from your intense hatred for them. 

‘I wanna get home and watch South Park!’ Jack chirped from behind you.

‘I don’t - I mean...I don’t let my five year old watch South Park.’ You said. ‘He walked in on me watching it one time and...point is, yes, I’m here for the meeting!’

‘No, you’re not-’

‘- Jack, just sssh!’ 

Carol blinked in surprise, but her phoney smile returned a moment later. ‘Excellent! I’ll see you inside.’

You inwardly groaned. Why had you just done that? You fucking despised sitting in a stuffy gym for the better part of an hour, listening to the perfect mums bang on about healthy eating and limiting their kids’ internet time. You already questioned your parenting skills as it was - the meetings only made it worst. You didn’t assimilate into that crowd; they were all married, with big houses out in the ‘burbs and bank accounts that could cover their kids ever-expanding interests and activities. Meanwhile, you were living on one wage and your two-bedroom apartment had a balcony, not a back garden. If Jack wanted to go on a field trip, you usually had to save up for months. You didn’t know if you envied the other mums’ lives, but you certainly weren’t jealous of how they viewed working mums and single parents. 

‘That lady is mean.’ Jack murmured from your shoulders.

‘Yeah buddy, I know.’ You nodded. ‘Guess we’re going back to school.’

--

Lugging the kid and his bag back up the school yard and towards the building was exhausting - at least it was your work out for the week done. By the time you’d reached the gym and placed Jack back on the ground, your shoulders were aching and you were disappointed to see that the refreshments didn’t have any alcohol. Was it too late to sneak out? The fire exit was right there and-

‘- shame this thing doesn’t have any wine, huh?’ A man was stood next to you, arms folded across his chest as he stared at the luke-warm jug of coffee on the table ahead. 

Tall, dark hair, stubble and with a faint hint of expensive aftershave you pretended not to notice? Hello, Marcus Moreno. Goodbye, ability to form coherent sentences.

You blinked in surprise. ‘Yeah. I could do with a glass. Or ten.’

‘So you hate these things too, huh?’ He smiled. 

‘With a passion.’ You returned the gesture. ‘I’m only here because Carol and her Karen Committee kept muttering about me not being at the last one.’

‘Yeah, same here. I was attending an emergency meeting about nuclear arms in Vienna, but I guess this is more important.’

‘I was...’ in court, signing documents to end my marriage, ‘otherwise occupied too.’

Marcus nodded in understanding. ‘Kids alone are a full time job, huh? ‘Specially when you’re the only one who’s running around after them.’

He knew about your situation and in return, figured that you knew about his. He’d heard the whispers about the divorce and presumed that the loss of his wife had been subject to similar gossip. The environment amongst the parents was shockingly similar to high school and things got around pretty quickly. You both hated it, especially given the nature of both your circumstances; death and separation was not something other people should have been talking about. Especially when you all you wanted to do was mind your own business and raise your damn (chaotic) kid.

‘Yeah, tell me about it.’ You replied. ‘My kid is like...a baby crackhead, as well. He’s been sent home twice this week and it’s only Wednesday.’

‘Oh, Jack’s your kid?’

You let out a groan, holding your face in your hands. ‘Yeah. Famously so, apparently.’

‘No, it’s not a bad thing!’ Marcus chuckled, pulling your hands away. ‘He played a brilliant baby Jesus in the Nativity last year.’

‘Aside from when he bit one of the three wise men, yeah.’ You could feel your cheeks heating up. ‘Missy actually helped him once. She seems really...not at all like my child. Which is good.’

‘She told me about the fence incident.’ He nodded. ‘May I ask why he was shoving his head out of the school gates?’

‘He saw an interesting looking slug.’ You replied.

Your conversation was interrupted by Carol, who had now climbed up on stage. She tapped the microphone and cleared her throat, gesturing to everyone to sit down so that the meeting could start. You wanted to curse her. Whatever giddy conversation you were having with Marcus was a thousand times more interesting than the PTA. At least you could revel in the fact he didn’t want to be here either.

‘Shall we?’ Marcus gestured to two empty seats a few rows back.

‘I mean, it’s an aisle seat, which is good for a quick escape if Jack decides to be Jack,’ you nodded in agreement. ‘Hey kid, c’mon!’

Turning away from the other kids, Jack sprinted towards you, hurling himself into your lap as he sat down. You let out an oof! and a groan. He wasn’t as light as he used to be a toddler. He stayed still for a moment, tiny hands clasping yours, before he realised who you were sat next to. The kids’ impression of Marcus was not quite the same as yours - he’d only seen him on TV, with the likes of all the heroes. You couldn’t remember their names (but in your defence, they were kind of ridiculous). 

‘Are you a superhero?’ He reached up, poking Marcus in the cheek. 

‘Jack!’ You hissed. ‘You can’t-’

‘- yeah, buddy.’ Marcus ruffled his hair. ‘But it’s my day off today, so I’m doing all this boring stuff instead.’

‘Can you fly? Do you know Miracle Guy? Have you fought aliens? Do you have a super suit? Do you know Iron Man? Wait! Can I be a superhero?!’

‘No, yes, yes, no, no and maybe when you’re older.’ He counted the questions off on his fingers. ‘But for now we have to keep quiet for the meeting. That would make you a superhero.’

--

You wanted to marry Marcus Moreno.

Seriously, you wanted to marry him.

His little comment had kept Jack quiet the entire meeting. And it was a long fucking meeting indeed. The last time he’d shut up for that long was...probably before he learnt to talk. You loved he was full of curiosity and questions, but he didn’t always understand that there was a time and a place. At least now you knew what would shut him up. 

‘How does Miracle Guy fly? Is Batman real? Are you rich? Do you know Wonder Woman? How does her lasso of truth work?’

‘Jack.’ You groaned. 

You were walking out of the school now and down towards the car park. Missy was in tow, tapping away on her phone, whilst Jack trotted alongside you and Marcus. He’d been spewing questions at the poor man pretty much since the meeting had ended - and yet, he seemed happy to answer them. Excited, even. It was clear that he loved his job.

‘You gotta give Mr Moreno a break, little man.’ You said.

‘Hey, just Marcus is fine.’ He replied. 

‘Hey Just Marcus, I’m dad.’ Missy chimed from beside you, not even looking up from her phone. It was...impressive, actually.

‘I already regret buying her that.’ Marcus murmured. 

The two of you eventually reached your cars. The Civic was still terribly parked across two spaces - you were a good driver, you’d just been in a rush. The dents and scrapes all over the doors and bumper implied other wise but hey, we move. You had a thousand and one other things to save up before a new car. Putting down the deposit on a house - one you could actually own, maybe a little further out from the city - was your number one concern. Paying off your divorce attorney came after that. 

‘It was nice to meet you properly.’ You pulled your keys out your back, tugging four empty packets of crisps and three bags of gummy worms with it. 

‘I’m not done asking questions-’

‘- you gotta let Marcus go, JJ.’ You peered down at Jack. ‘Sorry. He’s a little obsessed with the Heroics, but I guess you’ve worked that one out.’

‘Can I visit your base?’ He continued, ignoring you. 

Marcus knelt down to his height, a grin on his face. ‘I’ve got a free window tomorrow afternoon. You wanna come by? Your mum tells me you’re off school for the rest of the week.’ 

‘Really?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘I mean, I’m sure he would love that but I’m at work and he’s gotta go to my mum’s.’

Your mother also doubled up as your baby-sitter. In an ideal world, you would have been able to afford a professional, but this was very much the opposite of an ideal world. It was the real world, and you were constantly juggling a thousand things at once. Never in a million years would you have changed it but there were days when you wanted to cry. When it was 9PM and Jack suddenly chimed in that he had a science project due the next day, or when he refused to eat his dinner because his chicken nuggets weren’t shaped like dinosaurs and fed them to the dog. 

Marcus looked, on the surface at least, like he had his shit together. He worked in a public facing job and he always looked put together. His car wasn’t covered in bumps and bruises and the inside probably wasn’t covered in yoghurt like yours. He seemed as though he got more than five hours sleep a night and his child was well-behaved. 

‘I’m sure we can work something out.’ He said. ‘If you give me your number, I’ll give you a call.’

‘Uh, yeah! Of course.’ He’d asked for your number. No big deal. 

You switched phones - naturally, his was much more high-tech than yours - and entered in your respective numbers. The whole thing made you admire Marcus even more; he didn’t have to have your tyrannical son over to his office, yet he offered to. He’d clearly seen how excited he’d gotten and it seemed like he’d found it endearing. 

‘Are you okay?’ Marcus asked quietly, suddenly putting his hand on your shoulder. ‘You suddenly zoned out.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You rubbed your eyes. ‘I got about three hours sleep last night. I would blame it on the terrible twos but I guess it’s the...fucking awful fives?’

He quickly turned his attention to Jack, opening the car door for him. ‘You wanna hop in? I’m just gonna talk to your mom about you visiting, yeah?’

'There’s Cheetos in the centre console!’ You called after him.

Once Marcus had shut the door, he turned around to face you. There was silence for a minute, and he just kind of...stared at you. You couldn’t read his expression or quite figure it out, but he had an eyebrow quirked and a look of...concern? Sympathy?

‘I recognise that look. It’s the help! I’m suddenly a single parent to a five year old and it feels like the world is eating me alive look.’ He said. ‘It’s the exact same one I had six years ago. Missy was about Jack’s age when...when it became just me and her.’

You softly smiled. ‘It’s not been easy.’

‘You’re doing a good job, okay?’ He gave your shoulder a light squeeze. ‘And if you ever need him off your hands for a few hours, I’ll gladly give him a tour of our headquarters.’

‘Thank you. So much, for both of those things.’ Your eyes fell to the ground. ‘It’s a refreshing change from Carol and her Pinterest boards and half-assed invitations to potlucks.’

‘God, I can’t stand all that.’ Marcus chuckled. 

‘I gotta get back now because I can see that Jack is about smush Cheetos over my break pedals but I’ll...’ you trailed off, forcing yourself to look at him and smile. ‘I’ll call you.’

‘I look forward to it.’ 

[gingersnappe-9]

Quisiera: Growing Pains (2)

Javier Peña / F!Reader; Post Narcos

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1.9K words

Summary: You have a lot on your mind. You never expected Javi to be one of them. But that's nothing a good soak can't fix, right?

Warnings: mention of loss of parent & degenerative diseases, minor depictions of sexual thoughts, minor profanity

A/N: because I'm a major dork, and no one asked, I created the floor plan for the reader's house and my friend @followwhereshegoes designed it in Sims for me. The photos are at the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Your hair blew in the wind as you drove your work-beaten Ford F-250 home. Papers from a long day of checking up on animals and livestock fluttered beneath your now empty thermos for coffee. Your head bobbed with the familiar bumps and turns of the road as you drove home. The ride wasn’t unlike it had been any other day, but as you pulled into your driveway and peaked to the left and you knew he would be there. You had known for a few weeks now that Javi had been back. On a courtesy visit for Don Jesús -- Javi’s dad -- he had mentioned his son might be returning to Texas soon. That had to have been roughly two, maybe three months ago?

You never thought you would see him again. The kid who always thought he knew best. The one who was so sure of himself and that the world was his oyster. You weren’t surprised that he didn’t recognize you though. That was Javi you grew up with. This Javier was different. It was plain to see that he carried a weight with him. Knowing the things he knew, holding on to whatever he’d done in the back of his mind now and forever. He wasn’t the bright and shiny version of Javi you once knew, but he was still as golden as ever.

As you hopped out of the car and twirled the keys on your finger, you were beyond satisfied at your decision to postpone your reunion with Javi. Crossing the threshold of your house you recalled how panicked he looked. The quick flashes of “oh shit” in his eyes before he masked his uncertainty with precision and a charming smile. To others, he played it off fine, but you knew Javi before he was Agent Peña. You’d practically grown up with him so you were privy to those subtle tells.

Javi’s abuelos moved to be closer to their son and his family. His grandparents and your parents met in English class after they moved to America and the families stayed close ever since. Javi’s family was from Mexico, and yours came from Colombia. Each of your tíos and tías helped watch and raise you and your primos. While most of your blood relatives were still in Colombia, you loved your found family here in the States. All of the birthdays spent in one another’s backyards with copious amounts of candy that came pouring out of piñatas. Big Christmas gatherings with mountains of food like ponche, pozole verde, and dulcitos like your favorite manjar blanco. Above all, you remember the laughter.

You laughed so much as a child. Someone could look at you in such a way and you would have burst out into a fit of giggles and happy squeals. It was a bittersweet thing to recall. Things were just… different now. You grew up. Life changed, you certainly had.

This was the home your parents had built not too long after they came to America. You still felt like a little kid playing house sometimes. Being the sole occupant felt strange after the years you spent growing up with the place bursting with laughter, people, and above all love. But life changed. Your mother had died of a heart attack the year before you finished vet school. Ten years back, your father was diagnosed with early onset dementia and it was left to you to make the hard decision of placing him in a nursing home. You couldn’t care for him with the hours you worked at the clinic, and you didn’t think your heart could bear seeing the man you admired slowly fade away. It made you feel awful to admit, but there was only so much a heart could take. It could’ve been different if you still had your mamá, but it was just you.

Your body hitched a bit as you bent over to pull the dirt caked boots off your feet. Growing up is fun, they said. They never mentioned anything about rapid onset aches and pains once you passed thirty. You loved being a vet, you loved taking care of horses and all manner of livestock; being there for the folks who relied on you, but man alive was it taxing on the body.

As you padded your way into the study just to the left of the front door, you dropped the excess paperwork and lunch pale on your desk; your boots onto the old mat so as to not spread anymore dirt in the house. Trying your best to properly file away your paperwork, billing receipts and lists of future visits, you found your mind wandering back to Javier.

The wonderful way his bone structure had sharpened with age. Yeah he was a good looking teenage boy -- a bit on the thin side, but strong in body and mind -- but this version of Javi was a stud. His skin was naturally tanner than some, but it was even more bronzed by the sun from his time down in Colombia. A man with strong looking hands that wrapped the circumference of the tumbler glass filled with neat whiskey meanwhile yours could only manage to get around halfway. You were extremely annoyed at how he could pull off a damn mustache without looking like a creep. Finding that you were spending far too much time thinking about Javier Peña rather than getting your ass ready for bed, you set off on your nightly routine.

Pushing yourself up and out of the desk chair was more tiresome than you would have liked to admit, but not impossible. You then opened the door that led into your bedroom. It still felt a bit weird to call it your bedroom after all this time.

You had redecorated the place to your tastes. The main bedroom now had a beautiful four post bed with pleated gossamer drapes around the posts. The warm wood bureau and doors matched the deep trim of the window sills and frames throughout the house. You removed your everyday jewelry and placed them in the little wooden dishes you had bought in Colombia the last time you visited. You had just turned twenty two then, and didn’t care to remember how old you were now. Admiring the fine artistry of the delicately carved lines and lacquered scenery of a village always brought back fine memories, summers spent in a home away from home. Peeling off your work clothes proved a bit more challenging now that your muscles and bones had started to stiffen from the wear of the workday. You walked into your bathroom as naked as the day you were born, a small perk of having moved into the main bedroom since it had an ensuite bathroom.

After the long day, a shower just didn’t seem like it was going to cut it. You pivoted to the left and began to draw a steaming hot bath. A few drops of essential oil were splashed into the piping hot water. Your abuelita did always say, “Medicina cuando la necesita, pero los remedios naturales siempre son los mejores.”

Medicine when you need it, but natural remedies are always best.

Once the tub was filled as high as it could go and still accommodate your body, the taps were shut off, and you slipped into the warm bliss. The water worked its magic while you turned on a small radio that sat on the windowsill. It was tuned in to some station based in Mexico that always played música rancheras. You were a self-proclaimed “old soul” and loved your parents' generational music. It was a not-so-guilty-pleasure for you. Even when you were younger, some of the other kids made fun of you for not liking the more modern music. But your mom always reassured you it was because you were un romántico. A romantic.

The soulful melodies and elegant guitar echoed through the steam from the bath as your aches and pains were softly pulled from your bones. The sky outside the window was a dusty pink muddled with orange. The heat from the bath was wonderful. Your mind wandered ever farther as you sunk deeper into relaxation. Tonight was one of those evenings you imagined someone else in the tub with you, it was one of the reasons you’d thrown in a couple extra bucks when you redid the bathroom. You imagined leaning against their chest, them running their hands up and down the inner part of your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you wanted their touch the most.

Big and strong hands. Ones that weren’t afraid to leave an imprint, a reminder of their presence. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of them gently pressing and squeezing into your thighs, chest, and hips. The fantasy completed itself when you put a face to this mystery man.

Warm brown eyes, a well-defined jaw, somewhat pouty lips that practically begged you to kiss them with a fucking mustache of all things. You imagined the sound of his voice right next to your ear, whispering dirty things while he continued to paw at your body with confidence. The fresh recall of your most recent conversation made the day dream seem all the more real. It was intimate, enticing. You hadn't had any real boyfriend in a while and with the luscious way the water lapped over your skin, you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together unconsciously as his conjured words echoed in your mind.

You feel so soft, Armorsita. Do you like when I touch you here, baby? Oh, you do. I can tell. Mi dama. Tell me. Tell me how much you like it, how much you love being mine. Let me have you, all of you. Let me show you just how much I love touching you right…

Your mind snapped back when your head slipped from its perch on the back of the tub. The room felt steamier than it had before even as the water temperature had dipped to lukewarm.

Was I really just fantasizing about Javier Peña of all people?

It was official then. You needed to get into bed and sleep off whatever delusions these were and come back to reality.

Fully washed and dried, you finished your routine by lathering yourself in your favorite lavender body lotion. Your body felt much better without the thin layer of Texas dust smothering your skin. Something different, however, clouded your mind, or rather, someone. It was a bit alarming how easily Javier permeated your idle thoughts. The encounter suddenly became very clear.

Why did you say goodnight as sultry as you did? Was that even sultry? Why do I keep thinking about it being “sultry”?

Your mind recalled the brief moment your lips touched his cheek. It wasn’t unlike any other time you kissed a friend goodbye. You’d been doing it forever. It was how you said goodbye. You knew that, and so did he. So why did it carve out its own special place in your mind? Why were the sensations so clear and vidid? Why did you so badly want to do it again and again without pause?

Of course your mind would fixate on the person who had just recently come back into your life. It was only natural. Humans are designed to notice differences. It’s a survival technique. To pay attention to possible threats. And you had yet to make up your mind if you considered this version of Javier Peña a friend or foe.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @betti-book @mcueveryday @athalien

[iron-mum]

My Spider Sense is Shinglin’

By @iron-mum and @geekinthecorner for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange 

Rating: General

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark (Brief appearances from Stephen Strange, Helen Cho and Bruce Banner)

Summary: 

“You feeling okay, bud?” He said, racing over and helping the teen disentangle his legs from the blanket. “A little,” Peter lied badly, unsure why he’d even bothered trying. Even his greatest attempts at white lies couldn’t get past his mentor. He’d grown to know the kid and his antics exceptionally well. “You wanna try that again with less understatements?” “Headache.” Peter started, pausing for just a moment. Tony had lingered just to see if anymore was going to come before standing up, with the intention of heading to the kitchen. He’d barely lifted his leg to take the first step when... “Spidey Sense still tingling… Not hungry… Hot.”

or: Peter mistakes shingles for a pulled muscles and suffers miserably.

Tony had a knack for knowing when something was wrong. An ingrained intuition from the copious amounts of people he had met in his lifetime had led to some pretty nifty bullshit detecting skills. The genius paid attention far more than he was given credit for, particularly when it came to the few people he held closest and dearest. Peter was adamant that if he were a Sim he would have the perceptive and observant trait, albeit his chance of learning something new from a socialisation being higher than the thirty-five percent the game offered. The duo had settled for a solid seventy percent.

So, when the very intern who praised his observational skills barely uttered more than a greeting upon sheepishly entering the lab, Tony knew something was up. Peter who was usually all beaming, charismatic grins and energetic pacing on the floor—or ceiling— had been sat in the same spot for almost an hour or so, features so tense it looked unnatural. Initially, the older man had made subtle changes to the environment they were in, lowering the music a notch and dimming the lights ever so slightly in an effort to decipher the discomfort the kid was apparently unwilling to discuss. All had proven unsuccessful.

“You okay, buddy?” Tony questioned softly, when he noticed the teen wince and wriggle from his seated position. The deciphering had been going on all morning so all that had been left was tackling the issue head on. Rather than answering, Peter put the pen down that he’d been aimlessly playing with and cupped his face in his hands, breathing harsher than usual.

“My Spider Sense has just been really acting up all day,” he hesitantly replied as he heard his mentor’s steps draw closer. “It’s been getting more uncomfortable as the day progressed.”

A cool hand tentatively cupped his neck before manoeuvring to the left shoulder and offering a comforting squeeze. Peter instantly wished the soothing touch to his skin lasted longer than the few seconds it had, an involuntary whine escaping his lips as he fought to not cry there and then at how glorious it had been.

Alarm bells were ringing in his mentor’s head instantaneously. An admission of discomfort was rare and not something to be taken lightly when coming from someone who could easily make jokes about being stabbed or hit by a truck. That in addition to a sound that resembled a small baby animal in distress had Tony’s mind in overdrive.

“You’re feeling a little peaky. Why don’t we call it a day for lab time and go up to the penthouse?” Tony offered, mentally chastising the potential for Parker luck to strike at this very moment. The kid’s aunt was away for a week with training and Pepper was abroad for international meetings. Not that he didn’t want to look after Peter, the mechanic just immediately felt awkward and three thousand percent out of his league at the prospect. There was a small sigh of relief when Peter finally meandered off his chair, the duo slowly making their way towards the elevator. The older man’s hand remained on the kid’s shoulder, thumb occasionally rubbing the teen’s neck as he seemed to be enjoying the movement.

“You take a seat on the couch, I’ll fix us up some snacks,” Tony directed as he watched Peter totter across the room before sluggishly flopping onto the sofa, one arm immediately resting over his eyes whilst the other lay across his chest and holding his left side. There had barely been a hum of acknowledgement.

Peter felt absolutely, fudging dreadful. His stomach growled in hunger as a reminder that he’d waited far too long to eat but his appetite was completely shot. Almost like his mind had dissociated from the basic needs it required. All he could concentrate on was not succumbing to the pain in his flank which at this rate had gone from dull ache to a thousand knives piercing him over and over.

Not wanting to eat and feeling like the worst human possible for not telling his mentor to stop the food preparation, Peter opted for feigning to be asleep. A difficult task in itself considering the spikes of pins and needles he’d been feeling. Amidst the all-over-body irritation was a very prominent, localised pain to his left side. The teen had put it down to a pulled muscle as he had been patrolling a lot more vigorously than usual with the school break now in full swing. Nice one, Parker.

The self diagnosis Peter provided himself meant that he’d been reluctant to mention anything to Tony prior, not wanting to be a burden over something that should have been trivial. His mentor did always seem to be dealing with more than enough on his plate anyway. With a small shiver at the feeling of bugs crawling across his skin, Peter began to second guess not providing Mr. Stark with all the details of his symptoms. After what seemed like a moment’s hesitation, a soft material was being draped over him.

Tony had clearly fallen for the fake sleeping act. Or was just too polite to call him out on it . Allowing Peter the whole sofa, he slid an armchair across so he was within close proximity to the kid and pulled out a Stark Tablet ensuring the brightness was low. The genius had used the settings on the tablet to dim the room and ensure no one disturbed them.

The teen could hear the tablets gentle thrum, the sound of Tony’s fingers delicately touching the pad and his steady, calming heartbeat. His breathing was soft and gentle, a steady tempo that Peter found himself trying to follow. He eventually yielded to drowsiness and found himself slowly falling into darkness, hoping he’d feel better after a nap.

Peter’s wake up had been particularly violent. The teen shot up after feeling an excruciating sting in his side, skin feeling like he was literally on fire. He’d swiftly fallen backwards into the cushions, mind still catching up with the body, leaving him with a sense of disorientation and overwhelmingly lightheaded. Tony was at his side within seconds, clearly just returning from the bathroom, a flare of panic in his eyes.

“You feeling okay, bud?” He said, racing over and helping the teen disentangle his legs from the blanket.

“A little,” Peter lied badly, unsure why he’d even bothered trying. Even his greatest attempts at white lies couldn’t get past his mentor. He’d grown to know the kid and his antics exceptionally well.

“You wanna try that again with less understatements?”

“Headache,” Peter started, pausing for just a moment. Tony had lingered just to see if anymore was going to come before standing up, with the intention of heading to the kitchen. He’d barely lifted his leg to take the first step when...

“Spidey Sense still tingling… Not hungry… Hot.”

“The day you’re not hungry is the day the whole country falls apart,” Tony frowned as he headed to the kitchen and ran the tap. A full glass of water and wrung out flannel later he was back at Peter’s side and very carefully helping him to sit up, the sway and unease in the teen’s movements evident.

The thought of water had Peter feeling nauseous but he knew this wasn’t something his mentor was going to back down on. He held the glass in his hands, leaving it on his lap for a moment and enjoying the cold temperature on his fingertips. The older man carefully placed the flannel on his neck and boy, was it heavenly. A final moment of discomfort dissipated and the relief was overwhelming.

“Peter?” Tony asked, tone full of a parental tone that Peter had only thought he’d ever hear from his Aunt. The flannel was off of his neck and wiping away the sweat from his face, a thumb underneath the cloth carefully gliding under his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” burst out of his lips before he could stop it when he registered the way his face had crumpled, just about holding in the tears. “I don’t want to be sick.”

"Come here, kid," his mentor offered soothingly and quietly, knowing that when Peter was this burnt out, a sensory overload could creep in and take over at any minute. And that was the last thing he needed added to the mix of symptoms. Tony placed the flannel down and took the glass from tremoring hands before opening his arms.

Peter complied, leaning into Tony, his face buried into the older man’s shoulder as one of his hands clutched tightly onto the rock band themed t-shirt. His body let out a long, shuddering breath no longer able to keep it in through fear his lungs would burst. It was a bittersweet mixture of relief and excruciating stabbing in his side again.

"I’ve got you, buddy. Nice slow, breaths for me. I’ve got you." Tony’s arms were wrapped around him tightly now, a strong grip that left him feeling protected and grounded. One hand found its way in the teen’s hair and started to massage the scalp, occasionally lifting the curls and allowing them to ping back.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” the teen mumbled, face not wanting to leave from its smushed position in the older man’s t-shirt.

Acting on an instinct he had been aggressively repressing, Tony simply tilted his head down and pressed a kiss into Peter’s hair in response. All those years of being so abundantly sure he’d never had kids were well and truly buried in the past. It wasn’t necessarily that he’d disliked children or wanted to be tied down to a miniature version of himself, fragile and requiring a dependant who could at least look after themselves which wasn’t one of his strongest traits. But he also had a terrible fear of failing. Of being like Howard.  

Whilst he knew he didn’t have it in himself to be so ruthless and cruel, it troubled him to no end. And even when Peter Parker had come along and wormed his way into his life in all the best kinds of ways. It had taken time to acknowledge the level of care he’d had. This young, endearing, little shit had Tony wanting to give him his all. Hell, the more weekends they’d spent together the more sure he was that Peter would in fact be his legacy. A part of his small circle of friends who he trusted like family and would fiercely protect at all costs. And despite the pair not seeming to be aware of how close their bond was, a majority of their nearest and dearest could spot it from a mile away whilst being blindfolded.

“You wanna tell me when you started feeling this funk? Do I need to speak with Helen?” Tony questioned when Peter pulled away.

“I pulled a muscle on my left side a few days ago and kinda felt off since then. The tingling has been the same, but like initially it was on and off. Sometimes it was on par with that time Vulture dropped a warehouse on me and the next, like that time I entered the building on fire to save Tiddles the tortoise. Or that time I got road rash after being dragged by a van down fifth street. Or that time Tiddles took a chunk out of my finger.”

“Alright. I’m going to be honest. That's a lot to unpack, kid,” Tony remarked when he’d managed to metaphorically pick his jaw off the ground.

“Few days of stuff. Sometimes aches, sometimes sharp shooty pains,” Peter clarified as he rubbed his nose.

“When you’re feeling better we’ll be having a chat. Particularly about this apparent arch nemesis, Tiddles .”

“Tiddles is totally my villain origin story.”

“On the subject of villains , wanna carry on watching The Big Hero 6 series? Globby has me on the edge of my seat on what he’s going to get up to next.”

“Sounds like a plan, Iron Man.”

On cue, F.R.I.D.A.Y. dimmed the lights as the TV turned on and the surround sound immediately kicked in. As the opening theme popped up on the screen, Tony was on his feet and skipping towards the kitchen to retrieve the snacks he’d prepared beforehand. He shoved a bowl into Peter’s hands, a smirk tugging at his lips when the teen immediately took a handful of popcorn and shovelled it into his mouth. The older man took a seat next to Peter, digging into a bowl of chips with a side of dip.

As the afternoon slowly turned into evening, Peter had slowly scooted towards his mentor until Tony got the hint and had shifted his arm to the back of the sofa so the teen’s head could rest on his chest. Eventually the hand that had previously been gripping the back of the couch would find its way wrapped around the boy’s shoulders and then eventually providing tender ministrations across the scalp.

The aches and protests Peter’s body had been firing off seemed to be that much easier to ignore as they cuddled. Not only was the calm heartbeat and steady breathing back to lull the teen to sleep, but he could also feel the gently hearty chuckles of Tony as well as his warmth. Like a heated blanket set to the perfect temperature. Peter succumbed to darkness with the faintest of smile across his face that the man who hated being emotionally vulnerable and often recoiled from physical contact had made an exception for him. And how freaking lucky and privileged was that?

Although Peter was feeling completely shattered, sleep did not arrive once he’d gone to bed. He’d managed to nap again on the sofa which had prompted his mentor to call it a night. The teen’s bleary eyes checked the time from his bedside clock—04:03—he let out a defeated groan. He’d certainly been drowsy, but felt like he’d been on the edge of drifting to sleep and then immediately stirring.

The usual comfort and feeling of safety of Tony’s MIT hoodie was instantly tarnished as his skin prickled with fire at the fabric being placed over it. Peter audibly gulped before creeping out of the room and heading to the lab, wanting to be in his mentor’s presence or at least find some sort of distraction.

As the doors made a gentle swooshing noise upon opening, he felt his mentor's gaze fall upon him. Peter spotted the squint of Tony's eyes as he started to study him. He definitely could tell the teen looked as shit as he felt no doubt. Bags under his glassy eyes at the level of exhaustion he was feeling and cheeks still flushed even though the ambient temperature.

“Stop analysing me please, Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbled, wishing the world would just swallow him up already.

"I can't tell if you're up early or late." Tony stated as he dropped the tools he was working on and hastily made his way towards Peter's side. The boy’s body language was screaming undeniable discomfort as he clearly started to struggle to even move.

"I tried to sleep, I really did." Peter answered more exasperated that he had meant to. He'd seen right through his mentor's statement, knowing he'd wanted to ask if he’d actually got any sleep. “I was so... uncomfortable,” the last word almost came out as a choke, breath hitching. “Everything… hurts.”

“Come here, buddy,” Tony gently coaxed as he went to embrace the young hero. One of his arms had barely made its way around Peter’s back when he’d recoiled back involuntarily at the burning sting the touch had caused. Tony took a horrified step back, arms awkwardly falling back to place at his sides. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh God. Oh G- I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” he gasped as his face crumpled and a frown replaced the forced neutral ‘ I’ve got this’ look.

“Peter…” Tony started, but stopped as the words barrelled out of his mentee, emotions all over the place.

“Something’s wrong with me. I don’t know why… Everything hurts… And now. Now…”

“Take a breath, kiddo. Nice and easy,” Tony instructed as he took a single step towards the teen. “Let’s get you somewhere comfy and then we’ll get you checked over, okay?”

Peter managed a weak nod, rubbing his nose on the sleeve of the hoodie and followed, trudging slowly as a bone-deep exhaustion dictated his every step. The teen didn’t recall the trip in the elevator nor getting to the sofa. Almost as if it had been a blip in time, not even a blurred feeling or sensation, just missing.

“You’re making me a little nervous, Underoos.” Tony’s voice cut through the mental fog. The tone hadn’t been condescending in any manner. Just an honest admission, hoping to catch the boy’s attention.

“It’s got worse. So much worse.”

“Fri, temperature?”

“38.7. This is up from 37.8 yesterday,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. notified, the duo both cringing at the change.

“Alright, I’m pulling rank, we need to get you checked over,” Tony decided, not wanting to take any chances with worsening symptoms. Particularly when fever was now added into the mix and his Spiderling had next to know thermoregulation.

“Wait… Wait. Could we try super soldier strength Tylenol?” Peter pleaded, giving his best puppy dog look. At this rate he was happy to put on the Peter-Pity-Party-Parker charm if it meant avoiding the dreaded medbay.

“I catch even a whiff of you getting any worse and we’ll be in the medbay quicker than you can say super soldier strength, again. Oh, and you’re having some food,” Tony conceded reluctantly as he left the kid’s side to grab the medication.

“Take these,” he requested handing over the pills once they’d been procured. “I’m going to make some toast.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled. He briefly allowed his eyes to close as he listened to his mentor potter around the kitchen, cupboards being opened and utensils being sought. The noises reminded him of the domesticity of home life with May as she’d scramble to prepare last minute lunchbox snacks for the pair of them.

His mentor returned a few minutes later with two toasted peanut butter and jam sandwiches in hand, Peter’s eyes slowly opening as he took the plate. After the first bite he let out a hum of satisfaction. Everything about it was perfect; the way the toasted bread crunched when he took a bite, the warm peanut butter coating his mouth, the tangy sweet from the strawberry jam.

By mid-morning, Peter had drifted off to sleep and Tony once again found himself watching over him. The teen’s vitals were up in the top right of his tablet, scrutinizing eyes narrowing when it had slowly started to creep back up. The agitation to touch had shortly followed as Peter would suddenly jerk and grunt.

Tentatively, Tony lightly brushed the damp curls sticking to his mentee's forehead away so he could lay a damp cloth across it. The teen let out a whimper the moment it touched, body shivering violently at its exaggerated interpretation of the coolness. The lengths Tony would do to take away the pain and discomfort for his kid couldn’t even be put into words.

They were back up to 38.7 by lunchtime. Not that Tony had seen. The tablet in his hand was precariously dangling from one hand the other still buried in Peter’s hair. Exhaustion had well and truly settled in and he’d drifted off despite all the coffee he had consumed.

An ear piercing screech and wild arm being thrown into his face woke Tony from his nap. He practically fell off the sofa as his mind tried to process what the fuck was happening. Animalistic cries, screams for help and an arm hitting him again from his position on the ground was enough to spring the words emergency into his mind.

“Fri! Call every doctor right now!” Tony said harshly, the words tumbling out of his mouth. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds from the request when orange flecks appeared in the room and then a portal was opened by Stephen Strange.

“List of symptoms?” was all he said, saving the greeting for later when he saw the deathly pallor of Peter’s skin and the twitchiness of Tony meaning a panic attack was likely right around the corner.

“Skin has been tingling yesterday and today but isn’t his Spider Senses. Fever, loss of appetite, sensitive to the lightest touches and a pain to his left side. Mixture of aches that range from being bitten by a tortoise to being hit by a truck,” Tony was rubbing his eyes profusely, desperately wanting the sleep to remove itself from his weary features. The doctor had perked a brow at the last sentence but quickly decided what he wanted to do next.

“Peter, I’m going to lift your shirt,” he informed, not meaning to ignore Tony but just needing to get straight to work with the triage. “Actually, could you lift it Tony? I don’t want… my hands to make this any worse than it’s going to be if he’s touch sensitive.”

Tony was quick to comply, hating the few seconds it had taken as Peter’s face scrunched into an anguished grimace at the feeling and his whimpering turned into ragged sobs. The raised, blotchy red rash across his side was clear as day. It looked like a nerve branching across his chest, angry looking blisters scattered throughout it’s hostile takeover of his pale, clammy skin. Dashing footsteps from the hall alerted the trio that more medical personnel had arrived in the form of Bruce Banner and Helen Cho.

“I think it’s shingles. We’re going to need a gurney,” Stephen called out briskly, not wanting to waste any time. A rash meant it was potentially already a few days into the virus taking hold so precious time had been wasted for optimum effectiveness of the antivirals. The doctors skidded to a halt, well aware a gurney would be just seconds behind them courtesy of F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s assistance. “Fever, malaise, hyperesthesia, vesicular rash spreading from left flank.”

If Tony thought it had been unbearable watching Peter be transported onto the gurney and swiftly taken to the medbay. Then it had been an absolute living nightmare to see him be poked and prodded, IV needing to be in place to provide the fluids his body needed and the administration of pain medication that would help dull down his senses and hopefully allow him to rest. Bruce had tried to keep him at arms length to give the medical personnel the space they needed but that had lasted mere seconds.

Peter's body was stiff and twitching involuntarily, his back arched awkwardly as he writhed in brutal agony. The teen's face was contorted in pain, eyes slammed shut and mouth slightly open as he took gasping breaths laced with cries and incoherent mutterings of pleads for help. Hot, uncontrollable tears streamed down the side of his face and God did Tony want to wipe them away but he knew even the faintest of touches had felt like chemical burns to the kid.

The morphine was due to take effect at any moment, but until then Tony felt like a useless entity within the room. Peter's hands gripped onto the sheets and tore them instantly. There was a risk that the IV was going to be yanked out if the flailing didn’t stop.

"Dad… Dad…" Peter bawled, no longer capable of riding out the searing pain in solitude. Tony short circuited. The room froze. "Dad!" the teen again screamed when there had been no response despite the multiple blurred forms within the room seeming to hear him.

Fuck this. Tony had pushed past Bruce, not enough to harm him in any way, just enough to give him the space to get to his kid’s side. One hand was placed on the mattress of the bed and the other eagerly wanting to stroke the boy’s head but sitting next to the pillow instead.

“I’m here, kiddo. I’m here,” he assured as best as he could, voice on the edge of breaking.

In a move apparently out of his control, Peter’s hand lashed out and grabbed his mentor’s wrist. Quickly, the pads of his fingers dup deep into the flesh, unable to control his enhanced abilities whilst so delirious. The first crunch of bone had Tony biting down on his lip, desperately attempting to remain stoic for Peter’s sake. But then the bones grinded and he let out a pained gasp.

“Peter,” He managed as he deeply inhaled in an effort to sound as self-controlled as possible. The tight clasp started to loosen, as the teen’s movements slowed and his eyes looked almost vacant before they closed. Tony had taken a staggering step back once it had been clear, unsure if it was motivated by the searing pain of his now broken wrist or because there was the pressure of someone’s hand on his shoulder leading him away. He’d barely made it to the hallway still unsure who he was following when his knees buckled and the world around him became a bleak blur.

In his catatonic state, Tony wouldn’t remember the scans and treatment of the newly broken bone. His exhausted body would simply shut down and he’d fall asleep, itching to fend off the feelings of panic stricken shock and complete, unrivalled fear. When he did rouse, Bruce and Stephen had been there to let him know how his mentee was before informing him of the damage that had been inflicted. A broken wrist was nothing when he found out Peter was now on enough medication to allow a pain-free rest.

The first conscious memory Peter had in the fog of his slow awakening was the dry taste in his mouth and beginnings of nausea creeping up on him. Despite his body protesting he attempted a small movement, wincing as he did so. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton as he slowly lifted his arm to rub his eyes before attempting to open them. When his sense of smell returned and the stench of harsh disinfectant and latex burned his nostrils hit,  his eyes opened far too quickly and far too widely.

The teen’s attention was quickly drawn to the presence to his left. Tony was slumped in a chair at such an incredibly awkward angle it was sure to cause neck ache when he woke up. A cast-clad wrist was loosely folded across his chest as the other arm seemed to loosely cradle it. Gentle snoring would usually be comforting for Peter, but his eyes kept drawing back to the cast with a dreaded sensation in the pit of his stomach that he had been the one to cause of it.

Peter moved again, hissing at how incredibly touch sensitive he seemed to be. It was as if he could feel every individual fibre of the bedding around him. Despite the noise being barely audible, Tony started to awaken. The older man had gone to move too sharply, clearly moving his sore arm too quickly and boy could Peter not take his eyes off of that cast.

“There’s my favourite young adult,” Tony greeted gently as he awkwardly shifted to pour a small jug of water into a cup, the casted hand barely keeping it in place. He did his utmost best to remain passive faced despite how tedious the task now felt to him and he could feel Peter’s hard pressed stare on him and the arm. Plopping a straw into the cup he brought it to the teen’s mouth. Peter had wanted to gulp it down the moment he felt the plastic touch his lips, swigging greedily as the water soothed his parched throat and mouth.

“How are you feeling, Pete?” Tony asked once he’d finished, placing the cup to the side. Lordy, did his kid look so small in the hospital bed.

“A little high,” Peter confessed after assessing himself and spotting the cannula in his hand. “A little sore… Mr. Stark…?”

“If you need any more painkillers than just let me know and I can get Cho. They’ve got you on the good stuff,” Tony was completely aware that sore was likely overriding the high feeling. Because he’d seen Peter high on pain medication before. It tended to involve a big goofy smile and eyes bug-eyed wide. There’d even been the occasional moments where he thought he could fly and would flap his wings whilst making whooshing sound effects.

“What happened?” Peter asked so innocently and child like, a reminder of the young hero’s age. Tony had to steel himself for the inevitable conversation that was about to go down. Because he knew what the kid was like. Knows that the kid can’t stop taking his eyes off the cast.

“You got a one way rare ticket to getting shingles. Not common for your age bracket and Spideyness but. We know what you’re like when it comes to contracting the weird and wonderfu-”

“I meant... what happened to your arm?” Tony looked down at it before meeting the teen’s eyes.

"Alright, so don't freak out on me. You did nothing wrong…" The older man began, quickly being interrupted by an even paler looking Peter.

"Oh God…"

"Ah-ah. Listen to me, Peter." Tony requested firmly, as he placed a hand over Peter’s and carefully gripped. He needed to show there was still respect and most importantly trust. Needed the boy to be grounded and to focus if this wasn’t about to turn into an emotional shit show. "Please."

There were tears welling in Peter’s eyes that he had no chance of fighting. Lacking the confidence in his own voice to not crack he simply nodded.

"You were off your face, quite literally, with a fever whilst a virus attacked your nerves. You were not in control. And it was an accident." His mentor’s voice was tender, sympathetic with just a touch of authority. His eyes were full of love and conviction that stunned Peter momentarily whilst he absorbed the information.

"I'm so sorry, Tony,” the teen rasped, barely holding himself together. The kindness he was being shown felt unwarranted and undeserving.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully, buddy. I know exactly how you’re feeling. I know you’re playing the blame game right now because I’ve been there. I-I-Pepper was almost attacked by a suit because of my actions whilst I was asleep. It’s undeniable logic that I wasn’t even conscious so how was it my fault? But I let it eat away at me and she had to snap me out of that deep guilt-trip-well big time. I know you, Peter. I know you’d never hurt me. And nothing could hurt more than seeing you in pain and being utterly helpless to make it better.”

The stiffness in Peter’s hand finally released and his hand gently took hold of Tony’s thumb. The teen shifted into a seated position, his mentor standing as he did so before leaning over the bed and offering a hug. Peter accepted the embrace, the determination in the movement and lack of flinching from the older man serving only to affirm that he didn’t fear the boy.

“Alright, move over, Young Buck. Your old man can’t stay bent like this for too long.”

With his mentee shifted out of the way, Tony scooted onto the bed and raised an arm immediately. Peter showed just a hint of hesitance before snuggling in, an arm placed across Tony’s lap and his head on his chest.

“I don’t know what to say,” Peter admitted, the latter of the sentence slightly slurring as he started to drift off in the safety of his mentor’s arms.

“Get some rest, Peter. I’m sure you’ll make up for the lack of talking once we get back in the lab,” Tony mumbled before a thought crossed his mind. “In fact, you get to fill me in all about Tiddles once you’re up and ready. That tortoise is on thin fucking ice.”

The teen half smirked at the comment, though no words formulated as sleep took a hold. Deep breaths soon turned into soft snoring. The older man’s fingers slowed their movements before coming to a halt as he planted a tender kiss into the teen’s hair. As he started to feel himself succumb to exhaustion he requested that they only be disturbed if it was a mandatory check up or emergency.

“Love you, dad,” Peter whispered so softly it was barely audible. Even in his exhausted state, Tony’s chest filled with overwhelming joy and happiness.

“Love you too, buddy,” Tony replied with a content, sleepy smile on his face.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

No Way To Get Help

@malevon​

Well... this was supposed to be about Jon, but it's about Tim instead. Under the wreckage of the wax museum, Tim isn't dead.

cw nausea, depression, mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation (canon typical levels for Tim end of season 3), ambiguous mentions of injury, hospitals

Four more fics to go, and only one more prompt to send in, so if you have something in mind, get it in quick! I hope you know the drill by now!  Thanks @celosiaa​ for the wonderful card!

The silence is deafening.  Or would be if Tim wasn’t partially deaf already.  He hadn’t been wearing his hearing aids.  What would have been the point?  He knows the plan.  Daisy and Basira are ….were?  Hardly chatty.  He didn’t?  Doesn’t?  Didn’t?  Want to hear a single word that Jon had to say.  

God.  Tenses.  

Is anyone still alive?  Is it just him?  

He should clarify.  The silence is deafening after the explosion.  After the circus music that was somehow louder, possibly because it was at least partly inside his head.  There is probably the sound of rubble settling, and the groaning of burning building, and rushing emergency vehicles.  But… he can’t hear a goddamn thing.  Just that eternal ringing in his ears.  He has never been sure if that was tinnitus or just what silence sounds like.  Never thought it worth asking after he learned that people with tinnitus have higher rates of suicide.  And… well… if this stupid plan was nothing else, wasn’t it just some grand suicide scheme?  

One that looks to have spectacularly failed.  

Just him… probably alone.  In the dark.  

Then again, if he’s alive, maybe the others are too?  Does he want that?  

If he’s honest, he would rather just be dead.  

Not that that is a revelation.  

Then again, he could be dead in a minute.  

He can’t feel his legs.  Well… he can.  He wishes he couldn’t.  He wishes he couldn’t feel anything.  There is so much pain that it just… it’s too much for him to even register as pain anymore.  He just feels… cold and crushed.  Probably shock because there are actual fires burning around him.  He can smell it.  The burning plaster and plastic and wood and smoldering concrete… if that is even a thing?  Thick air.  He’s coughing.  And that hurts more.  

He can’t hear it, however.  

He can’t hear anything but that goddamn ringing in his ears.  

He thinks he might be crying.  

He can’t hear his own heaving sobs.  

Just that high-pitched whine of utter silence.  

Do you know what that sound is, highness?  Those are the shrieking eels…

That’s it.  

The only words his brain can find, as he grows ever more numb.  He has no doubt that darkness is eating at his vision, or would be if there was anything but darkness around him. 

Not even the words from the book.  Lines from the movie.   Which isn’t a bad thing…  He doesn’t even know his own feelings about his favorite book and his favorite movie.  

(That’s not true.  He was always a fan of the movie, but… he and Danny read the book to each other so often…  He has the work paperback in the pocket of his bomber jacket.  Wanted to die with it.  Ideally buried with it, but it’s not like he left a note.  Aside from that damn tape).  

The whine continues.  He doesn’t know how long it’s been.  

 Do you know what that sound is, highness?  Those are the shrieking eels…

That had been the first thing he had thought of when he first heard the worms.  

He curses the worms to the darkness.  If it hadn’t been for them… he could have lived in blissful ignorance about the darker nature of his job… well to some degree.  Sasha would still be here.  Jon wouldn’t have….  FUCK.  He doesn’t want to think about Jon while he’s willing himself out of existence.  But….

But Jon.  That little fucking moron.  Who he HATES.  Who he wants to hate.  

Does he hate Jon?  

Is Jon even still alive?  

If he’s dead, does he want to keep hating a dead man?  One who …wasn’t any worse than him.  

Which isn’t to say blameless, or not a twat at times….  But.  But not a monster.  And Tim can’t really blame him for not trusting anyone.  

Jon… was in the wrong, but so was Tim.  They have both been utter dicks.  Which has always been Tim’s least favorite plot.  God back in publishing… a Lifetime ago… he always hated books that hinged on characters fighting, not talking things out, not Understanding and that rift causing endless misery.  Has he really become something that he hated… still hates with every fiber of his being.  The number of books that set his teeth on edge from the first misunderstanding.  He actually hates most Rom Coms for that reason.  Which… surprised just about everyone he’s dated.  

He possibly groans.  He isn’t thinking clearly.  

He can’t hear himself groan.  

He really should give it up, and let himself pass out.  He hurts.  He’s tired.  If he wakes up… that’s a problem for later.  If he quietly slips away… well… maybe he’ll see Danny there.  Maybe he’ll see Sasha.  Hell, maybe if he sees Jon there, they can work something out.  If there is an afterlife… they’ll have all the time in the world.  (Or rather all the time in the next world).  And if not… well.  Eternal rest sounds pretty damn good.  

…But.  But Jon.  If Jon is alive down here… He should be close.  

And… Tim can’t let him die alone under this building.  He can’t lose someone else to the Circus while he sits idly by.  And Damn it, maybe he doesn’t want to meet Jon in the afterlife just yet, maybe he wants a break?  (And maybe he just loves him too much to completely give up on him… even though he knows he is far too late.  Too many bridges burned.  “We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.”  A line from Jon’s favorite play.)

Tim tries to move his fingertips.  And almost screams.  It hurts.  It hurts.  It hurts.  

He thinks he might scream.  But he can’t hear a sound.  

He braces himself and tries again.  Stretching his arms out as wide as he can.  Moving dust and ash and rubble.  He almost passes out.  Or maybe he does pass out.  Time has no meaning in this place.  

He finds a hand.  Cold.  And limp.  And his heart stops, first for fear that this is another mannequin.  Then for fear that this is all that is left of someone who was… could have been… is?  Something to Tim.  Everything to Tim.  

Tim thinks he might vomit.  

He feels out a little further as his head swims.  He feels the stretched and puckered skin of undoubtedly Jon’s right hand.  Unresponsive.  Possibly dead.  

Tim coughs.  Choking on the soot and heat and fumes in the air.  A massive weight both metaphorical and painfully tangible on all of him.  Aching pain breaking him into little shards, which turn right around and skewer him.  

Tim loses consciousness.  Old and cracked and dry paperback of The Princess Bride in his pocket.  Limp hand of his… friend? In his hand.  

Tim wakes up in hospital.  

His lungs hurt.  And everything feels distant and fuzzy.  Probably being pumped through with a lot of painkillers.  Probably for the best, or he might be more upset for waking up.  He wants to ask after Jon… but he can’t get his mouth to open.  

And suddenly he’s thinking about Westley.  Mostly dead.  Revived.  Head flopping around on his neck.  Danny had lost his shit laughing at that… it always made Tim feel sick after… everything.  The imitation of life… couldn’t quite shake the image of… that night.  Christ if he was on less drugs, he would probably puke.  

He would shake his head if he could move. 

“You just shook your head, that doesn’t make you happy?”

He is also struck by the thought that this is Kill Bill in reverse.  Nearly died getting his revenge, and then ending up in a coma.  (He watched those movies on Bad days.  When he downs enough whiskey to drown a horse.  He can’t say he really remembers much of them, but they were always cathartic.)  

He tries to look at his feet.  But he can’t even lift his head.  

He closes his eyes again.  

When he opens them, he sees Martin.  Worn and tired.  Looking older than ever, more haggard than Jon.  

Shit!  Jon.  Is Jon here?  Is he dead?  

He still can’t move.  

He looks at Martin again.  Martin is… talking?  Tim can’t make out anything.  Just the dull murmur of meaningless sound.  

…But.  

Martin is holding a book.  

A sooty, singed book.  

Martin sitting between two hospital beds, holding Tim’s old copy of The Princess Bride, facing Tim presumably so if Tim were to come around, Tim could read his lips.  

“I said, ‘What do you mean, “Westley dies”?  You mean dies?

My father nodded.  ‘Prince Humperdink kills him.’

‘He’s only faking though, right?’  

My father shook his head, closed the book all the way.

‘Aw shit,’ I said and I started to cry.  

‘I’m sorry,’ my father said.  ‘I’ll leave you alone,’ and he left me.”

Martin is also crying.  Just like Billy in the book.  

“’Who gets Humperdinck?’” Tim whispers.  Painfully aware of how dry his throat is.  It’s no more than a cracked whisper.  

And then he’s coughing.  

He can barely hear himself, but he swears he is coughing out a lung.  

Martin has dropped the book.  Staring in wide-eyed shock for a moment, before yelling something.  Scrambling up.  Probably getting a doctor.  Tim wishes he hadn’t gone.  

He looks are where Martin had been, but ends up getting a good look at the bed next to him.  And sees one, very still and very pale Jonathan Sims.  Very bandaged, and frighteningly still.  Tim can’t see breathing.  

And then he’s being poked and prodded and tested and Martin is talking to him.  And everything hurts.  Until it doesn’t and he’s lying still and Martin is smoothing his hair down and holding his hand and telling him that he’s been unconscious for a month.  That Jon is all but brain dead.  That Elias is in police custody.  

By the time Jon wakes up, five months later, Tim has decided to give him another chance, he and Martin are sharing a flat, there is another room ever hopeful that Jon will want to join then if- no, when he wakes up.  

Also.  Jon’s hair may or may not be dyed green.  

Maybe.  

No, Tim has no idea what everyone is looking at him like that for.  

[i-know-what-yall-want]

Levi loses a bet Part 1

So, I always wanted Levi in a maid outfit ever since the trend started and, well, he's an otaku.

So, disclaimers: Dom MC, Genderneutral MC, sexual suggestions

This is a plot leading to when the reader...ahem...does the dirty with Levi, so there will be some explicit or suggestive stuff but it won't actually include the...naughties...with Levi, that'll be Part 2

Anywhoooooo, onto Levi. Sorry in advance with any grammar or spelling mistakes :/

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

It all started with, well, a bet. You always wanted to see Levi in a maid outfit, it was always a thing in the anime you two watched together that girls would wear maid outfits, you can't help that you were curious about how it would look on Levi, especially since he liked the girls in their outfits so much, and well, it's a trend so he could get some internet like if he did wear one. But enough with that, let's watch Mammon at the casino. Mammon had invited (well, forced, after all, he's your first, who are you to deny him?) you to be with him at the casino, and well, Levi, being the avatar of Envy, had to make sure he tagged along, no matter how much he hated going outside his room. "No way! I'm only taking MC!" "I'm their boyfriend so I'm coming!" While they were bickering, Levi had stepped in front of you to get into Mammon's face. This wasn't going to go anywhere, it would be the next day at this rate, it's like you have to solve all their disagreements. You got close and whispered a possible solution to get Levi what he wanted, "Forgive his debt." Levi hesitated but took your idea, "I'll forgive a portion of your debt if you stop trying to stop me!" Mammon hesitated, "Like...how much are we talkin' here?" "10%" "No way!" Soon Mammon haggled it to be 25%. "Alright, I'll let ya come, but this is a formal casino, I had ta get MC to buy me this suit so now I gotta pay ‘em back with my winnin's, ya can't show up like that or you'll get laughed outta there." Levi nodded and ran off to his room, you giving a pat to his ass on the way out. So, that's how you got here, Levi in the suit he so rarely wears, and Mammon leading you two to the first game he wanted to play. "I bet he won't be able to pay back a single penny that he owes you for that suit." "Are you jealous I took him out for that suit?" "No!" You thought for a moment, caving in, "Alright, if he is able to pay back a single scent by the end of the night, I win. As for the stakes..." you pulled Levi close to you, whispering to him once again, this time with some more...malicious intentions, "I want you to wear a maid outfit for an entire day, call me master, and actually get into character, date of my choosing." His face went red, he's always wanted to try it, to be honest, but he'd be embarrassed if he got caught with a maid outfit in his possession, now he would have an excuse. "T-that seems way too embarrassing!" "Even when you have the option to ask anything you want of me?" Anything he wanted...anything at all. He went quiet, mumbling something you couldn't hear as he looked away from you. "I'm sorry Levi-chan, what was that?" God he hated when you called him that, but loved it. "I-I want you to let me dom, at least once. I always sub and...I want to try it, S-senpai." Truth was he could've just asked if he wanted to dom you, but if it'll give you the chance to see him in a maid outfit, "Deal, now let's go catch up to Mammon." At the end of the night, Mammon ended up only keeping some of his winnings, losing a ton in blackjack before you three, or rather, him, but you and Levi tagged along since you felt bad, got kicked out for causing a scene. Mammon was grumbling when you reminded him to pay you back for his suit, "But I was only able to keep 50 grimm!" "Pay me what you have." It was an order, bet he was regretting being your first demon now. But you didn't care about getting completely payed, you just wanted to thumb through the cash in front of Levi to tease him. The maid outfit was coming tomorrow. ~ {A text conversation with Levi} (Levi, what are you doing tomorrow?)- -(I've got a gaming convention tomorrow, I was just about to invite you.) (Tomorrow you're wearing the outfit.)- -(WHAT?!) (Yeah, it just arrived. No complaining, you better be a good little maid.)- -(*insert scared puppy sticker here but I'm too lazy to actually find a software where I can do a texting story so deal with it*) ~ First thing in the morning, before even going downstairs for breakfast, you went to check on Levi. You woke up especially early to make sure he obeyed you, sure enough, you walked in and he was looking at himself in the mirror. "Well hello, how is my maid?" He jumped and turned around looking at you. "I-I'm not so sure about this." Wow, you had to double-take, were you dreaming? God, not that God hasn't given up on you as soon as you started dating this demon, but God, Levi just looked so...perfect. The black buckled shoes with those thigh high socks, that apron, the hairpiece, Jesus Christ he even had gloves that laced at the wrist. "You know, you could get a lot of internet likes if you posted yourself wearing this." "No! That'll be way to embarrassing!" "Sure, anyways, accompany your master to breakfast." You reminded him, in a roundabout way, to get into character. You could see he was embarrassed, but you couldn't help but tease him a little more, "I could dress as your master if it'll help.” "No, that'll make it worse." He pouted, but walking over to you. "Let's go eat breakfast...Master." ~ Once you walked downstairs, the brothers all had different reactions. Mammon pointed at Levi, "BAHAHAHA, LOOK AT HIM!" Belphegor...wasn't there, but he'd probably complain Mammon was too loud but snort at how Levi looked. Asmo giggled, "Levi finally jumped on the trend! This'll definitely get some likes on Devilgram!" Satan widened his eyes but looked away, sipping on his tea, it was too early for this shit. Beel...well he was trying to hold himself back from stealing Levi's food, he'll need his strength for whatever you've got planned for him. Lucifer looked at Levi, then to you, "M-MC, just what is Leviathan wearing?" "Leviathan is my maid, obviously!" "I lost a bet, okay?!" Breakfast went by with Mammon almost getting away with teasing Leviathan, but you are always there to protect Leviathan, when he didn't deserve the teasing that is. "Mammon, I've got a second maid outfit I can have you wear for a week in order to forgive you for not paying me back for the suit." "What?! Why do ya got two of those?! And why in my size?!" "It was a two for one sale, and I had a feeling you would try to make fun of my maid. But, if you want your debt forgiven, you can make sure that Levi isn't teased at school when I'm not with him." No one could tease Levi except you. "For real?! My debt forgiven for the suit?!" "All debt to me, I can't have my Levi getting his gloves dirty with blood." Leviathan was embarrassed, but grateful you got Mammon to shut up and gained a protector. ~ School was great, Leviathan really got into his role, carrying your things along with his to your classes together, and even when you had different classes, though he did have to his sprint to his own class at those moments. He even brought you your lunch and found a better seat than your normal one with the brothers and the fellow exchange students. It was a new side of him, and you loved it. "Levi, will you feed me my food? My wrist is so sore from writing today." You were going to milk this for as long as possible, huh? "Y-yes, master," face beet red, he took a scoop of some apple sauce or something (man what do I know about what they serve in the Devildom for humans?) and held it up to your mouth, using the other hand to make sure nothing fell off onto the floor. After feeding you, he wiped your mouth unprompted. "Aw, you're doing such a good job, little maid, come here." You gave him a hug and pat his head, you weren't sure if you could hold back for much longer, let's hope so. “No one tried to pick on you, right?”

“No, Master, at least not without Mammon beating them up. That scum can at least do a job when he’s promised that some debt will be forgiven.”

“That’s good. Now, little maid, let’s finish our lunch.”

~ After school, it was straight to getting ready for the gaming convention. Levi was just about to change, when you stopped him, "Just what do you think you're doing?" "I'm...getting ready for the convention?" "Did you have a cosplay planned?" "Not really... I wanted to cosplay but didn't want to risk showing up those other cosplayers and people wanting to take pictures with me, I didn't want to end up having to talk to people. I was just going to go to get some discounts on some games that were going to get announced at the last convention before it got rescheduled." (Quarantine vibes) "Then you'll go as my maid, you can say you're cosplaying." "What?! That's not even in the games I play...minus dating sims." "Well, some gamers are also dressing up as maids, I'm sure you won't stand out too much. I'll go get on what I wore to that casino so I can be your master, we can still act like it's from an old game or something." "F-fine, only because I might not be the only one.” Well, he wasn't the only one, but any other boys in maid outfits were still a little bit rare, especially those who were alone and didn't have a whole group dressed up as maids. "MC...I'm embarrassed." Levi tugged on your arm, looking at you desperately, holding back your urges was getting harder. "Well, you've been embarrassed this whole day, you must be really embarrassed for you to be saying it out loud, and you forgot that I'm your master." Levi widened his eyes, shutting up. Jeez the bathrooms were all crowded, and there were no single stall bathrooms anywhere. "Did you get and do everything you wanted?" "I want to still stay until the show where they announce some new games that weren't sold today." DAMMIT! Fine, if it's for him, fine, you can bare a couple more hours, but the aching between your legs is beginning to get annoying. Once this show is over, your taking Levi home and going to make sure he won't forget to call you master.

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Well, hoped you liked it, I did my best to make sure the reader was gender neutral this is my first fic so go easy on me :) I'm an author in more than just fan fic so I tend to be descriptive, I only realized halfway through writing this that I probably need to put it into two parts. I'm not great with tumblr mechanics so I did my best. Anywho, it's 2:35am haha...I need to sleep, hope you enjoyed.

Read Part 2

[composereggwrites]

Oh hold me close, there’s nothing here which Chokes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Rating: T Characters/Ships: Alice “Daisy “Tonner & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Additional: Non-Sexual Intimacy, Shower Sharing, Hurt/Comfort, brief panic attack, Fluff, sharing a bed Author’s note: Written for a gift exchange! This is for @osirisjones!

Summary:

It starts after the coffin. After the nightmare of TooCloseICannotBreathe. Finding yourself pressed against another is far more comforting than the rough rock and stone, or grime of dirt.

Showers remind Jon a bit too much of what it's like to not be able to breathe.

Daisy understands. Martin has his own issues with the feeling of mist in his lungs.

Ao3 or Below!

It starts after the coffin. After the nightmare of TooCloseICannotBreathe. Finding yourself pressed against another is far more comforting than the rough rock and stone, or grime of dirt.

It starts with Daisy declaring that she's going home to shower now because it's been a week since she's done so, and the sensation building up on her skin is a bit too much like being buried. It starts when she looks at Jon and says, "You look like you could use a shower too."

He grimaces, looking at her from his seat at his desk. "Probably. Hard to take one at the institute, though, and I haven't gotten around to getting a new place. I got uh... Evicted, during the whole six-month coma thing," he says, sheepish smile on his face as an explanation.

An eyebrow raises, as she gives him a Look. Which is probably fair, considering she’s got her stuff and a place already, even though she was gone longer than he was. Jon never claimed to be functional. “Yeah, and what have you been doing all this time, then?”

“It’s remarkable how well you can keep clean, given some no-wash shampoo, body wipes, and time alone in a bathroom here. Plus, there’s a laundromat not too far away,” he says. It’s true, he can manage just fine like this. He has to, as his life spirals ever more out of control, less time and mental energy able to be dedicated toward tasks such as cleaning. Even if he prefers it that way.

A familiar hand joins his as Daisy rolls her eyes, and pulls him out of the chair. “Well, that won’t do. You’re coming back to my place and taking a proper shower, Jon.”

She doesn’t give him a choice. No chance to protest as she drags him out of the institute. In a way, that’s easier than having to confront the idea that he wants this.

Everything is fine. He keeps repeating that in his head with each step. Daisy’s warmth bleeds into him from their connected pinkies, a pinpoint prick of security as they walk to her apartment.

(Neither of them take the trains through the tunnels nowadays, if they have the choice to avoid it.)

It’s a silent walk. Jon keeps his eyes on Daisy, and she keeps hers on the path they follow. The hunter knows the way home, and the watcher knows better than to let his eyes stray to targets, to food, with her so close by.

“Order some food while I take my shower. You’re crashing here tonight, and don’t think about trying to argue your way out of that,” Daisy says, as she unlocks the door and bustles around. He diverts his eyes as she grabs fresh clothes and steps into the bathroom of her single-bedroom apartment.

It’s…

Not as utilitarian as he expected, in all honesty. Photos of her and Basira hang on the wall, blankets draped over the couch. It’s not warm or cozy, but neither is it barren of signs of life. He can hear sounds of the Archers coming from the bathroom, indistinct through the walls.

Jon sits on the couch, and orders pizza. Tries desperately to distract himself with mindless phone games. Tries to ignore the lure of the owner of a shop they passed on the way here, who has a statement fresh for the picking. Tries not to Know about anything in this apartment, what stories and fears might lie under the false comfort of a quilt. What the pictures might hide.

When Daisy emerges precisely ten minutes later, hair still damp and looking far more refreshed--though she still has bags under her eyes, like all those who work in the archives--she’s wearing casual sweatpants and an old t-shirt for the Archers.

“Got us pizza, since I know what you like on it. Half and half, because you refuse to accept pineapple on it.” A grin flickers on his face, and he gets one on return.

“What blasphemy, putting fruit on a pizza! I’ll stick to my pepperoni and extra cheese, thank you.” She rolls her eyes as she speaks, and steps into her room, door left open so they can continue speaking.

“It’s really quite good. You just can’t grasp the intricacies of it!” he shoots back. An argument they’ve had a hundred times before flowing freely from his lips. He knows all the lines, like they’ve rehearsed.

The fun in arguing dies on his lips.

She tosses some old clothes at him, and he knows (not Knows) that they’ll be slightly too big and baggy, because he’s stolen clothing from all his assistants at this point. The resident laundry thief’s work is never done.

(It’s grounding, having pieces of the others to carry with him. His favorite is Martin’s hoodie).

“Go shower, Jon.” Daisy slides down onto the couch as he stands. No doubt she’s tasted the shift in his mood in the air, bitter on her tongue.

He takes the clothes and walks into the bathroom. Small, yellow walls. There’s a fresh towel on the rack already, so he sets the clothes on the counter and slips in.

The spray of water is a blessed relief compared to the days of rubbing and scrubbing away at the dirt building against his skin. Heat seeps into his aching muscles and world-wracked soul. Washing away the damage wrought. The layers of soil walls crumbling down.

It’s humid. It’s hot. The room is small. The steam makes breathing hard.

Jon huffs, and focuses. He just. He needs to ignore the unsettling feeling growing in his stomach, the fear that lingers like mint, there no matter how hard you try to kill it. Invading where it is not meant to be.

The mist coils around his lungs. Damp skin sticks as he bumps against walls. The shower is so small, how does Daisy survive it all?

A knock at the door is what makes Jon realize he’s knocked over the bottles, crouched on the floor. Hands embedded in his half-shampooed hair.

“I think I might actually get in trouble if you die in my shower. You alright in there?” she calls, door opened a crack so he can hear, though the curtain is still solidly in place.

Daisy’s voice washes away the suffocating anxiety better than any water could, and he takes a breath. “Yeah, I-- Ah. It felt… small. Difficult to breathe. You know…”

And she does know. She must, because she slips into the bathroom, and he can hear the toilet lid being set down so she can sit. “It’s why I play sounds on my phone.”

He snorts, and manages to get his legs back under himself, standing again. “Harder to lose yourself to the fear of choking when there’s a soap opera to listen to?” he asks, tone wry.

“Oh hush. You ought to try it.” She’s laughing, and he can picture the roll of her eyes as he washes out the shampoo. It’s easier, with another presence here. The heat is less oppressive, not trying to pierce his skin. Instead, it simmers and soaks, driving out the icy cold.

“I--I think I’m good now.” It slips out of his mouth, even as he wishes to swallow the words, to beg for company until he’s done.

“Well, I think it’s rather fitting. Soap opera for when you’re all… soapy. So I’m going to start the next episode you were on, since you’re so woefully behind.”

It’s hard to not laugh when Daisy makes a bad pun, and he doesn’t try to hold it back. Doesn’t stop himself from listening to the absurdity, talking with her about the drama and plot as he works to scrub his body clean.

When he steps out of the shower, smelling of her lavender products, Daisy politely averts her eyes until he’s dressed. Then she links their fingers together once more, and they trot out in time to catch the pizza man.

Jon Knows later, as they sit and eat their pizza with dramatic flair, held loftily above their mouths sprawled out on the couch and each other, that the delivery person thought they were a couple. When he mentions it to Daisy, she cracks up, and he joins her, pausing the episode they were on.

“Us? A couple?” she repeats, for the tenth time. “Like, no offense Jon, but even if I were into guys, you’re not my type.”

“Some offense taken,” he replies, free hand held to his chest. “Oh how scorned I am by your rejection! You like Basira well enough, and she’s good at being a stuffy academic.” The air quotes are audible, dripping from his tongue as he takes another bite.

“She’s an academic who knows how to shoot a gun. Got more muscle than you could ever dream of, bone boy,” she shoots back, elbowing him in the side. Taking care to hit where there’s still ribs.

“Ah, I see. With my bountiful eyes.” She snorts, because if he actually had extra eyes, she’d be the first to know. “You like someone who you have a chance of losing to in an arm wrestle. No wonder I’m so woefully disqualified.”

“I’d let her do more to me than win an arm wrestle.” Daisy waggles her eyebrows.

When he processes what she means, Jon lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Every day. Every single day I am bombarded by innuendo. When shall I be freed from this curse?”

“Whoa there, no need to bring the Sahara into my apartment with that dry tone, Mr. Sandman.”

“Wrong entity. How dare you accuse me of being aligned with the Dark?” He has to set his paper plate down, or risk dropping his food at this point, with the amount of laughter going on.

“Whatever, eye guy. Let me braid your hair once we’re done eating. Maybe now that you’re cleaned up, your prettyboy looks will lure your man out of the fog. I bet he’d love to win an arm wrestle against you. He totally could, too.” She gestures at him with the pizza slice, smirk across her lips.

Jon stammers, hiding the blush creeping up his cheeks behind his hand. “I--uh. Ah. Daisy-- Even if... Even if you’re right, I--”

She softens into a smile, and puts a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you can ace your way into his heart.”

Two seconds of silence.

Then giggles, as he covers his mouth with a hand. “That was-- That was awful. That’s the type of joke I’d be making in uni!”

“Unless my puns are bad enough to drive you out of my apartment, I stand by the offer. The only condition is that you’ve gotta braid mine, too.”

He takes another bite as he ponders it. Really, the answer he wants to give is on the tip of his tongue, but-- Denying himself what he wants is habit, ingrained in himself by now.

Still, it’d be nice.

“Sure, why not,” he says. “Hair braiding and listening to The Archers. Sounds like the perfect night.”

The couch is comfier than the Archives, that night. Daisy’s apartment warmed with the small spark of vanilla candle friendship.

In the coming months, it’s easy to make a habit out of this.

----

Collapsing into bed at the safehouse the night they arrive is one of the easiest things Jon has ever done, and that’s counting the amount of time it takes to get Martin to join him. They both still smell of sea salt and taste of fog, but he pulls Martin into bed with him despite the ever-constant protests.

“Martin, it’s fine,” he murmurs. “We’re both tired, we can share the bed. Hell, Daisy and I have shared a bed before, at her place.” It’s out of his mouth before he can think to stop it, and one hand goes up to the messy braid of his hair, from just two days before.

“O-oh. You and-- and Daisy?” Martin asks, paling a bit in the moonlight. Eyebrows scrunched together in the most adorable way that makes Jon want to reach out and run his fingers through Martin’s hair. “I didn’t know?”

“Because there’s nothing to know.” It dawns on him that he can do that. So he reaches up, and cards his fingers through the messy strands of reddish brown. “It was-- it was a friend thing, nothing more. A couple times a week she’d drag me to her place, and really, it was-- It was easier in the end, to just share the bed. Rather than have me sleep on the couch. Helps me deal with the nightmares, if I have someone there. I figure… If you have any, it might be the same.”

It’s enough for Martin to soften, and stop looking so jealous (which, now that Jon can recognize that, he finds it touching). He slides into bed without any more fuss, and soon enough Jon finds himself wrapped up in Martin’s arms. All pretenses of pretending to not want to cling immediately dropped.

Sharing a bed with Martin is different from sharing one with Daisy, he discovers that night.

With Daisy, they link hands, arms intertwined, and lay back to back. Neither of them were inclined to spoon, and he knows suggesting it would’ve gotten a joking threat with a knife (nothing like before, no real danger in her words, and she would’ve grumbled but wrapped him in her arms like she did when the nightmares got too bad, and they needed more contact).

But with Martin…

Martin is full of warmth, despite the wisps of fog that still want to encroach. At some point in the night, between becoming an octopus and clinging right back, Martin rolls over on top of him in his sleep, and Jon melts.

Martin is a solid, heavy weight against him. Grounding him to the mattress. Jon still catches bits and pieces of nightmares, but the pressure isn’t oppressive, not near as much as he feared. A spark of terror in his heart, at first, but all he has to do is open his eyes and see Martin there. Another person, not the dark-dirt pressing-walls of Choke. He thinks, perhaps, that the fear has receded, if he can handle this.

It’s only on his way to shower the next morning, that the terror comes roaring back. Gripping his heart and making him pause outside the bathroom door. He can hear Martin singing in the kitchen as he bustles around, cleaning up the breakfast mess.

But will it be enough?

He takes a breath, steels himself and turns the handle. Prepares to face this.

And then stops, turns his head, and calls, “Martin?”

Martin must hear the waver in his voice, sense the way Jon is a rubber band pulled taut, because he immediately drops what he’s doing and comes to Jon’s side. Sees the way he’s shaking, ever so slightly in his skin (skin that still doesn’t feel like his after what Nikola did), and places a hand on his shoulder. Soft, tentative, as he asks, “Are you alright?”

“I-- I’ll be fine, it’s just…” He could still turn back, say it’s nothing, though Martin would still worry. And…

He’s safe with Martin. Just like he was safe with Daisy.

Safe enough to ask for help.

“The uh-- The reason I went to Daisy’s so often was because I needed to shower, but the feeling. I hate cold showers, but the steam made it harder to breathe. And I needed-- It helped if someone was there, with me?”

He looks up at Martin, and confusion-fear bubbles in his stomach when Martin laughs a little, but it’s quickly abated by his words. “I was actually thinking of asking you for the same thing? It’s just, for me… Being alone in a room full of mist doesn’t seem like a good idea?”

Jon chuckles, though it’s quickly cut off when he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry, that was-- You’re right. I’d be glad to be there for you, Martin,” he says, and it’s amazing how a few simple works make Martin light up. The blush against his cheeks is something Jon feels he can be proud to put there, now.

“Might be best to take one at the same time. I don’t know how much hot water this place has,” Martin says, before immediately backtracking. “If you don’t want to though, I understand!”

He shakes his head, and pulls Martin along with him into the bathroom. “It’s fine with me. It makes sense. Amazingly, this place has a bigger shower than Daisy’s apartment. And I’m thankful to find that there are no bloodstains on the tub here, either.”

Martin snorts, and Jon smiles. He takes out the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash from his bag of toiletries as Martin undresses, making sure that there’s a clean washcloth as well.

It’s a bit cramped, but they have enough space to navigate. The bump of their bodies against each other is reassuring too. Silent moments of I’m here and you’re not alone, you’re not going to choke on your own fear.

At some point, he finds himself helping Martin clean his back. Slow, methodical scrubbing. At another, Martin’s hands are in his hair, combing through the strands as the conditioner makes it silky. When Jon starts to sing a song, Martin grins, and sings along. As they sing loud and offkey--which is part of the fun--Jon thinks there’s no place he’d rather be.

 (Later, curled up in Martin’s lap, in front of the lit hearth, he’ll have that thought again, as he presses a kiss to Martin’s lips.)

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 14

Chapters: 14/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

One night, in the middle of a shift, Gerry gets a pounding migraine and goes to the back to have a cigarette. He knows it won't help, but he smokes it anyway and considers things as he paces the back room.

He's terrible at being sick, and it makes him miserable to be around. Still, the pain makes him ache for his partners, and he can't help picking up the phone to call Jon. It's close to midnight, but Gerry hopes that it won't be the one time Jon has gone to bed at a reasonable hour.

"Hello, Gerard," Jon answers the phone with an ocean of warmth in his voice.

"I miss you." Gerry presses his forehead into the cool window, seeking some sort of relief from the agonizing pressure in his head. He whispers the words like a confession, smokey breath fogging up the glass before him.

"What's wrong my love?" Just Jon's heady, seductive voice provides the emotional support Gerry was seeking, and he wishes he could sink into the words, the feelings behind them, and leave his fracturing body behind for a while.

"Nothing. Not feeling well is all. I just wanted to hear your voice." He sounds pale and washed out, even to himself.

"I'm still at the library, I'll come by and haunt you until your shift is over." Jon makes the offer very casually, although that fussy part of his personality that enjoys mothering Gerry and Martin shines through a bit.

"On a Friday, Jon? You should be home with Martin." He can't help but chuckle at his sweet idiot, even through the pain.

"Martin is out with Sasha and Tim for the evening, remember? I was hoping to stop by and tempt you over to mine tonight anyway." Far from being chastised for his workaholic tendencies, Jon injects all his fond affection into his tone. "Would you be interested in spending the night in a handsome man's bed?"

"Fuck yes. Obviously."

"Oh Gerry, my Gerry." Jon sing-songs into the phone. "Always saying just the right thing to make my heart skip a beat."

Gerry takes a moment to consider his state. He can barely see out of his blurry eyes, and the pounding in his ears makes him feel vaguely underwater. His forceful personality makes it hard for him to admit, but he knows he shouldn't be working like this, and that he'll be much better off with his lover than alone in his own flat.

"I'm going to beg off the rest of my shift, will you come fetch me?" He desperately tries to keep his words easy, but he comes off sounding rather plaintive.

"Yes, Gerry, of course." Jon is frowning audibly now, but he leaves his concern be for the moment. Gerry can hear him moving about, probably packing up his things. "I'm leaving right now, I'll be there soonest. Gerry?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Gerry squeezes his eyes shut tight. "I love you too, Jon."

*

Jon takes one look at Gerry's drawn, pale face, and calls them a cab.

Gerry doesn't offer even one argument, and a pit of concern opens up in Jon's stomach.

"Do you want to go back to your place, after all?" He asks, sliding his hands up Gerry's arms to rest on his shoulders. "Maybe you'll be more comfortable in your own space."

"No, let's go to yours." Gerry draws their foreheads together, standing out in the cool air of the street. "I like being in your space, with your energy and your things. Besides, how can I resist an invitation to your bed."

"Yes, all the cuddling we've done there must really make your heart skip a beat with lust," Jon responds drily.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Gerry tells him firmly.

The taxi arrives and they climb in. Gerry is several inches taller than Jon, but he manages to scoot down enough to lie draped over the smaller man. Jon notices with some amusement that Gerry has adopted a rather Saturn-like posture, curled around him like an extremely large cat in the limited space.

They arrive at Jon's building and trudge up the several flights of stairs and through his door. Jon drags Gerry firmly by the hand, worried that without the right forward momentum, he'll lay down on the floor and pass out. Jon, under no misunderstanding about his physical prowess, knows that once his lumberjack-shaped boyfriend goes down, he certainly won't be getting him back up.

They go straight to the en-suite, and Gerry strips down to his briefs, Jon encouraging him to wash his face and half-heartedly brush his teeth. Halfway through, Gerry lets out a startled chuckle.

"What?" Jon asks from nearby, changing by his armoire.

"I own three toothbrushes." He tells him in an airy, disconnected tone. "Don't you think that's kinda silly?"

"No, Gerry, what would be silly was if you only had one and you carried it everywhere you went because you weren't sure whose bed you might end up sleeping in that night." And indeed, the multiple toothbrushes solution had originated from them unexpectedly sleeping over at each other's flats with no planning- and no toothbrushes.

Gerry giggles again, and Jon begins to worry about what kind of bizarre migraine he might have. Having suffered through a fair few in his life, he is more used to them presenting like all-consuming misery than like some kind of weird foggy drug trip. Gerry could be unique that way, though.

"I never thought I would have so many bed options that it might be an issue," Gerry whispers, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Changed into his sleep clothes, Jon goes over to stand behind him and wrap an arm around his waist. It's normally a Gerry or Martin posture, since Jon is smaller than them, but there's a different kind of satisfaction in having Gerry relax and settle into him, sighing with something akin to relief.

He looks at their reflection in the mirror and even with Gerry looking haggard, eyes sunken, 5 o'clock shadow coming in, hair thrown haphazardly into a messy bun, Jon can't help the swell of contentment that fills him. How did he, Jon 'walking disaster waiting to happen’ Sims, manage to get this right?

"Then I suppose it's a good thing my bed has been waiting for you all along," Jon eventually responds. "Come on, let's get you into it."

Gerry allows himself to be tucked in, although he refuses food and is only convinced with great reluctance to take two ibuprofen. His eyes remain stubbornly open, but the moment Jon finishes his own nighttime activities and slips into bed with him, Gerry curls around him, and promptly passes out.

*

The next morning, Gerry sleeps far longer than he normally would, even though he went to sleep several hours before his typical bedtime.

When he surfaces, approaching midday, he's groggy and stiff and feels rather hungover. Gerry thinks maybe a hangover would be better- at least then he would have had a good time to compliment his current misery.

Despite that, as he blinks his eyes open, the strains of gentle piano music drift through the flat, and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. It’s not particularly loud, and Gerry is incredibly soothed by it. In fact, when he says he likes being at Jon’s flat, this is why. He often sits down to play in the softest moments, if Gerry and Martin are around. Any normal, oft-repeated, potentially boring activity could be made delightful and atmospheric if Jon is sitting at the piano.

Jon had once confessed that he vastly preferred playing when one or both of them were around to hear it.

"At least half of the joy of music is in the audience," Jon had confessed quietly to them one day. "And you two are the best audience of all."

Now, as he wakes gently to the sound of his partner making music, Gerry can’t help but feel special and treasured. Never before in his life had he picked up the phone in a crisis with the complete certainty that there would be a loving voice on the other end. He had not even realized he was lacking such reliability until he had come to be able to depend on it, but now that it exists, he shies away from even the thought that he might lose it again.

He takes a moment to consider the current reality of their relationship. He obviously loves them, has always loved Jon, from the moment he growled at Gerry in the literature section of the library when he was seventeen-years-old. Now Martin fits with them both so well, Gerry wouldn’t know how to breathe without him. They’re it for him, he can see that clearly.

He can see it in the way that pain and illness drove him straight to Jon like true north and the way he managed to care for him through it perfectly.

He can see it in the way that Martin never seems to be less affected by finding Gerry in his bookstore, and the way Gerry’s heart feels hot and heavy in his chest every time Martin finds him still and focused and takes a moment to braid his hair in one way or another.

He can even see it in the way he immediately self-destructed when he thought he was going to lose them, pushing every part of his life into immediate turmoil at the thought of being alone again. Family-less. Without his Jon, and his Martin.

And he can see that he’s it for them too, in the way they clung to him to keep him together when he almost sunk the whole thing.

They are, he can see now, as essential to one another as breathing.

Gerry suddenly wishes that this could be the home that they all share. He wishes that every time one of them came home to him, they never had to leave to do laundry or water plants. He wishes, most of all, that this music could fill his house and his heart every morning, and that he would never again have to wake up trying to remember whose bed he was in - because they all shared the same one.

He hopes, desperately, that one day that will be their reality. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, he’s confident he can convince he’s partners to stick around for good.

Until then, he’s content to be so loved that he needs three toothbrushes.

*

Gerry thinks maybe he drifts off again, because the next thing he knows, Jon is gently kissing his hand to wake him, a cup of tea in his other.

“Hi,” Jon whispers, sitting down on the bed next to him.

“Hey there,” Gerry offers in return, slowly sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “How are you today?”

Gerry takes the tea and sips it gratefully, finding it sweet and herbal. Camomile, he thinks, but wouldn’t swear his life on it at that moment.

“How bad could I be?” Jon asks, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I have a beautiful boy in my bed and I think I’ll keep him there all day.”

“Does this stunning nocturnal visitor get a say in the matter or…?” Gerry manages to offer a slightly dimmer version of his flirtatious grin.

“Maybe, if he makes it worth my while.” Jon teases, before sobering a little. “How are you though? You seemed in a pretty bad way last night.”

“I think I’m fine now, I guess it was just a fluke.” Gerry stretches, joints popping.

Jon picks up the tea to take a sip.

“It’s not as good as when Martin makes it.” He mutters to himself, grimacing.

Gerry finishes stretching, rather like a cat again, before shifting up onto his knees to hover slightly above Jon, as is his preference. “Maybe, but it’s still my favourite kind of thing because it's something you made for me.”

Jon reaches up, wrapping a hand around Gerry’s neck and pulling his lips down to meet his own. It’s gentle and dragging, and they tangle together enjoyably for several minutes. Gerry pulls away to kiss Jon’s cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Eventually Jon giggles and pushes him away, handing the tea back over in an effort to distract him.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Jon queries.

“Not just yet. Maybe a shower?”

“That sounds like a good plan. You should take it easy today.” Jon pauses, considering his next suggestion. “And maybe I could convince you to take tonight off from the bar too? Then we can all spend the evening together.”

"Yes, I think I could be tempted to do exactly that."

*

Gerry lingers in the shower, letting the water work out his stiffness and lift the fog hanging pervasively over him.

He washes his hair with Jon's shampoo and hopes the scent will linger on him. He decides not to shave, feeling too loose and lazy to handle any sharp objects.

Jon force-feeds him after, and then he braids Gerry's hair to keep it out his face.

"I can't believe you never braided your hair before you met Martin," Jon says as his fingers move through his hair rhythmically.

Gerry shrugs. "There was never anyone to teach me on myself, and my mother was bald for my entire formative life, so I couldn't learn from her."

Jon hums in acknowledgement.

"Speaking of Martin, where is our errant lover?" Gerry asks buoyantly, bouncing slightly.

Jon laughs at him, "Apparently he was out all night and then crashed on Tim's couch. He's going to come over later when he's managed to disinfect himself."

After, they move back to bed to read their books and rest, basking in the simple comfort of each other's presence, waiting for their third.

[nev3rfound]

lost love : b.b

brief summary: bucky reminisces on his days with you, the love of his life he lost

word count: 1.9k requested: nope, this is inspired by the bathroom scene between steve and robin in stranger things s3  warnings: kinda angsty, bit sad

* masterlistin’ 

* commissions

Sam laughed lightly as he held his drink up toward Bucky. “Come on, Buck.” He encourages as Bucky shuffles forward in his seat, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he sips his drink.

“Alright, truth,” Bucky answers, watching as Sam relaxes back into the sofa. He glances over to Natasha and Steve, who raise eyebrows as Sam grins momentarily before facing Bucky.

“Have you ever been in love, Barnes?” Sam finally asks, his question forms slowly, but it hits Bucky too quickly.

Steve watches closely, seeing Bucky sink down in the armchair, his grip on the beer in his hand loosening and his brows furrow together. 

Remaining quiet, Bucky knows his answer. He knew from the moment he first met you that it was going to be the case, but if he spoke too soon could it ruin it. “Yeah, I have.” Bucky answers softly. “It was the kind of love you don’t read about in books or be displayed in museums or anything.” 

Lifting his head up, Bucky meets Sams wide eyes. “Seriously? Someone fell for your cold ass heart?” Sam jokes and Bucky laughs under his breath, nodding. “Come on, Barnes. Who was the special lady?” 

“Her name was Y/n, Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n.” Bucky recites your name with such sweetness it’s tooth aching. Steve smiles to himself, letting out a soft sigh.

“Oh, Y/n.” Steve comments, Natasha glancing up to see Steve’s eyes glazed over, his mind back in another time. “She was something else.” 

Bucky lowers his head, feeling his hair fall into his eyes. “Yeah, she, she was unlike anyone I ever met.” He brushes the hair out of his face, something you always did in the early hours of the morning as he held you close to his chest. 

“Who was she?” Natasha speaks up, curiosity overtaking her stoic expression. 

“She wasn’t like the other girls we knew in Brooklyn.” Bucky starts, his mind wandering back to the day he first met you. “She wasn’t falling at my feet for a start.” 

Sam scoffs lightly. “And you picked her?” 

Shaking his head, Bucky clears his throat. “I didn’t pick her, she picked me.” Bucky explains. “I was smitten by her bluntness, her downright honesty with me. She didn’t care for my charms, the attempt at swooning her for a dance. She saw the marks from another woman on my neck, Steve hanging by and eyes following her every step from across the street.” 

Steve can remember it clearly too. You were his neighbour, a training nurse who had no time for bullshit. You wanted to make a difference in the world, or at least to those in it. Bucky was always around, and when he saw you for the first time he whistled to you. Unlike the other girls he met, you turned around and swore at him rather than found it complimenting. 

“She didn’t have time for you, Buck.” Steve admits, and Bucky agrees with his friend, knowing it was true. “But that clearly didn’t stop you.” Steve sips his drink, seeing Bucky lean back in the sofa. 

“How’d she end up with you then?” Tony walks in, leaning against the sofa Sam and Clint are on. 

“Mixture of perseverance, a lot of flowers and her forcing me to be who I am, not who I try to be.” Bucky tells everyone, and Natasha can see Bucky softening. His hard exterior melting under the mention of his past with you by his side. “She helped me become the version of myself I should always be, and that I shouldn’t have to hide behind a bad boy persona.” 

The room falls silent as Bucky’s sentence hangs in the air. Clint leans forward, exhaling heavily. “Well, on that note, who’s next?” He asks and the game continues, but Steve can see Bucky isn’t really with them, he’s still back in Brooklyn with you by his side.

*

Sitting on the balcony, Bucky quietly reads his book as Steve walks out. Bucky knows it’s Steve based on the heavy energy that he shuts inside, leaving him to talk freely with his friend without fear of being heard. “Everything alright, Steve?” Bucky turns his head, seeing Steve carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“How come you don’t talk about her?” Steve asks quietly, knowing he doesn’t have to specify who. 

Bucky tabs the corner of his book before closing it, placing it by his side as he rises from the single chair that lines the wall of the balcony. “She was part of my past, Steve.” 

“But what if she’s still out there?” Steve steps forward, moving closer to be alongside his friend. “I found Peggy, what if you can find Y/n?” 

Steve watches as Buckys gaze becomes cold as he stares at him. “And what Steve? What am I supposed to do?” Bucky retorts. “Y/n fell for the man I was, I, I don’t want her knowing who I have become.” 

The words hover in the atmosphere, refusing to budge as Steve takes them in, one by one. It burns his lungs, the pain that stabs at them from Bucky’s tone. He’s defeated, completely lost with himself. 

“You’re a great man, Buck.” Steve places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, flashing a reassuring smile. “And from what I remember of Y/n, she wasn’t one to shy away from anything.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “she never gave up easy.” 

*

Walking down the street, Bucky followed the route he memorised from his first visit. From the moment he had access to the modern world when he was free from HYDRA he refused to waste another minute of his time. He was determined to find you, find out what happened to you after he fell from the train. 

Bucky had promised you he’d come home, that you would start the family together you always envisioned. You were in the war too, a nurse for the soldiers at the camps. When he fell, all he could think of is you and what would happen if you never found out. 

He spent hours reading about you, the woman you became after the war. You remained in Brooklyn, you helped rebuild the city and worked closely with the community. You did what you always wanted to do, you helped the people first and foremost. 

Yet, everything Bucky read wrote about you in the past tense. At first, it didn’t really register what that meant until he stumbled onto one article. The last article that you were ever featured in. 

As his eyes scanned the words, his heart fell into his stomach. The last few strands holding it together, after decades of abuse, cold blood on his hands and pain of losing himself all he had was you. But you’re gone, you’re lost.

It hurt. It hurt like nothing Bucky had endured in all of his life. When he fell from the train, the pain was physical to the surface. Everything he went through in HYDRA was numbing, he wasn’t made to feel anything in there. But this, seeing a photograph of you as an older woman with the same bright smile he adored broke him. 

Within days he found out where you were buried. He visited you weekly without anyone knowing. In his mind, if no one knew he could keep up the facade that somewhere out there, you’re still alive. How to Steve, you are still Bucky’s love, even if you’re much older and have lived a long life, you’ll forever be the woman Bucky Barnes fell for. 

Walking into the plot of land, Bucky passes through various trees to find yours. When he first came to visit, he felt overwhelmed by the trinkets hung on the thin branches from families of those lost. Some placed jewellery, drawings, notes and photographs. He saw plaques of names unknown to him, but then he found yours. 

“Hey, doll.” He speaks up as he places his hands in his pockets, standing in front of your oak tree. “Getting tall I see, you should see the size of Steve now.” He jokes lightly. “I swear he is still gettin’ bigger, that or I’m officially shrinkin’.” 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bucky looks down at your small plaque. The marble etched with your full name and a beautiful photograph of you. He smiles at the photo whenever he visits, thinking how you would’ve looked if he could’ve known you that long. 

“I came to check on you, as I always do. I just wanna know you’re okay. Not that you wouldn’t be, 'cause you’re a strong gal.” Bucky rambles before sighing loudly. “Guess I don’t have the right words every time.” He admits, picturing you crossing your arms before threatening to turn around and walk away. “I know I’m not who I was, but I know he’s still in me deep down.” 

To the side of Bucky, he can see a young man approaching him. He clenches his fists in his pockets, feeling the plates of his metal arm whir together. The man moves closer, his eyes focusing on Bucky. 

“Sorry, I just, you’re him, aren’t you?” The man questions, his eyes glistening in the sunlight like yours once did. 

Bucky remained perplexed and glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one was around him to be mistaken by. The young man laughed lightly before stepping closer. 

“You’re Bucky, Bucky Barnes?” He asks gently, and Bucky slowly nods. 

“What’s it to you, kid?” He huffs, nerves beginning to eat at his stomach as the young man smiles brightly.

“You are just how she always described you.” He comments before looking down at your small photograph with a small smile. “She always told us stories of her friends when she was younger, and the lost soldier she loved.” 

Surprise lines Bucky’s expression as he opens his mouth. “Are you,” He starts, but his words falter.

The young man nods. “I’m her grandson, James.” He holds his hand out, and Bucky reaches forward and accepts it. 

He laughs lightly. “Was she happy?” Bucky asks quietly, something he couldn’t ever read about in articles or learn from photographs. He looked at James, watching as he nods in response.

“She lived a long and happy life, Bucky. Nana was a strong woman, a try fighter until the end.” James wipes his eyes as Bucky lowers his. “And she never forgot about you, she didn’t forget about anyone.” 

Bucky smiles to himself, feeling his heart being lifted back up just a smidge. “I never forgot about her either, James.” Bucky tells the young man, watching him carefully seeing the similarities of you in him. “You have her eyes, you know?” 

James looks up to Bucky. “I, I get that a lot. She helped me learn there are people in the world that need help, more than we do ourselves.” 

“Sounds about right.” Bucky comments, picturing you sat in his room rambling on about everyone you met on that day, the stories you heard and how many you wished to help. You had a heart of gold, one Bucky never felt he deserved to hold. “Thank you, James.” 

“Thank you, Bucky for making my Nana so happy.” James sniffs lightly, watching as Bucky walks off leaving James a moment to himself with his Grandmother. 

Bucky glances back to your tree as tears begin to fall down his face. You were happy, and that’s all that matters. 

[stinky-and-the-pain]

& then there was one

my parents finished renovating our house my freshman year of high school. i was 14 and finally had my own room...a place i didn’t have to share with my 11 year old brother or my 3 year old sister. i painted it green & a couple of months later painted a tree on one wall and filled the branches with lord of the rings quotes. it was my sanctuary. 

my grandma gifted me my first laptop around the same time. she won it in a company sweepstakes and gave it to me because she had one already. it was the coolest thing. we had a family computer in the office (nee playroom) that i had played both sims 2 and 3 on. but now i could take the sims to my room! 

amongst other things. 

i played skyrim religiously after my brother got bored of the xbox, as he was also gifted a playstation 4 along with GTA V. i also adored several creators on youtube, at that time a bastion of comedic skits and random tangential clips lasting no more than 6 minutes or so. i felt deeply invested in the community -- not so much with fellow audience members but with the youtubers themselves; as if these videos were a two-way conversation. shane dawson led to desandnate led to smosh led to kalel cullen led tobuscus led to pewdiepie led to cryaotic, etc., etc. they were great! 

forget the boy bands of the 90s and early 2000s....which youtuber did you want to date? SMASH + fuck, marry, kill in the back of the chilly and damp bus driving home from a scholastic bowl meet. my heart ached for these people. they appealed so deeply to me and i fell madly in love with them all. and i wasn’t alone; we all fell in love. 

i’m not sure how i found out about omegle. at a slumber party or birthday, someone pulled out their laptop & we could see and chat with strangers. live. no supervision. we were...14? 15? had to be 14 because i succinctly remember laughing a while later when i told a grown man i wasn’t 18 but actually 14 after he had finished for me. all while sitting in my new green bedroom. 

for the longest damn time i thought i had an extremely average adolescence. i was lauded as independent and mature, and took pride in that. maturity meant i was better but also inherently prepared for what life was throwing at me. plus independence meant that i could effectively do whatever i pleased. and to that extent, i never attended a party (though i did sneak over to a boy’s house when i said i was going to a friends’ but that was later figured out and actually excused) but i pursued other exploits. 

another piece of the puzzle is that youtube around 2010 appealed to people exactly my age. and was simultaneously extremely sexual. the mass cancellation of shane dawson is ultimately rooted in his behavior around this time. and this behavior was broadcast to us, 12-14 years old, which signaled to us what could be deemed appropriate. queue me believing that men around the ages of 19-25 could find me, a barely there 14 year old, attractive. and boy did i run with that. 

i spent immeasurable time on omegle. it was thrilling, especially when men’s faces would light up as my video appeared. “finally, a real person and not just a dick!” i remember one, zach herzog (sp?). he was so kind, introducing me to imgur which rounded out my early internet diet. he had a girlfriend but at one point admitted to me that she was not as pretty as i was. we would message on kik for hours. he graduated college a year after we met (my junior year of high school). jake was around that time too. but honestly jake was special in that we met through omegle chat (no video). and we actually chatted for about 3 years, at one time making sure to watch the weekly game of thrones episode (freshly downloaded off pirate bay) together and discussing what went down afterwards. after we skyped with video on, we slowly stopped communicating. 

another, stephen i believe. he was from the UK and i only remember that because of his accent and that i had him say my (fake) name multiple times. i never once used my real name nor talked aloud to these men. always text. but does that matter? over skype, he would send videos of himself jacking off...which would have been pleasant save for the fact he liked smacking his penis near the end and i couldn’t take that seriously. 

the first man i reciprocated for -- that is, i obliged requests to show parts of my body -- was sam. i don’t remember anything too striking about him save he did his business to me while we were still on omegle (only strange because the fashion then was to move to somewhere more ‘private’ and stable like kik or skype) and then promptly ghosted me. somewhere in my hs junior year planner, there are notes to sam asking him if he would ever come back. 

then senior year. so stressed with college applications (i applied to one school) i spent most of my time in my bedroom alone, indulging in a healthy diet of top gear and youtube, by this point dominated by cryaotic and pewdiepie. but i always had time for my dear favorite, capndesdes (of desandnate fame who later made his own solo channel where he published several q&a’s and apartment vlogs). october 2013 and i was wearing his blue ‘crescent moon face’ shirt (referencing the photo booth video). i met Anthony, Mike, and David on omegle. i immediately picked out Anthony and sure enough he was interested. him being in a group, i knew we wouldn’t be doing anything that night but the video chat was fun. the connection even died at one point but we got back in contact as i had shared my twitter (and my real name, though for months he believed my fake name was my middle name because i felt bad telling the truth). i guess i should’ve known this time was different when he insisted on skying the next morning before i went to work. i felt embarrassed for how i looked but he said i looked beautiful. and was so earnest i had to believe him. 

we skyped everyday. every day. essentially right as i got home from school because that’s conveniently when he got off work. oh and i eventually had to admit that my microphone was not in fact broken. we played minecraft and gta on the xbox. he said he planned to visit me one day. but that’s absurd, right? i would laugh and say ‘you’re too much.’

he visited november 9 2013. drove all the way up. i was at my friend’s birthday party. we had just woken up and he revealed he was in our town. i gave him directions to the park so we could meet. i remember running to him from my car, friends sitting in the back seat. we walked about two miles around the park, chatting. he was even more beautiful in person. the sight of the freckles on his nose are still so vivid. even after all these years remembering, my naiveté still strikes me. a day later, he asked me to be my girlfriend as we walked to his car after dinner. i said yes, that i would do him the honor of making him the happiest man on earth. a day later, he took (but i also gave) away my virginity. he met my friends and then we said goodbye on a rainy and cold afternoon. i still sometimes smell the sweet mustiness of that room. 

a handful of memories that are still striking after 7 years:

washing the strawberry lube off myself in my parent’s bathroom, praying they did not ask why i had spent the last 5 afternoons and evenings staying so late at a friend’s house; forcing myself to connect to Lorde’s music after he said he enjoyed her first album; saying that thin mints were my favorite after he admitted to buying too many; taking my adventure time backpack to the hotel room and filling out my cheatsheet for my physics test the next day while he watched and eventually rolled me over to kiss me; feeling too insecure to lead him around town so instead opted to stay silent as he chose what to have for dinner; eating at my favorite local mexican restaurant after losing my virginity; showing my friends the pictures we had taken in the hotel room and them losing their minds. 

after he left, i was devastated. and essentially remained devastated for the next 7 months. i cried the morning after he left, while driving to work and listening to ribs. 

there’ll be more, when i have strength. 

[haberdashing]

fog on a mirror

TMA fanfic. Sasha begins to unravel, but an unexpected meeting provides some relief.

Continuation of breath in a graveyard by @akosyy. Definitely read that before you read this.

on AO3

Sasha had known that Tim was her anchor for a while now. Even before he knew it was her, knew that they’d been close well before she became little more than a voice on a tape recorder, they had talked, long hours spent together, their voices intermingling when their bodies no longer could. He had cared about her even when he hadn’t known her name. Even her death hadn’t been enough to force them apart for good.

His death, on the other hand...

Some part of Sasha had hoped that he would turn up there in the Institute, stuck here like she was. Not that it was a fate she’d wish upon him, or upon anyone, really, but... it would be nice to have the company, at least. It seemed, though, that if Tim was haunting anywhere it would be that damn wax museum in Great Yarmouth, far from her domain, far from her watchful eye.

Sasha wasn’t all that surprised to find that when Tim was gone, she began to drift away, unanchored as she was.

Martin tried, bless him. Martin really tried to be there for her when nobody else was. But there was only so much he could do to help. She wasn’t the only one who was suffering because of the aftermath of that explosion, after all. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost her anchor.

Maybe it would be different if Melanie or Basira knew about her, but while Martin could conceivably had told them about her, given Sasha others who could both hear her and recognize what it was they heard, he never offered and she never asked. It was probably for the best, really. Neither of them seemed like they’d take the idea that somebody they didn’t know had been watching them all this time without their knowledge or permission terribly well.

Maybe it would be different, too, if Sasha could say anything useful, pass along the information she’d learned along the way, but that old static still rose up when she tried to explain about the Institute, about Elias, about anything of any real importance. All she could offer was a conversation partner, and as it was, it sounded like Martin talked to a ghost often enough when he visited Jon, though Sasha at least could talk back. Martin was probably growing tired of having only ghosts to speak with, anyway.

As it was, Martin’s chats with the tape recorder grew less and less frequent as days turned to weeks turned to months until they ended entirely. Sasha hadn’t known their last conversation would be exactly that when it happened, but then Peter Lukas...

Well. Martin was still technically in the Institute, but once Peter Lukas got a hold of him, he might as well have been gone, too.

All of them were gone, then, and Sasha began to fade as the aching certainty of it set in.

She’d pass by someone she knew and not remember their name, or how she knew them, or any of the little things she’d gleaned about their life in her time spent as the Institute’s resident ghost. She’d forget the lyrics to the songs she made herself keep singing despite everything, would mix up tunes and not realize that they didn’t go together until she was through. She’d see something that triggered a memory of her life before her death but the details would be hazy, like she was trying to see them through a thick pane of glass, or through dense fog.

She knew that this place was hers, that the people in it were hers, that she was here to watch and listen and not to act, but little by little, the rest started to fall by the wayside.

It was... some months later, though she couldn’t have given a date, or even a number of months that had passed, when she saw him, a thin, dark man with a cane slowly but steadily making his way down the stairs into the Archives.

A lightbulb went off in her head as the man turned the lights of the Archives on--it was night, now, and the residents of the Institute had already long since left--and she knew he wasn’t supposed to be here, though details beyond that initially eluded her.

Her first thoughts were that he was an intruder, like that man with far too many limbs who had attacked the Institute months ago, the sight of the Archives staff fending him off both fascinating and horrifying to her uninvolved eyes. But no, he didn’t look like an intruder, thin and weak as he was, and he clearly knew exactly where he was going as he wandered into an office that had been vacant for quite a while now and sat down within it, sighing slightly as he sank into the chair.

Then she remembered, distantly, that he had died. That it had all gone wrong--that was the phrasing that Martin had used, then, that it had all gone wrong--and he had died. He wasn’t the one who had been her anchor, but they had died side by side, fighting the same fight. Except that he was here now.

He was here now, and he wasn’t a ghost like her. He’d turned the lights on, after all, was able to take his jacket off and adjust the chair and turn on the computer in front of him. He had died, and yet he was physically present in a way she could only dream of, in a way she had only been in those distant, foggy memories of hers. A zombie, perhaps, but not a ghost.

And as she stood there and watched this strange visitor to the Archives rifle through dusty files, after a moment, he looked up and watched her right back.

“...Sasha?”

It took her a moment to realize that that was her name, and another moment to think to speak up, and another silent moment to remember that speaking didn’t work like that for her, not now, not anymore.

If the man noticed her silent, slow processing, though, he didn’t show it, shaking his head--his hair was long and shaggy, black and silver strands clinging to his face after every movement--and smiling weakly before digging through his bag for...

Ah. For a tape recorder. Which he set on the desk, looking her in the eyes as he pressed the play button.

“Sorry, is that better?”

Her breathing came through the tape recorder loud and clear. How long had it been since she’d heard the sound of her own breath?

“For a certain definition of better, I suppose.” The words came out of her almost as smoothly and naturally as her breaths did.

“Right. Right, that makes sense.” He laughed, soft and sharp, with no humor in the sound.

“Jon?” It had taken her longer than it should have to remember that name. They had been close, once. Too much had changed, but perhaps that part didn’t need to. “Jon, what happened? Martin said you were dead.”

Granted, Sasha knew that that wasn’t entirely true, given that hospitals generally weren’t in the business of taking care of dead people, but while Martin had touched on Jon’s condition in their chats back when they’d had them, he never outright explained what state Jon was in now; Sasha had gotten the feeling that it was something of a sensitive subject, and she hadn’t pushed. She knew that Jon had been in the hospital, that he was still technically considered dead, and that he wasn’t expected to recover, but that wasn’t enough to put together the full story. She’d assumed brain death, when she’d assumed anything at all, but that didn’t exactly match up with current evidence.

“Not quite.” Jon broke eye contact with Sasha, looking down at his cane, which he began to fidget with absentmindedly. “It’s... it’s a long story.”

Sasha shrugged. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

“Do you?” Jon stared back up at Sasha. “You look... fuzzy. Are you alright, Sasha?”

She could tell he was trying to change the subject, but she couldn’t entirely blame him, either. Maybe he wasn’t ready to talk about his near-death experience, or whatever, yet. That was fair enough.

Besides, he had a point.

Sasha laughed, her laughter soft and shaky and slightly tinged with static as it rang out from the tape recorder. “I do feel a little... fuzzy, actually.”

“Probably not a great sign, that.”

Sasha shook her head, her laughter a little louder this time, but still shaky and filled with static. “No, probably not.”

“Do you want to... to talk about it?” Jon went back to fidgeting with his cane, though he kept his gaze locked on Sasha, the gleam in his eyes downright eerie in the dim archival lighting. “You know, I never did get a statement from you, even though I thought that’s what you were here for at first... maybe that would help, getting to tell your story, having someone hear you out.”

Sasha thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, she suspected Jon had more reasons than he was sharing for wanting to hear her story, and she could tell he was still trying to get out of explaining what had happened to him. On the other hand, he looked about as bad as she felt, and... and maybe it would be good for her, being able to explain it all to somebody who’d be glad to listen.

And she wasn’t the only one without an anchor here, was she?

“I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours afterwards.” Jon opened his mouth to speak, and she held up one hand to stop him. “Doesn’t have to be right now, right away. But I want to hear it one of these days. When you’re ready.”

“I...” Jon let out a long, slow breath. “Alright, fair enough. We have a deal, then.”

“And the tape recorder’s already running, of course.”

“Of course.” Jon laughed a little, and Sasha noticed that his voice sounded slightly hoarse as he did, just before he cleared his throat. “Statement of Sasha James, regarding...”

“...Her death and subsequent existence.” Sasha finished, trying not to notice how Jon’s eyes lit up as he switched into statement mode.

Jon nodded silently before continuing with his speech. “Taken direct from subject, 16th of February, 2018. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”

That bit was new, and it stuck out clearly enough in Sasha’s mind; Sasha had heard him record statements more times than she could count, now, and it was always always always “Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London”. A few times she’d spoken the words along with him, when she’d known that she wouldn’t be heard, getting the same rhythm that he always used down after a couple practices. The fact that he was calling himself just “the Archivist,” now, the term she’d only ever heard used by those who were in too deep and saw people as roles more than as individuals... well, it wasn’t a great sign.

But then, neither was the fact that Sasha was apparently fuzzy to Jon’s eyes, albeit not to her own, or the fact that the static crept up on her sometimes even when she was saying nothing of consequence.

They were both drifting, perhaps. They both needed an anchor.

Sasha forced herself to summon up a smile, weak but present just the same, and Jon smiled back at her, and though he looked like hell and his eyes gleamed unnaturally as they stared up at her, in that moment, everything seemed almost okay.

“Statement begins.”

[rosaguard]

solivgnt replied to your post: she’s so pretty :pleading:

PLEASE tell me more

aetla replied to your post: she’s so pretty :pleading:

:ear:

it’s hard for me to talk about her before rambling a bit so here i go! her name is audrey cramer which is 1). a reference to my favorite actress ( audrey hepburn ) and 2). a reference to one of my favorite families ( the cramer women ) in my favorite soap opera, one life to live. i love ( love ) soaps; passions, all my children, and one life to live were my biggest favs even though passions was stupid most of the time looking back. the deaths of AMC / OLTL still hurt. but hey, general hospital, days, and the cbs soaps are still kicking even if i don’t watch them. the point of bringing this up is that the mini-story in my head with these characters in the sims is basically kind of a...love letter to soaps and the tropes they have ( the romance, the cheating, scandals, the star crossed lovers, the people who die but never stay dead, etc. ) but with a fantasy twist since the town is occupied by fairies, wizards, werewolves, etc.

anyway, audrey. while soaps are an ensemble, pretty much every single one has that one female character that ‘leads’ the show ( all my children had erica kane, one life to live had victora / vicki lord, general hospital still has laura spencer, days of our lives also still has its female lead, marlena evens, etc, etc. ) audrey is the ‘lead’ of [fictional town i haven’t fully decided the name of].

audrey is well... me. her name was literally my middle name back when i first created her back when my brother got me the sims 1 ( side note: i love my big bro. he’s great ). she’s always been black, she’s aways been a writer, and a hopeless romantic who just so happens to be good at things i’m not ( i hate cooking -> audrey ended up going into the professional chef career lmao ). she was basically built off the things young summer liked and did or either aspired to do or get better at. she is, quite literally, my idealized self i guess. ( i think her love interest may or may not have originally been based off this cute hispanic boy i spent all day at the pool with once one summer. did we dramatically look at each other through the gates when he finally had to go home? maybe. i was in love ya’ll!!! )

i literally had a journal in middle school were i wrote out stories between the characters - although looking back on it now, i would probably cringe since most of it would read like a trashy reality show to me ( for context, stuff like flavor of love / i love new york was at its peak back then ) rather than the well crafted soap that 13 year old me envisioned. however, instead of just...throwing all that away, i recently started to build this storyline in my head ( mostly b/c i’m not very fond of the sims 4 and want to find ways to keep myself invested in it ) and revamp parts i didn’t like. basically i asked: how can i make this interesting to me - even if it is, admittedly, self indulgent to my tastes? the answer was to start building a world which is...something i’ve never done before? and it’s still in like super, super infant phases b/c i haven’t been playing ts4 at all but it is something i want to work for my own enjoyment / challenge to myself.

SO. the beginning of the story has always started with audrey returning home for a funeral - her mother’s funeral to be exact. there’s a lot of baggage here due to the fact that 1). her mom is/was easily the most important in town, 2). the cramers, who are also witches, are seen as the ‘pillars’ of the community and thus someone needs to step up and take her mother’s place (i’m still debating on her mom’s new name  / whether i want it to be a soap character reference or not so that’s why i’m not saying a name), and 3). her mother’s death slowly begins to look more and more like a murder than a natural cause of death.

on top of all of this, audrey hasn’t been back home since graduating high school and leaving her HS sweetheart behind due to conflicting desires ( she wants to escape what she is - a witch / half faye via her father - and wants to leave it behind while he takes pride in his family and what he is - a werewolf. ( we all know they’re going to fall in love again but...slow burn baby ). 

audrey vc: can i catch a break here?

there’s also the fact that well...the cramers like all families are dysfunctional. before i touch on her sisters, however, i also have to mention another trope within soap operas. if a character (doesn’t matter if they’re a man or a woman) has multiple children then each child is basically guaranteed to have a different mom / dad  ( if a brother and sister on a soap have the same mom and dad, that’s actually a miracle lol ). that’s how it is with audrey and her sisters, serena and alexendra.

serena. the oldest who was originally the baby - although audrey tends to act more like it. literally gives not a single fuck(tm) about having magical powers and constantly leaves the council on read about becoming the new head now that her mother is dead. she’s single, constantly ready to mingle - in bed. basically fulfills the hot / steamy part of the ‘love in the afternoon’ part of soaps + is a person whose life is a mess and is always into something they probably shouldn’t be in.

alexenda. the baby who, at least back during the ts1 and ts2, was actually the oldest but things change!!! her personality has changed a lot because she used to be the oldest that was a nerd - i admittedly wasn’t invested in her back then as much as i am now. is more of a modern day hipster now who is an artist more than anything else. i’m still fleshing her new personality out so there’s not much here yet.

the momma without a name yet ( might just be marlena b/c while i’ve never been super into days of our lives, the character marlena literally got possessed by the devil twice and that should be honored tbh ). anyway, she dead. has had an antagonist relationship with esperanza kane since forever and may or may not have been sleeping around with her husband. oops. ( esperanza is the mother of christian, audrey’s ex. :))) )

anyway, this isn’t like....a deep plot. i’m very self aware about it. it’s messy and drama filled b/c that’s well...soaps lol.

bonus: they also have pets. the dog is named carly after a character from general hospital that’s always yelling and in people’s faces lol. the brownish cat is the mom’s cat, vicki (named after the ever wise victoria lord), who can speak and acts as an ‘advisor’. audrey’s cat is...victor manning who doesn’t think he’s a cat and would probably try to fight you in the street if he could - that’s what you can expect from a cat named that lol. he loves belly rubs though!!!!

[roguebotanist]

I’ve been playing around with talk to transformer today and thought it would be fun to extend a bunch of sim bios! I think someone may have done something similar recently, but I’m not really sure. Anyway, here’s every sim in Strangetown (bolded parts are their original bios). Long post ahead:

Loki Beaker

As soon as he perfects his latest invention, Loki is sure to get the recognition he knows he deserves. In the meantime, he keeps himself busy by trying to assemble a nuclear reactor out of common household items. During one of his experiments, he accidentally melts the family dog. Realizing that his so-called tools of destruction are so harmless, Loki gladly takes his pet back home and happily adopts it. Fearing that the strange creature will cause more damage if he is ever left alone, Loki goes to great lengths to keep it, including stacking hundreds of baby chicken eggs in the backyard.

Circe Beaker

Circe knows 238 different ways to make someone scream, and none of them are nice. She enjoys taxidermy and collecting coat hangers. She has a wonderful knowledge of names and an affinity for Hallmark, which is why all her books are centered around Christmas and spring holidays. This is particularly important to her, as her whole life is completely shaped by them. The children love to ask questions about things, and they are able to make up as many of the answers as they like. Do you have a huge embarrassment problem? One of Circe's known phrases is 'Where's the finger in your back pocket?'.

Sometimes in the garden, she prances

Nervous Subject

His hobbies include twitching and blinking a lot. He's also fond of travelling and baking. Along with the broad and meaty teeth of a canine, St George the giant groundhog has a day-old beard and a partial gingivitis – which is the inflammation of a plaque inside the teeth. His beard and gingivitis don't hurt his routine; they just mean he's a bit slower and a bit more circumspect.

That's because he's aged.

Olive Specter (yes, it gave her stats)

Olive will stop at nothing to get what she wants. She spends her time collecting mushrooms, sharpening sticks, and excavating her yard. As you might expect, she has a big appetite, and eats anything that she thinks is good enough for her. She's as much of a carnivore as you are, and is able to catch fish or birds at the least opportunity. She doesn't bother with plants, and prefers to live in areas full of food.

Alignment: Neutral evil

Hit Dice: 1d8+2

Speed: 30 feet

Ophelia Nigmos (this one is unsettling and strangely coherent)

Ophelia's hobbies include hypochondria and monitoring the air quality. She worries about the future... and the past... and the present. Especially right now.

Her past memories have become like mantras, repeating over and over in her head. They are the most important thing to her. This time, she's not sure she will remember them the way she did before. She's aching to go back and erase her past.

That which is most important to her--the things she left behind--has been forgotten. And nobody can help her. Nobody.

PT9 Smith

The only thing PT9 loves more than his lawn is his family. When he is not spending time with his children, he enjoys clipping coupons and staring up at the sky. Over the years PT9 has found his place in the aquarium world. He has helped educate people on different types of fish and he has hosted various education seminars for clients who have "fish stories" to share. In his spare time, PT9 enjoys spending time with his wife and his grandchildren.

Jenny Smith

Jenny loves having a career, but she wishes she could spend more time with her family, and maybe make some new friends. She really likes green. She wishes she had more friends. She wishes her mom would talk to her more often. She wishes she had nicer hair. She wishes her nose looked like a horse's. She has a lot of sympathy for humans and hopes to see one in the future. Jenny is a cross between a cat and a dog with a medium build, no special traits, but that means she's got a lot of muscle and a huge body

Johnny Smith

Johnny dreams of being the hero that rides in on a white horse, or at least a cool sports car. He'd go on to become the worst Superhero in all of space and time, which I guess is exactly what a normal, human teenage boy would do.

Jill Smith

When Jill closes her eyes, she sees dolphins. She has her heart set on becoming a deep sea welder someday. She loves dolphins so much, she's often put one in the trunk of her car and hit the gas to cheer her up.

"I love them so much," Jill declares. "I'm a Dolphin Lover."

Pascal Curious

No matter what happens, Pascal believes there is a logical explanation for everything. In his free time, he practices home psychoanalysis and collects conspiracy theories. He's become adept at opening jars containing creepy little bones or fragments of jellyfish, an odd skill in the world of ponysaurus hunting.

"I have been extremely lucky with bone fragments and that's not even being exaggerating," Pascal said.

Vidcund Curious

Serious and exact, Vidcund strives to fit the universe into a nice tidy package. He has an unnatural fondness for African violets. He is literally covered in them, from head to toe, if not technically. This is an odd love-hate relationship, a love-love and a hate-hate; that leaves us to sit and imagine the potential war between the vine and the earth.

Lazlo (”Twilight”) Curious

Not as studious as his older brothers, Lazlo got his degree in Phrenology. He likes to call phone psychics and spends hours trying to bend forks with his mind. His middle name is "Twilight" because his father was a vampire. He hates flowers.

General Buzz Grunt

The General likes to have his clocks set to military time. He used to enjoy barbershop quartet singing, but that is classified information. It's unknown when he fell in love, but it's possible that he was one of the first humans to understand the concept of love.

Tank Grunt

Tank Grunt wants to be just like his old man. He spends his days lifting heavy things, dodging imaginary bullets, and being bigger than the other guy, but deep down inside, he wonders if anyone really knows who he is. He hates it when his grandmother wants him to call her "Mama" and his grandma is pissed, and he just wants to stay in the dark and get away from the boring world around him. If he could just learn to love himself, he'd be unstoppable.

Ripp Grunt

Ripp totally doesn't care what you think of him. He is going to do whatever he wants to do, which is mostly what everyone else is doing. He has this whimsical desire to show off his tattoos, even though they give me nightmares (sometimes it feels like these tattoos are like a big torture device). He is hyperbolic and outrageous and uncouth and rude to the point that he's almost comical.

Buck Grunt

More than anything else, Buck wants to be a pet stylist to the stars. He spends a lot of time wondering why his father never seems to notice him.

"I want to have big hands and big feet, and I'm hoping I'm going to end up a couple of feet longer than my parents are," Buck said. "My Dad tells me a lot of things like, 'My son is going to be that guy who gets attention by the funnest side of you you've ever seen.' "

Cousins' health makes him optimistic about his prospects

Ajay Loner

To pass the hours, Ajay enjoys counting the grains of sand in his backyard. He may be about to blow his last few thousand, so he worries no more. "You can always count them. You just have to keep on keeping on," he says.

Chloe Curious

The complete opposite of her sister, Chloe just wants to meet new people and to have a good time. She can often be found daydreaming or chatting on the phone. She is very positive and has a creative mind, a big help when composing mean tweets. She always makes sure she keeps her emotions under control and is not too outgoing in social situations.

Lola Curious

Intelligent and focused, Lola knows what she wants and how to get it. She enjoys politics and telling those around her what to do. She keeps her enemies close and keeps a close eye on her enemies' backbones. Her love of Doctor Who and her interest in exploration drive her to travel the galaxy.

Erin Beaker

Erin spends a lot of time working on her psychic powers. Of course, she isn't really psychic, but don't tell her that. Erin's already a pro at picking out great dates with potential future partners. Nothing beats having a psychic date.

Kristen Singles

Kristen envisions herself as a world famous sports champion. She doesn't particularly care for Strangetown, but it's only a pit stop on her track to greatness. As much as she hates to admit it, her talent has never been in question, but that's not stopping her from strutting and parading around town in a T-shirt advertising her skills. She's no longer treating her sport as a game, but instead is obsessed with her prowess as a self proclaimed "muscle mom." 

[traumawings]

I don't really miss my home during the day because I'm distracted by everything going on around me/making homework etc.

But the feeling sometimes just hits me when I lay in bed at night and it leaves me with this ache in my throat and tears threatening to escape my eyes because holy shit I wanna go home

I miss my things, I miss my pets, I miss the normalcy I had, I miss the familiarity of my home

was it a shitty fucking place? Yes, definitely, but I was used to it, and I had found my way and I was making it work somehow and I finally had a relatively big room all to myself with a really nice desk, my own computer that I could finally play the Sims on (I'd gotten a newish one just 2 days before shit went down), I had 2 absolutely adorable pets and I was honestly making it work and my whole fucking world collapsed just like that and honestly??? It still hasn't really hit me

I cry every now and then because I miss that place, but everything still feels so unreal, I still sometimes feel like im about to come back from a holiday trip every moment, but I won't, I'm never going back and that's just really hard to deal with

I'm actually listening to a song I listened to a lot a few weeks before I left, I would sit at my desk and scroll through tumblr and Id listen to it whenever I would break down under the stress of school and i just feel so extremely nostalgic and sad now

And I thought life was bad before this?? Man I hadn't seen shit yet, my life was honestly good compared to my life right now

I still regret speaking up, and like sometimes I actually like being in this shelter and I'm actually glad to be here, and at other times I just cry and cry and cry because I wanna go home

I'm actually crying right now

I just miss my home, even if it was a terrible place, it was still my home yknow??? And it was so painful to go back last week Tuesday, I felt like I didn't say goodbye properly, like I should've thoroughly nspected every single bit of the house just so I won't forget but it would never be enough

And it wasn't even weird, like as soon as I was inside I felt at home, even after everything that happened, I just immediately had this urge to stay there forever and watch TV with my mom and do all the things I used to do and I wanted to take every tiny little thing with me, I wanted to have tiny bits of home to hold onto, but I didn't take that much with me in the end

I miss it, I really do, and it hurts that I'll never be able to go back to the way things were because honestly I wish I could, I really wish I could