#It's so infuriating like why is this rate limit shit even a THING oh wait I know why it's MONEYBAIT

[girlyliondragon]

Running an newly made alt twitter at this day and age is like hell... and not the fun kind!

Oldtwitter LITERALLY cannot escape the fucking rate limit shit like.

PLEASE I need to ask, when the FUCK does the site consider you not a new acc anymore? I am tired of having to go "WELP I CAN'T TWITTER ANYMORE RN SEE Y'ALL YOINK" and it's only in the middle of the fucking day or even EARLIER-

[aveys6]

little wip

how richie's health changes in relation to his relationship w eddie

* the dialogue is rough bc i intend on actually putting it into structured sentences in ao3, bare w me

age 13 - 1989

"sorry guys, cant hang today. i have a hot appointment scheduled with dr noelle" he lifted his eyebrows and shit to insuate prostitution

"so, what, you have a physical?" stan said unimpressed

"that's the techinical term, stanny, but we all know better. i cant wait to have her hot bod all over me on the examination table-"

a chorus of dismissal waves around him, and eddie elbows his upper arm. stan even mutters something about 'examination' being quite a big word for richie to use.

"i bet theyre gonna test you for HIV. or maybe you'll get diagnosed with lung cancer from all of those cigarettes you've been smoking. *insert fact about smoking here that was probably exaggerated*"

"oh yeah? and where'd you hear that? your mommy?" richie challenged, ignoring eddies mention of the 'queer disease'

"ill have you know, dipwad, that my mom is highly educated in the field of medicine. cigarettes are insanely addictive-"

rich cuts him off and mocks with a nasally voice

"according to my calculations, cigarettes have roughly 236 chemicals in them-"

"thats basically true!"

"you guys are infuriating, but im pretty sure eddie's right on this one"

"thank you stan!"

"my mom says its fine because im young"

"im pretty sure she said that in reference to your junk food intake which you should also cut back on-"

"anyway," rich cuts in "im 100% sure everything will go completely fine. my doctor will be swayed by my irresistible charm to which she will then add a couple inches to my heigh chart so i can officially be 5'4 and make fun of you all"

eddie was determined not to smile, his quivering lips miraculously staying straight and expressionless "thats not how it works and you know it"

"not with that attitude!" noogie on eds

"fuckin quit it!"

-

his heel was practically slapping the waiting room floor, eyes flittering over childish paintings of sea creatures on the walls.

eddies irrational-but-not-quite-irrational rants finally processed in his mind.

richie never liked worrying his friend. he knew the boy's mom was a nutjob and said as such often (as well as vocalized his extreme desire to 'love her up'). he knew eddie was basically brainwashed.

it was scary, having someone worry about you. it means they cared. richie never truly comprehended why they cared. why eddie specifically cared. but it also felt good to have someone worry about him, outside of his mother, who, speaking of, gently placed a hand on his knee to stop its incessant movement.

richie wasnt the prime of schoolgirl crushes. he looked a little buggish: big eyes, thin limbs- clumsy and annoying. he wondered why eddie of all people gave him the time of day, and sometimes even more than that.

"richie toe-zee-air?"

the pair stood up despite mispronunciation.

-

richie was more than delighted to announce that his appointment was flawlessly average. everyone knows the deal: lie about how many fruits and veggies you consume, exaggerate how early you go to bed, deflect when the doctor asks if you've experienced any romantic or sexual attraction, count the inches of a growth spurt- no biggie.

"im sorry for, like, berating you earlier. i dont like doctors."

"i would hardly call what you did berating eds. it was your normal amount of neuroticism. dont sweat it"

there was a pause

eddie breaks the silence "i just worry sometimes"

ah, so it was confirmed.

"i know you do, eds."

-

"how do you know the word neuroticism?"

"heard my dad say it."

--------

age 25 - 2001

richie was back to tapping his foot on the linoleum of a waiting room. this time, alone, with no one to calm his fire-y energy. its not like he wanted the tapping to stop anyway. the repetitive motion helped ease the anticipation of getting scolded for letting himself go. this time not by a boy he couldnt catch the name of, but by a licensed professional.

he reasoned that he would rather hear it from the boy. what the hell was that shit bag's name?

this was the first appointment he had attended and organized since his pediatrician refused another after his 22nd birthday. she was already stretching the age limit of which he could visit (said extension curtesy of his dad being friends with medicinal people).

he figured it was time to move on with his life once snotty kids started giving him weird looks for fidgeting with the baby toys displayed near check-in. what says being an adult more than scheduling your own health appointments? richie answers that question by saying 'having to pay for them'.

richie's silent complaints are interrupted by a soft knock. a very typical, white-haired, doctor you'd see in movie, type of dude sauntered in.

"mr tozier, im dr sigman, how're we doin'?" he said, pumping obscene amounts of hand sanitizer.

richie replied automatically, "i'm doing pretty well, doc', how are you?"

as one can tell by the excruciatingly boring small talk, richie seemed to have lost his most palatable edge: quirky socialization.

"eh, my condition is not what's important here. how about you sit up on this here table and we can listen to your heart and lungs."

richie followed the instruction, heart rate increasing accordingly. the paper on the bench-table-thing crinkled far too loudly to be acceptable. maybe he was hungover. it would explain the heightened senses.

"so, according to your medical records, tozier, you haven't had an annual physical since- uh..." the man scanned his clipboard, "1998, correct?"

"that is correct, sir" his ears were aflame.

"mkay. you eat healthy?"

okay, then, they were getting right into it

"as healthy as i can, sir" what kind of fuckin answer was that?

dr sigman grimaced a bit, clearly knowing richies response meant his patient ate an apple every month or so to throw his body for a loop or, rather, 'reset' the ol' immune system. a shallow try at 'taking back your life' like some tabloid bullshit.

"you have a stable sleep schedule?"

richie shrugged with an "i guess" that conveyed that his average hours of sleep per night were as dreadful as his attempt at a balanced food pyramid plate.

"smoke or drink?"

now thats the million dollar question

[alexlabhont]

I didn’t mean to fall in love with you

Chapter Four.

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing:  Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: Canon re-write (Because I can)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really

I´ll be posting this one over here because Tumblr, for some reason, thinks my secondary blog is a bot...

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

Now, about the PAIRING... I will be using choices style, kinda, because I want to give you choice at some point. If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so... i’m sorry fo the grammar errors

CHAPTERS

The beginning

Chapter one 

Chapter two

Chapter three

ONE-SHOTS

Just a dance (Zoey x MC)

—————————————————————— 

“What the hell are you doing?”

Zoey Wade. The nerve of this girl of interrupt her meal. Poppy took the time to leave her fork down before bury her gaze into the other girl.

“I should be asking you the same thing. Who do you think you are to talk to me?” She asked exasperated.

So far she was doing good, the last details of her plan were tuned, the day to destroy Chloe and take back her very deserved number one place had come. The excitement she get every time she made a perfect move in order to obtain what she wants was in her veins, but of course, something had to happen. Or someone.

“Don’t play the fool, Poppy. It doesn't suit you. I'll ask once again: What are you doing with Beck?”

“Oh, what do we have here…?” She thought, intrigued.

“I’m sorry, did you crashed your head against the pavement or why do you think I owe you an explanation?” Poppy pushed her salad aside, her appetite completely gone because of the insolence. This Nobody thought she could come and disrespect her in her own spot of the cafeteria like they were in the same level. Zoey was seriously stupid. “Whatever me and Beck are doing is not you fucking business, Wade. Why don’t you just get a life a little less pathetic and go on with it.”

The spark in Zoey’s eyes changed, a little mix between anger and a cold serious look that, Poppy had to admit, scare her for a split second and then… jealousy? The other girl leaned on the table towards her, threatening, trying to intimidate her, but Poppy stood still, not giving her the pleasure to give in to her ridiculous games. Especially feeling all those eyes over them, people murmuring and whispering. She couldn’t let her have her way.

“Listen very closely, Min-Sinclair: I care about Beck and we all here agree you’re a selfish bitch. I know you’re not up to something good, so I will do everything on my power to make sure Beck’s far away from you claws.” That was so ridiculous that Poppy cracked a smile, making fun of Wade. She couldn't even be mad with a clown like her. “I’m telling you now, back off…”

The two of them kept that position a few second, a fight between wills neither of them wanted to loose. Finally, was Zoey the first to walk away, falsely believing her message was received.

Oh, Zoey… as if you could do something to stop her from her aims.

“Hey, Zoey?” Poppy called, the daggers in her mouth ready to hurt her really bad. “Why would anyone be interested in you while they have me?” Zoey stopped immediately, the strike hitting the spot. Poppy smirked, understanding everything right in the moment. Zoey likes Beck, it was so clear it actually felt cliché

“Ha! This must be entertaining.” Poppy thought, enjoying the effect of her words in Zoey.

“You’re just a three-digit fool who hasn't learn her place. Why don't you save yourself from humiliation and forget about Beck completely?” The strawberry blonde smiled at Zoey with a friendly smirk. “You know? My day with them yesterday was really good, so I'm feeling generous.” Poppy took her things and walked to be face to face with Zoey, who was getting red from frowning. “I’m forgetting about everything you just said and giving you a second chance. You see? I’m making you a favor! Your welcome, sweetie.” She added with an obviously pretentious voice before going out the cafeteria.

Even though she looked calm and perfect as always, inside Poppy was furious.

How she dares!

What the hell was wrong with that loser? Does she really was that horny for Beck?

“Well… if she was, I couldn't really blame her…” Poppy thought.

She wasn’t lying back at the shelter; she really thought they were cute. The way they looked at the animals, that stupid, goofy smile and congratulations Beck gave the puppies and kittens everytime Piper told them they did a great job. Poppy had a lot of fun doing the commercial, so much so she couldn’t help but be so honestly involved in the making, enjoying every part of it, in fact, Beck was different from how they’re act in Belvoire everytime they both meet.

They weren’t infuriating, insulting, a ranking climber, selfish dude who played the game even better than she expected. Actually, while having lunch, Beck was… fine. A big asshole from time to time but in a funny way. Pretending to be so nice and shit was actually easier than she thought around Beck, she was even glad to have them now at ten spot. Definitely she did a good choice.

But now, Zoey had to come and ruin her everything. And it actually pissed off Poppy badly. Beck didn’t need a personal protector, and Poppy didn’t need competition. She believed it would be easier to have Beck, at first she thought it was because they were trans, she read about it online: most people wouldn't date a trans person because… reasons.

But Belvoire proved to be different: it turns out Beck had a lot of friends, and a lot of girls daydreaming about them as usually they do around Alphas, admiring them secretly while doing exercises in the gym, trying to dance with them in parties… but Beck refused all of them. They were shy, they looked uncomfortable with anyone.

Anyone except Zoey Wade.

The both were really close, always together like Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Before all this, the very same Poppy had seen them hugging, flirting and practicing music together. Still, the strawberry blonde never thought of her as a threatening opponent. But now, Zoey Wade just make herself a target to eliminate, maybe not this time, after all, she did give her a second chance. She was a woman behind her own word.

But… She still had to do something. So she quickly took off her phone, typing a message to the matter at hand.

Poppy:

So here’s the plan

I'll need you to meet me at this address at 10pm sharp

Don't disappoint me, tushi-face 😏

She waited a few seconds, almost a minute. What took them so long?

Tushi-face🤡:

What? Why?

Poppy:

You'll have to trust me 😉

She looked at her screen, waiting for Beck’s answer. What were they doing? Texting Zoey? Her patience was running low when a little buzz alerted her.

Tushi-face🤡:

This can't be good. I'm not going

Were they serious?! Beck was playing with her kindness more than they should. No good at all.

Poppy:

Coward 🙄

Tushi-face🤡:

I'm not a coward

Quick answer. Poppy smirked mischievously. Beck always gave her a lot of information to work with, so transparent it was almost a sin to take advantage of it. Almost.

Poppy:

Prove it 💅🏻

Typing… typing… nothing… typing… typing…

Tushi-face🤡:

I’m going to regret this, am I?

Poppy:

Sending the location now

With a smug smile, Poppy send to Beck the location where the Club Malibu was. It was a exclusive place where only the elite could go. Yes, she said Zoey was temporarily off limits… but she didn't say she wouldn't be taking her chances up.

Tushi-face🤡:

Clubbing? Not my kind of place really

Poppy:

Ew, when you put it like that you sound so boring

Tushi-face 🤡:

Why do you want me there anyways?

Poppy:

All in due time, Farmsville

All in due time 😘

~~X~~

Poppy check the hour in her phone once again, it was almost 10 pm and she was already expecting Beck to show up because of the paranoia. Her foot tapping repeatedly against the floor it was the proof everyone around her needed to know she was nervous. What the hell took them so long? Did Beck decided to ditch her last minute?

Was it Zoey Wade´s fault?

She swore to god she´ll kill the girl after a humiliating and memorable reve…

“Could you calm down already? They already here” She heard Bradley say and immediately look right at the door, where Beck was being escorted to the V.I.P. area just like she asked for.

Damn, the dude knew their ways.

Beck was looking fucking hot, the black scheme really suits them and the way the shirt showed his muscles caused a lot of eyes stick to them as thirsty bastards. To top it all, the song playing in the back and Beck´s expressions were on point to make them look sexy as hell. Feeling a pang of jealousy, Poppy frowned. At what point will this bitches stop looking Beck like a piece of meat? Disgusted, Poppy stood up from her seat, very willing to show all these whores who they were competing against. With a sexy and confident smirk, the strawberry blonde walked towards Beck, sashaying her hips seductively, quickly catching Beck´s gaze.

And she loved it.

She could see the gasp, how the air escaped their lungs and redness taking over their face. Oh how she adored to cause that effects in Beck, all those girls didn’t have a chance. Embracing their strong arm, Poppy smile at them leaning her body against them, drawing a property line.

“Hey there, Tushi-face. I´m glad to see you´re not totally incapable of following directions.” She greeted them, leading the way to the exclusive section.

“Nice to see you too, Poppy.”

“Really? That was all?”

“I have to say… You´re looking fine tonight”

“Yeah, that´s what I thought”

“Is that your attempt at flattery, Farmsville?” She was not going easy on them.

“I´m not stupid enough to try and flatter you. I was just stating facts.” Oh god, that was so cliché she even scoffed. How many times have her hear that before? But something about Beck being the one to say it, turned her perfect pout into a haughty smile. As she was saying, pretending with Beck was easy, it came to her naturally, effortless.

“Maybe you´re more observant than I gave you credit for. I like it. And I have to say, I´m shocked. For once you don’t look completely unfortunate. And here I thought you were a total lost cause.” She joked, smiling just like before while having lunch.

“Wow, back to squared one already with sucking compliments?” Beck smirked, a total funny jerk.

“Try not to push your luck, Farmsville. You don´t want to be on my bad side, again.”

“Really? I don’t see the difference.” They pointed out, testing her. Poppy came closer to them, completely pressing her body against Beck´s arm, letting them feel her heat, her breast, her perfume. The distance between the two was so close that Poppy could feel their fresh breath, her own heart beating fast, excited as she whispered in their ear.

“Stay with me through the night and I promise I´ll give you a taste of the differences…”

Their dilated pupils, the small, imperceptible shiver in their body and that cute yet sexy gesture in their face that appeared after Poppy move away was all she needed to see. She actually liked them…

And she was gonna have them.

-----

Next

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 1

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

This story is, as advertised, fucked up. It’s inspired by the recent influx of Dark!Steve and Dark!Tony fics and there is a lot of potentially triggering material so please read with caution. Our heroes are not heroes in this story; they’re criminals with limited to no consciences. 

There weren’t many things that Penny Parker could really rely on. Her paychecks fluctuated unfathomably every two weeks, the electricity bill was never consistent, and for some reason even when she drove her car dry it never took the same amount of gas to fill the tank. Peter’s class schedule seemed to change every time she asked about it, his after-school club activities were never on the same day, and why did she have to sign this report card but not last quarter’s, Pete? Consistency was something she’d learned not to hope for. Mostly she kept her fingers crossed that things would somehow work out to her advantage, day by day.

For the most part, it did. She’d dropped out of high school when uncle Ben died to start working, to help support aunt May and Peter. It had taken three years to get her GED between the three jobs she worked, but she managed. GED accomplished, she checked off that box on her mental list and signed up for night classes at the local community college. It was hard, but she could make it work. Then aunt May had died.

Custody of 14 year old Peter Parker had been hotly contested, as Penny had only been 21 at the time of aunt May’s death. Technically, she was an adult. She had two jobs, a steady income, an apartment, a decent credit score. Somehow, like most things in her life, it had just kind of worked out and she was granted sole custody of her younger brother. She’d dropped her night classes, picked up a third job overnight, and kept her fingers crossed that social services never asked why her “two bedroom apartment” only had one bedroom.

Semi-decent luck was the only thing that really kept her life running, and by extension Peter’s. She knew it would wear off someday, she’d been granted the lion’s share of good fortune in Queens when it came to looking after her brother and it wasn’t super fair. She just didn’t think it would end so spectacularly. The end of the luck was supposed to be a low, painful fizzle.

Instead, it was a flashbang that started with Peter acting like a cokehead. Peter had never been a particularly twitchy kid; Penny had leeched all the chaotic energy from their mother’s womb and left the intelligence behind for her kid brother. Over the course of several months though, he’d begun jumping at the drop of a hat. Penny would turn the corner into the kitchen and startle him so badly he’d have an asthma attack. If she even glanced at his phone when a notification lit up the screen he’d lose his mind, accusing her of not respecting his privacy and dart away into his room. Asking if he needed anything from the store was suddenly the Spanish Inquisition and god forbid she offer him a ride to school.

Because she’d graciously left all the IQ points for Peter, Penny had a tendency to do stupid things. Like assume Peter’s behavior was because he had gotten a girlfriend or was just going through usual teenage boy hormones that made him act like a jackass. Luckily the dumbass wasn’t actually a cokehead, considering he still blanched whenever she had weed in the house, but fuck if he wasn’t acting like a freak. It came to a head when she happened to be coming home from her second job at the same time he was getting home from one of his after-school club meetings.

She hadn’t been sure what she was seeing at first. It was definitely Peter, he’d hit a growth spurt finally and started to put on some height and muscle mass but was still a lanky little shit, and he was arguing with a man in a suit who was walking next to him. Both were being followed by a slow-moving car with blacked out windows and no front license plate. Peter’s body language was uncomfortable, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders angled away from the man and tucked in, eyes down.

When Penny called out to Peter, the man had gotten into the backseat of the black car which promptly drove away. Her brother had gone red in the face and ran up the steps to their apartment complex without waiting for her to catch up, locking himself in the bedroom and refusing to come out when she followed him in. She’d given up on being the casual guardian, the cool big sister who let him live his life. Penny had begged him to come out, to tell her what was going on. She just wanted to help, how could she help him if he wouldn’t talk to her?

It had started with simple answers, after Penny had started to cry, through the door.

Who was that man? Tony Stark.

What did he want with Peter? To offer him a job.

Why were they arguing? Because Peter rejected the offer.

He was lying. Penny knew what it sounded like, the way his voice changed. She’d been glued to his side since their parents died when she was 13 and it had only gotten worse with uncle Ben’s passing. Peter was lying through his teeth and Penny had no idea why, no idea what to do. Helplessness had settled over her shoulders like a lead blanket, her chest tightening. If Peter was willing to lie to her, then whatever was happening with Tony Stark was really, really bad. And she had no fucking idea what to do.

***

“JARVIS, bring up Peter’s file.”

The voice cut through the silence of the car like a shot, Happy glancing at the man in the backseat through the rearview mirror questioningly. Usually his boss was in a pretty good mood after having harassed the high school kid he’d become obsessed with over the last several months, but the tone of his voice said otherwise.

“Of course, sir,” the AI responded dutifully from the Stark phone, a document appearing on the screen, “anything in particular, sir?”

“Peter told me he was emancipated after his aunt’s death and that he lived alone. I think my boy’s lying to me, J,” Tony’s voice was lower than usual, irritation apparent in his stony expression.

“Straight home, boss?” Happy asked quietly, humming in response when the man in the backseat nodded.

“Records show that Peter Parker is under the guardianship of one Penelope Parker, 24 years of age, relation: sister.”

“So he did lie to me,” Tony ran a hand over his goatee, sighing through the motion in disappointment before anger overcame him again, “You mean he lives in that shithole with someone? She’s supposed to be taking care of him, that place is a fucking drug den!”

“The police have indeed responded to 23 calls involving illicit drug use in that apartment complex in the last 10 days, sir. Another 10 calls were answered in response to domestic violence, 5 calls in regards to loitering, 7 calls in—”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” he waved his hand impatiently before the AI could recite every reason his boy shouldn’t be living in such a fucking pigsty, “tell me more about Penelope.”

The name was said with enough venom that Happy’s eyebrows went up, glancing once again at his boss in the rearview mirror as he navigated through the congested New York City streets.

“Penelope Parker, 24 years of age, born in New York City, New York. Dropped out of high school at 16, accomplished a GED at 19. Currently employed at Little Hands Daycare, Starbucks Coffee, and Kroger’s. Owner of a 2001 Toyota Camry, license plate 605-CEG, rents a one-bedroom apartment in Queens for $1,200 a month, credit score of 713, 1 speeding ticket, no medical insurance—”

“Stop,” Tony grit his teeth, tilting his head from side to side to crack his neck, “a one-bedroom apartment. No medical insurance. Didn’t even graduate from fucking high school. How the hell did she get custody of my boy?”

“Custody of Peter Parker went to his closest living relative, with the stipulation that social services kept up regular visits on account of the young age of the guardian. Records show that visits kept up for roughly 3 months before ending.”

“3 fucking months, those useless fucks,” it came out as a snarl, “look up the case workers, I want their names. And their heads. On a platter. Get a lock on their wifi signal, I want to know what they’re doing at all times. I already have a tracker on Peter, hack into the GPS on Penelope’s phone and keep track of her too.”

“The phone number listed on Ms. Parker’s work forms is a prepaid burner with no GPS capabilities. I can use triangulation to pick up on her general location when she connects to cell phone towers.”

“Seriously, a burner phone? Is she a drug dealer?” Tony’s eyes shot up to meet Happy’s in the mirror, “Oh my god is my baby’s guardian a drug dealer?”

“There is no evidence of any misconduct on the part of Ms. Parker, sir,” JARVIS stated calmly, despite the edge of infuriated panic from Tony, “she has no arrest record or suspicious activity.”

“That doesn’t mean anything and you know it JARVIS,” Tony pressed his head back into the cushion behind him, squeezing his eyes shut, “I’ve got to get him out of there, sooner rather than later. Happy, once we get home, start coordinating with Rhodey for extraction plans. JARVIS, keep an eye on any activity on their WiFi network.”

“Shall I connect to the webcam on the laptop computer, sir?”

“And the camera on my baby boy’s phone,” on his own phone, Tony opened his picture gallery to swipe through the images he already had of Peter, a small smile taking over his mouth in the process, “Keep any recorded video for at least 24 hours, let me know if anything interesting happens.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Happy, let’s get everyone ready for my boy’s homecoming,” Tony stated, shifting in his seat as they pulled into the private garage beneath Stark Tower, “its coming up sooner than we anticipated.”

***

Penny had started googling Tony Stark the moment she realized Peter wasn’t going to part with anymore information. The longer she sat in front of the laptop, the more panic began to grow in her chest.

Tony Stark was a bad man. A very, very bad man who made very, very dangerous weapons and had lots of very, very important and powerful people in his back pocket. There was no real evidence, of course. None of his misdeeds could be proven in court, none of the weapons he invented could be traced to his company, none of the people he practically owned would even admit to knowing the man. He was incredibly powerful and so fucking dangerous that Penny’s teeth ached at the thought of him even being near her baby brother.

“Fuck,” she muttered dragging both hands through her dark brown hair, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

There was no reason for a man like Tony Stark to be offering Peter a job. Sure, Peter was smarter than anyone she’d ever met. The kid’s IQ had to be off the charts, he’d gotten into that insanely expensive private science school in Midtown. But there was no reason for Tony Stark to recruit a high school senior, even if he was a budding genius.

“What are you doing Pen?” Peter’s voice was raspy from crying and the sound made Penny jump, turning in her seat to look at the teenager behind her.

“I’m…,” she glanced guiltily at the laptop before sighing, “I didn’t know who Tony Stark was off the top of my head. I had to look him up.”

Peter quickly reached out and closed the internet browser before shutting the lid of the laptop, running his hand through his hair in a way rather reminiscent of his sister, “You shouldn’t google him, he’s got enough of an ego that he probably gets an alert every time his name comes up.”

Penny bit her lip, rubbing her hands together in her lap before gathering as much courage as she could and pushing out the chair at the table next to her, “we need to talk, Pete. I need you to tell me the truth about why he was talking to you, no bullshit. I can’t help you if I don’t know the situation.”

The teenager hesitated for all of 30 seconds before dropping into the chair, his expression one of dismay, “I can’t tell you anything, Penny. Its too dangerous, he could hurt you—”

“I’m not worried about me, Peter,” she cut him off, hand rising when he started to open his mouth again, “Stop. Listen. Its my job to take care of you, to keep you safe. Start from the top, how did you meet Tony Stark?”

Another hesitation, eyes darting away from her face before he answered, “on accident. He saw me on the street, I was looking for a job at one of the coffee shops near school.”

Penny held her tongue, refusing to lecture him on getting a job and derailing the current conversation, “and he approached you?”

“Yeah,” Peter rubbed a hand over the back of his head, “Asked me my name, about my uniform. Asked me if I liked science since I went to a special school. I thought it was cool, he runs a research and development laboratory. Then he started… showing up in different places.”

“You think he was in those places deliberately?” The question was a quiet prompt when Peter seemed to clam up and he nodded in response.

“It was weird, but I… I liked the attention,” it was whispered, tears gathering in his eyes as shame built in his chest, “He told me how, how smart I was and how impressed he was by me. Talked to me about science and then just… about me. He wanted to know what kinds of things I liked to do for fun, what kind of movies I liked. I kind of thought we were friends but then…”

“Its okay, Peter,” Penny reached out and grabbed both of his hands in hers carefully, tears in her eyes as well, “what happened then?”

“He started getting handsy,” he murmured, a shiver going down his spine, “at first it was just, just like him putting his hand on my back when we walked through a door. Or he’d put his arm over the back of my chair and touch my shoulder. It was weird because he was an adult but… he’s handsome, Pen. He’s really, really handsome and I was excited because he was interested in me for some reason but now I realize that it wasn’t good and it’s not good and I shouldn’t have let him and I’m so sorr—”

“Don’t say sorry, Pete,” a quiet sob escaped Penny’s mouth and she covered it with her hand, the other still clutching at his, “Don’t apologize, you have done nothing wrong. Oh God, Peter, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I noticed that you’d started acting differently but I passed it off. Oh my God, I should’ve talked to you so much sooner. I should’ve asked what was going on. How long has this been going on, Peter?”

He was quiet for so long that another sob was ripped from Penny’s lips and she shot forward, dragging her little brother into a nearly suffocating hug. Fuck, fuck how long had that piece of shit been conditioning her little brother. That fucking pedophile how long had he been stalking her little brother. Fuck the age of consent in New York, fuck the law, Peter was a baby—he was a fucking child.

“You don’t have to answer, Peter, its okay,” it was a soft whisper, her hand carding through his hair while he cried against her, “I’m going to figure something out, okay? I don’t know what yet, but I’m going to make sure that he leaves you alone. I’m going to take care of this, I’m going to take care of you.”

“You can’t, Penny,” his cries were breathy and quiet, “you can’t take care of me this time, he��ll hurt you—”

Penny couldn’t say it out loud, because Peter would lose his mind, but Penny would let Tony Stark murder her in front of an audience if it meant he’d leave Peter alone. Every promise she’d ever made, to her mother on her deathbed, to aunt May on hers, was to keep Peter safe. To make sure he had every opportunity. Peter was so smart, he had so much potential, if she could just give him the chance, if she could just get him to the point where he could make something of himself—then she would consider her life perfect. She’d die knowing she had done her job, she’d opened the gates for her brother’s success.

“I’ll figure it out Peter, one way or another.”

[namjoonsyoongi]

blurred lines | namgi

summary: what’s a few blowjobs between friends?

rating: M

word count: 4610

genre/tags: friends to lovers, friends with benefits, university au, comedy, crack, fluff, angst 

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18663031

Namjoon and Yoongi have known eachother for as long as they could spell their own names, but that wasn't enough to keep Namjoon from wanting to slap his friend upside the head sometimes.

What did keep him from doing so were the little things. The song Yoongi wrote him for his seventeenth birthday, a last minute rap that lasted all of fifty seconds written on a crumbled sheet of lined paper; A song that Namjoon wouldn’t be able to remember even if someone put a gun to his head and told him to recite it. The way that he could read his mind on any given day and act accordingly, and how they’d have a conversation with one another through brief glances and raised eyebrows alone.

Yet he still managed to discover a way to be utterly infuriating.

The other night, the all too allusive Min Yoongi, cat-eyed and full of indifference, crawled into his bed in the middle of the night. Have you ever watched the flicking tongue of a snake as it slithered toward a mouse, and then looked away before it could swallow the mouse whole? That's what Yoongi was to Namjoon on nights like these, intruding into the covers and tangling himself in Namjoon's longer limbs.

Namjoon wouldn't have any issue with a few nighttime cuddles, Yoongi's was just one of the many affectionate boys in their group of friends, and wasn't anywhere near the worst of it. Jimin could be more attached to him than his own skin, and Taehyung was like a puppy in the way he needed constant verbal and physical affirmation to make sure they were, in fact, best friends forever.

Yoongi's not like that, not most of the time. He came with a purpose.

"What's wrong?"  

"Nothing's wrong," Yoongi was simply laying by Namjoon's side at this point, before rolling over into him. "I'm just annoyed with this project. I texted my lab partner, Seungwan, and she’s more lost than I am. I'm never gonna finish this dumb fucking -- stupid fucking -- fuck this project. I'm getting pissed just thinking about it."  

"You should have never took engineering."

He really shouldn't have, but Namjoon knew why he did. He'd spent enough time at his house growing up to know of the expectations his parents had for him, as did every parent. Namjoon had almost fallen into the same trap, on track for medical school until one day, with the lyrics of Epik High's Fly on loop in his head, something stirred in him to stand up and say no. Namjoon spent his first year as a music major estranged from his parents, while Yoongi spent it as the epitome of the perfect son, and unhappy.

Namjoon spoke again. "On the brightside, only one more year."

"Shut up, please."

That was not the first night, where everything was different. Where those lines between friendship and lover blurred, for just an hour, sometimes two.

Yoongi, rather than sulk and complain, opted to release a kiss onto Namjoon's neck - and then another.

"Mm."

He keeps going, further and further, and Namjoon never tries to stop him, even when he knows he should. He palms the bulge in Yoongi's track pants, which seems to be exactly what he wants, and gets to work, going for just long enough until the warmth was enough to burn away any remaining irritation.  

Namjoon never went all the way with Yoongi, but it would probably be pretty nice.

Yoongi's lips had that sweet taste of rum the first time, and it calmed the bitter flames of the vodka present in Namjoon's throat. He couldn't say for sure who made the first move, but he could perfectly recall the pleasant fuzz that clouded his senses, and the way Yoongi moaned as if no one could hear them, as if Jin wasn't in the next room over.

When Namjoon awoke, the faint memory of Yoongi's weight in his mattress was all that remained. Any semblance of permanency floated into the air like dust, he greeted a smirking all-knowing Jin the next morning and went to class none the wiser. A dream, he chalked the whole thing up to, just a weird dream.

"Can I be honest?"

"Go off."

"I'm starting to think Yoongi isn't exactly straight."

Silence.

Like a choir, Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung burst into loud, screeching laughter, accompanied with celebratory hand clapping and Hoseok throwing himself into Namjoon's lap because he can't keep his balance with the sheer humor of it all.

"-And you just realized this!?"

Namjoon swallowed something stuck in his throat.

It's during a brief period of peace with Yoongi, who's laying sprawled against Namjoon's chest, when he asks about it. Namjoon had meant to approach such a subject with the utmost eloquence and thoughtfulness - You can trust me with anything you know, sometimes I feel like you tell the others things you won't tell me. I never would have judged you if you told me you like more than just girls. Do you even know how much respect and appreciation I have for you? That I'll always have for you?

But what came out of Namjoon's mouth is, "Do you give all of us blowjobs?"

Yoongi didn't answer immediately. Namjoon lifted his neck, but all he could see was the black waves of hair on the top of his head, leaning against his chest. The air in the room fogged with the added tension, and Namjoon could only guess what Yoongi's face looked like.

He said nothing. Nothing . He shuffled out of the covers and away from him, leaving the room with the mundane click of the door closing behind him.

That was something Namjoon had always known about Yoongi, his silence was louder than anything, he never had to yell.

"Fool me once? Shame on me. Fool me twice? Shame on you. Suck my dick a third time and 'no homo' is officially off limits." Jin yelped into laughter at his own joke before Namjoon could even process the words.

This was why Namjoon came to Jin for absolutely nothing.

"You're not funny."

"You're gay," Jin said, practically basking in the glare he's earned from Namjoon. "-No excuses, you sucked his dick."

Namjoon rose from his seat. "Don't tell the others."

"Why not? The rest of us admitted we were at least a little gay freshman year, we've been waiting for your coming out for years - years!"    

So you knew about Yoongi too? Namjoon wanted to ask. There was something humiliating about the fact people who Yoongi had known for three years knew more than the one who knew him for fifteen; An anchor of shame dropped silently into his empty gut.  

"Not about that," Namjoon said instead, digging into the fridge for a can of beer. "About me and Yoongi, what we've been...you know."

"Oh no, I won't. That'd scar Jungkook and you know it, that's like when you find out that your mom and dad have sex for the first time."

He tossed the can of beer in his hand, not caring enough to see where it landed, if it smacked against the handsome face that was the older's pride, or broke something along the way.  

"...I don't."

Namjoon detached from him, and Yoongi groaned once the cold air met his wet length. "Wh-What?"

"I don't give the others blow jobs, you're an asshole for saying that."

"I know, I'm sorry. Really." Namjoon, about to dip his head back under the covers, stopped to continue his thought. "Also, It's really hard to have a conversation with you while your dick is in my mouth." He moved to go under for a second time, and halted again. "Also, neither do I."

"Neither do you what?

"Give the others blowjobs."

"Good."

Shards of glass could cut you so easily, a sharp end that sinks deep into your skin, yet you don't immediately feel it when it does. That was the thing about them, he and Yoongi; Their bond was like glass, clear and delicate, it could break at one wrong move, with the simplest of words that hit the other in just the right place.

With someone as clumsy as he was, who has broken more than enough glass made objects, a connection like that was futile. Or that's what he thought, cause no matter how bad the fall, no matter how worse the cut, they somehow put themselves back together as if it had never been touched.

"Joon, your cup!"

Snapped forcefully from his reverie, the weight that had been steady in his hand slipped out before he could save it. The jarring sound of shattering glass cut out the white noise that had been playing as a soundtrack to his own thoughts.

He cursed, watching the reflective shards twinkle menacingly on the tiled floor. "Shit."

"You know, sometimes me and Jimin talk about getting a plastic set just for you." Jungkook jokes, it wasn't anything new to him.

"Let me guess! Namjoon bumped into something again." Jimin calls out, turning around the corner to be met with the new mess decorating the floor of his kitchen.

"He spaced out, I think."

"The last time you did this shit, I was stepping on tiny - like I swear microscopic pieces of glass that we couldn't clean up."  

Jimin ushers Namjoon out with mumbled reassurances that everything was fine and the two of them would clean it up. Today was one of their regular get-togethers, but it'd be the last one before they'd return home for the holidays. Jimin thought it appropriate to replace their soft drinks with alcohol, alcohol which Namjoon had just spilled half a glass of onto the ground, along with the cup.

In the living room, sat the rest of them, gathered close around Jungkook's flat screen. Namjoon could hear the muted yet very present sound of crunching as Jin and Taehyung shared a bag of chips. Hoseok lounged in a recliner, leaning back and huddling into his blanket, mindlessly flicking through Netflix.

With midterms having marched to and fro and subsequently ruined their lives, Yoongi had been a bumbling mess of yawns and naps for the past month. All both Jin and Namjoon had seen of their roommate was him fast asleep on their couch and drooling on his study notes, and glimpses of him going to and from the school before locking himself in his room.

He wasn't here, Namjoon's shoulders slumped.

"Where's Yoongi?"

"Canceled," Hoseok muttered with a deep-set pout, not looking away from the screen.

"Since when?"

"Five minutes ago."

"Hobi's still pissed." Jin chimes in, the bag rustling as he picked it up and held it out to Namjoon.

Namjoon took a handful of chips, and watched as Hoseok’s pout only deepened, a rare darkness in his eyes that only appeared when you had truly committed the worst of his friendship sins. "I wouldn't be if it weren't for this being our last night here, or if he weren't ditching for Seungwan. I would never...we would never!"

The room lapses back into a silence, as if they imagine Namjoon can understand every word and name that had just left their mouths.

"Seungwan?"

Despite everything, Yoongi was always the one to initiate things. Even when he wore his favourite black skinny jeans, and Namjoon's eyes became glued to the gentle curves of his thighs and the belt that hugged his waist. Even when, just like that snake, he wanted nothing more to devour him whole - he didn't, he waited for him.

It felt strange to take what he knew wasn't truly his.

Then came those past two months, where Yoongi tiptoed around Namjoon, as if coming any closer would break him. Namjoon thought it all in his head, Yoongi was busy, he was an engineering major, he just had to focus. Namjoon thought he was the one who could always make him focus, rejuvenate him, perhaps he was wrong. He was fine with that.

In reality, however, there was Seungwan. Pretty girl Seungwan, with her delicate face and cherry coloured lips. Slim and yet plump just where it mattered.

Jin's words hit so cold that icicles could have formed from his lips. "Seungwan and Yoongi have been dating for the past 2 months."

Why didn't you tell me sooner? Namjoon wanted to yell back at him. Why didn't any of you tell me sooner? Why didn't Yoongi tell me sooner? His heart raged against his ribcage, it wanted to scream and shout too, it wanted to run away from the man child it was stuck in, and who idiotically decided to fall in love with his best friend. The best friend he didn't know was gay until he found his way into Namjoon's sheets, the best friend who never spoke about their moments of passion in the day, the best friend who couldn't care less.

"I'm gonna go get another drink," he said instead.

And so he moved on, moved forward. Swallowed the feelings and let them dissolve somewhere in his gut. The next time he'd see Yoongi, with Seungwan hanging off his arm, he'd smile graciously and greet the both of them. Observing Yoongi as he'd mask on a disinterested demeanor when he did something thoughtful for her. He'd welcome Seungwan like the morning sun, he'd laugh at the jokes she'd quip about all the little ticks Yoongi had that Namjoon was long accustomed to and support her when she’d eventually come to him with questions like “what type of food would Yoongi want me to get?”, “Do you think Yoongi would like this as a gift?”. He'd listen attentively to every word, as if she wasn't just echoing the thoughts and feelings that had planted into his very being like a weed, sprouting once again every time he thought he’d picked it out.  

Or at least that's what he would have liked to say happened, and that's what would have happened, had it not been for the long road trip he was stuck on the morning after Namjoon found out about her.

A blanket of mist settles across their driveway like smoke. The overnight storm pelted away the flames of his intoxication, but the subsequent hangover pounded just as relentlessly.

By the car, a phantom stood, posture hunched. Yoongi looked like he was sinking into a black hole with his oversized winter coat, it was almost endearing.

Cute. Adorable actually.

Yoongi smirked. "Wow, who hit you with a bus?"

You.

The grey scarf flew from his pocket as he wrapped it around his neck and up his face, until all but his swollen eyes showed. "Let's just get this over with," He uttered, voice muffled.  

It wasn't a ritual more than it was convenient for Yoongi to drive him back home for the holidays. Their houses were five minute walks between each other respectively, and Namjoon, with his immense lack of grace and poise, has never dared touch a steering wheel in his life. Yoongi liked to say he was his personal uber, then again he also liked to complain about how annoying that was.

On the passenger's side, his eyes catch a rip edged into the cushion with the tiniest of threads holding it together - How is this piece of shit car still alive, honestly? There he sits down stiffly, another place he has essentially spent the past several years making a home of, and the two set off.

The nausea was already striking, and not just from the hangover. Something boiled unwelcome in his chest, and ran all the way down to his abdomen.

Apparently he isn't doing a good job of hiding it, cause Yoongi speaks up and says, "Don't throw up in here."

"I won't. " He snaps back.

Fuck.

He used to think he was better than this, better at setting emotion aside in favour of the overall peace that'd remain instead. Lips zipped shut meant tranquility, and Namjoon valued that; Especially with him, he who he hates more than anything right now.

How...how? How did he fall for this badly acted charade, of course Yoongi never wanted him - like that - if he did, he would have said so.

Stop. Shut up. It isn't that serious.

His jaw locks.

But it really is.

Namjoon's an atheist, but for the first time in years he prays.

He prays that this ride will proceed in silence, because if not, the emotions he didn't have enough time to bury will overflow and drown whatever was left of he and Yoongi's relationship.

Fortunately, the prayer is answered, though sparingly. Identical looking streets pass by wordlessly, with Yoongi twisting and turning through roads and towns that Namjoon can't recognize. His eyes are too exhausted to focus on anything, not that there was anything worth looking at; Every building becomes a blur of mild colours, and the sky is as gray and dull as watching cement dry.

"We're close," Yoongi says.

Namjoon hums, along with the engine as the car slows down, going up a soft incline into a gas station.

The driver's side door opens, Yoongi huddling into his coat as a gust whistles into the vehicle. "I'll be right back."

Don't come back. Just leave me in here to shrivel up and die.

When Yoongi returns, rushing into his seat before shutting the door and ramming the engine again, he says nothing. But Namjoon can hear him, his indifference, a quality which he once admired.

He'd cut his tongue out if it meant he'd keep his mouth shut, but all he can do is sink his teeth into his bottom lip, deeper and deeper as the car pulls out.

"...Yoongi?"

"Yeah?"

Don't say it.

"What am I to you?"

The engine whines, filling the emptiness of the car.

"My best friend."  

The nonchalance cuts Namjoon to the bone, until his lungs are clinging for life. His labour breathes repeatedly stab through the silence, and all he can do is stare, unanswered questions overflowing in his skull.  

They've never talked about - them, what they were and what they did. Any conversations that went past platonic stayed in Namjoon's room and Namjoon's room only. Which is why now even implications of their deeper relationship felt forbidden, his lips clipped shut when the vaguest of words pass his mind.

But Namjoon doesn't have to be the one to say it.

Yoongi laughs, scratching his ear. "Maybe a best friend with benefits?"      

The sharp edges of his eyes go a deeper shade of red, the hurt settling into the crevices. Acknowledgment, shouldn't that satisfy him?

"Still?" Namjoon asks, his voice barely a whisper.

The pink that dusts over Yoongi's cheek is rare. The sight nearly makes Namjoon's heart swell, until he's hit with the thought that Seungwan is on the older man's mind.

"I mean..." Yoongi clears his throat. "Yeah...if you still want-"

"And what about Seungwan?"

His brows furrow, almost offended. "What about her?"

The response boils in Namjoon's ear, like an off key note.

"Can't you be straightforward with me? Like you usually are?" Namjoon says.

"I am."

A snap cuts out his next thought.

They return their attention to the windshield, and watch as the wipers twist unnaturally before flying off the car into the highway, making a couple vengeful scratches across the windows along the way. All that's left of them is two little useless black nubs, which twitch as they try to operate without their second half.

"Aw, shit!" Yoongi curses, a veil of white particles smudging onto the windshield. The flight of snow has accelerated, rushing to the ground and with nothing to push the snow off their windshield, their view of the road is being eclipsed in white at an alarming rate. "I've gotta pullover."

The gravel hisses as Yoongi's car pulls over into the side of the road, coming to a full stop and leaning into his seat with a groan. "The wind must have been too harsh, they completely snapped off. I'm gonna have to call my parents to pick us up, we can't drive like this."

"Are we just leaving the car?"

"We'll lock it and probably get like - I don't know - someone to pick it up. That's gonna cost a shit load."

Namjoon expects the older of the two to pick up his phone and call his parents, but he doesn't and favours sulking back in his seat, hands rubbing his eyes and grumbling to himself. The stare catches onto his peach lips, and the way he's nibbling on his bottom lip.

"Yoongi..."

"Hm?"

"You looked stressed."

"Do I?" He remarks sarcastically, a grin pulling his lips.

Thoughts of Seungwan sink into the very corner of his head as he stares at his companion, someone who he truly has loved so dearly for as long as he could remember. He just wants to pretend he’s his, and hold him so tight that the mere thought of him ever leaving can’t cross Namjoon’s mind.

I just want to be with you, even if it’s only for a second.

"Do you want me to help?" Is all he says.

There's a pause, one that sucks all the air out of him. Yoongi almost laughs, a giddy smile on his face. But slowly, agonizingly, Yoongi's hands tumble down his face until they settle onto his neck. His eyelashes hover, and Namjoon follows them until they finally open and take in the eager and desperate man right in front of him. Yoongi's eyes, so deep and dark, swirling with a curious lust that the other is sinking into.

He doesn't speak, he nods earnestly, as if it was the question he’d been waiting to be asked all day, He leans into Namjoon's space, until their gazes tangle together. His lips, slightly chapped, barely brush over his, testing him.

Namjoon says yes; His large hands envelope his thin wrists, and pulls him forward so that their lips connect. Starting from the soft plump surface, the fuzzy feeling that alcohol can never recreate the same way runs into his veins, and he feels his heart already urging him forward with the strong and abrupt ache that develops.

He goes further, deepening the kiss as Yoongi's arms find their place around Namjoon's neck.

He doesn't know how long the kissing last until he manages to groan out a husky "c'mere," between the mess they're becoming. He breaks the kiss, waiting for Yoongi to come to him as the smaller tries his best to crawl onto Namjoon's lap in the cramped car. It's in that quiet moment that Namjoon realizes both of their coats are already off and probably somewhere in the backseat, lost to the heat of the moment.

He can already feel the growing bulge in the Yoongi's jeans, and the man impatiently moves to pull down his own zipper before Namjoon halts the action.

"Let me." He demands, voice husky and out of breath. His fingertips barely graze the metal, and stay there, playing with the sharp criss cross that leads up to the metal tab and enjoys the way the other fusses. Yoongi's head scurries into Namjoon's neck, biting in some kind of retaliation.

"Yoongi..."

"Godammit, what!" He exclaims, huffing warm breaths onto his neck.

"I want to go all the way - well, I wanna fuck you, I guess is the proper way to put it."

He feels the way Yoongi tenses up, and thrives in the flustered tremble that sticks to his voice.

"Y-Yeah. Then...Okay."

Finally, he pulls the zippers down, and helps Yoongi to raise himself up and pull it down to his ankles. Namjoon's hands strokes the newly exposed skin of his thighs, pale and covered in goosebumps.

Yoongi's hands in the meanwhile, begin to fiddle with the leather belt looped around Namjoon's own jeans. His eyes glazed with steam, like fresh mocha. Namjoon, for a first, lets him have his way as he loosens the pants and fights to pull them down.

"-And one more thing..." Namjoon whispers, leaving a kiss on the shell of his ear.

"What?"

"I love you. You know that right?"

"I love you, too." He says, adding the last part after a hesitant pause. “As more than...best friends. A lot more, actually.”

Namjoon smirks, lips trailing down the length of his neck.

"...Then prove it."

"Do you think it worked?" Jimin's voice flutters into the air; His chin is on the young Jungkook's shoulder, watching as his nimble hands maneuver a paint brush across the canvas, lips tight in concentration as he adds a strike of black.

Snowflakes dance gracefully across the glass window to their side, the ice that had once tangled into the earth leaving a mild frost in its wake. Nothing but whispers of the raging winter night was left.  

"Of course it did. It was my idea." Seokjin declares, hands on his hips as he views the large gallery in Jungkook's workroom. He's bullied the youngest more than a few times about having a useless major, but his collection of artwork never ceased to amaze him. Maybe he won't be a beggar on the streets once he graduates afterall.  

"What if they hate each other after this?" Hoseok says, a pout weighing down his face, a real one this time.

Seokin's broad shoulders shrug. "Then you'll have to live with the guilt, couldn't have done it without your A plus acting. Can't wait to see you at the Oscars next year."

A furious slap from Hoseok lands right on his upper arm, and Seokjin cries out as if he's just been stabbed, doe eyes wide and flickering with false innocence.

Taehyung grins, linking arms with Hoseok. "Don't worry about it too much, Hoseokie. Namjoon and Yoongi aren’t stupid, it won't be that long until he figures out Seungwan and Yoongi were never dating."

Is that so...Because they also spent the last year certain that no one but Seokjin knew about their frequent late night rendezvous, something Seokjin quickly learned was quite the opposite.

"Can someone remind me why Jin said they were again?" Jungkook chimes in.

"Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder, Kookie." Seokjin claims, the eldest always seemed to have wisdom to pass on, even if such words of wisdom fell on deaf ears. "Or I guess, more possessive."

"Why can't people just say they love someone when they love someone, it's not that difficult." That was easy for him to say. Jungkook's one and only crush throughout his first years of college was currently leaning over him and giggling softly into his ear, arms hugging his center.

Whenever he recounted he and Jimin's personal love story, it was a few short sentences, and went something along the lines of "met him at orientation and I thought he was cute. Became friends, then I told him I wanted him and we've been going strong ever since."  No one in the room could even imagine a world in which Jungkook's desire could be rejected, or not returned back tenfold, let alone by lovestruck Park Jimin.

The pause in conversation lasts too long, and Jimin pipes up. "They're probably fucking in the car as we speak."

The room bursts into a series of gasps, boos, and broken laughter. The ringing that follows is barely audible, but Seokjin feels the phone buzz in his back pocket. He hushes the rowdy group, before picking up the call without much as a second thought.

“Hello~?”

There's a shuffling of clothes on the other side, but Yoongi's exasperated voice eventually comes onto the line.

“Each and every one of you are so fucking dead to me.”

[izaswritings]

all that’s left in the world | chapter four

Title: all that’s left in the world—

Synopsis: —is me.

Neku’s been shot and Shibuya is threatening to go the same way as Shinjuku, but just because the first Game is over doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten how to play.

Or: Neku deals with a nightmare city and his most annoying (and mathematical) partner yet; Shiki and Joshua commit an escalating number of illegal moves, Beat and Eri hunt down a stray Reaper, and Rhyme watches and waits for the counter-attack. Shibuya refuses to go down easy.

Fandom: The World Ends With You | TWEWY

Warnings: cursing, references to past murder a la Reaper’s Game, mild body horror (in a Noise-human fusion case), and implied erasure. Nothing super graphic, but be warned! Please let me know if there’s anything I missed.

-

AO3 Link is here!

Previous chapters are here!

-

part four: neku

.

.

.

I can’t hear a thing.

I hate it. I hate it. Where did everyone go? Where did everything…

It’s so quiet. Help me. Please, help me.

…

It’s too quiet.

.

.

.

Neku stares at the message for a long time.

He doesn’t move, but his fingers tighten, stiff around the phone. Kill the Composer of Shibuya. No mistaking that one. No mistaking the signature, either, or the time limit counting down on his hands. Yeah, okay. Okay.

There’s so much about the situation that infuriates him, but somehow, it’s this that makes Neku want to break something. Kill the Composer—be more original, he thinks, and grits his teeth. Always, always, kill the Composer. Well, poor fucking luck for her, then. Even if Neku wasn’t inclined to disregard every word Coco says by virtue of the whole being-murdered-again thing, this would cinch it. Why do people always pick Neku for this? Does he just have “potential assassin” written on his face or something?

Neku isn’t going to kill Joshua. He got his chance, months ago, and it was a way better set up then this farce: his friends taken, Shibuya on the line, Joshua a liar and a killer and still smiling, mild, like Neku’s anger was something vaguely amusing. A gun in his hands and a countdown to boot.

Neku hadn’t taken the shot, even then. He’s made his choice; he’s sticking with it. Joshua is an asshole—a liar—someone Neku is probably never going to be able to fully forgive. But he was Neku’s partner, too. And even this Neku can’t deny: the Game was horrible, but it changed him. He has friends now. He can see the world now. Sometimes, when he lifts his hands and closes his eyes, he can hear Shibuya’s music.

And yeah—it matters, too, that Neku’s still here. Because he lost, he’s pretty sure. He lost the Game. But Neku is alive and breathing and so are his friends, and they all have their memories, and even Rhyme...! And Shibuya is the same, except not somehow, Shibuya is brighter than ever and its almost blinding.

It’s not enough for Neku to forgive Joshua. It doesn’t take away what was done. But... it says something. About everything. That maybe Neku isn’t the only one who was changed by those three weeks.

Kill the Composer. Punch the Composer in the face, sure, but Neku clicks off the phone with a scowl. Sucks for Coco. Neku’s not playing this Game, thanks.

...Which is easier said than done. Sho Minamimoto, for example. And, you know, the time limit. Neku already knows what he’s not going to do, but that does leave the question of how the hell am I going to get out of this one.

Pi-Face must have been looking at the mission mail too, because now he’s laughing, a manic sort of snickering that makes Neku go still on pure instinct. Minamimoto, he’s found, only laughs like that when he’s about to, say, murder people, sick Taboo noise on them, or recite ten lines of pi and summon imaginary number explosions or some shit. Bad news either way.

“TANGENT,” Minamimoto shouts, and Neku blinks. “Fucking finally! This Game’s already getting zetta old, but this isn’t a bad solution at all.” His smile is full of teeth. “This is an equation I can get behind.”

Because facing Joshua worked out so well for you last time, Neku thinks, but keeps his mouth shut. He’d definitely noticed, with the ease of hindsight, how Joshua had killed Minamimoto—not with those burning beams of light that left scorch marks in the streets, but with the cars, the vending machines. And the casual way Joshua had dismissed him, that day in the throne room—I liked keeping him around—well.

Neku knows he couldn’t beat Joshua, even if he wanted to, which, no. And Neku beat Minamimoto once before. It... well, yeah, it doesn’t speak well of this guy’s chances, probably.

But again. Never, ever saying that aloud, holy shit.

“Whatever,” Neku decides, because as annoying as Pi-Face is, they’re partners whether Neku likes it or not, and he knows how these things work. Minamimoto, still grinning, closes the phone, shoves it in his pocket, and starts walking away. Neku stares after him. “What?”

And... no, yeah, he’s actually leaving. Oh, god.

“Hey,” Neku snaps, and races after him. “Where are you going? We have to stick together.”

Minamimoto squints at him and then turns away. “What, you’re still here?”

“Yes, I’m still—” Neku bites off the rest of it. Must get along with partner. Must get along... nah, screw it. “We’re in a pact. We can’t fight the Noise alone. We have to stick together—”

“Nah,” Minamimoto decides, and keeps on walking.

Neku stares after him, struck with a sudden and dizzying appreciation for Shiki. Had Neku ever been this bad? Had Neku been worse? How the hell had she not strangled him two minutes in?

He takes a deep breath. “Look,” he snaps. “I don’t like this much either, but if something happens to one of us, the other is screwed. I don’t like this any more than you do, but if we’re going to survive and figure a way out of this we have to work together.”

Still nothing. Neku narrows his eyes. Shit, okay. Math analogies, math analogies... “Unless you think you can make a working equation with just you.” Does that make sense? Well, whatever.

It works, at any rate—Minamimoto pauses, and after a moment he looks back, considering. Neku crosses his arms and scowls, trying to ignore the sinking sense in his gut. This might even be worse than his week with Joshua. For all of Joshua’s many, many irritating moments, he’d at least recognized and understood the basic principle of stick together. Death by no-one completing the mission had been a problem on day two, but Neku at least never had to worry about death by negligent partner who won’t recognize we’re in a pact.

After a moment, though, Minamimoto snorts and turns back around. “Zetta annoying,” he decides. “You better not slow me down, you useless radian. I don’t have time to proof. Though I guess you’ll be some help when I get around to crunching the Composer.” He grins, at that, cracking his knuckles.

Neku’s not really surprised by that response, but still. “What, you’re actually going to do it?” Try to do it. Same thing.

“What,” Minamimoto mimics, “you aren’t?” The smile returns, all teeth. “Either we crunch the numbers, or the numbers are going to crunch us. Constants don’t get a say in how they’re used.”

Math-speak for you’ll help me kill the Composer or I’ll make you, probably. Neku crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Sure,” he says, doubtful. “Either way, we have a problem.” He gestures around them the destroyed buildings and ruined streets. “I know Shibuya. This isn’t Shibuya. How the hell are you going to find the Composer? We’re not even in the right city!”

Minamimoto shrugs. “A possible miscalculation,” he allows. “I’ll figure a solution.”

You inspire so much confidence, Neku thinks, irritated. “Like what, exactly?”

Minamimoto snorts. “None of your concern,” he says dismissively, and starts walking away again.

Oh, yeah. Just as bad as Joshua. Maybe worse, because at least Joshua didn’t make Neku do math. Ugh.

Neku scowls at Minamimoto’s back and follows, resisting the urge to drag his feet. For all of Pi-Face’s easy dismissal of the worry, Neku’s still stuck on it. This place... it’s familiar, sure, but not in a good way. It’s ruined, ash and dust and smog choking the air, Noise filtering about the edges... but he can still recognize it, if only sideways. Those strange visions that had been blacking out his sight all day... yeah, Neku knows this place. This was the city that got destroyed in the dreams.

Why am I here?

He’s almost certain, now, that this is where Coco was trying to lead him and Beat; she’s succeeded in dragging Neku here, at least, but he still doesn’t know why. Why kill Joshua? No, wait, wrong question. Why try and kill Joshua like this? A Reaper’s Game twisted beyond recognition, and a mission to kill Shibuya’s Composer in a place that clearly isn’t Shibuya. Can they even leave this place? Is this just a trap to get them erased by an impossible mission with a definite time limit? But then—why seven days to complete it? She could have set it to five minutes and dusted them that way.

It doesn’t make any sense, Neku thinks, and tugs once at his hair in frustration before letting go. He’s sick of this. Plots and plans and Neku stuck in the strings, and damn, he did not fucking miss this.

For a moment his hands shake. He squeezes his eyes shut, and exhales very slowly. His eyes are burning. And that’s—that’s fine. This is fair, isn’t it? He’d thought he was done with Games, but now he’s back here again, so it makes sense, it’s fine, he just needs…

He just needs a moment.

The air is so stiff here. Silent and empty. Every inhale is tinged with dust, and the city itself is a dead place—no wind, dead air, stale and settling and starting to rot. It’s hollow in a way that echoes. It aches. He misses Shibuya so suddenly it dizzies him. The crowds—the music—the world.

I didn’t ask for this.

But it doesn’t matter. Not really. Neku’s made his decision, and he’s going to stick to it—his only concern is getting out of this. And hey, track record, right? He’s done the impossible before. He can… he can figure this out.

He opens his eyes, and exhales again. He grits his teeth and pulls himself together. Okay. He can do this. He will do this. He’s going to figure out this new Game and he’s going to come back to Shiki and Beat alive and well. If Coco thinks she’s got him beaten, then she’s got another thing coming.

But still. As he picks his way across the ruined landscape, Neku can’t help but feel, with a sinking sense of dread, that there’s still so much worse to come.

.

They explore the city for a while, in silence—Minamimoto leading, like he’s forgotten Neku is there, and Neku trailing behind, keeping one eye on his irritating partner and one eye on their surroundings, wary of an ambush.

The city is... awful, Neku thinks, and the longer he stays here the more it makes his skin crawl. The streets are totally empty; the Noise are either everywhere or nowhere at all. No more strange, distorted symbols in the air; no more chance of avoiding them. They always watch them pass with blank, gleaming eyes—and that’s another thing, too. The Noise aren’t right. The Noise are dead silent.

Everything, Neku is finding, is dead silent.

The Noise don’t make—well, noise. There’s no wind—no birds—nothing. Even their footsteps feel muffled and dim, as if Neku’s walking on cotton, unable to make any noise louder than a whisper. When he speaks, it feels like he has to shout to be heard—like the total silence of the city is swallowing his voice whole, taking it all in, giving nothing back.

The worst part, though, is that there’s no Music.

When Neku left the Reaper’s Game for good, and first awoke alive and well on the Scramble Crossing... memories, and friends, and nightmares hadn’t been the only things he’d taken away from the Game. Sometimes, when Neku closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears and just let the murmur of the city wash over him, he could hear it—a song, or the Song, Shibuya in entirety, a music he could never really describe and could hardly imagine living without. It was chaotic and chiming and... Shibuya. Just Shibuya.

It was a comfort. And now it’s gone.

And he knows—Neku knows, logically, that even if there was Music here it wouldn’t be the same—this isn’t Shibuya, isn’t home. But even so, he’d rather hear an unfamiliar song than this... nothingness. This absence. This void in the air where music used to sing and people used to laugh, and just—there’s nothing, now. There’s a lack. There’s a hole.

I can’t hear a thing, he thinks, and it feels like his thought and yet it feels nothing like him at all, and for a moment the silence presses down on him. Panic coats his tongue. Despair squeezes at his chest. It’s less pain and more an echo if it; someone else’s words, ringing through him. For a moment his vision washes out into white.

I hate it. Where did it go? It’s too quiet. Come back. Come back!

Neku stumbles forward. Again. It’s happening again. He can hardly breathe. He presses a hand to his temple. “Who are you?” he whispers. He’s almost certain, now. This isn’t him. This is someone else. But who? “You keep—calling to me, who—”

Please help me. Static fuzzes in his ears. His eyes burn. Help me. Oh, god. Oh, god, please, someone help me—!

“Useless radian,” a new voice snaps, and the echoing words cut off with a snap, so quick it leaves Neku almost breathless. “Get up.”

He’s on his knees, Neku realizes. When had he fallen? He presses his hand against the concrete, gray and ashy beneath his palm, and lifts his head to glare.

Minamimoto looks unimpressed. “I don’t bother with inherently flawed calculations,” he warns, and then grins. “Match the parameters or get deleted, yoctogram.”

How nice, Neku thinks, dryly. Now he’s not sure if the headache pounding behind his eyes is from the echo, or just from listening to Minamimoto talk. Or both. Asshole.

“I’m fine,” Neku says, finally. His hands are shaking. He curls them against the concrete, and tries to remember how to breathe. “I… I’m fine.”

Minamimoto snorts. “Who gives a digit? Just get up. There’s a problem.”

“Huh?” Neku pushes to his feet, wavering a little. His legs feel shaky. He’s not in pain anymore, but the memory of that hollow ache is enough to make him shiver. That voice. That fear. Those visions, again. Just what is going on?

Minamimoto runs a hand back through his hair and grins, unsettling. “We have a new addition.”

“What?”

Minamimoto lifts his chin towards the far end of the street, seemingly unconcerned. Neku follows his gaze. They’ve stuck to the main roads, thus far; this one is three lanes wide and shadowed by empty skyscrapers turned hollow and half-eaten, like they’ve been decayed from the top-down. The fog of white dust makes it hard to see, but if Neku squints…

A blurry shadow of a figure lingers at the end of the road.

Neku blinks. Not just a figure. A humanoid figure. Moving. Holy shit. Is that… is there really someone else here?

His blood runs cold. Coco? Or… could it be—the girl from his visions?

But there’s something off about the figure, and Neku finds himself reaching for his pins before he can think better of it. He doesn’t trust this. Too much about this Game isn’t right—not just the missions, but even the rules of the world turned on its head. All of his pins work even when he’s not fighting the Noise. He doesn’t have a Player Pin, but he’s definitely in the UG. The Noise no longer pull them into an alternate dimension; they’re fully formed and waiting and watching, with eyes blank and white like a dead pin. And the silence, too...

No. This isn’t right. And as the figure shuffles towards them, Neku steps back and pulls a Lightning Rook to his hand, because he’s not so sure that’s a person, either.

Minamimoto is grinning, though something has turned sharp at the edges of his smile. “Ugh.”

“What is it?”

“I miscalculated.” He studies the figure and slides back into a stance. For a moment, he seems to blur at the edges. “Should have carried the evidence to its conclusion. Tch, embarrassing. This was simple math.”

Neku squints at the figure. They’re shuffling forward, coming into view, and when he sees them in full, he blanches. “Is that—”

“Yep.” Minamimoto makes a harsh noise in his throat, looking disgusted. “Inversion. The system’s all screwed up. Noise in the RG, UG in fractions... and sometimes you get equations that just don’t work out.”

Inversion? The hell? But there’s no time to ask. The figure is close enough now to see in entirety and— oh.

Neku can’t breathe.

They look—they must be—that’s a person, isn’t it? A businessman, he thinks, with slicked back black hair and a pale gray suit, jolting faintly with every step. They must be a person. Except they have a Noise’s colorful scrawls winding all the way down their arms and face and there’s wings peeling out bloody and painful from their back and sharp teeth jutting from their gums and oh, fuck, Neku never wanted to know what a human-Noise combo would look like and he’s really not happy to have found out now.

The Noise humanoid opens up their mouth and screams. There is no sound, but the air grates. Neku slams his hands over his ears, and in the distance, Sho Minamimoto is laughing.

“Caught between the frequencies, are you?” he says, looking delighted. “So zetta cool. Zetta sucks, too. Don’t worry. You’re about to get deleted.” He draws back his hand. To Neku: “You better not slow me down!”

Neku falters. “Wait,” he says. “Wait wait wait, that’s a person, what happens to them if we—”

“Ugh, do the math!” Zetta shut up, Neku thinks back. “What do you think happens to Noise-possessed people when it all gets Inversed?”

Neku stills. Noise-possessed people. Which means...

He draws back his hand. Okay. Okay. He doesn’t understand most of that, but... if they defeat this person, will that help? Will the Noise leave them? Will they go back to normal?

He doesn’t know. What he does know is that looks painful. Either way, Neku isn’t going to be able to back away from this.

Minamimoto laughs and throws himself into the fight with a sharp, vicious war cry of “Infinity!” It is familiar in a way that makes something in Neku ache; he stills, and refuses to look beside him. Joshua isn’t there. Joshua isn’t with him. In fact, he hasn’t really seen Joshua in almost a month, not since the Game ended.

And yet. For a moment, he can almost hear the laughter.

Neku shakes his head. He’s not fighting Minamimoto, he’s fighting with him, and he needs to start acting like it. Neku reaches for his pins.

“You better be right about this,” Neku snaps, and attacks.

Lightning Rook in one hand, Electric Warning, Velocity Attack, Raven, and two healing pins. Neku flips them through his fingers, watching Minamimoto dart across the area, and sets his feet. He still has the Fusion pin—he’d made sure to check, and thank goodness for that—which means so long as he times this right, they should sync up and hopefully be able to…

He preps the lightning in his hand, and then Minamimoto appears right in front of him.

“Shit!” Neku jerks his hand away—the lightning flashes and bangs, gone wild, darting up and out of range, crackling harmless in the air. What? What!? “Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

Minamimoto just cackles. “Useless components should just stay put!”

“Hey, wait!” In the distance, the Noise opens its mouth in a silent scream, and the world warps like putty. Pi-Face grins like a shark and vanishes from view. Neku curses at him, and throws himself down.

The air explodes above his head; Neku ducks out of range and then rolls back on his feet, angry now. “Are you kidding me?” he demands, to no-one, and reaches for his pins again.

The lightning jumps for his fingers eagerly. The power is a head rush. Neku grits his teeth and blasts at the Noise again. Despite all of his annoyance, the weight of the pins in his hands is a comfort. It’s almost soothing. He hates this, he hates fighting, but—

But Neku has missed this, too. That breath of power, that static on his tongue… he’d missed it. Why? He doesn’t want to. But he finally feels settled, feet flat on the ground. Minamimoto is an annoyance, this new Game a mystery, Coco a threat—but here in this fight, Neku is steady. I can do this.

Minamimoto cuts him off again; Neku switches pins with a mutter and throws himself out of range of the Noise’s shockwave. The silent screaming thing is seriously starting to vex him. He takes up the pin again, aiming—

Pi-Face, sneering, flickers into view and kicks the Noise back. “So zetta slow!”

Neku grits his teeth. “Would you just—hey! We need to sync up! Stop getting in the way!”

Minamimoto scoffs. Neku clenches his fists. “You—”

And then Minamimoto is gone again—and then he is right in front of him—and then he is kicking Neku right in the side, hard enough to send him flying back. Neku just barely gets his arm up in time to block most of the blow; his whole forearm sears with pain. Minamimoto is grinning again, sharp and wild.

Neku stumbles, catches his feet, and stills, his pins burning in his palm. Attack your partner is never the mission. It’s never the mission. It’s never—

“What the hell are you doing?” Neku says, quietly. “Do you have any idea—”

“Cooperation is trash,” Minamimoto says, far too gleefully. “We’re looped in the same equation, sure, but I crunch the numbers. Get in my way, you get factored out.” He steps away, turning his back, piece said. Neku sees red.

Raven has always been a favored pin. Neku tosses a streetlamp at him.

Minamimoto dodges, of course—and when he turns back around, his expression is frightening. “You are so—”

“Partners!” Neku snarls, talking over him. “We’re in a pact, you… we have to work together!”

“Crunch! That opinion was garbage. I’ll throw it on the pile.”

Must. Not. Murder. Partner. “You’re not a Reaper anymore. You don’t have the wings, we’re in a pact, you have the same fucking timer I do—either we fight together, or we’re going to lose.” He takes a quick, tight breath. Sota. Nao. All those Players, even the Reapers… but Neku can’t afford to die here. “Work with me here. You don’t want to die again, right? Well neither do I! So help me! And let me help you.”

Asshole, he adds, internally.

Minamimoto looks like he’s considering it, which of course— of course! —is when the humanoid Noise attacks again. Go figure. Fucking fantastic. Neku wants to bang his head against a wall.

But when he rises from his dodge, Minamimoto flickers into view beside him again. He looks annoyed. Grudging. And his face twists up, but he says: “Fine. Whatever,” and it is not the glowing confirmation Neku was hoping for but god, damn, he’ll take it.

“Finally,” Neku mutters, and flips a pin. “Then let’s do this. If you take it from behind, I’ll blast it from the front.”

Minamimoto scoffs again. He vanishes without a word.  Neku rolls his eyes, and sets his feet.

Lightning in the air, Minamimoto’s taunting insults, the Noise’s silent screaming and the warping air—but while they are not entirely in sync, this time it’s enough. The Noise is slowing, wing tattered and limp, face fuzzing from view—and the Fusion pin warms against Neku’s wrist.

He activates it. “Get ready!”

“Fucking finally! So zetta slow!”

“Argh, you—!”

It’s like stepping into a web. Lines and angles and numbers and—and Neku grits his teeth against the overload, the power slipping through his fingers, and reaches back. Equalities, balances, equals to. He clicks the numbers into place, and feels power burning through his hands.

(And for a moment: something is off. Something is wrong. A power that is neither his nor Minamimoto’s. Something else. Someone else? Not quite a pact, but… like moving in sync. A mirroring.

A connection.)

Something shatters.

It’s like white noise in his ears—the empty static—the imaginary plane. For a moment there is a hole in the world, in the sound, in the noise—there is music, sharp and rhythmic and singing through the air—and then they are back, and his ears are ringing, and there is a person, Noise-less, lying slumped on the street.

Neku blinks fast. The bitter taste of ozone lingers on his tongue. He breathes past it, and rushes for the body. “Hey! Are you okay?”

No answer. Oh, shit. Neku kneels by the man, reaching out, and freezes when his hand passes right through. “Wait—wait, no—”

The man fades away, as fragile as a dream. Neku doesn’t move.

Behind him, Minamimoto makes an interested sound. “So, the Inversion takes it all. Noise or nothing. A full circle.”

Neku curls his fingers. He still doesn’t know what the hell this Inversion thing is, but he’s starting to get the gist. “You mean…” So there was no saving the guy? Either existing as a fusion with Noise, or not existing at all? Is this what’s become of all the people in this place?

Neku grits his teeth. He bows his head.

Minamimoto makes a scornful noise and turns away. “Let’s go,” he says, dismissively. “We’re subtracting time.”

Neku clenches his jaw and rises to his feet. Right, he thinks. Right. It’s not over yet. Whatever happened here, whatever this is… he still has time to figure this out. Maybe… maybe he can find out what happened to this place, too. To these people.

He’s not playing to win, after all. He’s playing to finish this. He can add one more mystery to the list.

But for all his determination, his mood has soured. Minamimoto is walking down the street, casual as he pleases, but Neku lingers on the road, subdued, bitter despite himself. He looks up at the sky, and thinks of the mission mail, of that almost-presence during the fusion, the almost-whisper in his ears.

High above him, the sky flickers cold and red. The clouds churn like boiling water. When he blinks, he can see the afterimage of it on his eyes, like an imprint of the Reaper’s skull, glaring down at him. Burning.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you there?”

He waits. But no one answers.

Neku blinks the red from his eyes until the sky is gray and cold once more, then turns and walks away.

[pretty-restless-insomniac]

Love, Hate, F*****g Heartbreak

Tumblr: Pretty-restless-insomniac

AO3: The_Pretty_Restless

Pairing: Paul Lahote/ Reader

Rating: Teens and Up

Warnings: Cussing

Summary: When you found out about the wolves and having a soulmate, it seemed that for once in your life things were finally looking up. But not everyone is grateful for the imprint, and eventually all the resentment and anger comes out leaving you devastated and wishing that you never even met the asshole Known as Paul Lahote.

Author Note: Hi Everyone! This is just a little angsty drabble that came to me in the middle of the night. Please do not repost, This is also one my Archive of our own profile. The  username is The_Pretty_restless and I would love to have you come check out my other works! Let me know what you think!

     You sigh as you retrieve yet another beer for Paul, and Emily glances at you from her place at the sink.

    "Has anything got better with..." She trails off into a hushed tone and her eyes motioned to Paul sulking at the dinner table. No doubt they all could hear you, hushed tone or not, so for now it's easier to avoid conflict and lie.

    "Yeah. Somewhat." You struggle with the bottle opener, becoming anxious as Emily's stare burns into your back. You wish you could just break down and tell her everything, about the endless tears and harsh attitudes. Your hands start to shake as you will yourself not to cry but a soft hand on your shoulder nearly breaks you.

    "I got this honey."

    Emily finally opens the beer and you hurry to get it to your infuriating boyfriend. Paul glares at you and snatches the bottle when you get closer.

    "Took you fucking long enough." You bite your tongue, not having enough energy to snap back. You can see the pack glance at each other, some nervous and some annoyed. Kim smiles at you from her place on the couch and waves you over.

    "Hey (Y/n), would you mind braiding my hair. I love when you do that." You smile gratefully at Kim for giving you a task to distract your self from the frustrated tears welling up in your eyes.

    Playing with Kim's hair is just as soothing as someone doing it to you and you finally release your tense muscles. Kim babbles on about different classes she's thinking about taking at college, but you can't help but to turn your attention to the boys at the sound of Embry's voice,

    "All you assholes are really lucky to have imprinted," he gestures to Paul Same and Jared. "Aside from this poor bastard," he smirks at Quil who returns his comment with a middle finger.

    "I don't know, I mean, it's odd to think that our soulmates are out there and we have to just change our lives for them. Like what if they're married or have kids, what the hell do we do then?" Jake quipped.

"Well, I know I can't wait to meet my imprint," Seth grins down at his plate.

    Paul scoffs and sets his beer down, nearly knocking it over in the process.

    "Imprinting is nothing to look forward to. It's a sudden shitload of feelings for a stranger that you wouldn't even fucking notice before you went all teen-wolf type of shit. As if life wasn't already fucking hard enough."

    He drunkenly grimaces and downs the rest of his beer. Everyone goes still and turns to where you're braiding Kim's hair on the couch. You don't dare to cry, but that doesn't mean you're going to take the shit he's saying either. Drunk or not. You gently push Kim forward to stand and move around to behind Seth, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. The boys glare at Paul, but you meet each of their eyes silently assuring them that you could hold your own. Paul glares back at them, daring them to say something. Seth shifts to look up at you, grabbing your hand.

    "I'm so sorry (y/n) for bringing it up."

    You give Seth a soft smile and run your hand through his newly cut hair. You set your jaw and pull on your best poker face when you lift your eyes once again to your asshole soulmate.

    "Don't be sorry Seth, he's right. How silly to think a girl of my low status could ever deserve someone as righteous as the fucking king sitting right there," Emily grimaces at your cuss word and you smile apologetically at her for a second.

    "I am so sorry that you didn't get a choice on who you're supposed to be with for the rest of your life, Paul." You muster as much venom as you can into that simple statement.

    Paul leans back in his chair and decides to interrupt you, clearly losing control of his anger.

    "What? So now I can't even speak my fucking mind. See, Seth, this is what I'm talking about. Once you imprint its like you lose your fucking balls right then and there. You go from a proud wolf to a fucking lap dog on a shitty leash!"

    "Paul, shut the fuck up." Leah apparently reaches her limit and gestures for you to continue.

    "A lap dog, must you always be so dramatic? Oh, shame on me! Who would ever want a relationship that they literally knew was fate? One that was truly meant to be. But no, the spirits have cursed you with a girl who already loves you endlessly. I fucking worshiped the ground you strut on Paul, I've been there for you, being the Imprint I thought I was meant to be. And it's not a fucking leash Paul, it's respect for the person you're in a relationship with," you take a breather and blink away the tears in your eyes.

    "You sure don't mind the imprint when you're profiting from it. You're selfish and a bully and I wish I could leave your ass stranded somewhere or run you over with my car, but even the thought of hurting you is killing ME right now. I don't know why I'm not enough for you, but from this point on I'm done apologizing for it. When you regret this later, I hope the guilt eats you up and spits you out because I've been walking on egg-shells up to now trying to be the perfect girl for you. At least now I know for sure that you will never love and value me as much as I do you. I'm finished being the only one fighting for our relationship. I know it would kill you to stay away from me physically, but emotionally and mentally, we've never been so far apart."

    You're proud to have finished speaking without a single tear shed, but you hold your breath waiting for Paul's reaction. Quil breaks the suffocating silence by standing from the table applauding, at least before the death looks you all give him has him retreating back into his seat. Paul's eyes go nearly black and you try not to flinch as he suddenly pushes away from the table. All the dishes would have hit the floor from the force if not for the fast acting werewolves sitting around. And when Paul takes a step towards you, Embry Jake and Leah jump up to put themselves between you and him. It infuriates Paul, how dare they step in between him and his MATE! He's ready to tear them to pieces, shaking violently when Sam cuts in.

    "ENOUGH. Paul go get your ass outside, when I come out there you're going to learn some respect."

    Even in his most primal state, Paul knows better than to disobey an Alpha's order. You watch as he stomps through the door to outside. You listen to him roar as he changes but all you feel right now is numb. Sam and Emily offer you their spare room, as does Kim, but you gently reject their offers. You do the same as each of the boys offer to drive you home, but no you tell them you simply would like to be alone to think. You go through the motions of everyone giving you hugs, each time it gets harder to hold back your tears. Emily's  motherly kiss on your head and Sam's bear hug is the hardest to resist, but soon you're in the confines of your car and driving away from the quaint little home.

    You're only 3 minutes down the road when adrenaline stops coursing through your veins. You pull to the side of the road as the tears blur your vision and the sobs rip from your throat. You've never been so angry and hurt, but most of all you felt scared. Scared you were stuck in this shitty relationship for the rest of your life, with somebody who didn't even want you- aside from forced emotions from a spiritual force. You scream and hit your wheel, you scream at Paul, at yourself you scream and sob till your voice is course and your throat is sore.

    You don't see the silver wolf watching you from the dark woods around your car. But he hears every word every gut clenching sob, and it's like a knife to his heart. Paul knows he fucked up, of course he didn't mean any of the nasty things he spewed, but that thought doesn't quell the nauseousness in his stomach at making you cry. He wants to phase back  and rip your car door open to pull you into his arms. He wants to kiss those tears away and chase away all the betrayal you're feeling right now, but he has a lesson to learn. His wolf wants nothing more than for Sam to kick his ass right now, but only after he makes sure you're going to be okay to go home.  

    You're reduced to a hiccuping mess when your vision clears, and you reluctantly begin the drive home ready to crawl into your bed and sleep this mess away. As you drive off into the night, you can't help the stray tear that falls as you hear a pained howl that echos down to your very core.

[walkerismychoice]

Defensive Driving (Colt X MC)

Book: Ride or Die

Pairing: Colt Kaneko X MC (Gabi Santos)

Rating: PG-13ish

Summary: Colt isn’t about to let Gabi participate in the big job without some additional driving lessons, but that might not be his only motivation for offering to teach her.

Word Count: 1923

Tag List: I’m not even sure who wants to be tagged for this pairing, so let me know if you want to be added. @tmarie82 @choiceswreckedme @debramcg1106 @boneandfur @lizeboredom @i-miss-trr @alegria1580 @mfackenthal

Colt leans against the side of Gabi's car, arms crossed, with that same smug look that gets under her skin every time. "Okay, Gabi, if you are going to insist on doing this, I need to take you out for another driving lesson first."

Gabi rolls her eyes. "I passed my driver's license test with flying colors, as you know. Is this just a lame excuse to get me to hang out with you again?" As much as he infuriates her, she finds some strange satisfaction in their witty banter. She gets the feeling that he’s used to girls falling all over themselves for him, not that she’s paid much attention to the whole handsome, dark and broody vibe he’s got going on. She’s here for Logan, even if he doesn’t seem to want her here right now.

“Oh, Gabi.” Colt laughs and shakes his head. “I know you’re smarter than the average eighteen-year-old, but you are just about as naive as they come. Did you already forget what happened in the parking garage? You think you are ready for anything that could happen?”

God she hates when he’s right, but she could do without his condescending tone. “Like you are so much older and wiser than me.”

“I may not be much older, but I’m much more streetwise. If you don’t want to do this, I have better things I could be doing with my time. I just don’t need you messing this up for everyone, so if you are still in, let’s go.” Colt opens her driver side door and waits.

Gabi looks at the stairs leading to Logan’s loft where he stormed off some time ago. She wishes it were him taking her out for lessons, but the more she’s tried to be a part of all this, the more he’s pushed her away. Maybe if she can prove to him she can handle it, he’ll change his mind. “I don’t know how much more we are going to accomplish in one lesson, but if it makes you happy, fine.”

Gabi gets in the driver seat and Colt grabs several orange traffic cones and puts them in the backseat before sitting next to her in the passenger seat and punching an address into his phone’s GPS. Gabi follows the directions and a short while later they arrive at an abandoned factory with an enormous empty parking lot. There’s a few street lights around the perimeter, but other than that, its fairly dark. 

Colt gets out of the car and sets up a narrow corridor of traffic cones behind her car spaced several yards apart, about the length of football field in total, and then gets back in beside Gabi. “We are going to focus on defensive driving today. If all goes well, we’ll get out of there undetected, but if any obstacles come up, you need to know how to get around them, so to start, back up between the cones all the way to the end.”

The width of the corridor is barely enough to clear her tires. Gabi checks her mirrors and then looks over her shoulders down the middle of the path. She steps on the gas and is pleased with herself as she gets through the first and second set of cones without running them over.

“Stop!” Colt commands. “I hate to break it to you, but if you have someone after you, five miles per hour isn’t going to cut it. I want you going at least sixty by the time you reach the end. Start over.”

“I was just warming up,” she lies. It was taking all her concentration to stay in a straight line that she hadn’t even given a thought to speed. She sets herself up again and then pushes down on the pedal, quickly gaining speed but running over the second set of cones. “Oops.”

Colt presses his lips into a thin line. “And that’s where you would have been caught already. Start again.” Gabi tries over and over, making it a little further each time before she veers off course, but Colt still isn’t satisfied. “Maybe if I go stand at the end, the thought of hitting me will be motivation enough.”

Gabi laughs for the first time all night. “As obnoxious as you can be, I don’t want to plow you over with my car...most of the time.” 

“Maybe I need to try harder then.” Colt smirks and something about the way his eyes flicker in the moonlight makes her feel a certain way she doesn’t want to feel about him. He can be such an arrogant asshole, but when it’s just the two of them, he seems to forget every so often he’s trying to shut everyone out, and lets the real Colt slip through.

Gabi’s more determined than ever this time, not just to prove to Colt but to herself as well that she can do it. She focuses on keeping the wheel steady as she looks back and goes. Her heart races as she gets closer and closer to the end, afraid to mess it up at the last second. When she cleanly sails through the last two cones, she is so excited she almost forgets to put the car in park. She leans over and hugs Colt before quickly retreating as heat rises in her cheeks once she realizes she got swept up in the moment. "Sorry, I got a bit carried away there."

"That's twice tonight. Keep doing that I might think you are starting to like me or something." She still detects a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but his smile seems genuine for once. 

The possibility of Colt wanting her to want him shouldn’t give Gabi butterflies, but it does. She looks straight ahead out the windshield to avoid giving herself away. “Alright then, what’s next?"

Over the next couple of hours Colt sets up several obstacles and scenarios, teaching Gabi how to maneuver around each one. There are a couple spin outs and traffic cone casualties, but for the most part, she thinks she's done well and feels much more prepared. 

It’s dark and nobody is around once they get back to the shop. “Shit. I didn’t realize how late it was again. I’ve gotta get home before my dad gets home from work.”

“I’ll take you,” Colt offers.

“No, that’s okay. I can walk.” Gabi doesn’t know why she’s saying no when she wants to say yes, but she still never wants to give in to him no matter what it is. 

Colt lets out an exasperated sigh. “You know, if I offer to do something nice for you Gabi, you can just say yes for once. You don’t really want to walk home alone at this time of night, do you?”

Gabi shakes her head. Of course she doesn't, nor does she hate the idea of him taking her. “No I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” Colt grabs an extra helmet, handing it to her. 

“Oh,” Gabi tentatively takes the helmet. “I didn’t know we were going to ride that.”

“Don’t tell me you are surprised by this, Gabi. If you know anything about me by now, you know I only drive cars when absolutely necessary. Now I can show you why.”

“I guess,” she replies nervously, all the horror stories her father has ever told her about motorcycles swirling around in her head. “But please be careful.”

Colt swings his leg over the bike and turns back to her. “I know it’s your first time. I’ll go easy on you.” He winks at her before he turns back around. She knows he’s talking about the motorcycle, but the innuendo makes her blush instantly. She quickly puts her helmet on to cover it up and climbs on behind him. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Is there somewhere to hold on? That doesn’t seem to be the case so she timidly puts her hands on either side of his waist, and Colt Chuckles. “You are going to need to hang on much tighter than that.”

Gabi scoots up further and slides her arms around Colt securely. His leather jacket rides up just enough for her to feel his taut ab muscles through his grey t-shirt. She's close enough to smell the leather mixed with his earthy scented shampoo. Of course she's always found him attractive, but taking him all in like this is almost overwhelming and she hopes if he feels how fast her heart is fluttering in her chest, he assumes it's just because she's nervous about the ride.

Colt Rev's the engine and takes off through the open garage door. The jolt's enough to make her feel unsteady and she holds onto him for dear life. He rounds the corner right away and she just about panics, feeling like she's going to slide right off, but she doesn't as Colt smoothly steers back upright. It feels like they are going really fast but when she checks the speedometer, he's going just about the speed limit and she knows it's only for her sake. Once her body decides she's not going to die and returns to its normal state, she actually starts to enjoy herself and can see why Colt likes it so much. All the cliches are true, and it's a sort of freedom and exhilaration you just can't get driving a car.

Colt must notice her hold on him loosening as she relaxes because he starts to pick up speed little by little as if waiting for her to react, but she doesn't. She feels safe with him. He misses a turn, but he's got her address typed in, so she assumes he's taking a voluntary detour to prolong the ride, and she's not going to complain. Even if she did get lost with him, at this point she wouldn't mind.

Despite taking the long route home, the ride is over all too soon. Colt stops in front of her house and they both dismount and take off their helmets. "You didn't hate that at all, did you?" Colt asks with a knowing grin on his face.

"I won't be giving up my four wheels for two any time soon, but I can see the appeal now." Gabi bites her lip, realizing how uncomfortably close they are standing to one another.

Colt lifts a hand to her face and gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She holds her breath as his fingers slowly trail down the back of her neck sending shivers down her spine, but then he swiftly pulls his back, clearing his throat. "Your, uh, hair was all messy from the helmet."

She's almost certain he was about to kiss her before he changed his mind, and she's both relieved and severely disappointed that he didn't. It felt right in the moment, but now she's thinking of Logan. He's told her to forget about him, but she know that's not what he really wants. But what does she want? "Thank you. And thanks for the ride...and the lessons."

Colt gives her shoulder a squeeze. "Just don't go telling everyone how charitable I've been. We wouldn't want them thinking I've gone soft."

Gabi laughs. "We wouldn't want that now, would we? Goodnight, Colt."

"Goodnight, Gabi." Cold puts his helmet back on and rides off, the sound of his motorcycle trailing off in the distance as she goes inside to get whatever sleep she can before the morning comes.

[pass-the-bechdel]

Marvel Cinematic Universe: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

Yes, twice.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Eight (34.78% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Fifteen.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Film Quality:

Neither characters nor plot are engaging enough to hold strong interest, making the film feel longer than it is, plus there’s one character in particular whose behaviour seriously rankles. It’s not a terrible movie, but it is thoroughly uninspiring.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Liz manages a brief pass with her mother before the dance. Liz says goodbye to Betty.

Female characters:

Betty Brant.

Liz Toomes.

Michelle.

Marjory.

May Parker.

Karen.

Mrs Toomes.

Pepper Potts.

Male characters:

Adrian Toomes.

Mason.

Peter Parker.

Happy Hogan.

Tony Stark.

Jason Ionelli.

Ned.

Flash.

Abraham.

Mr Delmar.

Gary.

Steve Rogers.

Coach Wilson.

Shocker.

Aaron Davis.

OTHER NOTES:

Ah, here’s Peter’s video log from Civil War, where he has no idea why he’s even there and it’s completely irresponsible and inappropriate for Tony to have brought him in on something catastrophically dangerous with no preparation and none of the knowledge necessary to make an informed decision! I hate it. This makes me extremely hate Tony. I know I mentioned it already when I reviewed Civil War, but it’s super-true and not going to change any time soon. 

See, this thing where Peter is sacrificing academic and social experiences to hang out for Tony’s promised phone call? That’s on Tony. You can’t just rope a kid into your bullshit and then kick him back out into the world with a vague false promise and no follow-up of any kind. That’s not how kids work. It’s not fair to people in general, but it is especially not how kids work.

Peter having to run because he’s in the suburbs and there are no tall buildings is probably the best gag in this movie.

The inclusion of that little detail about the Washington Monument being built by slaves. Mmmhmm.

I find the plotting of this film very dull and predictable, like ‘oh, and now we’ll have another action set piece, now some cutesy highschool stuff’, etc, and as such I feel it drags excessively and I’m just sitting here waiting for each bit to be done with so that we can get to the next, so that it can be over too, because I’m not attached enough to any one or thing that’s happening for the predictable beats to hold internal interest. That said, the Washington Monument piece is pretty good.

The ludicrous ferry accident, not so much.

Tony shows up, lot of shit-talking, blaming Peter for not magically intuiting information which Tony didn’t give him. Urgh. I deeply, deeply hate this version of Tony. 

Toomes reveal is the most inspired choice of the film. Keaton kills it on Toomes’ own revelation of Peter’s identity.

This movie sure does go on.

This ‘screwed the pooch’ joke makes me want to bleach my ears. Also, this whole Avenger/press conference business is still Tony completely failing to appreciate how he’s upended this kid’s life; the right thing to do in this situation is not to lean into it and go ‘ok, but what if I upended it...more?’, just like the right way to deal with it was emphatically not to just kick the kid to the curb to figure things out for himself after that initial upending. I imagine I would have enjoyed this film sooo much more if I were not raging at Tony throughout.

Ok, let me just purge on the Tony thing before I go any further, otherwise I’m never gonna be able to focus properly on the rest of the movie. I hate what they’ve done with Tony. That’s obvious. I really, deeply disagree with it. Tony was a hard character to get to like, but the Iron Man films did really solid, intelligent work at achieving it despite the many and sundry hurdles, and the key to that was the fact that they had Tony, consistently, recognising the ways that his actions hurt others and then making the effort to fix that and fix himself, not just blowing it off, making some flashy gesture or throwing some money at the problem and then breezing on out like everything’s fine and none of it’s on him. The Avengers films - particularly Ultron - did significant work at tarnishing the character development of the Iron Man films, and then Civil War came in and - amidst the many, many sins Tony committed in that movie - handed the introduction of Spider-Man over to Tony in an act of incredibly irresponsible and reckless child endangerment, which this film proceeded to double-down on by having Tony completely fail to be a reasonable, thinking adult at any point. Frankly, I don’t feel that Tony’s initial decision to involve Peter in Civil War is forgivable, there’s no walking that back, but the least he could have done is to recognise that fact and make appropriate amends, which - as above - does not mean ignoring the kid any more than it means pandering to his hero complex. It makes me feel really, really old to be saying it, but Peter is a minor, he doesn’t have a strong perspective on the world yet, but he’s also old enough and wise enough that he can’t just have people throwing rules at him and expecting obedience; he needs to be treated with the respect of having things explained, but he also needs oversight because he isn’t mature enough to make choices without it. He needs guidance. That’s the position which Tony actively puts himself in and then fails to follow through on, and it leaves Peter feeling that he has to prove himself, that he has to further endanger himself in order to win the mentorship that Tony promised. As a character response and an emotional position for Peter, that’s great story fodder and logical follow-on from his introduction, and I can’t fault that. For Tony Stark though, who manages to both start and end this movie without actually learning anything, it makes me infuriated beyond belief.

THAT SAID, let’s segue to the natural place: to Peter. The good news is, if this film gets only one thing right, it’s that very precise balance of Peter’s age, with all its accompanying tumult; Peter is mature enough to feel like he’s in control of his life and choices and capable of taking on new, big, adult things, but not mature enough to realise the limitations that come with his age in terms of experience and worldview. He has that ‘teenagers think they know everything’ factor, but without it being conveyed as either too arrogant or too whiny to be palatable. It’s a tough ask for teen characters, generally, as the creative forces behind them are almost invariably adults (and usually have been for quite some time), and it’s hard to recapture the mentality of a teen once you’ve grown beyond that mentality yourself. When Peter declares that school doesn’t matter anymore because he’s ‘probably never coming back’, he’s gonna become an Avenger and that’s his whole life plan right now, no real details, no clarity in what exactly that means for his day-to-day life or where he gets his income or how things might go in the long term, that’s a classic teen moment for him: his future is a concept, all of its parts internally encompassed, and it’s not just that he dismisses the questions, logistics, and concerns that an adult would know to raise, it’s that these things don’t even occur to him in the first place. Peter is in this middle-position, the transition from child to adult, and he’s not as far through that transition as he thinks he is (teenagers never are). Altogether, I may not be enamoured by this film, nor am I especially compelled by Tom Holland’s take on this character (he’s not bad, he’s just...not that enthralling, either), but the particular pitch of Peter’s mentality is spot-on without being, in itself, just another tromp through dull and overwrought teen-angst cliches.

The rest of the movie, on the other hand...I feel kinda bad about spending that over-long first paragraph railing against a certain billionaire who could have done us all a favour and not been in this film (or at least, not as prominently), giving Peter more of a chance to explore his spider-self and what it means to his life on his own terms, instead of being so heavily influenced by how he fits into the wider universe, and then maybe we could have fleshed out more of Peter’s normal life in order to make all the extraneous pieces of this story more meaningful, and less, y’know, extraneous. As-is, I don’t feel like I’ve got a lot to say about it, it’s fairly generic and unremarkable, and while there are some good set-up pieces - Toomes’ whole descent-to-criminal-enterprise-due-to-economic-pressures thing has great narrative potential and scope for reflection upon capitalism in the real world - the story never explores any of those pieces enough to even half-ass a real analysis of the idea. Toomes is rendered a mostly stock villain, the same as Liz gets little to make her more than a bland Love Interest, May is an interchangeable maternal figure, and Ned - while fun and easily a highlight in a cast that’s hardly vying for the title - is also a bit of a heavy-handed stereotype sitting in the comic relief/sidekick chair (the fact that he essentially references this in-story, fourth-wall-denting style, does not make it less uninspired). And I’m not sure how we’re supposed to see Zendaya’s MJ as anything other than a gimmick at this point, kinda seems like she was literally only there so that her preferred name could be used as a weightless ‘reveal’ at the end. Like I said up in the notes, I found the movie to be excessively predictable in a bad way, bringing me out of the viewing experience to count off the minutes and story beats, and as such, even though this is not the worst film Marvel has churned out to date, it is one of my least favourites. I know there are a lot of people who loved it, who love Tom Holland’s version of Peter Parker and found this movie light and fun, and it’s not that I can’t see where they’re coming from with that...I guess it’s just that whatever parts of the story are self-contained are so recycled from so many other films of this ilk, I can’t find anything to attach to, and then the rest of the story which could have been spent making something a little more interesting from those basic, predictable bones, instead is wasted on an over-emphasis on placing this movie into the MCU’s larger framework (an ironic waste of resources since you can easily skip this film without getting confused watching the next MCU movies with Spider-Man in them, Infinity War and Endgame). Anyway. I fear I’m just gonna start repeating myself for lack of anything else to say; I don’t care for this movie, it had at least a good little piece of heart in it but it wasted too much time on things which did not enhance this story or the wider universe anyway, I hate Tony Stark now. The end.

[chaoskirin]

Fanfic -- A Temporal Folly -- CHAPTER 5

Fandom: Queen Genre: Sci-fi/Horror Rating: R Chapter Title: Detached (Chapter Five) Word Count: 2265 (oops!) Chapter Summary: Same thing, with 100% more Roger! 

How we all mourn the broken Holding onto the slimmest ledge Our fingers slipping by the second Drawn to the inexorable truth That to change the fates of the never-ending masses Is to destroy the fabric that binds us all

2019

Roger crashed into his vanity, upended his chair, then fell to the floor. Winded, he fought against gravity to regain his feet, momentarily blanking on the logistics of up and down; in the end, he succeeded only in rolling onto his side.

What was he doing in his dressing room?

He was too fucking old for this shit!

Roger would admit that, unlike Brian (whose feet were firmly on good ol' Terra Firma), he often had his head in the clouds and had no qualms about breathing the vapors. So he wasn't surprised when his mind skipped past every logical explanation like dreams or hallucinations and went straight to alien abduction as an assured reality. It sure felt how he imagined an alien abduction would go, although the completely empty dressing room unnerved him a bit, and the blue light oozing out of the walls like a thoroughly squeezed snail was an odd touch. Had he acquired the good shit?

It said a lot about him that his second guess was "drugs," Roger supposed.

"Right. Up on the feet then," he told himself. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he reintroduced himself to the concept of three dimensions and peeled himself off the floor. His joints popped and cracked in protest.

As he tried to regain his bearings, he squinted at the weird gecko-like beast, stuck by its little spade-toes up in the farthest corner of Roger's dressing room. As calmly as he accepted his alien abduction, he took this in stride, only partly because his very brain seemed to have short-circuited. The rest was because he kinda hoped he'd made first contact before his dear friend and space nerd, Brian May. Wouldn't that just rankle!

"Where are your eyes?" Roger inquired at the toxic blue creature. It grinned with a maw full of sharp, irritating teeth.

In answer, it shuffled toward him, hissing like a leaky tire. Alas, it seemed he'd have to fight the thing. So much for peaceful first contact! How could he possibly fight this cow-sized creature, though, with its lack of eyes and weird suction-cup toes and its feral, white-rimmed grin?

He did what any blue-blooded Brit would do. He bunched it square in the mouth.

The thing was fast. In the blink of an eye, it had Roger's arm crushed between its teeth. He tried to cry out, but the creature already had itself wrapped around him; consequently, the only sound he could produce was a less-than-intimidating squeak. Every time he gasped, the creature constricted tighter.

---

Witness. ---

1993

The alarm buzzed. John reached over and snoozed it.

Five minutes later, the radio started playing Sinatra, despite John ripping out the FM transmitter just the night before. Grabbing the entire clock-radio, he launched it across the hotel room, where it shattered against a mirror.

Then, for good measure, he sat up in bed and gave the lamp a good solid kick. He'd be billed for it, and probably even kicked out of the hotel. Maybe he'd sleep in a ditch tonight for the thrill of it. None of that mattered, though, since he'd wake up in the same bed, at the exact same time, annoyed once again by Come Fly With Me through a tinny, sub-standard speaker. He glanced at his watch.

"Three. Two. One." As he pointed at the door, somebody rapped on it and called "Room service!" "Fuck off!" John growled.

He'd seen Groundhog Day back in his own Theta-Universe just before traversing the portal. The coincidence wasn't lost on him. Who knew such a temporal anomaly wouldn't be caused by driving off a cliff, but by mucking about in the past!

The most annoying thing was that he couldn't write anything down, because everything would disappear when the day started over. Infuriating! He had so many questions, and limited memory with which to remember them, or their answers.

"What is this," he grumbled, sliding out of bed. "Sixty? Seventy? A thousand?"

Every morning, he made a tick on the wall. The next day, of course, it was gone.

It was at least sixty, though. He knew that. And in those sixty days, he'd pursued every opportunity to speak to Freddie, but this universe's version was reclusive and distrustful. Once, frustrated with the lack of positive response, John tried to drag him off so they could talk, and ultimately ended up in jail.

It didn't matter. By then, he knew he'd wake up the next morning safe in the hotel bedroom.

Today would be different, though, John mused as he brushed his teeth. Humming a cheerful ditty that was definitely not Sinatra, he pulled the hairdryer out of its wall holster and used it to smash the mirror. If his actions didn't matter, if everything would reset in 24 hours, why shouldn't he take out his frustrations on inanimate structures? He spit the toothpaste out in the middle of the floor. "It's a glitch," he told himself. John often spoke to himself now, since he had no friends in this universe. He technically didn't exist in it, which meant no one recognized him, which meant he had no friends. "We fucked up the code. It was too much. We shouldn't have--" Today would be different.

Over the past few weeks--relatively speaking--John worked on finding the key to fixing everything. By the very nature of time-space, the machine he and his other self built also had to exist in this world. He should have entered into the Iota-Universe at the machine's location, but the glitch interfered and spat him out elsewhere. After triangulating all possible points of interest, he found it in the basement of an abandoned school only a half mile away from the hotel. The proximity made sense. And if he was right, which he'd find out today, the location of the machine, the hotel, and Freddie would create a perfect line.

That revelation didn't matter much before, but now it made sense. It was the continuum trying to correct itself, pointing the way to solve the problem. If John could get Freddie to the machine, his presence would act as a battery, activating it and allowing everyone to go home. He had to. At this point, he teetered just on the verge of madness. Living the same day over and over couldn't have been healthy for anyone.

--- Today, he'd try a different tactic. Today... Today it would work.

It was sad in a way, how meeting up with Freddie had become routine. The first few times John saw he old friend, he couldn't even approach for the tears in his eyes. And Freddie looked so whole and healthy. Standing in the presence of Queen's legendary singer made John's heart soar!

But while this Freddie had similar mannerisms and a rather sizable ego, he was reclusive, bitter, and almost hopeless. In the rare occasion John managed to find the right combination of words and platitudes to get this version of Freddie to talk, every word dripped with regret and bile. After Queen failed, Freddie's life folded in on itself. He repressed his sexuality. Settled down with Mary. Lived miserably.

John had doubts about taking this Freddie back to the Theta-Universe, but he still waited in the same park every morning just to catch a glimpse of his old friend. Sometimes they'd talk. Sometimes they'd fight. Today, John intended to test his theory on the machine.

At eleven o'clock and four minutes, Freddie sauntered past the park fountain.

As casually as he could, John pushed himself off the bench, falling into step just behind Freddie. He tried his best to act as if he had somewhere to go and just happened to be traveling in the same direction.

Astute, though, Freddie glanced over his shoulder. "Are you following me, darling?"

Every day the same question.

"Yes, actually," John replied. Before Freddie could get angry, though, he regurgitated a bit of trivia Freddie gave him just a couple days prior: "I saw you at the Itherian last night. You sing, right? Was that you?"

Yesterday, the spiel was too desperate and overstated. Today, John reined in his anxiety and evened his tone.

It worked. Freddie's face lit up, every trace of doubt vanishing. "Hey, yeah! I don't remember seeing you there."  

Damn. A new variable. He could ruin the entire day if he answered wrong. Crossing his fingers in his pocket for luck, he tried, "Oh, I don't like to be around people. I kinda stay toward the back when I go to those things."

"There were only eight people there, dear," Freddie replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Eight too many," John muttered, trying his best to let his anxiety float to the surface.

"Oh, you've got it bad, haven't you? Poor dear. Well, did you like the set?"

If John continued along this conversational path, Freddie would ask which song John liked the best, and John had no answer for that. At that point, Freddie would see right through him and the day would be a wash. "Loved it," he said. And before Freddie could ask the wrong question, he quickly added, "I actually have a little place in the basement of an old school just down the block. I could use a regular. You want to see?"

Was that too creepy? It sounded too creepy. He'd have to work on his delivery for tomorrow.

To his surprise, though, Freddie said "Lead the way!"

---

"Interesting that you had to break the lock," Freddie grunted as John led him down the steps. Every one of them creaked underfoot with a squeal that sounded like each board was about to snap in half. Had they been that loud the other times John came down here? They must have been. He was just nervous and his senses were playing tricks on him.

"Ah, it's a work in progress," John said, whisking the dust-discolored sheet off the machine. His heart hammered as he turned to Freddie, who was staring at the contraption with a mix of disgust and curiosity.

"Is this what you intend to use for music?" Freddie asked. "Good God, is that a broken television set?"

"Actually, the truth is..." John fiddled with the dials, clicking the calibration from 6-2-5 to 6-2-6. It should have turned it on, which would give a heaping portion of credence to John's story. Shifting the sub-space translator node into the low-mid position, he said a quick prayer...

Please work. Please work. Dryly, Freddie scoffed, "Did you build this yourself?" as nothing at all occurred. "It's liable to belch dust before it creates music."

"I'm gonna explain, I promise. It's just that I'm from an alternate universe..." The truth slipped past his lips has he re-calibrated, trying 6-7-6 instead. Normally, that would be too high, especially with the translator node where it was. Maybe too high was just right for the Iota-Universe, though? "I was going to show you--hoping to take you back... There's this place where Queen made it, Freddie."

"Oh dear," Freddie drawled.

"Give me a minute," John snapped.

It had to work. It had to!

"How do you know about Queen?" Freddie asked. John briefly looked over his shoulder, to find Freddie peering down his nose. "I've not told anyone about the name. You've been breaking into my house. Looking at my sketches!"

The stray thought that this Freddie was also paranoid touched on John's thoughts as he tried to troubleshoot. "No, you must have told me--"

"I don't even know you!"

John sighed, resigning himself to another failure. He could try another approach tomorrow, of course. And the next day if he had to. And then the day after that. He started to wonder if perhaps he'd have to rebuild the machine! That'd give him an excuse to see if remaining awake for multiple days in a row would allow him to move past the same stretch of twenty-four hours, but was it worth the trouble?

He wasn't sure he liked this Freddie.

As John fiddled with the calibration, something slammed into the side of his head. The force caused him to spin around in a half circle and collapse onto the dead machine. As he lost consciousness, Freddie raised the two-by-four in his hands for another attack...

That was the first time John died.

Then his alarm buzzed.

"Ow," John grumbled. Sitting up and kicking off his sheets, he rubbed his unbruised temple, gritting his teeth. Though the pain was gone, the memory caused more than a couple tears.

He never bothered Freddie again.

---

2019

Roger could no longer struggle. Though his lungs reflexively tried to suck in just the barest hint of oxygen, he could no longer breathe. Though not one for giving up, he had to admit that this was over.

All he could think about was how wrong it felt to see that glimpse into John's mistake. How could he possibly have lived the same day over and over without going insane?

And Freddie...

That monster wasn't Freddie.

You wasted your time, Deaky, Roger lamented. You should have stayed.

You have witnessed,

the creature said, squeezing Roger tighter and tighter until his ribs cracked and snapped. Choking with pain, Roger's vision closed in until the lack of oxygen dragged him into a surprisingly peaceful demise.

[peterkayscarshare]

Life in the Slow Lane Chapter 4 by OvertheRainbow2

Life In The Slow Lane Part 4: A New Direction

 Thirty minutes after his declaration, John and Kayleigh were seated on the side of her single bed, arms wrapped around each other, while Kayleigh continued to intermittently sob, sniff and ruin the sleeve of John’s shirt. She’d also made her way through half a box of Kleenex Ultra Soft and John was becoming increasingly concerned that at this rate, she was at significant risk of dehydration. “Seriously Kayleigh. You’ve got to stop cryin’” “I know! I just can’t! Every time I look at you. No one’s ever said anything like that to me before. It was so beautiful.” With that she started crying yet again. “Yeah, well I meant every word. I love ya. I’m also really hoping you’ll stop blubbin long enough for me to a) get the feeling back in me right arm, b) avoid the necessity to dry clean this shirt, c) prevent flood damage to the carpet and d) let me kiss ya. That finally made her smile, “I like the sound of option d”. “I thought you might.” The kiss started out as a tentative and tender effort to reacquaint their lips but as was often the case between them, it didn’t take long for it to become more of a heated exchange. Soon they were reclining on the bed, their limbs desperately trying to find the optimum position, like a highly competitive game of Twister. Forgetting that the scope of his performance was somewhat limited by the venue, John attempted to roll onto his back, bringing Kayleigh with him, only to crash unceremoniously into the tiny bedside table, upending the alarm clock and bedside lamp. “Christ! Me elbow! Mother of God woman! You should come with a health warning.” “Never mind your elbow! What about me lamp!? Anyway, you were the one attempting gymnastics.” Moment lost, Kayleigh clambered over John to survey the damage and pick up the scattered items from the floor. 

 Having narrowly avoided catastrophe, John was now comfortably reclining on the bed with a somewhat smug expression on his face. He couldn’t help but grin as he admired Kayleigh’s pert posterior as she bent over in front of him. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but you’ve got one hell of acute little ass Miss Kitson.” “John!” “What!? You do. It’s a statement of fact. The idea of that sleazy get Rick puttin’ his hands anywhere near you, pisses me off in ways you can’t imagine. How I’m gonna get through this wedding without lampin’ him, I’ve no idea.” Kayleigh found herself blushing at his cheeky compliment. He noticed, “You’re also very sexy when you blush.” Sensing this was heading for, as yet, uncharted territory and curious to discover the exact destination, she decided to play along. “Am I now?” “Yeah. You are.” “You know, one of these days you’re going to have to put your money where your mouth is John Redmond.” “What the Hell does that mean?” “It means you’re all talk and no action. All mouth and no trousers.” “Oh Really.” “Yeah really.” “You talkin’ about Rick because if you are, let me tell you, no one touches my woman. If he wants to keep his wedding tackle intact, he’ll keep his hands to himself from now on.”  “Ooh, here comes the caveman. Your woman?” “Well, Yeah. That’s what you are...aren’t ya?” Kayleigh drew herself up to the entirety of her 5ft 2 ins, “I am a woman John.” “I know you are”. “And even though I can stand up for myself, I do love it that you get all, protective of me. I just think it’s also important that you understand that a woman has needs. This woman has needs.”

 John began to look sheepish. “Yeah but I’m guessin’ they don’t include some lecherous bastard takin’ liberties!” “No. They do not.” “Listen, I know how you feel and I’m not averse to fulfilling those “needs”. Honest I’m not.” Kayleigh scoffed, “Yeah right! I’ll believe that when I see it. If I made a serious move on you right now, you’d run a mile. You’d be off down those stairs faster than Usain Bolt.“ “What makes you so sure?” “Experience. With you, it’s so far and no further. I’ve heard every excuse in the book. “Let’s not rush things”, “Oh heck, is that the time? We’ve got an early start in the morning”. My personal favourite is, “Pat next door’s bringing back me orbital sander”. You’re hot and cold more often than a dodgy boiler John Redmond. It’s like that Victoria Wood song. I’m saying “Let’s do it!” and I half expect you to say “Me mother’s sent a note to say you must excuse me.” John was smiling, “D’ya want me to beat you on the bottom with a Woman’s Weekly then?” Kayleigh couldn’t help but chuckle, “You’re missing the point!” “I’m not. Believe me, I understand. You’re frustrated that we haven’t....you know...” “Oh I know! The word is sex John and frankly if you can’t even say it, I’m more than a bit concerned about you’re ability to actually do it!” “Hey! I can do it. Trust me. I’ve had no complaints” “Well I wouldn’t know, would I? Should I check the reviews on TripAdvisor?” “Don’t be smart”. “I’m not bein’ “smart”. That’s exactly what I’ve got to do, trust ya. I’ve got to trust that I’m not completely wasting my time here. That it isn’t the case that you love me but you’re just not “in love” with me.” The turn of phrase immediately caused him to sit up in bed. The atmosphere changing almost immediately. “Is this about Charlotte?” “No. It’s not about Charlotte, it’s about us.” “Then why are you digging up the past?” “I’m not!” “You are! I told you months ago that was one of the reasons why I broke up with her. You seriously think that’s how I feel about you just because we haven’t slept together yet!?” “I don’t know what to think John.” “Mother of Pearl! I tell you I love you. More than anyone I’ve ever known and you translate that to mean I love you like a mate but otherwise I’m not that fussed!? How about when we’re together? It’s not exactly as though there’s no passion there. I’ve got the bruises to prove it! In case you somehow missed it, I fancy you like mad!” “That’s the point!” “Oh, there’s a point to this? Thank Fuck!” “Now you’re just being a shit!” “Oh, I’m a shit now, am I!?” With that John got up and headed to the door, “Where are you goin’!?” “To wait for you to cool down and to be a shit in the comfort of my own home.” “Fine. Sod off then. All you ever do is avoid the issue.” “What bloody issue!?” “Why you don’t want to have sex with me?!” “I do want to have sex with you!” “So why do you keep fobbin’ me off?!” “TED2!”

 It hung in the air between them for several seconds. Kayleigh looked both confused and aghast and John looked mortified. After what felt like an eternity, the silence was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by Mandy’s voice, unfamiliar and a strange combination of 1940’s telephonist and vaguely patronising flight attendant, “Eh, sorry to disturb but could I suggest lowering the volume slightly? If I could avoid the necessity for Sex Education with two primary schoolers over the Sunday roast that would be very much appreciated. Thank you.” As they heard her footsteps retreat back down the stairs, Kayleigh tentatively re-opened the conversation, “Ted 2? What the hell does he have to do with our sex life?” “You really fancied him.” Kayleigh was bewildered by this random statement of the blatantly obvious, “Eh, Yeah. I’m not sure you’d find a heterosexual woman with a pulse, who wouldn’t. I also really fancy Jake Gyllenhaal and Bradley Cooper and if I was ever going to reassess my sexuality, you know that Beyoncé would definitely get it.  I’ve got about as much chance with them John, as I do with Ted 2. It’s a fantasy. If I’d wanted to talk to him, unleash my inner cougar and probably make an absolute bloody fool of myself, I would have done it. I didn’t. That’s because sometimes it’s just nice to dream but know that dream will never be a reality. The truth is, you don’t really want it to be. Especially when reality is so much better. I’ve never had much luck when it comes to romance, you know that. I was beginning to think that it wasn’t going to happen for me. That happiness was something I’d always dream about but I’d never know. Then I put my name down for a bloody company car sharing scheme, checked the notice board and Cath Hilton had just helped me win the lottery of life. You came along. You. With all your quirks and imperfections, with all your wonderful and infuriating. You’re my dream come true John Redmond”. Despite himself, he felt teary. As was his habit, he desperately tried to pass it off, “If I’m your dream come true, you mustn’t have much of an imagination.” “Oh you’d be amazed.” She gave him a wicked grin and winked. Despite her reassurances though, John still looked subdued. “Let me tell you exactly what my dream always was. It was to meet a man who made me laugh until I cried. Who didn’t bore me to death. Who listened to my stories, treated me with respect and made me feel valued and special. Who didn’t just see me as some ditsy girl. Someone who was kind and made me feel safe. A man I could love so much it made my heart ache and who I knew loved me too. One that I could actually see myself building a life with. Throw in beautiful, twinkly blue eyes and the loveliest smile, a cuddle and a takeaway on a Sunday night and there it is. My idea of perfection.” “What about a six pack and a tight ass?” “What about them?” “Isn’t that what you want too?” “That’s what all this is about isn’t it? You feel self-conscious.” His sudden fascination with the bedroom carpet said it all. “John. Look at me.” Tentatively he looked up. “I feel nervous too. I keep thinkin’ about me muffin top and Cagney and Lacey aren’t quite the formidable crime fighting duo they once were.” John smiled, “Why do you think I started going to boot camp? I wanted you to see me at my best.” “You’re always at your best and you always will be. You’re the loveliest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known and every day you’re more gorgeous than the next.” “See that? Right there? That’s better than any six pack and that’s why I love you. You’re not looking for me to change, or be something I’m not and never will be and I’m not looking for you to do that either. I’m not interested in some buffed up gym bunny. I don’t want Ted 2, I want John 1.” “Do ya, really?” She moved seductively towards him, “Yes I do. I Really, really, really do.” With that she kissed him. This time it felt so much less desperate and urgent and so much more relaxed, yet with an intensity that was overwhelming. Within minutes their hands were touching and exploring, with a renewed confidence and the lure of the tiny single bed was immense. 

 This time it was Kayleigh who called time on their passion. “John?” She gasped. “Hmm?” Came a distracted reply from the region of her neck. “Don’t hate me but I think we should stop.” He did, immediately but for a moment he didn’t move. Slowly he lifted his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She began to panic at his frustrated expression, “I know. It’s just...” Suddenly, he broke into a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry. I’m just winding you up. I know what you mean. I don’t want our first time to be in your sister’s box room with walls like paper, a bed designed for a ten year old and the prospect of your niece and nephew walkin in on us at any moment. Not to mention your brother in law and my best mate just outside the window and your sister cookin a roast dinner in the kitchen downstairs. I mean, a little bit of distraction can sometimes be useful in these situations but there’s distraction and then there’s bloody off putting.” She whispered in his ear, “We’ll have our moment....soon. I promise”. “Too damn right we will! Do you have plans for next weekend?” “Nope, nothing in the diary.” “Well, how about when I pick you up on Friday morning, you bring some clothes and whatever other bits you need and stay with me for a few days? We’ll do whatever you want to do. Go out for dinner, or stay in and grab a takeaway, watch a DVD, or go to the cinema. Whatever you feel like you wanna do. No pressure. Just you and me....and if during that time Cagney and Lacey decide they want to let me help them with their inquiries, I’d definitely be up for that.” Kayleigh grinned, “Oh you’d be up for that would you?” John chuckled, “I absolutely would. Those two still know how to get their man and I can tell ya, I’d be more than happy to be detained at their pleasure.” Kayleigh laughed long and hard, “You’re such an idiot but I love ya to bits.” “Right back at ya gorgeous. I take it that’s a yes.” “Of course it is!” The heart shaped lamp on the windowsill suddenly caught John’s attention. “Still up there I see.” “Yep and it’s goin’ nowhere. I’m keepin’ that lamp always. Even when it doesn’t work anymore, it’s stayin’ with me.” “You really did like it eh?” “You don’t get it do ya? That’s when I knew.” “Knew what?” “That I loved you.” “When I bought you a plastic novelty lamp!?” “It wasn’t so much the lamp. It was what it meant. You could have bought me anything. A gift voucher, some flowers, or a bottle of Prosecco but you didn’t. You remembered something I said to you weeks before, in passing, about a heart shaped lamp that I liked and instead of forgetting about it, or just ignoring me, like most blokes would have done, you actually listened to me, you heard me and you cared. You held on to what I said and you chased it down to Preston and you bought it for me, just to make me happy.” By now they both had tears in their eyes. “And that is why that lamp is staying with me.” John instantly replied, “With us. It’s stayin’ with us. Forever.”

[perpetually-jungshook]

Goldilocks || 04

Rated M (language and smut)

Warnings: dry humping, breast play

Summary: After getting evicted, your two best friends Jimin and Taehyung offer you a place to stay until you get back on your feet. Needless to say, with a part time job and a mountain of student debt, that’s not happening any time soon. Eventually, they DO become really fond of having you around, helping with chores and even splitting rent. So when you come home one day to find someone has been sleeping in your couch-bed, well… it’s something you won’t take lightly.

Word Count: 3.9k

Out of context Goldilocks quote: “If you guys are done making butt jokes I’d really like to watch this movie.”

Link to: Goldilocks Masterlist || Previous Part || Next Part

not my gif, credit to owner

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A/N: OH LOOK THE RATING CHANGED. Yeah so imma just leave this here and run. No EOPQ, but feedback is appreciated and depending on the reaction, I might be a hoe and drop 05 tomorrow. If you’re someone who doesn’t like smut, asterisk* is where it starts, skip until the *asterisk where it ends. You won’t be missing plot stuff. I made sure of that. NOW I’M GONNA RUN BYE~~

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Taehyung has always loved boobs.

It has become apparent over the past few years of your close friendship that it isn’t even a sexual thing sometimes. He simply loves boobs. Perky, droopy, big, small, even man-boobs. He’s explained several times that “they’re just like, really comfy, okay?”

The sad thing is, you can completely believe him, and this is one of the main reasons why you choose to cross your arms when he begins pleading, unabashed as Jungkook and Jimin look on.

“Baby, just come cuddle with me,” Taehyung laughs, gesturing in a pitiful attempt to persuade you to join him, speaking loudly to be heard above both the pouring rain outside and the dialogue of the movie.

“Go take care of your boner first,” you retort.

Taehyung’s lips slip into an easy, suggestive smile, “Wanna help me with that? Or should I say… give me a hand?”

You stifle a laugh, “The only hand I’ll be giving you is my entire fist up your ass.”

“Damn baby, that’s a bit much. Can’t we just start with a finger?”

With that, you, Taehyung, and Jungkook loose it, all sense of composure forgotten. Jimin, on the other hand, suddenly contorts his face in an unreadable, tight frown, clearing his throat, “If you guys are done making butt jokes I’d really like to watch this movie.”

“C’mon Chim,” you offer a wicked smile. “Don’t be a tight ass.”

As a flash of lightning floods the room, you can see that his cheeks have dusted pink, which makes the whole situation even funnier.

“But really,” to speak, Taehyung has to take a few deep breaths to calm his giggles. “Baby please? It’ll get me off a lot faster.”

You simply point to the bathroom, “Your problem, not mine.”

“Then just show me your boobs?”

“My boobs?”

“Yeah, yknow, your tiddies, tatas, boobaloos-”

“I am trying to watch the movie,” Jimin squeaks, voice cracking as he pulls the massive blanket up over his nose.

“Alright! Aish,” Taehyung rolls off of the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

While Tae shuffles awkwardly down the hall, Jungkook leans forward, for whatever reason choosing to lock gazes with you as you climb back into the spot next to Jimin. He whispers, “Two minutes, max.”

It takes a second to reply as you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to not show any outward signs of your irrational irritation. Thankfully, your voice eventually comes out steady, “Nah, Tae can last a good five minutes.”

The maknae arches an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips, “You know this… from personal experience?”

It’s disgusting, the amount of defensiveness that seeps through your tone, “No. Definitely not. I wouldn’t voluntarily touch his dick if someone paid me.”

“Sure, noona,” Jungkook whispers and the honorific sends another shot of hot anger to your stomach. Frustrated, you shift around to bury yourself in the blanket with Jimin, seeking warmth but also a place to hide from the gaze of that infuriating kid with the stupid golden fringe. But he’s not done with you yet. “I can last for ten.”

Oddly, it’s Jimin’s body that stiffens first, but before you can react, a series of loud bangs drags your collective attention down the hall, especially as it’s accompanied by a high pitched scream of, “Holy shit a spider!”

The bathroom door flies open and Taehyung scrambles clumsily into the hallway as he desperately attempts to finish shoving his manhood in his pants.

“Seriously?” You embrace the distraction wholeheartedly, getting off the couch to leave the awkward situation behind. “Do you want me to kill it? Or are you done?”

“Don’t kill it,” Taehyung begs as you approach the bathroom door. “All life is precious. But I kind of…went soft after getting scared.”

“Too much information.”

“Sorry.”

Thunder rumbles in the distance, but you vaguely register the fact that the rain seems to be getting lighter.

“Where is it?” you ask, taking a cursory glance across the sink and tiles in the shower.

Taehyung approaches slowly and peers over your shoulder, “It was on-”

“Don’t touch me with your penis hands.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, releasing his grip on your arm. “It was on Jimin’s toothbrush.”

You approach the sink cautiously, gaze pinned on the toothbrush holder that is shaped like a giraffe. You’re pretty sure it’s meant for children, but Taehyung wanted it and when it comes to you and Jimin… what Tae wants, Tae usually gets no matter how annoying he is.

Sadly, you can’t seem to find his little arachnid buddy until you’ve got your face all nice and close. With your nose almost pressing into the bristles of Jimin’s brush, you finally see it.

“Tae, this is the smallest fucking spider I’ve seen in my entire- oh my god it jumps.”

Unfortunately for both of you, amidst the screaming you lose track of the intruder and the bathroom becomes momentarily off limits. As if that wasn’t bad enough, by the time you get back to the couch, the movie is half over and you have no idea what’s going on.

“Maybe if you’d been paying attention instead of screwing around in the first place I wouldn’t have to explain it,” Jimin huffs after you assure him that he doesn’t need to pause the film.

It’s a little bit strange. While it’s nothing new for Jimin to be a tad uptight about weird things, as he stops the movie to catch you up on the plot he suddenly seems particularly stiff. Chalking it up to random man-hormones, you brush the odd feeling aside and try to pay attention, but fail. You’re still lost as the movie finishes, leaving you with so many questions- and not the good kind.

“Wait, why didn’t they just throw the girl in the portal? Wouldn’t that have solved the problem?” you muse, staring at the scrolling credits.

“Because they didn’t want an eight year old to die?” Taehyung suggests.

“So they let the demons kill everyone else?”

“Pretty much,” he confirms.

Jimin sighs, dragging his hands down his face, “Were you not listening at all to what I said? They didn’t throw the girl in the portal because if they did, she would become the sacrifice for the coven…”

His voice fades to the back of your attention as you begin piling up the empty pizza boxes. After years of friendship, you’ve learned that despite your lazy nature, neither of the boys is usually willing to clean up after eating. This meant that if you didn’t do it, the apartment would begin to smell.

Much to your surprise, Jungkook leans forward and begins collecting the used napkins and stray playing cards. While he’d gotten up to answer the door earlier, you hadn’t really thought of him as the helpful type. So when he takes it a step further and offers to take out the trash, you’re more than willing to let someone else do the work for once.

But this frees you up to take care of another chore while Taehyung changes his sheets, preparing for your sleepover, and Jimin bravely claims the shower, missing spider aside.

You get to empty the pesky plastic rain bucket.

By the time you check on it at the end of the hall, the big container has filled almost to the top. Someone should really tell the upstairs neighbors to fix that leak. A deep soreness already permeating into your back and legs, you painstakingly drag the bucket inch by inch, pulling it toward the front door.

You get it halfway through the living room before Jungkook comes back.

“Let me help you with that.”

“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” you grumble, fixing your stare on the sloshing water that’s been slowly spilling all over the fake hardwood floor.

He sighs heavily, walking to stand beside you and attempting to grab the bucket, “It’s heavy.”

“So? I’ve got it,” you insist, angry that he thinks you need his help. At this point, you’ve pushed aside your inherently lazy nature, fueled by your hatred of his arrogance.

Without another word, Jungkook tugs on the container, causing some of the water to splash onto his Timberlands. You tug right back, soaking your socks, plastic scraping loudly against the floor.

You can see his thick arm muscles flex, ready to pull and try to assert his fucking dominance, but you are determined to put him in his place. So you pull first.

Tipped bucket. Water everywhere.

You glare at him from where you land on the floor, now soaked from the waist down and not in a good way. Jungkook’s eyes are so huge they look like they’re about to pop out of his head. Can you blame him though? You must look ready to skin him alive.

“Did someone die out there?” Taehyung’s deep voice floats out of his room.

“No, but someone’s about to,” is what you want to say; yet Jungkook beats you to a response.

“Everything’s fine, hyung,” he is abruptly uncannily calm, expression settling into one of complete emotional control.

“‘Fine’ my left ass cheek,” you spit quietly, getting to your feet.

The maknae glares at you, upper lip twitching slightly as he says, “It IS fine. I’ll clean it up.”

“Oh, you’ve done enough,” you retort, picking up the empty bucket, trying to move around him to get to the hallway. “Just go sit down and stay out of my way.”

“Make me.”

The two words settle like a hot stone in the pit of your stomach, immediately stopping you in your tracks- well that, and the fact that a wall of muscle steps between you and your destination. A dim flash of distant lightning illuminates the room slightly, reflecting in the gold of his hair.

This insufferable, arrogant, child has the guts to get in your way? He may be bigger than you, but Jungkook has another thing coming.

You throw the bucket at his feet, letting it bounce once with an awful, hollow “whump.” He winces almost imperceptibly at the noise, but maintains your gaze with a hard stare of his own.

Well, if he insists on cleaning the mess, you don’t want to waste the energy trying to stop him- but 1) he will do it on your terms 2) you will not let him stare you down and 3) you will accomplish both of these things by asserting your dominance and showing him who wears the pants in this house.

Or rather, who doesn’t.

“Towels are in the closet at the end of the hall,” you inform him, reaching down to undo the button of your jeans. Obviously trying very hard to maintain eye contact, the maknae’s left eye twitches as you peel the pants from your body. Unabashed, you wad up the soaked piece of clothing and throw it at his chest. He catches the projectile easily, though one of the legs comes loose from the ball and wetly slaps his neck. “And while you’re there, put that in the hamper.”

He has every right to refuse. If he does, he’s inherently challenging your authority. If he doesn’t…

Only breaking eye contact as he turns around, Jungkook picks up the bucket and heads to the other end of the apartment.

As Jimin exits the bathroom, Jungkook throws the soiled jeans inside before placing the plastic container under the leak and opening the hall closet. No matter how much you hate him, you have to admire his self control. He didn’t look down at your partially exposed body for even a second.

Crossing your line of sight, you note that Jimin doesn’t look up from his phone, intent on reading something while traversing the expansive few steps to his bedroom. Is no one going to pay attention to the fact that you’re pant-less?

“I call the shower next!” Taehyung abruptly bounds into the crowded hallway, but stops and slowly turns to look at you. His gaze flicks down only for a second while he shoots you a wink and a lopsided smirk, subsequently continuing on his way.

“Yah, Tae,” you shout, a little disappointed that you couldn’t scold at least one of them for looking. “You can’t even stop and admire the art?”

“Nah baby, the shower is calling my name. Besides I can always admire it later when we’re alone in my r-”

As he talks, you walk to the entertainment center to grab some clothes from the lower drawers, smiling to yourself and cutting him off, “Are you forgetting the spider?”

He lets out a deep, thoughtful hum, then with exaggerated cheerfulness asks, “Does anyone else wanna go in first?”

You stand, pajama’s tucked neatly underneath your arm, only to make eye contact with Jungkook. While he’s just innocently laying out towels to clean up the spilled water, all you can do is think about the fact that the only other person who can shower before Taehyung besides you is HIM. And if he does, you’ll theoretically have to be in the same place this irritating little shit stood while he was naked.

“I’ll go!” you scramble past both boys, closing the bathroom door behind you.

“You’ll find the spider, right?” Taehyung asks through the barrier.

“Sure thing,” you assure, but it’s probably a known fact that you’re not even going to look.

Taehyung’s room is practically the opposite of Jimin’s. Various band posters line the wall in a haphazard collage, a mountain of clothes has congregated around a hamper in the corner, and- when did he get a lava lamp? It always smells the same too, like that ruggedly musky pine cologne he has to have a hundred bottles of stashed somewhere because he’s been wearing it for at least five years.

“No,” you glare at him as Taehyung drops his shirt on the floor, now dressed in nothing but his boxers. If this wasn’t a sight you’d seen ridiculously frequently for almost a decade, you might have spent a few more seconds admiring his healthily full frame, lean muscles, and honey colored skin- but it really wasn’t anything new.

You’ve had plenty of sleepovers with your two best friends. Some your parents knew about, others they didn’t. It became an even more common occurrence when you were kicked out three years ago. And both of the boys like to sleep shirtless.

“Please?” Taehyung pouts, climbing onto the bed to flop into the space beside you, stomach down.

“No. I already had to touch your dick earlier.”

He giggles, giving you a boxy smile, “Yeah, you had to touch my dick. So the only fitting punishment is clearly to make me touch your boobs.”

“Seriously? Again with the boobs?” you turn onto your side to stare at him, eyebrow arched humorously. “How old are you? Twelve?”

“Thirteen, actually.”

“Tae,” you smack his wandering hand, causing him to flip onto his back, laughing.

“Just once?”

“Fuck you.”

“Yes please.”

With an only partially irritated groan, you roll your eyes and turn around to face the opposite wall, pulling the sheets along with you. Probably due to the sudden chill, Taehyung gives a needy mewl, shyly tugging at the blankets, which you spontaneously decide he won’t have. It takes a solid few seconds, but he eventually sighs, gives up, and turns out the overhead light, leaving you in the soft purple glow of the lava lamp.

“That’s fucking right,” you whisper just to spite him, thinking the sound of the rain outside would mostly drown it out, but apparently he hears it and your comment backfires immediately.

You feel the mattress shift and before you can move, his arm is around you, snaring your stomach and dragging you to his chest. You struggle halfheartedly, already resigned to letting exhaustion weigh down your limbs.

Taehyung doesn’t move for a few seconds, likely attempting to lulling you into a false sense of security. You know he’s not done yet. He’ll be a whiny asshole for at least ten more minutes. He always is. But the darkness coupled with his body heat is a combination that drags you mercilessly toward the sweet release of sleep. A few minutes of silence pass… and then:

“Just once?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Baby…” he nuzzles into the back of your neck.

“Hot damn, Tae if I say yes will you shut up?”

He perks up immediately, “Absolutely.”

“Fine, over my shirt.”

Taehyung lets out a joyful squeal and his big hands find your breasts immediately, like the damn homing pigeons they are. He gives a gentle squeeze.

“Fuck,” he draws out the word, “Why are they so soft?”

“Because they’re made of fat cells,” you reply sleepily.

He laughs, squeezing again, this time a little bit harder, “Way to just kill the mood.”

“There was no mood to kill, pabo.”

Taehyung suddenly stills, a sensation that plunges you into full alertness. What is he…? In a single swift motion, he pulls himself on top of you, wedging one leg between yours.

In the dim purple light, you can’t really see Taehyung lean forward so much as feel him do it, warm breath tickling your ear. His next words are whispered, raspy, “Wanna bet?”

A challenge.

Something ignites inside you, a smirk tugging at your lips. You lightly run your hands up his arms, a tease of a touch, until you find his shoulders, then his neck. Fingers lacing through the hair at the back of his head, you pull him closer.

“First one to beg loses.”

He lets out a humored hum, “You’re on.”

With that, you prop yourself up to connect your lips to his.

This isn’t the first time you’ve kissed Taehyung, even if the others were sort of drunk birthday party accidents he loves to bring up to embarrass you or the results of rather cruel rounds of truth or dare that no one is mean enough to reference. But you never fail to be surprised at how soft his lips are… and how quickly he likes to add tongue to the equation.*

He immediately presses more of his weight down on top of you, trapping your body between his and the mattress, causing your pulse to beat noticeably, excitedly in your throat.

Having initiated the kiss mere seconds ago, you’re shocked to feel his tongue against the seam of your lips. Amused at his forwardness, you deny him access with a quick nip and sharp tug on his hair. Taehyung groans, a low sound that sends heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

Did he really think you’d let him in so easily?

Not put off in the slightest, he changes his method of attack and moves his attention to your throat.

Taehyung’s teeth graze the sensitive skin as he sucks and tongues a warm wet trail down your jugular, impatiently traveling lower. This is when his free hand begins to wander. He’s using one of his arms to support his upper body, giving you room to breathe, but the other easily finds the hem of your shirt, pushing it up, bunching the cloth above your breasts.

He doesn’t give you much time to process the chill that rakes through your chest in the form of a shiver as he shifts his body down, kicking the blankets off the bed, to press an open mouthed kiss against your navel. Your next breath is inadvertently shaky and you can feel the smile on his lips as he dips his warm tongue inside.

Damn it. You really liked this pair of panties too.

“Still no mood to kill?” he asks, blowing lightly against the skin on your stomach, further chilling those places he’d left slick with his saliva.

“F-fuck you.”

“Is that an invitation or insult this time?”

“Both.”

Taehyung lets out a humored ‘tsch,’ tracing the tip of his nose across your stomach as he begins to travel back up toward his favorite piece of human anatomy.

You know you should at least try to touch him because that’s the only way you’re going to win, but for some reason, you just can’t. Your body won’t let you.

Your skin tingles in anticipation as he roughly palms your chest, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. A plea hangs on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. You won’t let him win- but again your body has other ideas.

Fingers tightening in his hair, guiding his head the rest of the way until his lips close around the peak of your right breast, you can’t help but let out an unsteady, “Fuck, Tae…”

He hums in approval against your skin, tongue circling the rosy bud relentlessly.

You want to moan as another thread of heat knots in your stomach, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you tug again at his hair, trying to breathe deep.

“Say my name again,” Taehyung whispers, licking a stripe up the valley of your breasts, shifting his other leg between yours, slowly pushing your knees apart. As he lifts himself to briefly reconnect his lips to yours, you can feel his hard arousal purposefully brush against your core.

Not wanting to show how much a simple swivel of his hips affects you, you force a laugh, breaking the kiss and dragging your nails across his bare back. He lets out another appreciative hum and buries his nose in the crook of your neck to suck at a spot behind your ear that leaves you shaky as you retort, “You wish.”

Likely just to spite you, harder this time, Taehyung rolls his hips against yours, a movement that causes your legs to wrap around his waist. Taking this as the “go” signal, he begins rhythmically pushing against you, running his hard length up and down your still clothed folds.

While the friction of the three layers between you is an interesting change of pace, you can’t help but crave skin to skin contact, lusting after the thought of him inside you.

*As if he can read your thoughts, Taehyung’s hand- the one that isn’t supporting his weight- travels to the hem of your pajama pants, his cold finger tips dip beneath the cloth, and the door opens.

“Well, this isn’t the bathroom,” Jungkook clears his throat and you snap into alertness, wrenched from what was nothing more than a disturbingly vivid wet dream. No wonder it had been so damn trite.

“Door on the other side of the hall,” Taehyung grumbles sleepily from his position half on top of you, face buried between your fully clothed breasts, right where you knew it would be.

Lord, what this asshole probably wouldn’t give to know you’d been dreaming about fucking him.

“Thanks.”

Even in the dim purple light of the lava lamp, you can see Jungkook’s eyebrows knit as he turns on heel and closes the door behind him.

“How the hell does someone confuse your room with the bathroom?” you want to scoff, but the derisive noise won’t leave your throat.

“I dunno.” Taehyung lifts himself up a little, bedraggled hair sticking up at an angle that almost makes you laugh. Almost, but not quite- because his voice is deep and hoarse in a way that makes you aware of the sticky state of your underwear, even if he only says, “I should really get a handle that locks.”

Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance.

You push Taehyung away, turning to face the opposite wall and clamping your thighs together in frustration. Maybe sleeping in Taehyung’s bed would not be as great of an idea you originally thought.

Too hot.

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[sanubisfanfic-blog]

Melting Magnets: a Sanubis Fic

One of my old Sanubis fics. Enjoy!

WARNING: Non-descriptive mentions of sex. Brief adult language. Rated high T.

Sadie knew she should have been a smidge more careful with the mission, but honestly, it wasn't like she was trying to release a horde of demons into the Met and collapse from straining her magic. She wasn't sure why Anubis was making such a big deal out of it.

"I'm making a big deal out of it because you were an inch away from dying," he hissed, his gorgeous coffee-colored eyes alight with anger. Really, it wasn't fair that he looked so attractive, even while yelling at her. When she found him in her room so late at night, she hoped he had a different sort of passionate encounter on his mind, but that clearly wasn't going to happen any time soon. "Did you even take a second to consider the consequences of the spell?"

"Alright, I thought you promised to cut the bloody mind-reading shit," she snapped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "And what was I supposed to do; let the demons wreak havoc on the rest of Brooklyn? You know I couldn't let that happen."

"I thought you promised to stop being so reckless with your life. You could have let Carter, or Zia, or literally anyone else who was there help you take care of the problem!"

"I know my limits," she shouted, her sapphire eyes glittering dangerously. "I've used ha-di a thousand times! I only passed out for a minute!"

"You've never used it on this large a scale!" Anubis spread his hands wide, clearly getting more and more frustrated. "One of the reasons your father allowed me to stay here with you was so that I could keep you safe. How am I supposed to do that if you keep throwing yourself in the path of danger? I shouldn't have to keep checking the faces of the souls lining up for judgment every time I have to go to the Duat, hoping that you're not one of them!"

"Look, Death Boy, I'm seventeen; I'm not a child anymore! And you're my boyfriend, not my babysitter!"

"Sadie, as much as I wish you weren't, you are still mortal. Every time you over-extend your powers, you come close to death. I cannot watch you kill yourself out of sheer stupidity!" He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, sighing in frustration. "I'm needed back at the Hall of Judgment. I trust you can manage to not die in the time I'm gone."

She let out a gasp of indignation as he pushed the air in front of him, creating a doorway of darkness.

"Fuck you!" she shouted at his back as he stepped through the portal, angrily tugging at the red streak in her blonde hair. Then she turned and screamed into her pillow.

"Woah, someone had a rough night," Jaz joked as Sadie walked into the infirmary. Zia, bandaging a burn on one of the anklebiters, chuckled quietly before freeing her charge. "Let me get you an energy potion. How was he?"

Sadie supposed Jaz had the right to make assumptions. Her makeup was smudged, her hair was a tangled mess, and she probably looked like she didn't get any sleep the night before (which was true). She was lucky it was Saturday—she was definitely not in the mood to deal with Drew and the rest of the Plastic BAGs.

"Nothing happened," Sadie grumbled, accepting the potion Jaz handed to her. "We got into a bloody fight about the mission. I don't know why Anubis got so upset—I've had way closer calls before!"

Jaz looked up from putting gauze back on the infirmary shelf and quirked a perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow. Zia narrowed her amber eyes.

"Fine," Sadie sighed, sinking onto one of the infirmary beds. "I get it. He just doesn't want to see me hurt, blah, blah, blah. What should I do?"

"I would just apologize," Zia suggested, sitting down on the bed across from her. "If I'm being totally honest, you were a tiny bit reckless last night."

"Yeah, yeah, I should have let everyone help me instead of panicking," she said, crossing her arms. "No one realized how many demons there were at the museum. I thought I could handle it."

"Well, at least you realize what you did wrong," Jaz mentioned. "You and Anubis get into little fights all the time. Just handle it like the ones before."

"Yeah, but before, we would just make out before it got too intense," Sadie said, collapsing back onto the bed. "This is the first one where he actually left."

Zia sighed. "Look, the only experience I have in relationships is with your brother—"

"Which is why I don't exactly trust your judgment when it comes to romance."

"But anyone can see that you two have a huge, magnetic attraction," Zia continued. "I know I didn't approve of you and Anubis at the beginning, but he definitely cares for you. You've been together for four years. He won't be gone for long."

"Whenever he comes back from his hissy fit, just kiss and make up," Jaz maintained, flipping back her curly blonde ponytail and moving over to where Sadie was sitting. "Whenever Walt and I have a fight, we always try to get it out of the way as soon as possible."

"Alright, fine," Sadie reluctantly agreed, running her hand through her red-streaked hair. "I won't make any promises—I'm still pissed off about it. Now I'm going to go teach my divine words class on no sleep. This will be marvelous."

"As the closest thing we have to a doctor, I'm going to recommend you don't do any intense magic today," Jaz said, crossing her arms. "Just go get something to eat and take a nap—you need to restore your energy levels."

"I'll cover your class," Zia added, playing with a fire amulet around her neck.

"Thanks, you guys." Sadie chugged the rest of the energy potion. "I'll tell you how it goes."

"Oh, and Sadie?" Zia called after her. "You might want to clean yourself up a bit. It's hard to feel better when you, ah, don't look your best."

"And if everything does go well with Anubis tonight, remember to use protection!" Jas shouted after her.

Sadie flipped a certain finger at them before walking away. Honestly, she needed better friends.

She collapsed on her bed, still in her combat books, red tank, and black jeans from earlier, and groaned. It seemed that, as per usual, nothing in Brooklyn House would wait for her romantic issues to be resolved. After being quite rudely awakened from her nap by her brother, she was forced to answer the questions of some moronic old magicians in the First Nome, deal with what Felix aptly named an "Ice-pocalypse," reprimand Felix for using his powers in the dining room, apologize to Felix for making him sob, and confiscate one of Walt's lion amulets from the anklebiters. What's more, that bloody-minded Jackal Boy hadn't shown up since the fight, and she was getting more and more irritated by the minute.

Sadie was debating whether or not she was recovered enough to use ha-di on him when a knock sounded from her door. She muttered some choice words under her breath as she heaved herself up and stomped over to answer it.

"Carter, I swear to all the gods of Egypt, if those old gits have another question, I will—" She stopped abruptly when she realized it was not, in fact, her brother standing at the door.

Anubis stood in the hallway, looking as attractive as ever in his skinny black jeans, white T-shirt, and classic leather jacket. His hair was perfectly rumpled in his typical just-had-amazing-sex fashion, and he had a stupid little half-smirk on his gorgeous face.

"Lady Kane," he said, raising his eyebrow slightly.

"Oh, no," she huffed, narrowing her black-rimmed eyes. "You do not get to leave me in the middle of a fight, show up an entire twenty-four hours later unannounced, and go all Lady Kane on me, expecting me to drop my panties and forget everything."

He sighed through his nose, tilting his head to the side. "May I come in?"

Sadie crossed her arms over her chest. "What, so you can give me another lecture about being responsible? I get it, Death Boy. I wouldn't have used the spell if there wasn't another option, and if you think I'm just going to pretend that there was anything else I could have done—"

"By Osiris' Kingdom, you are so infuriating sometimes," he interrupted, sounding exasperated, before leaning in and locking their lips together, hard. She rolled her eyes and kissed back, tangling her hands in his hair and deepening the kiss. He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her towards him.

"Are you going to let me in now?" he asked after a few moments, his eyes smoldering.

"Oh, shut up," Sadie snapped, grabbing him by his jacket and pulling him into her room. She shoved off his jacket and resumed snogging him thoroughly, slipping her hands under his shirt, grazing her knuckles against his toned stomach and bringing him even closer to her.

He growled low in his throat. The next thing she knew, Anubis had lifted her up and pressed her against the wall by her bed. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he started kissing down her neck. She had almost forgotten how strong he was—being the god of funerals really gave him an unfair advantage. As she busied herself with undoing his belt, the way he pushed her shoulders back with his forearm as he grazed his hands across her chest was almost painful. Unwillingly, she let out a tiny gasp of discomfort.

Anubis pulled back, his eyes widening. His hair was now a tangled mess, and he looked a bit dazed. "Did I…Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Sadie muttered, glancing down and dropping her feet to the floor. "Just get back here."

He looked at her quietly for a moment, his head cocked to the side, before leaning back in with a decidedly gentler kiss. The clothing that separated them started to slowly came off until there were no barriers between them, and the sound of their heavy breathing blocked out all other noises.

When it was over, they lay tangled in the sheets of her bed, her bare back against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

"I apologize for last night," Anubis said quietly, stroking her hair softly. "I… I wouldn't be able to bear it if anything happened to you. I overreacted, and I'm sorry for that."

"It's alright," she whispered, turning over to face him. "I overreacted as well. I'll attempt to be more careful."

He pressed another kiss to her forehead. "I trust your judgment. Until you get granted immortality, I will attempt to not panic."

Sadie snorted lightly and closed her eyes, snuggling closer into his warmth. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Jackal-Head. That's a while into the future."

"I know," he whispered softly, as her breathing mellowed out. "I love you."

"Mm-hmm," she said sleepily. He might have said something else, but she was already asleep.