#except it's the 80s so he's wearing fuck ass 80s glasses

[lenabobina]

1989 — Deutsche Demokratische Republik (x)

[jujutsu-headcanons]

Gojo Satoru general headcanons

Let's get one thing clear: this man is absolutely chaotic. He is always full of energy. His energy levels never reach below 50%. He is loud and proud, always running, and never takes a minute to relax.

Do not give him Monster. Shoko did that once and it took her forever to get him off the ceiling. Also, avoid caffeine. Shoko replaces his normal coffee with decaf and he still hasn't noticed the difference. Keep it that way.

He was the class clown when he was younger. He wasn't exactly a trouble maker, but he may as well be. I cannot word that sentence and I am sorry. Next.

All of his teachers assumed he never listened in class, so they always called in him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. It still shocked them every time he rattled off the correct answer.

Not only did he answer the question correctly, but he could also explain his reasoning behind the answer, and if it was multiple choice, explain why the other answers were wrong. 

This tall man child would march up to the board and absolutely fill it to the brim with work, turn around, drop the chalk-like a mic drop and walk back to his desk with the smuggest look on his face.

That doesn't mean he did the work tho

Idk how schools in japan work but we all know schools in America only care about the amount of work you do and not what you actually know so we'll use that for the sake of the headcanon: he had straight D's bc he never turned in his work

Despite not doing the work snd goofing off, teachers actually really liked him

A lot of people liked him and he was super popular, but he still felt alone

Fake friends, you know how that works, he didn't meet any real friends until he became a shaman

Clean freak. This dude actually makes his bed. He scrubs his bathroom twice a week. His desk can get cluttered but he straightens up once a week. He's not exactly a germaphobe because

He cannot respect your personal space and that's actually canon but let me take it a step further 

He's a slapper. Especially when he laughs. It doesn't hurt, it's playful dw. He hugs you from behind especially when he's cold. He picks you up and carries you around. He will grab your wrist, arm, or hand and lead you around even if you're following him. He lays his legs across you or lays across your lap. Puts his head on your shoulder. Platonic cuddling between friends is mandatory. He's just so hands-on it's ridiculous.

Unless you explicitly tell him you're uncomfortable he won't stop

Don't worry, if you aren't in that type of relationship, your no-no square is safe. Except, if you seem chill, he will slap your ass regardless of friendship status. His ass is also slappable. You can't tell me Geto and Gojo didn't run around slapping each other asses, okay

He was weird and scrawny as a child. He didn't start beefing out until he started training to be a shaman and he's still kinda smaller than most beefy boys

He can pick you up and throw you around easily. He carried around a 170 pound Yuji like a sack of potatoes and can easily carry around three times that weight

It's amazing he's so tiny because you remember 2014 Shane Dawson making all of those wack ass desserts that was just s pile of chaos wrapped in chocolate?

He can eat every last bite of one of those monstrosities without getting a stomach ache, gaining weight, or dying basically

He knows bc Yuji dared him to do it

He has really cold hands and feet

He sounds old. Let me elaborate. He's constantly cracking his joints. They also creak when he moves. He complains about body pains like he's 80 y/o

He also shares wisdom with the kids as if he's actually 80 y/o

It's irrelevant advice that doesn't make sense but is also useful. Megumi can't count the number of times he's asked Gojo for feedback on his technique but had been told to remember to chew 40 times or never go to bed angry

Starts off sentences with "now son" and "when I was your age"

He uses his blindfold as a headband when he wants his hair out of his face. He also uses headbands as... Headbands... When he wants to wear sunglasses but get his hair out of his face

He owns so many pairs of sunglasses but he always wears the same pair

He's only bought a handful of them himself, most of them are gifts

No one knows what to get him for Christmas or his birthday bc he has everything, so they resort to sunglasses

His favorite pair is a pair that Shoko and Geto bought him as a gag. He thought they were dead serious, though, so he wore them around for a month

They were heart-shaped, rose-tinted glasses

Can you believe this man doesn't use any gel or anything to keep his hair spiky with the blindfold on? It just naturally defies gravity when the blindfold is on

Tell this man he's pretty because he already knows. He's narcissistic but not the cringy kind

Photogenic as hell. Takes great pictures from any angle. 

He gives everyone a different story as to why he covers his eyes. Sometimes he says it's because his eyes are too pretty and are a distraction. Sometimes he says it's because the sunglasses/bandages/blindfold look cooler than his eyes. Sometimes he says it's to protect the six eyes from seeing things he doesn't want to see. The world may never know

He's tried covering his whole face before, but he thinks he's too pretty for that. He at least wants one of his many amazing features to be shown at all times.

So about his driver's license;

He knows how to drive. He can be a good driver. When he wants to be. He just doesn't have a driver's license.

Now he TELLS people he just never got around to getting one, however, there's a rumor he lost it due to too many parking tickets

It's amazing the only tickets he's ever gotten have been from that and once he got caught without a seatbelt; he would have gotten out of that one if he hadn't been flirting with the police officer so bad

This doesn't stop Gojo from driving places though

He steals Ijichi's car a LOT and Ijichi DOESN'T KNOW HOW like??? The windows are never broken and it doesn't look hotwired-

Gojo has a key

You're not even supposed to be able to duplicate car keys but Gojo did 

Also; none of the first-year trio knows he doesn't have a driver's license, though that much should be painfully obvious

He whips around corners, speeds up at yellow lights, goes "watch this" and does a donut, it's just a mess

The poor students have to sit in the backseat too. Just imagine Megumi with all three seatbelts around him like that one meme.

He thrives off of Nobara and Yuji screaming from the backseat, and he can see Megumi being smooshed because he thought the middle seat was the safest through the rearview mirror

Which he doesn't even need because of the six eyes

Despite being such a reckless driver, he knows when danger will happen, so he's never once gotten in a wreck

He blasts the radio, which makes up for the driving.

Has a habit of getting in a car and ending up in the McDonalds drive-thru

Steals other people's fries and keeps the fullest one for himself.

He was rebellious as a kid and teenager, but hey, at least his juvie record is sealed 

He's been detained and in the back of a cop car many times, but the reason was never really bad enough for him to be arrested. Mostly he's just being mouthy. And the time he got caught spray painting on the side of a building. And that one time he and Getou hopped the fence to get into the local pool. And that other time-

It got worse after Getou wasn't around to get him out of trouble. Suddenly, breaking the rules wasn't fun anymore and he mellowed out. 

Tried alcohol and cigarettes before he was legal. Decided neither was his thing, however, he did start drinking occasionally when he was legal.

He's a fucking chaotic drunk. Oh my god he's absolutely feral

Most bars in the vicinity know him by name and they sigh whenever he walks in

Shoko is his emergency contact. She hates it

Shoko has to drag drunk Gojo home at least twice a month and is not happy about it

Once she left him in an alley. He made it home okay so she guesses it's fine

Once he got so drunk he spilled beer on his sock. The thought the fastest way to dry them was by sticking them in the microwave. Forgot about it until someone asked, "Who the fuck is cooking socks???"

I feel it important he was in the break room of the local grocery store and no one knows how he got there

As he was escorted out he stole a grocery cart and rode away in it while singing Don't Threaten Me (With A Good Time) by Panic! At The Disco

He has no alcohol tolerance at all what so ever

He will literally just stare at you and giggle

It's funny he's really flirty but also doesn't seal the deal. Literally, every woman in that bar is willing to get in his bed but he declines every offer. No one knows why

Its because he respects women

He helps his students break the rules as long as they're within reason. Once night Yuji was really hungry and after having a temper tantrum he couldn't order Uber eats bc the school is supposed to be secret Gojo helped sneak him out to get food. Who needs curfew anyway.

The shirts in his closet range from like twenty bucks to the iconic rich bitch shirt the kids ruined in that one chapter we all know the one 

He still wears that by the way, he calls it "art" 

When he was younger, Megumi drew a picture of Gojo being eaten by his shadow dogs. Gojo found it and now it's framed in his room.

He keeps up with current trends and memes like no one's business. This is how he bonds with his kids.

Don't call him old, but also, he'll tell you to respect your elders it's a mess

He has a lot of games on his phone. You can usually find him holding his phone sideways playing some RPG game he probably spent too much money on 

He did hop on the Pokemon Go hype train but after becoming overpowered he got bored

This happens to a lot of games. He pays way too much money, gets to be the strongest in the server, and gets bored

He likes games where you can kill other people's troops and likes to watch as they lose all their power

I canon him as being borderline sadistic

This is why he's Sakata Gintoki reincarnated

White hair, sweet tooth, black leather clothes, dad vibes, never takes anything seriously bc when he does he's scary as fuck, the works.

He is Sakata Gintoki

He liked Gintama growing up. He watched a lot of iconic shows as they aired. He considers himself an og

He's hella bilingual

Because he's the strongest he goes overseas for missions a lot. Because of this he speaks a lot of languages and knows a lot about international cuisine 

He takes pictures of himself eating disgusting foods like snails. He never likes them but he loves the idea of Nobara gagging back in japan

Has paperwork sitting untouched on his desk from three months ago that he will not touch for at least another three months

Does the crossword puzzles in the newspaper every week

Uses humor as a coping mechanism and it honestly just became a personality

Constantly popping his joints. I'm sorry if you find this gross I too find it gross.

Probably brought home every stray animal he ever met ever until he was at least like 22 y/o

Tags: @wasabito @kittaliapenn

[docockbrainrot]

i think i want you (to leave)

Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.

Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader

Content: Slow Burn, NSFW eventually, 18+

AO3 link here.

Previous Chapter

Chapter 5

anathema// former vandal

The next several days are an uneventful blur. You barely leave your apartment, except for brief dog walks and grabbing food from the bodega across the street.

It’s 9 pm on Saturday and you’re fresh out of the shower, tucked away in a very fuzzy robe, lounging on the couch and watching YouTube on your television. You almost miss the subtle taptaptaptap sound coming from your window, you're so engrossed in the cooking show you’ve been binging. Gotta fill the void somehow, right?

You can’t see anything outside from where you’re sitting. The lights are on and make it impossible to peer through the reflections on the glass. Maybe it’s a bird. Or a branch is caught on the fire escape. Either way, you certainly can’t be assed to check it out and you take another sip of your chamomile tea- you’ve been trying everything under the sun, just about short of literally snorting lines of melatonin, to try to sleep better at night. Nothing’s been working. But you have been making a very valiant effort.

A few moments go by and you forget all about the window disturbance until,

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP.

It’s jarring. It’s loud. Above all else, it’s annoying. Chekov spares you a look, like you’re the one making a racket. Effectively exasperated, you make an effort to set, not slam, down your mug, feeling decidedly not Calm and Relaxed as the tea promised. Suppose it’s not miracle shit though, is it? You would not be a good candidate for a horror movie because you fearlessly storm over to the window and throw it open (it wasn’t locked in the first place; you’re quite terrible at remembering to). You stick your head out and glower at whatever irritating mischief is happening out here, ready to rip the fire escape off the side of the brick building.

You’re greeted by something cold and hard (and indubiously metal, judging by how it felt against your sternum) shoving you back into your apartment, sending you sprawling unceremoniously to the hardwood floor. A string of profanities ready to leave your tongue, you sit up and adjust your robe in an attempt to preserve a modicum of your modesty. The rant dies in your throat as red eyed claws grip the threshold of your pre-war window and it’s almost comical the way He maneuvers himself in, far too large to be making these sorts of entrances. Standing up to his full height before you while you’re still sitting dumbfounded on the floor reminds you of just how impressively built he is. You manage to pick your jaw up, but your ass remains firmly planted on the wood.

“Uh… you could have just used the buzzer, dude. I have a front door, you know,” you sputter out, brain blitzing in pretty much every way possible. Your thoughts are racing and eventually they settle on the most important thing you can think to ask in that moment: “... Why aren’t you wearing a shirt.” You can't help the way your eyes are drawn to his broad chest, gaze lingering on the vast scarring that spills out from the metal contraption clamped around his midsection.

Otto very graciously closes the window behind himself. Or at least his little robot accomplices do it for him. You still aren’t sure what’s going on with that- the whole AI thing. Not even a blip on your radar of concerns at this point. “Didn’t want anyone to see me come in. Your building has a camera on the front, facing the street.”

“That’s why you’re shirtless?” You ask dumbly. Interesting method of camouflage. “What? No- what? It doesn’t matter- listen to me. I need you to do something for me. A small favor.”

He doesn’t seem to notice the compromised position he put you in. Typical. Gathering up your broken pride, you get up and tighten the tie of your robe a bit. It isn’t until then that he has the decency to look a smidge embarrassed and you hope you didn't just give him a free show on your way to getting to your feet. “You literally just broke into my apartment and now you’re asking for a favor? We barely know each other!”

“Less complicated when there's nothing personal involved yet, plus- you let me in,” he corrects you. You wish he would stop doing that. You wish he would stop meeting with you like this, under weird and mysterious circumstances. Even though it's only been like twice. You're already over it.

“You threw me across the room!”

“Touche.”

Otto does not apologize and you did not sincerely expect him to. The look on his face reads more like the cat that got the canary than regretful. You feel as though you’ve come to recognize that expression on his face and you also feel as though you don’t much like the fact that you’ve enough encounters with this man that you can recognize a damn thing about him. “What… could you possibly need me to do for you? I am not robbing a bank.” You just want to get that out into the open as soon as possible.

“I don’t need your help robbing a bank,” he snorts as if the idea is preposterous and you take a moment to feel insulted. Wow. Okay. You could totally rob a bank if you wanted to. Deciding to not comment on your wounded ego, you let him get to the point. Otto pulls something out of his inner coat pocket. It's some kind of rolled up paper and you think at first maybe it's a newspaper or magazine. He unfurls it onto the coffee table and holds it open with two metal claws on either side so it doesn't ravel itself back up.

You realize it's a blueprint. "This is… Oscorp," you point out stupidly, brow furrowing in confusion. There's levels to what's happening here. Layers upon layers, melding together with rot and decay and you can all but smell it. But there's something missing, something that would tie all of the wackjob shit that's been happening to you and around you together. It feels like when you have a very particular thought and then walking into another room makes it dissolve from your head. You're trying to grasp for it, to fit the puzzle pieces together, but it's just out of reach.

"Yes. It is. I have a small task I need you to do," Otto starts off, metal phalanges pushing his glasses up onto the top of his head as he looks over at you. For the first time, you can see his eyes in the light. The warm amber feels like a mockery- you have seen his cruelty in action.

"Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter?" Of course he'd say that.

Your fingertips brush against the metaphorical wayward chain link. It's right there. You just have to grab it and pull it back to you, like the anchor of a ship before it can set sail.

He's talking. You aren't listening. He's tracing a finger over the schematics. You don't see it. Realization washes over you in a heart-dropping tsunami. The voicemail you got from Oscorp plays like a broken record in your mind. 'Hello, Y/N. We're calling in regards to your employment status here at Oscorp. Unfortunately, due to a breach of security, we are having to make staffing cuts and are going to have to let you go. We appreciate your time and effort and wish you the best of luck in your next endeavor.' It didn't make sense at the time. A lot of things didn't. You replay the scene of poor David, desperately pleading for his life at the hands of the man hunched over here, just in your living room. You mentally re-run it over and over like bad 80s sitcoms on late night television.

"Lab Coat Guy…"

You don't realize you whispered it out loud until Otto goes silent.

"What?"

You slowly look at him and take a single step backwards, shaking your head. The company embroidered on David's lab coat hadn't been clear to you in the moment- but it's crystal in hindsight. Oscorp. "You got me fired." Your tone is flat, until anger flashes through you, like a streak of lightning through a dark, moonless sky, illuminating all of things that didn’t make sense before.

"It doesn't matter. What I need you to do-" He's so nonchalant, so blasé that it only stokes the embers of frustration until there's a roaring blaze burning beneath your skin. It's all about him, what he needs, what he wants. He has the nerve, the audacity, to keep traipsing into your life, kicking you while you're down and then ask for favors? You want to say all of that to him but unfortunately for you, you're an angry crier. Your outburst of bravery at him the last time you saw each other had surprised even you- but now there's so much more emotion roiling around inside you.

"No. No, no. Fuck you. You got me fired! I can't- I can't not have a job, I have to pay rent! You could get me arrested for just talking to you!" Oscorp had you canned to tie up any potential loose ends before anymore Davids could slip through the cracks. You think about how scared the poor dude must have been, threatened into stealing blueprints from the biggest corporation in the city, for one of the most infamous criminals. You don't know how they found out you were even remotely involved and you don't want to know.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks and once the floodgates have opened you're very familiar with how long it's going to take to close them again. After all you've been bottling this up since you found out, too disappointed to even tell any of your friends or family.

Otto appears taken aback, to say the least. He even looks like he's at a loss for words; that's a first. You know he could kill you where you stand in the blink of an eye, but in that moment you don’t even care. You’ve been trying so hard for so long to get on your feet, to do things for yourself and get away from the past. You moved across the country, you left everything behind, you got a damn dog. It seems like every time you manage to take a step forward in life, you’re knocked flat on your ass, apparently literally sometimes. It isn’t fair. Things don’t come easily to you, you’ve always had to work for them. You aren’t wealthy, you aren’t a supergenius, you’re just… you. The job at Oscorp was good money and you really felt like you were getting your shit together for a while.

“They’re not who you think they are,” he says finally, so calmly, with such carefulness about his words, that you sniffle pathetically and look up at him. He doesn’t look nearly as pleased with himself as you thought he might. And here you’ve been, under the impression that he gets off on hurting people. “Oscorp. I’m not… I’m not just doing this for me. You have to understand that.”

The schematics are furled up and tucked away. You make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Maybe it’s just the tears that blur your vision, but you swear you see a softness there before they’re hidden away again by his glasses.

He lingers at the window.

“I hope you’ll reconsider.” And then he was making his exit, even taking care to gently close the window on the way out. But he raps on the glass with his knuckles from where he stands on the fire escape and you know the look of confusion on your tear-streaked face speaks for itself. Otto points to the latches on the window. ‘Lock it.’ He mouths before he’s gone, presumably to wreak havoc and harass other unsuspecting young women that don’t want anything to do with him.

You thought everything had come together- but the more sense you make of it, the less you seem sure of the bigger picture. You aren't even sure exactly what he wanted you to do.

You’re left with an endless bounty of questions, and not enough answers to satisfy any of them.

[takemealivelh]

midnight city || gang!luke

gang!luke, rival gangs, mentions of drugs, alcohol and violence. smut. 2k. part 1.

feedback is appreciated

he wiped the blood off his knuckles. the feeling of beating the shit out of someone is a rush of adrenaline. it’s like getting high on coke, but he doesn’t deal with that shit. he’s known many people who do hard drugs and then end up in trouble, or dead. he appreciates his life so much. luke likes being the leader of the diamond forsaken. a mafia that dedicates its time to drug transactions and occasionally prostitution. luke doesn’t fuck with that either, at least not recently. he met this girl in a bar and he’s been thinking about her for over a month. they’ve been on a few dates, and the sex has been great. she has a great sense of humor and he can tell she’s got street smarts, which he likes. he couldn’t fathom the idea of being with someone who gets scared about his job.

“you good, bro?” ashton, luke’s right-hand man, looks over at the bruises and leans against the sink of the bathroom, lighting a joint. their day is done and it’s time to go party. luke beat the shit out of a dude who didn’t give them their money and he threatened to go to the police. there was no way they would let him leave the storage unit without a warning. luke choked the man and broke a few ribs. he’s used to the job. it’s not like he was always like this. he used to have big dreams about forming a band and become a good musician. but he fell into the wrong crowds, and now here he is. dealing drugs and other sketchy businesses. everyone in la who knows about their mafia, knows not to fuck with them. they would end up dead. the police don’t do anything, they know how dangerous they are.

luke dries his hands with a paper towel and runs his fingers through his golden locks. “yeah,” he says. he’s never walked out of a fight with anything more than a few bruises. he does boxing on his free time, so he knows how to throw a lethal punch, and knows how to avoid poor kicks.

“i heard the grey lilies will be there tonight. i swear to fucking god those girls... i would bang every single one of them, but... you know...”

the grey lilies were a girl gang. they dealt drugs, too. that’s why they were a rival to the diamond forsaken. they never got into a physical fight, but there were many times they were about to. having the best clients was a problem for the male gang, but at least they had more people wanting their goods. but still, luke was pissed that they had a quality over quantity problem. he’d grown accustomed to the luxurious lifestyle. a good place to live, the most delicious takeout, and fancy cars. 

“for real?” luke looks over at his friend. he hides his excitement. sure, the grey lilies were trouble. but their top dealer, jackie, was the most fascinating creature he’d ever seen. their dates had been fun, exciting, thrilling. the idea of a secret hookup with their enemy was another rush of adrenaline. one that he actually preferred, if he was being honest.

- 

it’d all started at one of the parties. luke knew jackie, or at least he knew her face and what she did for a living. he was jealous she did so good with clients. she was charming as fuck. they didn’t mean to show up at the same place at the same time, but sometimes the gangs coincided. “did you get the dresnners?” she’d asked him as she took a seat on the stool next to him. her caramel-colored hair was in a ponytail and her eyeshadow was pastel blue. she wore ripped jeans, an oversized white t shirt, and high-heeled boots. the look suited her. she looked like the vocalist of an 80s inspired punk band.

luke scoffed. he knew what she meant. they had been fighting over the dressners for weeks and they decided to go with the grey lilies. that night, the diamond forsaken got blackout drunk. “no, but you did.” he finally said, looking down at the glass of vodka in his hand. 

“yeah,” she chuckled and ordered a beer. luke had always thought jackie was pretty interesting, but they’d never talked. not much, at least. just a few words here and there, mostly passive-aggressive shit. but the bickering was also part of the job. that night, though, that night neither felt like fighting. they were already buzzed. jackie took a swig of her beer and looked at him. “you wanna go outside? i got a joint. it’s legit shit, this.” she smiled.

it’s not like he frowned, but something among those lines happened. but fuck it, he thought. “sure. lead the way.”

they went to the terrace of the bar and lit up the joint. luke coughed a little and she laughed.  “i told you it was legit.”

-

luke and ashton walk into the club like the kings they are. everyone stops to look at them. but shortly, they resume their activities. which mostly consists of getting drunk and high. the two men make their way towards their usual booth. michael and calum are already there. calum’s with his girl. a black beauty who gives incredible head, his words. luke takes a seat and drinks the beer in front of him, swiftly drifting off the conversation to look around. he hasn’t seen the grey lilies, but he hopes they get here soon. bathroom sex sounds good right now.

“how was the guy?” michael asks as he throws a couple of fries into his mouth. ashton tells him that luke did a good job in silencing the motherfucker. “three ribs? man, that’s dark. but cool.” he laughs.

everyone seems to stop talking again, and luke shifts his gaze towards the door. the grey lilies have arrived. they look like a grunge band. their leader, lea, wears combat boots and net tights. but his eyes are focused on the girl whose moans keeps him up at night.  she looks gorgeous in that oversized that jacket that seems to swallow her whole, but still barely covers her ass. he wonders if he looks okay, sexy. he didn’t have time to change, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days. his motorcycle jacket has a few stains, but at least they’re not blood.

jackie finds him staring and she puts on a smirk. she pats the pocket of her jacket to let him know that she’s got weed on her. they rarely ever not get high together. that makes her wonder if this, this between luke and her, is just a side effect of the drug. but she doubts it. she actually likes him, even if she despises his friends. they all seem idiotic to her. luke notices the action of her hand and he immediately looks down at his drink. “imma go to the bathroom.” he announces, even though no one is hearing. they’re too into the story about the miami trip calum and his girl took last weekend.

luke stands up from the booth and snakes through the crowd. he catches a glimpse of jackie, who’s making her way towards her regular booth. “meet me outside in five,” he texts her. he watches her check her phone and smile down at the screen. 

-

“they’re gonna kill us if they see us together,” jackie says as she pulls out the joint from her pocket. she knows the grey lilies hate the diamond forsaken. they think the other gang are all egocentric assholes. she used to think that, too. but she met luke. and he’s actually a sweet guy. he’s really smart, too. the strategy they use to get more clients astounds her. but it’s nice to know that the grey lilies have the better clients.

luke watches her light up the joint and he leans against the wall outside of the club. it’s dark outside and the air is cold. there aren’t many people in the terrace, but he doubts anyone will say anything about them being together. getting high together. “then we’re just gonna have to keep it a secret.” his smile is shy, and jackie thinks he’s the most adorable man. even if he has bruises on his knuckles from probably beating up some shady guy. she passes the joint and luke takes a drag. “you wanna come to my place later? i got some cds i wanna show you.” they’re both big music nerds, and he loves that. they sit on the floor of his room, high out of their minds, and they listen to oasis, jane’s addiction and red hot chili peppers. 

“i don’t know. lea wants to do some kind of after party tonight. and i kinda want to be there.”

luke nods his head, he’s sort of disappointed, but it is what it is. he knows the gangs come first. it’s all about loyalty. that’s why he’d be fucked if anyone of the diamond forsaken members came out right now. but he knows they don’t smoke, except for calum occasionally -rarely, actually. so he’s not worried. 

“come here,” jackie smiles as she plays with the zipper of his jacket. they’re incredibly close and she can feel the smoke coming out from luke’s mouth. she kisses him softly, licking his bottom lip. with eyes closed, luke feels stars bursting inside his lungs. he really likes her. “give me that,” she orders and he hands her the joint.

they keep smoking until there’s nothing left and they stare into each other’s eyes. jackie isn’t one to maintain eye contact, but she feels safe with luke. even if he’s forbidden fruit.

-

the men's bathroom is empty. they had to sneak in so the others couldn’t see them. luke made an excuse about going to the bar to get more drinks even if the counter was crammed. jackie said she was going out for a smoke. it’s all hands and sloppy kisses as they lock the door of one of the stalls. luke bites his lower lip as his back is pressed to the white door and jackie drops to her knees. “you gonna make me feel good?”

“imma make you feel so good, baby,” she grins and unzips his pants. he’s already hard from all the making out in the terrace. so it’s not surprise that his cock springs up as soon as his briefs are pulled down to his thighs. jackie licks the tip and he shudders. he’s gotten a fair amount of blowjobs in his life. the first one from one girl that attended his school and she thought he was going to be a musician one day. but nothing compares to jackie’s mouth. her tongue slides down his length and he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. she’s ecstatic that she can make him squirm in front of her. she likes being in control, even if it doesn’t always happen. luke can be pretty dominant in the bedroom. taking her from behind roughly and choking her. jackie puts his cock in her mouth and she starts bobbing her head to the rhythm of the loud bass coming from the other side of the bathroom door. luke appreciates the little detail. his senses are heightened and it feels like she’s one more instrument adding to the song.

“fuck,” he curses under his breath as he feels the tip of his dick hit her throat. she takes him in so good. she’s an angel. luke looks down and he sees her eyes staring up at him, a subtle smirk on her lips. “you’re- you’re-” he’s trying to say something but his brain doesn’t work. the pleasure is too intense. he hits his head against the door and closes his eyes once again. he’s about to cum. exactly at the same time he hears someone come into the bathroom. fuck. “stop, stop,” he whispers to jackie and cups her face to get her off his dick. she looks through the slit of the door and sees someone she recognizes washing their hands.

“shit,” she mouths. “michael.”

-

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[the196thbattalion]

star wars human! high school! au

i’ve seen so many headcanons circling throughout the star wars tumblr about high school au’s, so i wanted to share my bit with all of you :D

anakin skywalker

five words: REBEL CHILD ON A MOTORCYCLE.

he doesn’t like riding the school bus because it makes him feel extremely claustrophobic, so he scrapped and scavenged up parts to make his own customized motorcycle, which he lovingly dubbed artoo.

the blue and silver detailing was the joint effort of ahsoka and obi-wan, because anakin doesn’t know how to paint.

if he can catch up to the bus, he’ll ride alongside it and flip off the students on it before revving on ahead of them. (the freshmen think it’s the funniest thing in the universe)

probably one of the most well-known juniors in the entirety of temple high school (mostly because of his shenanigans but partly because he’s dating padme fuckiNG AMIDALA, PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE DAMN SCHOOL)

he always wears this worn-down leather jacket his mom gave to him before she passed away, and refuses to take it off, even though it’s somehow “a violation of the dress code and should be outlawed.”

his hair alone has seduced eight different students (boys and girls)

sometimes during study hall, ahsoka or padme will get a hold of his hair and style it into little braids or make a super rad ponytail.

he really likes iced coffee with milk and sugar. he puts in the milk to make it nice and light (it’s aesthetically pleasing, obi-wan!), and then like eight tablespoons of sugar to make it actually taste good.

his favorite class is mechanics, taught by kit fisto.

anakin spent months on a mechanical arm project to replace his clunky plastic prosthetic, and he was so freaking happy when it was finished; he almost cried. (he did cry and ahsoka got it on video)

obi-wan kenobi

a mixture of the soft™, pretty™, hippie™, grunge™, vsco™ and nerd™ tropes.

he really likes peppermint tea with lots of honey but takes his coffee black.

he has had too much tea.

someone needs to stop him.

almost all of his classes are ap courses, and if cody hadn’t been watching when obi-wan was making his schedule, all of them would be.

him, cody and padme have ap english with mace windu, and cody knows how much his classes stress him out, so he lets obi-wan sleep during class and sends him the notes

the only ap class obi-wan doesn’t take is mechanics, and he shares that class with anakin.

anakin and obi-wan are super close with each other. kenobi was there when ahsoka was adopted, and anakin was there when kenobi got his cat. (they were like 5 okay)

“NAME IT C3PO OBI-WAN, OR I SWEAR TO FUCK-” “what kind of name is that, and why would i - anAKIN PUT HIM DOWN!?”.

mr. fisto constantly has to split them up for disrupting the class, but it’s almost like they can communicate telepathically, and the teachers have a running bet

mace windu literally bet $50 on these fucking nerds so you know it’s for realsies

in reality, they’ve just gotten super creative with passing notes.

kind of off topic, but he has these brown harry potter glasses that he uses (kinda for reading???? but mostly so he can do that anime pushing up glasses thing)

cody thinks it’s the funniest shit ever

whenever cody is feeling stressed, obi-wan just does the thing™ and BOOM! happiness.

people think he’s a goodie two shoes, and honestly, it’s really easy to think that. if the iconics are trying to do something stupid, he’s usually the voice of reason.

but parties?

…

you know what, just ask anakin for the video footage.

ahsoka tano

this hs!au ahsoka tano turned me bisexual confirmed ✔

okay before i go into her style, which is mainly what made me drool over my computer, can i just put skatergirl!ahsoka out there?

spray painting of the rebellion symbol all over the bottom of her board and on items in a couple of the places where she skates the most (like the back of an abandoned car yard)

her instagram is filled with these super cool vhs-tape recorded skate videos (u know)

lots crackhead 3am visits (starring anakin, rex, kenobi and barris) to a gas station to get slushies and grind the shit out of the curb connecting the store to the parking lot

trying to teach anakin how to skateboard but he just can’t figure it out? uh yes

“try to balance skyguy!” “HOW DO I MOVE? DO I SCOOT? SNIPS THIS ISN’T FUNNY AND I WANT TO GET OFF – GUYS, STOP LAUGHING!”

okay okay okay i’m done

for now

anyway, her style???? is so???? fucking????? cool!!!!!

her genetics gave her a 80% of having vitiligo, so it really wasn’t a surprise when patches of her skin got lighter, but it still freaked her out a little bit.

basically, went like this: “DAD, I’M TURNING WHITE!” “???? oh my gosh ‘soka, no.”

she has long braided dreadlocks she dyed a super bright orange with various colored beads woven into them with the help of anakin and padme. she usually styles them into little space buns atop her head.

her entire clothing wardrobe consists of fishnets, neon bomber jackets, at least 11 bisexual beanies™, handmade patchy jeans, white tank tops, and light-up platform shoes.

she doesn’t give two flying fucks about the dress code, and – IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOST BUSY HALLWAY - punched principal sidious over whether or not she “could wear shorts that short” (anakin may or may not have cheered when she broke his nose).

the fetts (chuck have mercy)

*cracks le knuckles* i’ve put it off long enough

we have: fox (24), wolffe (19), cody (17), rex (17), echo (16), fives (16), boil (15), waxer (14), hardcase (13), jesse (12), longshot (8), kix (6), tup (3), gree (2) and boba (9mo)

wolffe is off at college - fox already graduated and moved out, that cheeky little fucking shit - but both still keep in good contact with the fam, and it’s a constant clamor between eleven of the siblings of who gets to talk to them first

fox majored in government/politics, bly is majoring in space/astronomy, and wolffe is majoring in police/law enforcement shit (i don’t know how college works, so sue me)

cody and rex are juniors, and despite their similar looks, the amount of schoolwork each of them completes drastically varies

cody is the honor roll student, valedictorian, whatever you want to call it

rex kinda just either does the work really well or 9/10 times gets distracted by anakin or ahsoka sending him some nice spicy memes

cody tried to tutor rex but it ended up almost landing tup in the hospital

“that’s really simple, actually. if you – vod? rex, are you okay? what are you oH NO TUP DON’T PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH-”

fetts on the varsity football team is like a right of passage in the family

right now, only the juniors of the fett family are on the team, but the coach has eyes on fives and echo for next years team

SPEAKING OF

echo, fives and boil are the infamous sophomore trio that pulled the milk bucket prank on the gym teacher, pong krell.

they had to help the janitor (99) clean up afterwards, but they genuinely enjoyed 99’s company, because he’s rad as shit and knows all the secret school passageways.

to be honest, not one person (except maybe sidious) was complaining

that motherfucker makes everyone run like eight laps during gym class

even mr. windu gives them a small smile in the hallways after that

boil says he was blackmailed into it

waxer is a freshman (the poor dude, i’m so sorry), and he always looks out for the nervous freshies

if someone is having a bad day, he’ll give them a lollipop (he carries around a whole bag), a place to sit during lunch, and a shoulder to cry on

all you need to do to find waxer is to locate this long ass line of children

the school counselor, plo koon, sometimes brings his niece numa into school during the day because he can’t find a babysitter, and waxer. fucking. loves. her. PERIOD.

w+n pull these tiny little pranks on teachers, and the staff pretends not to notice, but numa always giggles and gives them away.

boil has a soft spot for numa too, and sneaks her rice krispies.

bonus shit i want to add in but can’t figure out where to put it (or i’m just gonna add it on and shit)

plo koon adopted anakin after his mother died (him and anakin’s mother were good friends), and found ahsoka on the side of the street, shivering like a maniac.

he doesn’t know where ahsoka came from, but he loves her so gOD DAMN MUCH.

he’s the school counselor, and still keeps in touch with a lot of students even after the graduated (he thinks that majoring in law enforcement/police is a bit dangerous for wolffe but he still supports his unofficial but basically son 100%)

yoda is the super old but radically rad english teacher.

his entire point of existence in my mind fic is to troll the shit out of palpatine.

a recent conversation starring yoda and palps: “did you give the students the mountain of extra work i assigned them?” “for the students, that was?” i’m sorry. my bad, that is.” “this is the seventh time, yoda.”

okay but for real

mace windu violently roots for the school football team.

“BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM, CODY! YOU TOO...OTHER CODY!”

“THAT’S A HOLDING! THAT’S A HOLDING!”

“REF IF YOU DON’T COUNT THAT TOUCHDOWN THEN I SWEAR TO SAMUEL L. JACKSON I WILL COME DOWN THERE AND BEAT YOUR SORRY PINSTRIPED ASS!”

[makeste]

Are there any headcanons that you would like to share? About anything you want.

anon in the absence of specific guidelines I have managed to make this post pretty much entirely about Bakugou. I apologize if you really wanted to know all of my headcanons about Kouda or something lol. but all joking aside he really is the character I think about the most and so probably like 80% of my headcanons are about him, including close to 100% of the headcanons I actually have a solid enough grip on to put into words. anyway here goes.

he does not know how to tie a tie. he was a rowdy little free range knee-scraping grass-staining run-don’t-walk child whose parents only ever managed to wrestle him into formal attire a handful of times for special occasions when he was younger, and then he went to a middle school that used gakuran-style uniforms so he never learned then, either. his dad offered to teach him when U.A. rolled around, but he was all, “fuck off dad, I know how to tie a stupid tie,” because by that time he had grown into a cocky little brat confident in his own skill and naive as to the reality checks of the world, and he genuinely believed with the conviction that only a fifteen-year-old can muster that when the time came he would just magically know how to do it. on the first day of school he got as far as draping the loose tie over his neck and holding one end in each hand before staring at the mirror and abruptly realizing the hole he’d dug himself into. and so rather than admit defeat, he just straight up decided not to wear it. which became a permanent life choice once he got to school and saw how badly Deku’s tie was tied and realized there was no way he could ever risk that kind of humiliation.

in a similar vein, I know there’s a popular fanon that because of his parents’ influence Katsuki has a good sense of fashion, but my own personal headcanon is that this could not be further from the truth lol. it’s not that he has a terrible sense of style, mind you; it’s just that he doesn’t care about it at all. he’s a nerdy jock who spends all his free time studying and lifting weights. this kid literally only wears one color, and that color just so happens to be the easiest possible color to coordinate. he owns like three pairs of shoes max. he wears his pants three sizes up and they drag so much that the hems are all frayed from him constantly stepping on them (literally canon, and one of my favorite details from chapter 218). he just doesn’t give a fuck, so long as the clothes are comfortable and don’t look stupid. he has about a million things he’s more concerned about than what he or anyone else is wearing. in fact I’m 90% sure that his mom still buys most of his clothes, and about 70% convinced he does not even know what size he is.

he’s good at household chores (because he’s good at everything), but hates doing them. aside from cooking, which he enjoys, he will bitch and whine nonstop if forced to do tedious-yet-necessary things like washing dishes and folding laundry. that said, he is a perfectionist, and he also has a lot of experience because his mom made him do chores all the time during the seven trillion times he was grounded while growing up (that’s his estimate, btw, so it may be slightly exaggerated. he was not an easy kid to raise. when your kid’s fuse is about a millimeter long and he has a tendency to literally blow up whenever he throws a fit, you end up with a lot of objects in your house that have been replaced at some point), so if you do actually manage to get him to do the chore, rest assured that chore is getting fucking DONE.

when he was very little he watched an Avengers Endgame-style All Might film where a bunch of bad guys attacked earth and various assorted heroes tried and failed to stop them. then at the climax of the film, All Might showed up and said “I am here”, and everyone got super pumped up and excited because they knew the heroes were going to win with All Might on their side. this scene remains Katsuki’s favorite scene in anything. not the fight -- just the moment where All Might shows up and grins and the audience knows right there and then that he’s going to win. this is the feeling that inspired his dream. he wants to be the one who shows up and everyone is like, “we’re good now; Katsuki is here.”

when he was six or seven he got into a big fight with an older boy over that scene because he said it was fake and that there was no way All Might could have beaten those guys in real life. Katsuki insisted he definitely would have because All Might never loses. the other boy replied that everyone loses sometimes. Katsuki kicked his ass and got suspended for a week.

ten years later, Katsuki watched All Might battle All for One at Kamino and realized two things. one, that the other boy was right and that anyone can lose. and two, that he, the one who had so proudly defended All Might back then, was going to end up being the reason why he finally lost.

for a long time afterwards, he couldn’t bring himself to watch that movie again.

when he and Izuku were three years old their moms sent them out on a first errand (google Hajimete no Otsukai if you’re unfamiliar with this tradition, I promise you it is the cutest fucking thing you’ll ever see) to buy ingredients for katsudon. Izuku was full of bouncy childish enthusiasm and could rattle off the full shopping list of ingredients front to back, but when the moment finally came his confidence wilted as soon as their parents were out of sight. Katsuki also had a moment of panic when they first rounded the corner and he couldn’t see his house anymore, but rallied once Izuku burst into tears and he realized that he had to be the one to take charge. he proceeded to morph into an absurdly over-the-top caricature of his own mother for the duration of the errand, to the point where in addition to telling Izuku to stop crying he also ordered him to stand up straight and tuck in his shirt. the two of them went on to complete the errand flawlessly and their moms were PROUD AS FUCK and took a billion pictures. Izuku and Katsuki have only a few scattered memories of this milestone in the present day but it’s enough to send both of them absolutely reeling with embarrassment whenever they’re reminded of it.

he and his mom don’t often get along but sometimes they’ll bond over roasting a mutual target. they have watched many a trashy reality TV show together for this purpose. Masaru lives for these moments but never comments on them lest he spoil the rare moments of peace.

Katsuki is perfectly capable of using keigo (i.e. normal polite Japanese with no rude language/cursing), otherwise he would not be one of the top students in his ivy-league high school. code-switching is a thing guys! anyways his teachers are aware of this, because all of his essays and homework assignments are written normally. he merely chooses to go about his daily business acting like a wannabe yakuza stereotype because that’s just his personality, and he’s not about to start censoring himself and acting like some weird little goody two shoes robot person just to please people he mostly doesn’t give two shits about. but if you put a gun to his head and told him you’d pull the trigger if he said “fuck”, he would probably be all right; he’d just have to concentrate.

when he was little he went through a phase of collecting cicada shells and leaving them EVERYWHERE -- in the bathroom sink, on his mom’s pillow, you name it. Mitsuki often tells people this is when she started getting gray hairs. one time she opened a box of cereal and there was one in there and a little bit of her soul died that day.

he generally doesn’t care who calls him Kacchan. it doesn’t particularly bother him and it never occurred to him to pretend like it did just for appearance’s sake. also secretly for some reason the thought of Deku ever calling him anything else really bothers him. he’s not sure what it would mean if that ever happened, or what he would do.

all of his workouts are designed to strengthen his arms and back and shoulders because those are the parts of his body that take the most abuse from his quirk. other than that he avoids building up excess muscle anywhere else because the more weight he puts on the harder it is to fly around. for this reason he is never going to end up being a big bulky guy like All Might. one day Deku is going to surpass him in muscle, but he doesn’t care because he’ll still be a match for him in firepower and speed.

he’s one of those kids who will not so much as take a sip of alcohol until he’s twenty-five. partly because he’s experienced enough concussions that he doesn’t particularly want to give hangovers a try, and partly because he’s a control freak and honestly afraid of getting drunk and making an idiot of himself somehow. the rowdier members of class A try virtually every trick in their wheelhouse and then some to try and persuade him over the years, but not even the reverse psychology “aw, don’t worry, it’s okay if you’re... scared :)” thing works, because that’s only actually effective when he secretly wants to do the thing.

then one day he just wakes up and is all “you know what, I’m gonna try it”, and for the next few days his google history is basically just “how many drinks does it take to get drunk” and “how to avoid getting drunk” and “how to prevent hangovers.” somehow word gets out through the grapevine (he probably told Todoroki, who is the one person in class A you’d think wouldn’t be a big ol’ gossip but in fact IS) that Bakugou is finally going to get his drink on that weekend, and pretty much EVERYONE shows up at the izakaya that Friday night excited as FUCK.

Katsuki proceeds to drink a grand total of two beers over the span of several hours, and drinks like five glasses of water in between, and literally nothing happens to him at all except that Kaminari almost fights him out of frustration. the rest of class A never fully gets over their disappointment.

he actually knows like 90% of class 1-A’s names by this point. there are still a few people he doesn’t and will never know, though. twenty years from now Aoyama will still be “that weird fucking french kid” in his mind.

he had no idea who Eri was until the Christmas party. sometimes he’d hear the other kids talking about someone named Eri, and from context clues he somehow ended up thinking it was one of Aizawa’s cats. when Eri came to the party he had a brief moment of curiosity wondering if she was Sensei’s niece or something, and then he heard someone say her name and he was all “THAT’S ERI?!” and his entire worldview was briefly shaken up.

he pulled Kirishima aside to ask him and Kirishima basically gave him Eri’s whole entire life story which was way more than he actually wanted to know. he’s now kind of terrified of ever being in the same room as her for fear of having to interact with her because he’s pretty sure he’d do or say the wrong thing. most of the time being intimidating is something he strives for and puts a lot of effort into, including when he’s around kids (who are basically just smaller, sloppier adults in his mind), but he doesn’t want to be the guy who scared an abused kid, so he basically just hopes the others will have enough common sense not to ever go “oh hey you know who should totally interact with each other?? Eri and Bakugou!”

that being said, if circumstances ever arose which forced Katsuki to protect Eri, the two of them would totally bond and they would have a really sweet relationship in which Eri looked up to him just like she looks up to Deku and Mirio and the rest, and where Katsuki was constantly trying to be on his best behavior around her, like genuinely, sincerely trying, and kind of failing at it a lot but still being sweet in a gruff sort of restrained-disaster way.

...and after sitting there for a while trying to think of more I couldn’t come up with any so I guess that’s it! basically most of my headcanons are about how secretly boring Katsuki is. honestly if it weren’t for him having the vocabulary of a 52-year-old sailor whose foot was caught in a bear trap, he and Iida would probably be best friends.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

Summary: Barba would never admit to being a RENT geek, but when he gets drunk and no one from the SVU squad is there to see him, he can’t resist the siren call of the karaoke stage. You would never approach a stranger at a bar, but when you hear Barba singing your favorite musical, you gather the courage to ask for a duet. 

Rafael Barba x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Dub-con!! Everyone is enthusiastically willing, but also super drunk. So... use your best judgement. (No smut this chapter just some intense kissing)

4,144 words

The thing about Scotch whisky is, it’s a drink meant to be sipped. A.D.A. Rafael Barba drank a Scotch every day, especially after a difficult case. One or two, mulled upon over the course of an hour. 

At over 40 percent alcohol by volume, the practical difference between Scotch, the gentleman’s drink favored by lawyers and Wall Street executives, and the tequila swigged by rednecks ripping their shirts off at a dive bar is the speed at which the beverages are consumed.

The thing about being a Scotch drinker is, you’re only ever one particularly bad day and a few extra drams carelessly tipped down the hatch away from getting well and truly shitfaced.

This would never happen to A.D.A. Barba. He had complete control of himself at all times. In the courtroom. In his manner of dress. In his speech. He won cases other prosecutors wouldn’t dare to take on, because he was meticulous. He was relentless. And he never let his guard down.

But on this particular day, nothing was going according to plan. All week, in fact, a case he was certain of had been falling apart piece by piece, slipping through his fingers, until today, a man who made Barba’s stomach sicken walked out of the courtroom a free man.

It was his fault. He got cocky. The victims subjected themselves to retraumatization just to testify on the hope of getting some kind of justice, and it was all for nothing. He let them down. He let the SVU team down. The look on Benson’s face when the foreman delivered the not guilty verdict made Barba want to crawl inside himself.

So he did what he always did on bad days, and went to his favorite bar alone to sit quietly and numb his sorrows over a glass of Macallan.

Except it wasn’t fucking quiet. This was supposed to be a subdued, sophisticated establishment that didn’t draw a big crowd. This was his bar! But for some godawful reason, the new manager had decided—unbeknownst to Barba—to try hosting karaoke night.

Karaoke!

He scowled at the colored stage lights. Glowered at the rambunctious crowds of young people. Seethed at the bad 80’s music and off-key bellowing. He dropped heavily into his usual seat at the bar and exchanged withering looks with the bartender, who slid him his usual drink without needing to be asked. What the hell was happening to his life? Barba began to wonder whether he had anything under control at all, downing the dram in one shot.

As he gasped on the fiery liquid burning down his throat, he gained determination. They were not going to take his bar from him. Not a chance. If these tourists and college kids wanted to have their revelry, they would have to do it with a grumpy old killjoy glowering at them. He ordered another round.

***

An hour and a steep tab later, and Barba was gripping the microphone with sweaty fingers, belting out One Song Glory at the top of his lungs.

He rationalized it as “better bend than break,” but the truth was, he had dreamed of becoming an actor before going to law school to please his mother. His inner theater geek was always waiting to slip out whenever he let his guard down, but since that was never, it was side he rarely indulged. Tonight, his head was spinning, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“One song to redeem this empty life. Time flies—and then no need to endure anymore!”

The wooden bar stool creaked as his weight sank back down on it, and he ordered another drink to question about his life choices. “Will I ever be remembered for anything besides my failures?” he asked the glass. He’d come this far from the poor barrio where he grew up, but every step was a fight. He couldn’t just be good, he had to be better than the privileged WASPs he was competing against. He had to be the best. Every little mistake, every lost trial, could be the end of all he had worked for.

Barba was so busy nursing his latest drink, he almost didn’t notice someone else drunkenly belting a track from RENT. Except, as his head swung up to listen, it wasn’t drunken belting at all. A woman with a low-cut blouse and tight jeans that hugged her curves was singing so seductively, staring right at him. She winked and sweetly begged him to take her out tonight.

No—he was imagining it. He was just drunk, lonely, and pathetic. She was working the crowd, making everyone feel like she was singing just to them. Maybe she was a Broadway performer to have that skill, or at least a master at flirtation. Either way, she was way out of his league. There was no chance she had singled him out.

***

So what if you didn’t know anybody, and it was dangerous to go alone? You were in Manhattan on a Friday night—you were going to go out and have a good time, dammit!

The promise of karaoke drew you into a small but packed bar, and you were a few drinks in when you heard a voice like an angel and a rock-star had a baby singing a song from your favorite musical ever. The voice belonged to a singer wearing old-man suspenders, a pink tie, and a light coating of stubble from not having shaved since morning. He was fashionable, you guessed. Dapper. But it was that expressive voice that mesmerized you. As he sang, your gut was wrenched with the emotional pain woven through each note.

You were smitten. You tried to go talk to him, but the moment the song was over he vanished into the tightly-packed crowd. It was silly. It was far too bold to approach a stranger in the big city, but the warm tipsy feeling in your gut gave you confidence to hatch a plan.

Step one: Locate him from the stage.

Step two: Impress him.

Step three: Bond over mutual love for RENT.

Step four, if you managed to get that far, was a bunch of squiggly question marks and “kiss his face?” hastily scrawled in pencil. It was a long shot, you knew that. You were way too shy, and he was far too handsome not to have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a husband. Frankly, even if he were single, he was way out of your league. But still, the nebulous step four could simply be “Have a fun night with your new karaoke buddy,” and that possibility alone made you feel like glitter was exploding inside of you.

When it was your turn to sing, you found him from your elevated vantage—he was sitting far from the stage, at the end of the bar—and tried to catch his eye. You’d been using Out Tonight as your karaoke icebreaker for years, so you’d gotten good at playing up the sexiness, tossing your hair and biting your lip. Your clumsy ass had even picked up a few dance moves to spice it up, and you gave them your booty-shaking all when you saw him look up at you.

You were glad you’d worn the jeans that made your butt look fantastic, and your sexiest, strappiest sandals (which were actually Tevas with a two-inch wedge heel, purchased from an outdoor gear store). He was watching you with fascination as you pouted the lyric, “don’t forsake me,” at him.

It sent a shiver down your spine to think he might really be looking at you that way.

The moment you got off the stage, you were bombarded by guys offering to buy you a drink, asking for your number. It was discouraging that Sexy Suspenders was not among them. Apparently your sexy routine worked, but entirely missed its intended target. Then again, a man like that probably let women come to him.

Ducking and weaving past your suitors like they were physical obstacles and not people, you reached Suspenders. The bar stool next to him was open, held by a briefcase and folded suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his hair was a little mussed. He appeared to be deep in conversation with his empty glass. You took a step forward to approach him, but an anxious constriction in your chest froze you in place.

Who do you think you are?! A gorgeous, sharp-dressed city guy will never even give you the time of day! Your mother’s nagging voice chimed in to warn you not to talk to strange men in bars when you’re out alone, in New York City, no less. You grimaced at your awesome double-dose of anxiety. He would either laugh in your face, or you were about to get murdered. Hooray!

But there was a loneliness in his demeanor that encouraged you he wouldn’t laugh, and up close, you noticed he was so short you could probably pick him up like a little baby chipmunk if things got out of hand. Ignoring how thick his forearms were, of course. But if he crushed you with those, you would die happy.

***

The next singer on stage had started screeching a rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’ with ten drunk buddies, and Barba was squeezing his eyes closed to try to drown them out, so he was caught completely unaware when a tap on his shoulder startled him.

“Is this seat taken?”

His vision blurred. He had to rub his eyes and look twice to be sure he was seeing who he thought he was seeing. “Mimi!” he blurted. “From the—nice, um—no. No one’s sitting here.”

He moved his belongings to the top of the bar, and you sat on the vacated stool, quite pleased with yourself. The bartender immediately handed you a pink icy cocktail with a slice of lime, and pointed his thumb to someone at the other end of the bar who paid for it. Barba followed his gesture to a very cute guy in his twenties and felt a twinge of double-edged jealousy that the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was most likely about to get up and leave him, and that the drink hadn’t been for him, because frankly, he couldn’t blame you. You did get up, but only to crane your neck to find your benefactor. When you did, you gave the world’s dorkiest thumbs up, while conspicuously putting your hand on Barba’s shoulder.

Barba’s lips spread into a smug bastard what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it smirk as he stared down his attractive rival. His head cocked to the side pleasantly. The other man’s flirtatious gaze fell into an annoyed tick. You sighed with relief as he moved away.

Turning back to Barba, you realized your hand was still on his shoulder and quickly removed it. You inhaled and said, “I heard you singing you were amazing do you want to do a duet together? Can we? I love RENT! I’ve always wanted to do Light My Candle—can we do it together?” in one breath.

Your flurried gush of words nearly knocked him off his stool—he put his hands up defensively and sat wide-eyed, nodding slowly as you went full babbling-nerd on him. You may not have been as suave as he initially thought, and oddly enough, he was okay with that. It was disarming, and your enthusiasm was infectious.

Because his instinct to distance himself from anyone he might risk forming a real emotional connection with wasn’t working at the moment, he grabbed you by the shoulders, locked his piercing eyes with yours, and emphatically answered, “Yes. We must!”

***

Having a karaoke partner is essential for Broadway musical numbers, as most of them are duets—two or more characters interacting with each other as the plot of the show advances. Light My Candle was one of your favorite songs, and snagging the mysterious suspendered singer meant you could finally perform it outside your shower.

It was a bouncy back-and-forth duet that was fun to sing, but you forgot how aggressively flirtatious it was until you had to ask him—you hadn’t even asked his name yet—if you had the best ass below 14th street, and about wax dripping between your… um, fingers. But the way he looked at you made seducing him so natural. You just had no idea if it was part of the performance, or if it was real.

When the song was over, you bounced on your toes, clinging to his arm for balance as you tripped on the stairs down from the stage, squealing, “That was so much fun!” He put his hand around your waist to steady you. It felt like it was made to be there.

His face was flushed red and his eyes sparkled with exhilaration, and he quickly agreed to another duet, though he muttered, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, “Thank god no one from the precinct is here.”

Performing together with a partner always makes you feel a connection—even if it’s just drunken karaoke. When you sang one part of a harmony and he picked up the other part, your voices became two halves of a whole. And with musicals, it’s as much about acting as it is singing. He threw so much emotional intensity into the lyrics, which gave you something to respond to, throwing it back at him in fluid conversation as your voice soared above his and dove beneath it again.

You hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, and you had a feeling he hadn’t, either.

Not that you had any way of knowing, really. You guessed it by the ease in which he embodied Roger’s stubborn refusal to open his heart, by the mournful way he lifted his drinks to his lips like he was toasting at a funeral. His expensive leather briefcase and formal attire, too, suggested a well-paid but dreadfully boring line of work, like a financial manager.

Your guess was dead-on, in truth. Barba was vigilant against dating anyone he met professionally. Even if there had been a secretary or paralegal or two he’d had chemistry with, for the sake of his career, he could not afford to conduct himself in a manner that could raise even the hint of a scandal or ethical conflict in the workplace. And anyone he met outside of the workplace… well, he didn’t. His entire life revolved around his job.

The bartender had just brought a fresh round of drinks, and your head rested on your fist, elbow on the bar. Barba was staring deeply into your soul with those pretty green eyes, trying to figure out how he managed to get you and how he could keep you.

“We should do Another Day next,” you grinned.

“Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my guitar!” He sang in a gritty rock voice, poking at your chest accusingly while holding an air microphone with the other. You forgot to be surreptitious and blatantly checked for a wedding ring.

After Roger’s verse, you sang back Mimi’s part, seductively leaning in closer to him. “There’s only us. There’s only this...” As you leaned closer, his eyelids drooped, and his eyes darkened. “Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.” The smoky smooth molasses of Scotch was strong on his breath. He studied your face hazily, his eyes drawn down to the movement of your lips. There was no mistaking his attraction for a performance now. You sang softer and softer until your forehead was resting against his, your lips almost touching. Then you just breathed.

“No day but today,” he mulled the lyric and the impulsive circumstances that had led him to being with you in that moment. “I should follow that advice more often.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you murmured. “Here I am in the city, having fun,” your voice slowed to a crawl as your eyes flicked up and down his face, “...with a perfect, handsome stranger...”

His tongue ran over his lower lip again as his eyes dropped to your mouth and clouded over with some sultry thought.

You’re not sure which one of you moved first, but in the next moment his lips were melting into yours, desperate and passionate. That tempting tongue of his ran along your lower lip now, sliding easily inside as your mouth parted to invite him within, swirling in heated wet circles around yours. It was heavy with the taste of Scotch and the faint bitterness of coffee, as if that were all he’d eaten that day. You curled your fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth, and his broad arms closed around your back and pulled you off your bar stool onto his lap.

His skin was burning hot, and waves of heat coursed up through your body like you were both on fire. Your pulse thundered in your ears until it drowned out the off-key music, and each pounding heartbeat sent a corresponding throb to your cunt. Your eyes closed. All that existed was the messy clashing of your teeth and tongues, the woody-sweet scent of his cologne filling your lungs, the heat of his strong hands on your back, and the bulge of his cock twitching beneath you.

When you finally had to come up for air, and hopped back onto your own bar stool, suddenly self-conscious of how pornographic that nearly was, all he had to say was, “I’ve never done that before.”

You blinked. “You’ve never… kissed someone?”

“Not someone I just met in a bar!” his eyebrows shot up and he sounded so utterly scandalized, your euphoric high from kissing him came crashing down. He saw you as some kind of cheap tramp for kissing him. Pretentious asshole. Suddenly you felt like shit.

You turned your attention to the second round of that fruity cocktail that random guy paid for. It turned out to be a pretty tasty drink, so you ordered another. Maybe you should have given that guy a chance.

“So, are you here by yourself?” Barba asked your profile, not bothering to hide the patronizing concern in his tone.

“Yeah,” you said without looking up.

“Jesus. I thought so. That’s really dangerous, you know.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and pivoted away from him further, leaving him confused. So first he implied you’re a slut, and now he was pulling the whole, the city is full of predators, but I’m a Nice Guy—let me walk you home routine. This is what you get for picking a guy based on how good he sings.

“I did not mean to imply that. I only meant that I’m usually more... careful.” Oh. You must have said all of that out loud. Oops. “But you’re right to be suspicious of my intentions. There are… all kinds”— he breathed the word out in a jaded huff—“of tactics predators will use. Manipulations, brute force, drugs, fake personas… And all they have to do is claim consent and half the time the jury believes it even if the physical evidence is horrifying.” He was getting visibly angry thinking about it, his drink dangerously close to spilling as he clenched his fist around it.

You stared at him. “Um.”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “I’m an A.D.A. for Manhattan. Prosecutor. I’m a lawyer,” he clarified when the acronym earned no look of recognition in your eyes. “Lately I’ve been working with the Special Victims Unit, so when I see someone drinking alone late at night, talking to complete strangers,” he gestured at himself. “You have no idea how many sexual assault cases start with this exact scenario.”

“Big-shot lawyer, huh? Sure, now pull the other one.”

“What?” His head cocked at you in utter bewilderment.

“Pull the other… leg. You’re pulling my leg?”

“I know what it means, I’ve just never heard it said by anyone under sixty. Are you secretly an old man?”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re an old man,” you retorted childishly.

His lips folded in on themselves as he tried to keep a straight face. “I don’t know. What can you tell me about the Model T?”

You took a grumpy swig of the fruity strawberry cocktail.

“What was World War II like?”

“So are you really a lawyer, or do you just use that line to pick up chicks?”

“I am, I am!” he laughed. “I can prove it. Let’s see...” he pulled out his phone, brought up a search result for his name, and scrolled through headlines. “DA’s Office Helps NYPD Persecute Immigrant Families,” “Justice at Last for Serial Rapist Victims,” and others rolled across the screen. He narrowed his eyes as his index finger hovered over each one. “Oh, sounds like I’m an idiot in this one,” his mouth twitched into a sardonic smirk, “and I’m a real asshole here… Oh, look, here’s one where I’m the big hero.” He held out his phone so you could see the photo of him in another flashy suit and bold tie, speaking to crowd of reporters in front of the courtroom steps. He looked so sexy in his full three piece suit, and much more severe, his face hard and intelligent. The caption below it praised his victory putting away a notorious rapist, and identified him A.D.A. Rafael Barba.

“Wow. That is you. Who knew I was doing karaoke with such an important guy?” You slung your arm around his shoulders, which were irresponsibly broad and solid. God, being with him felt so right. Casual touches were so comfortable even though you’d just met, and the way he responded, melting under you, sent a wave of heat through your lower back.

He kept flipping through headlines, his brow quirking a little at one, eyes narrowing at the next. Then he saw one that made him stop scrolling. He put the phone down on the bar and scrubbed his hand over his face and hair, blinking back tears suddenly forming. You caught the glowing screen before it automatically locked. The headline was from today. “Local Teacher Found Not Guilty—.”

His head dropped into his arms on the bar. “It was my fault. If I had done something different, been more prepared...” A sad groan emitted from the Barba puddle.

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” you soothed, and rubbed his back sympathetically. “So one guy got acquitted. It happens every day.”

“I know,” he growled. This fact was the opposite of comforting.

“You’re sure he was guilty?”

“He did it. To at least a dozen kids over the last two decades, but no one wanted to testify, or the statute of limitations was up, and then our key witness… There must have been something I could have done, something I didn’t think of. I let him get away with it.” His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into his arms. “I fucked up.”

You kept rubbing circles over his back, whispering soothing words to him. You leaned down and peppered his head with soft kisses. He shifted off the top of the bar and began crying into your chest, his arms wrapping around you like a baby lemur. You held him tight, suddenly understanding that this was the memory he came here to drown. This was why all night you had caught him looking wistful every time the conversation lulled. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “It’s alright. Shh.”

His arms tightened around your waist, then relaxed, tension melting from his body. “This is nice,” he sighed into your shirt, enjoying being snugly pressed against you, surrounded by warmth. “Thank you… this is nice.” He never let anyone comfort him like this. Never let his need for comfort show under his stoic exterior. If his judgment were functioning properly, it would have struck him as a red flag how easily he sought comfort from a stranger that he wouldn’t have accepted from his closest friends, but it felt good to let it out.

Eventually, he remembered his dignity and sat up, drying his eyes on his sleeve and glancing regretfully at the wet splotch he’d made in your shirt.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. He picked up his latest glass of scotch, and swirled its half-empty amber contents before setting it down again. It was possible he had drunk enough.

“It’s OK. You had a bad day.”

His lips tightened at the corners in agreement. “Usually Liv is the only one who tries to cheer me up. So, thanks for…” He closed his eyes and tilted his head. “You’re very nice.”

Your chest fluttered. He was terribly cute, and far too vulnerable for you to be having these lascivious feelings about him.

[patrick-hockstutter]

Modern!Bowers Gang:

Patrick:

Really into cinematography and photography of the unsettling

Never captions his Instagram posts

Goes live on Instagram a lot, even though people really wished he wouldn’t

Makes art out of dead animals or animal bones he finds

Think Banksy, but with roadkill

He’ll take some (somehow) tasteful photos of them, post them, then leave the scene there for some unexpecting bystander to find

Has a nosering (fight me)

Never uses incognito mode

If someone happens to stumble upon his search history, he’s not paying their therapy bill

He likes reading smut more than he likes watching porn

A ps4 guy

Loves spooky games like Resident Evil, Silent Hill, Until Dawn and Death Stranding

He’s not really into school, but he surprisingly reads a lot when he’s alone in his room

Only about things he likes though

Abnormal psych, criminal psych, and sometimes some zoology (u kno y)

Watches serial killer documentaries like he’s paid to

Listens to grunge, nu metal, and 80s alt

Won’t admit it, but sometimes listens to Joji

He’s not super into emo music, but he’s the only one who will listen to it with Victor (he fckn vibes to Brand New)

Ironically uses a Zune

Has an Android but lowkey wishes he had an iPhone

Doesn’t have a computer, just jailbreaks/hacks the school issued laptop

Has a black line tattooed around some of his fingers, one of his wrists, and the shell of his ear

Has a foot tattoo

Has a fucking Juul

Watches LeafyIsHere on YouTube (tell me I’m wrong)

Spends too much time on Reddit

Wears flannels, skinny jeans, and Vans (a beanie if he’s cold)

Mostly cycles through the same three or four outfits

Wears the same pair of Vans every single day

Victor:

Big into aromatherapy

He uses lavender soaps and has an essential oil diffuser in his room

Uses incognito mode to watch Vampire Diaries

A Nintendo ass b i t c h

He has the gray Switch Lite

He brings his Switch with him everywhere (yes he’s that guy)

But what else are you gonna do when you wanna ignore Patrick?

Watches conspiracy theories about ghosts, cryptids, and aliens

Also big into podcasts (mostly true crime and conspiracy ones)

He listens to them on his headphones while he takes walks or draws

Posts his drawings on Tumblr

Does art streams on Twitch when he gets really bored

Has an eyebrow piercing (but it’s a small stud one, not a ring)

Has little tattoos on his hands

Wears bomber jackets, skinny jeans, joggers, army jackets, converse, and combat boots

The boy has style okay

Had an emo phase but still listens to the music (especially Tiny Moving Parts)

The emo phase was pretty short because Henry made fun of him so much

He just fucking liked MCR and Taking Back Sunday a lot, okay?

And Pierce The Veil and Sleeping With Sirens, but he doesn’t readily admit that

Now mostly listens to new wave, synth pop, and lofi hiphop

His favorite bands are Drab Majesty and Choir Boy (look up their new album btw)

Has a black iPhone and a space gray MacBook Pro

Uses Apple Music

Vapes, but only fruity flavors

Watches BoJack Horseman

Doesn’t really eat fast food but never passes up an M&M McFlurry

Paints his (and Patrick’s) nails black

One time Patrick caught him doing a facemask, so Patrick put one on and started chasing him around screaming as a joke

Cue: hmm… this feels kinda good tho

So now Victor and Patrick have secret mini spa days

Drives a Subaru

Belch:

Makes Spotify playlists like he’s paid to

He’s just really good at putting songs together

He tried to get into music theory, but he wasn’t one for actually making his own songs

Really into metal (obvi) but also likes some classic rock and punk stuff

Has records hung up side by side all around his room where the wall meets the ceiling

Still buys CDs

His Instagram feed is full of vintage cars and custom import cars

Fast and Furious is his favorite movie series

His favorite shows are Sons of Anarchy and The Walking Dead

But he also loves early 2000s comedies

Has a mini projector to watch movies on his room wall

Wears band tees, flannels, jean jackets, Carhartt stuff, d a d  h a t s

Really wants a tattoo but always gets nervous

Uses incognito mode to watch porn and buy some of his band tees from Hot Topic

Only one in the gang that uses Facebook (Mama Huggins made him so he could keep in contact with family)

Follows a few meme pages but also some cooking ones so he can send his mom any cool recipes he finds

Victor lowkey makes fun of him for actually using the Facebook page

Invests money in really good headphones and car speakers

Has a black iPhone

It’s always at 20% battery cause it’s always connected to his headphones, Bluetooth speaker, or car stereo

Him and Victor FaceTime when they’re bored

Sometimes they won’t even say much, they just like the over the phone company

Doesn’t smoke, but sometimes hits Vic’s vape

A social vaper if you will

Watches Idubbbz and Filthy Frank on YouTube

His favorite fast food place is Wendy’s

Not really into video games but fucking slays at Guitar Hero

And when Rock Band came out nobody saw him for like two weeks

Has a black Hydroflask with band stickers on it

Henry:

He plays a lot of Xbox

Mostly Halo, COD, Destiny, any first-person shooter really

Baits people on Xbox Live cause he thinks it’s hilarious

He’s also a fucking cyberbully but we all expected that

Has Victor’s old iPhone

Never fucking charges it

He’ll text you back in 3-5 business days (if at all)

And if you try to call him he’ll block your number

Plays iMessage games like cup pong and 8 ball with Belch

The only social media he uses is Snapchat and Tinder to look at girls

In one of his Tinder photos he’s holding a fish (srrynotsrry)

Doesn’t really listen to too much music

He doesn’t dislike music, just usually prefers to do things in silence

His mind is chaotic enough, he doesn’t need background noise

But he will listen to Cigarettes After Sex and TV Girl on a really low volume when he goes to sleep

Uses incognito mode to pick and choose random soft or angsty songs that he likes to put into a bedtime playlist

Otherwise just listens to whatever Belch listens to

Has a tattoo on his wrist

Takes a lot of drives into the countryside/national forests/mountains with Belch

Takes a lot of scenery photos, but never posts them anywhere or shows anyone except Victor

Still smokes cigarettes (he thinks vaping is douchey)

Watches South Park and American Dad

If he’s willing to spend money to go see a movie, he’s going to an IMAX theater

Sometimes he likes 3D, but most of the time it just hurts his eyes after a while

Longboards everywhere

Needs prescription glasses but refuses to wear them

They’re mostly for reading, which he doesn’t do anyway

But he does listen to audiobooks sometimes

Likes Frappuccinos but will kill you before you find out

He orders them through Uber Eats under a fake name so nobody will find out

BONUS: all four!

Victor still has his childhood GameCube that they play Mario Party, Mario Kart, and Melee on

Henry is banned from playing Mario Party after breaking a controller while beating Patrick with it

Patrick only ever picks Waluigi in Mario Kart and everyone is sick of it

When they play Rock Band Patrick is on bass, Henry plays guitar, Belch absolutely slays the drums, and Vicky boy sings his lil heart out

One night a week they order a shit ton of Dominos and make a drinking game out of watching Vine compilations

Victor does everyone’s birth charts

They collectively made a fake Tinder account on Patrick’s phone and catfish guys with it

They all try to one up each other doing vape tricks yikes

They buy bags of chips and candy from Costco and lounge around eating them on weekends

They’re banned from the city metro busses because Belch’s car was in the shop for a week and that week was hell for every bus driver in the city

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 80

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​

Her body is comforting; the warmth and the familiar weight of it laying atop his own.  The feel of her skin pressed against his and the light, yet always alluring scent that lingers in her hair. His fingers more through it now. Slowly and gently combing through the silky, dark tresses; still damp with sweat following an intense and attentive session of love making. It had been so easy to lose himself in the moment. The escape. The sensation of hands and mouths moving over each other’s bodies as they took turns both worshipping and devouring one another. The way her touch alternated between gentle and greedy as her fingers and palms explored every inch of his shoulders, chest, and arms; legs securely wrapped around his waist and her heels pressing into the small of his back. It had been slow and tender at moments; long, soft kisses that saw closed mouth moving upon closed mouth,  accompanied by whispers of love and praise. Other times it had been more frantic; a desperation behind aggressive, grabbing hands and tongues battling for dominance and much rougher, dirtier talk. Each minute...each SECOND...had been nothing short of perfection. The taste of her kiss and the digging and scraping of her nails against his skin. The noises that escaped from her mouth; the sound of his name,  both soft sighs and whimpers,  much louder begging and pleading and then her eventual release. His own had been powerful.  His entire body locking up and then shuddering; eyes closed and his forehead pressed against hers as her heels dug into his ass as he emptied himself inside of her. She’d clung to him afterwards; arms tightly wound around his neck while he buried his face in the side of hers.  And when he’d pulled back to look at her, there’d been tears in her eyes. There was no way to dismiss what he saw there; the fear and the worry and the anxiety. The realization that -whether it be through his demise or her own- it may very well be the last time they experience that kind of moment together.  He’d done what he could to squash those thoughts; softly kissing her and quietly professing his love and adoration; fingertips moving over every inch of her face as if committing it to memory.  

Now he lays on his back with her tightly pressed against him. That warm, supple body spread along his; breasts flattened against his chest, her eyes closed and her lips and the tip of her nose against one side of his jaw as her knuckles repeatedly grazed along the other.  The pain hasn’t subsided, but for the time being it isn’t as intense; the three glasses of whisky he’d ended up consuming, the intense orgasm,  and the heat radiating from her body  all working together to successfully take the edge off his suffering.  And he knows he should move; climb out of bed and get dressed and back to business. Despite Rata and Koen being there and heavily armed guards on high alert, she’s still his responsibility; promising nearly seven years ago to always protect her no matter how high the stakes or how extreme the costs. She and the baby growing inside of her are his sole priorities, and he has to keep them safe and get them through the next few days and then back home safe and sound. Even if it means sacrificing himself. Whether physically OR mentally.

“Boy or girl?”

Tyler’s eyes flicker open at the sound of her voice, finding her gazing up at him with her chin resting on his chest. “What?”

Her knuckles continue to  brush against his jaw. “Boy or girl? What do you want?”

“I want a healthy baby. And a healthy momma.”

“You say that every time.”

“It’s all that matters to me; that you and the baby are okay.”

“Humour me,” she says, and drags the nail of her index finger down his chin. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

“You would do that to me. Stack the house with testosterone. Isn’t it sufficient that  you have enough testosterone for the entire male population of New South Wales? Do you really have to add more?”

“You’re going to say a  girl, aren’t you. So what? Stack the house with estrogen? Thanks.”

“Better than testosterone.”

“I don’t think so. And why would you do that to ME? Another girl?”

“Look buddy, it’s your sperm that decides this. So you really only have yourself to blame. Besides, would another little girl really be that painful? You’re an amazing girl dad; a total study in contradiction.   You’re big and strong and you have all those scars and tattoos and you’re so bad ass. Yet there you are, braiding hair and playing Barbies and attending tea parties and glitter stuck in your beard. And you never complain about any of it.”

“Why would I complain? She’s my little girl. Nothing I won’t do for her. Except wear the tiara.”

“She’ll break you yet. Or Addie will, when she’s old enough. Something tells me your little peanut will be able to convince you to do ANYTHING.”

“Well she is just like her mother and you’ve had me wrapped around your baby fingers since day one, so…”

“Do you remember when we found out that Millie was in fact going to be a girl? I thought you were going to have a coronary. You looked so scared.”

“I was scared. Me? Having a girl?”

“What? Did the sins of past transgressions with women come back to haunt you? Make you realize that there’d be guys like you  after your daughter when she’s older?”

“That was part of it. It just scared me. The thought of having a girl. I didn’t know anything about raising a girl.”

“You have asked the ultrasound tech three times if she was sure. You were so spooked. But  you got over it quick. The second she made her entrance into the world. The way you held her and she looked at you with those big blue eyes. You were a goner. You had your miracle baby.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, and pushes his hands through her hair, moving it off her shoulders. “She IS  a miracle. In a lot of ways. I never thought I’d get that chance again; didn’t think I was worthy of being a dad again. And when you think about how she was made and where? During all that fucking craziness? The fact that something could have happened to you and we never would have known we were having her? She’s definitely a miracle.”

“I remember how cute you were while I was pregnant,” Esme muses. “I mean, you’ve been cute and gentle and so sweet with all of them. But with Millie, you were extra...well, you were EXTRA.”

“I was a total newbie. I didn’t get to experience all of that with Austin. I was pretty much gone the entire time she was pregnant with him. And I was in Kuwait when he was born, so I didn’t even get to see that.”

“You were just so adorable. You were always touching my tummy and you’d always talk to her or read to her. And she’d always kick or squirm when she heard your voice. Not that I blame her; it’s a very nice voice.”

Grinning, he tucks her hair behind her ears and then cradles her face in his hands, kissing her softly.

“And you always had the goofiest grin on your face when people would ask about her.  That ‘hey, look what I did’ grin. You were so pleased with yourself. Like it was some great achievement; putting a baby in me.”

“At that time it was. Now all five of them are. Well, six. If we count little bean.”

“And you always made sure they gave us pictures at the ultrasound; you’d put every one of them on the fridge. I don’t think I’ve seen a prouder daddy-to-be. And you’ve been like that with every single one.”

“I am proud. I finally did something worthwhile with my life.  I finally have things I can brag about. Didn’t have anything to be proud of until Millie came along.”

“I don’t know about THAT. Surviving half a dozen tours in the Middle East is pretty impressive.”

“It was my job. I did what I was told to do. Or what I had to do to survive. Let’s not romanticize it.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she complains.  “You know how you always wish I could look at myself the way you do? Well I wish that you could see yourself the way I see you.  The way your kids see you. Because we think you’re pretty amazing and we love you. More than you could possibly know. Life would be miserable without you.”

“Well hopefully you guys won’t have to find out just HOW miserable.”

She frowns. “You said we wouldn’t talk about that. That we wouldn’t talk fatalistically. You promised me that. For one night.”

“You’re right. I did promise that. I’m sorry.”

She presses a kiss to his lips. “You’re forgiven. This is some serious deja vu, huh?”

“What is?”

“This. Us in bed like this. When you’re supposed to be working.”

“Well if it wasn’t for you and your uncanny ability at distracting me while I’m working…”

“I will not be blamed for your hormones. It’s not my fault you’re incessantly horny and insatiable.”

“It’s your fault for lying in bed with your pants half down,” he argues.

“You’re so unprofessional, Tyler,” she teases. “You should really be written up. You should not be getting your rocks off on company time.”

“Technically, it’s our company so we can do whatever the fuck we want.”

“That is a very good point. I think I’m going to love being in charge. Does that I mean I get to boss you around sometimes?”

“Like you don’t already?”

“I do not boss you around!” Esme objects. “You wouldn’t let me do that. Boss you around.”

“I think you’re underestimating the power you have. You’ve been bossing me around for about seven years now.”

“Well you must enjoy it. I notice you stick around.”

“It’s not that I enjoy it, it’s that I really enjoy other things so I tolerate the bossiness.”

“When have I bossed you around? Name a time.”

“Four months ago when you made me paint our bathroom purple.”

“I couldn’t do it myself! I was pregnant. And for the record, it’s not purple. It’s mauve.”

“Mauve is a shade of purple.”

“It’s not purple like Barney the Dinosaur or like an eggplant. It’s a very subdued shade.”

“Yeah, a shade of purple.”

“Okay, so that’s ONE time! One time I’ve bossed you around.”

“Are you kidding me?” Tyler chuckles. “It’s been more than one time. Way more than I like to admit, actually.”

“So the big, bad mercenary is whipped. Your secret is safe with me. You can’t be a hard ass all the time, right? You might as well come home and be my bitch.”

“Excuse you? Your bitch?”

“Listen, if I have to be a snack and meal bitch for five kids, you can suck it up and be my bitch once in a while. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“The things I won’t do for you.”

“You do a lot for me,” she smiles, and pecks his lips. “You always have. You always step up and take care of me; no matter how bad you’re feeling or how much pain you’re in or shitty circumstances are. You ALWAYS step up. For me, for the kids. You’re just always there when you need you, without even having to be asked. I appreciate it. And you.”

Laying a hand on the back of her head, he pulls her into him and presses his lips to her brow. “Thank you.”

“You’re a good man,” she says, as she once more places her head upon his chest. “And I’m very lucky. That  I even found you.”

“I don’t know; I think I’m the lucky one. If you hadn’t have taken the job with Nik, if you hadn’t been on the bridge that day…”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I wouldn’t have what I have now. I’d be dead. I wouldn’t have gotten a second chance or the opportunity to fix my shit. And I wouldn’t have this life; you, my kids. And when I think about them or you not existing…”

“But we do. Exist.”

“Yeah, because you took the job. You could have taken one look at me and saw what a mess I was and said ‘fuck it’ and turned it down. But you didn’t. And now look. Look where we are.”

She scowls. “Yeah, back in Dhaka.”

“That’s NOT what I meant.  I meant look where we are as in us. As a couple. We’ve come a hell of a long way since the first time we were here.”

“And since that little apartment in Sydney,” she muses.

“Seems like so long ago. Longer than seven years, that’s for sure.”

“We’ve been through a lot since then,” she reasons. “But I like where we’ve ended up.”

“Yeah,” he runs a hand over her hair and down her back, settling it at her tailbone. “So do I.”

Tyler  relaxes once more as she settles against him; his knuckles repeatedly skimming up and down her spine, the fingers of his hand softly tracing random patterns on her shoulder and down her arm. It feels so good; being with her, The way her hair tickles his face and chest and how her warm, soft breath wafts against his skin. It’s the quiet, unassuming moments of intimacy that he sometimes enjoys the most. When they connect through something other than sex. There’s a bond between him that he can’t even begin  to explain. Something so powerful and seemingly unbreakable that began on that bridge seven years ago.

“What do you think you would have been?” Esme asks, once more breaking the silence.  “If you had never one into the military?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“What did you want to be when you were  a kid?”

“Away from my father.”

“You must have had a dream. Something you wanted to do.”

“Well the unrealistic side of me wanted to be a professional surfer or football player. The realistic side of me always went back and forth between  a cop and a firefighter.”

“I could see you being either of those.  I mean, you’re big and strong. Athletic. And you have no damn fear.”

“Believe me, I have a lot of those. I just don’t tell you about them.”

“You would have made a really good policeman. In that uniform? All intimidating with your eyes and your take no shit attitude. You could have told me to assume the position and I would have obliged right away.”

He chuckles at that.

“A cop or fireman are both very fitting for you,” Esme concludes. “They’ve both got  that edge; high intensity at times. That danger. Definitely good jobs for you. Or a construction worker. I could see you in construction. In a pair of well worn jeans and no shirt and all sweaty and tanned.”  She sighs dreamily.

“Is that your fantasy?”

“Baby, you ARE my fantasy. I don’t need to imagine anything other than what I already have.”

“You’re really good for my self esteem, you know that?”

“How a man that looks like you has self esteem issues, I will never know. But you’re perfect the way you are. At least to me.”

“Even with all the scars?”

“They’re part of who you are. Where you’ve been, what you’ve gone through, what you’ve survived. I don’t like the stories behind most of them, but I love YOU. And they’re part of you, so…”

Smiling, he drops a kiss on the top of her head. “What about you? What would you have done? If you’d stayed in college?”

“I would have probably changed my major. Maybe went into English Lit or something like that.”

“I was NOT expecting that.”

“You thought for sure I was going to say teacher or nurse, didn’t you.”

“Well you did mention teacher once. And you did a damn good job of nursing me back to health seven years ago. And your sponge baths are second to none.”

She giggles.  “You only think that because you got special treatment during your sponge baths.”

“You were very good to me. And so were your hands. Sometimes even your mouth.”

“You’re such a pig,” she laughs. “I hope you know that if I had been a nurse, I would NOT have given that kind of treatment to all my patients.”

“Just tall Australian guys with muscles and blue eyes?”

“They would have to have an amazing ass and the stamina of a God, too.”

“And you say I put YOU on a pedestal.”

“You’re worthy of your pedestal. But yeah; I would have gone into English Lit. Or maybe psychology. But I did have one long standing dream when I was young. Sometimes I even still think about it.”

“Yeah? What’s the dream?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?”

“You might think it’s funny.”

“Try me.”

“I’ve always wanted to own a bookstore.”

Tyler glances down at her.

“Weird, right?”

“No, it’s not weird. I’m just surprised. It’s the first I’ve heard about it in seven years.”

“I’ve never had a reason to talk about it. It was just a silly dream. Or at least it was until we got back to Australia and I got a look at all the little shops in town. They’re quaint and they’re cute and it’s such a nice, picturesque area.  It makes me think of my little bookstore whenever we’re there.”

“Really?”

“Really. I know; it’s silly. Tell me it’s silly.”

“I don’t think it’s silly at all. I think it’s a nice idea.”

“And not just any bookstore, either. Not one of those stuffy, uptight kinds. But where people can come in and relax; cozy chairs and tables to sit at and a place where they can buy baked goods and other treats and get something to drink. With a fireplace and an awesome kids section; bean bag chairs and aquariums with fish and turtles. And a sensory area for kids with special needs. It would be bright and cheerful; lots of windows and natural light. And a little garden out back where people sit and get fresh air if they want.”

“Wow…” he grins. “...you’ve really thought about it.”

“Just a dream. I had it all figured out when I was ten. I mean, I’ve added ideas through the years. I even made a floor plan when I was fourteen.”

“What did you call it?”

“It’s never had a name.  I could never come up with one.”

“How come you never did it?”

“A lot of things went to shit after my dad died and my mom got even MORE toxic. Life went in a different direction. And then I met Mark and…” she shrugs. “...well we know how THAT turned out. I brought it up once to him; he thought it was stupid.”

“HE was stupid.”

“Among other things. You don’t think it’s stupid?”

“No. I think it’s pretty cool, actually. And if you wanted to do it, we could make it happen.”

“It was just a dream.”

“Doesn’t HAVE to be just a dream. If it’s something you want to do…”

“Don’t enable me, Tyler. You’re supposed to be the one talking me out of these things.”

“No, I’m supposed to be the one encouraging you to do things.”

“Have you been listening to Barack Obama’s podcast again? Was he giving one of his talks about treating Michelle like the queen she is?”

“I don’t need him to encourage me to treat my wife like a queen. And if something you want to do...the bookstore…”

“I’m too busy raising five little kids right now;  in five or six months, there’s going to be a new baby in the house. And we already have a business, remember?”

“You could still have one of your own and help with the other one.”

“Baby, I love you so much for wanting this for me, but we both know now is not a good time. We’re having another baby; that’ll be six kids under seven. I won’t have time to do anything extra. And I’m happy the way things are right now. Maybe when they’re all in school and you’re gone a lot. It would give me something to do and I won’t be so lonely.”

“So ask you again in another few years,” he concludes.

“You’ll forget in a few years.”

“Esme,  I don’t forget anything when it comes to you. I still remember what you were wearing when you showed up at the shack, and that was almost seven years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday. And I remember every bit of every conversation we had during those five days.”

Her lower lip and chin begin to wobble. “Don’t make me cry, Tyler James. I’ve cried enough today.”

“I remember how I promised I’d never make you cry. I fucked that up pretty good, didn’t I.”

“For what it’s worth, you’ve made me smile and laugh more than you’ve made me cry.”

Smiling, he tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her into a kiss; long and deep, her body sliding along his she reaches up to curl her arms around his neck. “I should get dressed,” he says, and rubs the tip of his nose against hers.

“No. You shouldn’t. In fact, it should be illegal for you to ever wear clothes.”

“Man, your hormones ARE going crazy.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t help that I find my husband amazingly sexy. That I can’t get enough of him. Maybe you should have been uglier if you didn’t want me objectifying you so much.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered with me if I was uglier.”

“That’s a fair point.”

“I really should get dressed.”

She pouts dramatically.

“I’m sorry. But I am working.”

“We’re in the same room. What is going to happen to me when you’re THIS close by?”

“I should at least have pants on if the shit hits the fan.”

“If you leave them off,  you’d defeat them with sheer humiliation. Or maybe seeing you naked would turn them on and they’d be so uncomfortable with it, they’d just leave.”

Smoothing her hair away from her face, he keeps it clasped in his hands and presses a kiss to her lips. “You’re weird.”

“Maybe. But you secretly enjoy my weirdness. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have hung in for seven years. You either like it, or you’re a glutton for punishment.”

“Maybe it’s a bit of both,” he teases.

“You definitely enjoy it. That’s why we have five ids. And one on the way. You enjoy it a little too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much. And as much as I want to stay here like this all night…” he pecks her lips and runs his palms along her arms. “...you need to get off me.”

“Fine.”  She gives another pout and then rolls off him and onto her side; elbow on the mattress and the side of her head in her palm. Watching him with a mix of admiration, appreciation, and lust as he slides out of bed and begins gathering up long discarded clothing.  “Baby, you are so sexy.”

Tyler grins. “And you call me biased?”

“It’s the truth,” she declares, then laughs when the shirt he tosses her way lands on top of her head. “Walking sex. That’s what you are. Which is another reason we have so many kids. That and you have very determined swimmers. Not even  birth control or a vasectomy could stop those suckers! And don’t you dare say it…” she slips the tee over her head. “...or I WILL throat punch you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I could take you. And you know it.”

“Mmm…hmmm…”  He clips the holster and gun to his hip, then stands at the side of the bed, hands gentle as they rest on the side of her face; tilting it up towards him. “I love you.”

“I know.” She presses her lips to his heavily calloused palm. “I’ve never once doubted it. And I love you, too. So much.”

He kisses her. So soft and so tender it brings tears to her eyes.

****

The text comes at ten in the morning as they lounge on the couch in the living room; half eaten plates of breakfast resting in their laps. It’s nothing more than numbers on the screen,  a simple yet effective message that opens the gateway to the path that leads home. And she hurriedly sets her plate on the coffee table and scrambles to gather a notebook and pen; uncapping the latter with her teeth as she clicks dials the number provided and then places the phone on her thigh and the call on speaker.

“You don’t know how to mind your own business,” a male voice scolds in way of greeting.

“And you don’t know how to play fair,” Esme retorts. “Taking the wife and kid of a man who died seven years ago? Threatening another woman and her children? That’s pretty low; even for bottom dwellers like you.”

“Mouthy. Typical western woman. Nothing that a good backhand wouldn’t fix. Perhaps we should teach your husband a thing or two; about how to control his woman and teach her how to respect men.”

“You can kick a dog to make it stay, but it stays out of fear, not respect. And I’m not speaking to a man right now; I’m speaking to a boy. A cowardly little boy. Because no man would  sink to what you have. A man...a  REAL man...wouldn’t idolize trash like Amir Asif.”

“You keep that name out of your mouth,” he growls. “You keep it out of your whore mouth.”

“You know what, fuck you buddy,” Tyler snaps. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that. You may talk to your girl like that, but don’t EVER talk to mine like that.”

The man on the other end of the line chuckles. “I should have known you’d be listening. Always the protector. How have you been enjoying the games? We made them up. Just for you.”

“How about you meet me in person and I show you a whole new game,” Tyler suggests. “That kind that ends with me putting you in the fucking ground.”

Esme reaches out and lays a comforting hand on the back of his neck, repeatedly squeezing.

“You object? To our games? You object to her being called a whore? Isn’t that what she was? When  you first met? Your whore?”

“I will fucking kill you. I will find you and rip you apart with my bare fucking hands. You hear me? I’ll…”

“Enough with the games,” Esme orders into the phone. “They’re not clever, they’re not cute.  They’re ridiculous and they’re boring and they scream of desperation. We don’t intimidate easily. If at all. So how about you knock this shit off and we get down to business. The people we’re working for are willing to meet your demands; twenty five million dollars for the woman and the boy. You can keep the mercenary; we don’t want him. He’s damaged goods now. And you can tell him I said that.”

“You don’t want your own man? Your own employee? That’s cold.”

“We know he’s in on it. We know he’s working for Mahajan. That you’re using him as bait. You really don’t think we’re stupid, do you? You’re not dealing with street thugs; we’ve been in this business for a long time. We’ve seen and heard it all. From bigger and better. We were able to get Ovi Mahajan out. And we killed Amir Asif in the end. So your threats and your games mean nothing. They’re not scary. They’re laughable.”

“You won’t be finding it very funny if we get to your children, will you. That won’t be so laughable, will it.”

“I will fucking kill you  and everyone you love,” Tyler fumes. “I will hunt every last one of your relatives down and make you watch while I put a bullet in each of their brains. And then I’ll fucking drown you in their blood. And that’s a promise.”

Another chuckle. “You act and talk so tough. But it only took one of us to bring you down last time. And you should have done everyone a favour and died on that bridge. In the end, you needed a woman to come to your rescue. To fight your battles. Now THAT’S pathetic.”

“Do you want the money or not?” Esme inquires. “Twenty five million. For the woman and the kid.”

“You know what we really want. WHO we want.”

“And I made it very clear that that is non negotiable. You won’t get that. You won’t get HIM.  That offer got left on the table and died there. Twenty five million dollars. Take it or leave it.”

“And if we agree to take it?”

“I want proof of life, and I want it today. Within the next few hours. And it has to be current; today’s date and time stamp.  You try and fuck me on this, and I will send a whole army to take you and your friends down. Because I have that power. I have the power and the money and the resources to do it. Do you really want to test me?”

“You’re not able to do that,” the man scoffs. “Bring us down.”

“Oh, I DO have that power. I can get it all done with one phone call. You really didn’t think we’d be in this alone, did you? That it would just be the two of us?  You have no idea the amount of people I have at my disposal. Or the weapons or the tech. I’m in charge here, not you. How do you know I haven’t traced this call and already have snipers with you  in their crosshairs? You have no idea what I can do. So fuck you and your games. You want the money or not?”

A heavy sigh. “Thirty.”

“No,” she refuses. “Twenty five. That was your original demand and that’s all you’re getting. Not a single goddamn cent more. I don’t take orders from you. I don’t take orders from ANYONE. And I especially don't take them from gutter rats. Twenty five. Take it or fuck off.”

“You want proof of life?”

“The deal won’t happen if I don’t get it. You’ll get nothing but a death sentence. I want a video. A live one.”

“You want to see them with your own two eyes?”

“That’s EXACTLY what I want.”

“You can have that. Under one condition..”

She snorts. “You don’t give me conditions, kiddo. That’s not how this works.”

“Do you want your friends alive or dead? It’s up to you. Do you want their blood on your hands?”

Tyler leans into her, lips pressed to her ear. “Ask what they want.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll play. Just this once. What’s your condition? Humour me.”

“You can have proof of life, but only in person.”

“Fuck no,” Tyler whispers harshly. “Tell him to go fuck himself. You’re not doing that.”

“Fine,” she ignores him, and her husband  glares at her and sighs in exasperation, then  springs up from the couch and rakes both hands through his hair before pacing the floor. “Tell me where to go. Give me the address.”

“Do you think WE’RE stupid? That we’d just give you the address and then you’d send your people there? You come here, to where we are, and we take you there. Blindfolded. So you can’t see where we are talking.”

“Tell them no,” Tyler orders. “Tell them no and to shove it up their ass.”

“You know I can’t do that,” she addresses the man on the phone. “That’s a setup. You want me there so you can grab me and hold me hostage because that will bait my husband. You really do underestimate me, don’t you.  I don’t go anywhere alone. If I agree, someone goes with me.”

“You bring him. Your husband.”

“Nope. It won’t be him. So you can grab BOTH of us? Or kill him on sight? I won’t play these games. I’ll come, but I’m not bringing him. Someone else, but NOT him.”

“Then he keeps his distance. If any of my people see him even remotely close by, we kill you. No hesitation. Understand?”

“Where do you want me to meet you?”

“Amir Asif’s house. You come here, we take you to see your friends.  Simple as that. I give you my word that no harm will come to you.”

“Your word means shit,” Tyler speaks up. “Tell us where they are. Or I will grab all of you one by one and find ways to make you talk. I’ve got all the time and the rage in the world, believe me.”

“We haven’t hurt her or your children yet, have we? But we COULD. I think we’ve shown that; no? With the baby? She really is the cutest little thing. Such an adorable smile. And your other daughter? So pretty. Blond hair and blue eyes. We could keep her for a few years; she’d make a good child bride.”

“You fucking asshole!” Tyler storms across the room and snatches the phone from Esme’s thigh; hands trembling as he takes the cell off speaker and presses it to his ear. “ I will fucking hunt you down...every last one of you...I will fucking torture you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. Then I’ll beat you within an inch of your life, stop, and then torture you all over again.  And maybe I’ll put a bullet between your eyes. If you’re lucky.”

“She has six hours; to make up her mind.   She hasn’t decided by then, we will kill all three of them. And then we’ll kill your children. One by one.”

“You fucking prick. How about you man up and you meet ME face to face. Or are you that much of a coward?”

“Six hours,” the other man insists, then disconnects the call.

“Motherfucker!” Tyler roars, and tosses the phone onto the couch; slamming into the cushions with enough force that the cell bounces violently and hits the floor.  The rage is intense; his entire body drawn tight and trembling, fists tightly clenched and jaw painfully set. And he can hear the rush of blood in his head; feels the throbbing of the surgically repaired vein in his neck.

“Okay...Tyler…” Esme’s on her feet, rushing to him and laying her hands on his chest; palms moving slowly and soothingly over the expanse of hard muscle and the fabric of his shirt. “...you need to calm down...you need to breathe...just breathe…”

“You heard what he said?”

“I heard. I heard every word.”

“That’s my daughter.”

“She’s my daughter too. I heard what he said. And it’s vile and it’s evil and it’s disturbing.  But he said it to get to you; to fuck with you. Break your brain, then break your body, right? Don’t let them do it. Don’t let them win.”

“That’s my little girl…” he speaks through ragged gulps of air, tears of both rage and fear streaming down his face. “..if they get to her….”

“It’s just words. That’s all it is. They won’t touch her. In the same way they didn’t touch Addie. They’re doing this to break you. And you can’t let them, okay? You can’t. I need you to calm down. Just to try to breathe, okay?”

“I can’t...I can’t breathe...I can’t…”

“You’re really close to having a panic attack and I won’t be able to get you out of it. Can you at least sit down, please?”

He nods, and she grabs a hold of the front of his shirt and yanks him towards the couch. Waiting until he drops down onto it to lay a hand on the back of his head; encouraging him to place it between his knees. “You need to breathe, Tyler. Just breathe.”

She leaves him momentarily, rushing for the box of meds in the kitchen; hastily dumping them onto the counter before selecting the bottle she wants. Then returns to the living room with several small, white pills cradled in her palm.

“Take them,” she gently orders, then places her hand over his lips. Forcing the pills into his mouth and then grabbing a now lukewarm mug of coffee from the table and using it as a chaser. “It’ll pass,” she confidently assures him. “Just try and relax.”

His eyes are closed  as he rests his forehead against her, and she drops a kiss on the top of his head; gently stroking his hair and his ears and the back of his neck. Feeling the way his body slowly begins to relax as the meds act quickly; a strong force combined with the comfort -and security- she effectively provides him with. And when the tension and the rage finally release, he begins to sob.  His entire body shaking, arms wrapped tightly around her slender waist.

“It will be over soon,” Esme promises, her voice quivering with emotion. “It’ll all be over soon.”

[slashingdisneypasta]

Feeling kinda dumb asking this tbh. Not sure if you even watched TVD, but in case you did, you know how Bonnie uses Expression Magic which is considered extreamly dark and powerful form of magic (I mean, she literally destroyed hell!) do you mind writing Freddy x victim!reader oneshot where he mets a witch who also practices Expression and is extreamly powerfull? He tries to kill her at first obviously

Omg, this one started out so light hearted but oh my god.

Don't feel dumb!! Its a good ask!! I do watch TVD, and I hope you like this ^^ 

~~~

I wake up the same way I have for the past 3 weeks. With messy hair, slashes through my favourite pyjama shirt and a finger in my hand- well, it isn’t always a finger. Sometimes its an ear, a portion of his ugly sweater, his hat, once even his eyeball. You get the picture though. Unimpressed, I watch the finger turn to gunky, dirty dust. Then promptly get up and tiredly get out the vacuum cleaner to clean up the mess.

Once I’m done, I put the vacuum back in its cupboard down the hall, which at this point I could totally do just from muscle memory and no other senses due to how often this month I’ve ripped something of Freddy’s back out into the real world in my attempt to take him out and kill him off the clean way.

But, I take a deep breath and let it out, exhausted and resigned, as I pull on pants and search through my closet for a shirt to wear out today. I guess I’m going to have to do it the hard way.

Finally, I discard the ruined shirt and wrench on a clean, yellow t-shirt and leave my house.

___TIME SKIP___

“Hey, Bernard,” I beam towards the grassy haired barista. The café’s basically empty, apart from a group of teenagers watching Netflix and Disney plus on their laptops and phone sin the far corner, so I think we’re fine to talk. He looks up from the mug he was drying out, sees my expression and promptly scoffs. Immediately he starts down the bar, past the glass case with all the sweets inside including a delicious jelly slice with lavender for safety that I get when I come here for breakfast, rounds it, and comes all the way to stand very close to me. He holds up his pointer finger between us sternly, almost mad and I focus instead on his hair rather then his face. It really is grassy- not because he’s been playing footy which he likely was before he came to work and not just because its green. Its messy, and multiple shades of different, environmental green. Representing his element.

“Don’t you dare.”

I sigh, and roll my eyes as I sit down in a bar stool, successfully putting space between us as he doesn’t move. “Its kind of a dire situation.”

“A demon?” He doesn’t look at all like it would change his mind on the subject of my using magic if it were a demon. Which it is.

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that draws strength from attention, lets move on.” Again, I roll my eyes. Not at Bernard though, this time its Freddy. Yes, he totally is that kind of demon. Not even just because he needs people to believe he exists to work. He’s just an attention whore.

Bernard crosses his arms and rolls his shoulders back, more than expressing his parents’ shared fire element. And, also, his cranky streak. “You will not use magic.”

“I’ve tried doing it the easy way. I’ll be safe, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about you, I’m worried about your neighbours, and the rest of the known universe if you fuck up. Actually, scratch that. Unknown universe, too.”

“I’m not asking you for permission anyway. Just- come on, gimmie the book.” I hold out my hand, looking around for where he could possibly be hiding it. Cupboards? Behind the cupboards? Has he digitised it? He just continues to glower, and its so forceful that I lower my hand and pout. He’s always been the scary cousin in our family.

“Oh, you so are asking me for permission. You don’t know where the book is!” He sneers, and I deadpan deeply at his immaturity.

“Look, Ber, we’re grown adults. Grown! Ass! Adults! I can make my own decisions, now- where is the book?”

“No!”

“Gimmie!”

“I’m older than you, and I say no!”

“Berrrrrrrr- Oh hi Boyd.” I pause in glaring at my Bernard to look at his brother, Boyd walk by from the upstairs apartment, clipping the vizor attachment to his glasses as he’s going out. He looks boredly at me smiling at him and keeps going to the door with an old-fashioned bell fixed to the top.

“You’re here for the grimoire?” He asks, opening the door and turning over his shoulder, and I nod sweetly- he’s sure to be more helpful! “Yeah, Bernard lost it. Hid it so well even he cant find it anymore. Now, I have a date.” He leaves the, now very tense and cold café with a curt, “Later.”

Slowly… I turn to Bernard. He is now avoiding eyecontact. He misplaced… our families… century old… grimoire??! “Find. It.”

Having a change of heart, he heads behind the counter again with a lowered head. “Oof, I’m on it.”

It must take hours, before I give up looking alongside him and sit down to take a rest. The teenagers have gone by now, and Bernard turned the ‘Open’ sign on the front window around to say ‘Closed’. I don’t know how it happened, but at some point, I rest my head on the bench and the exhaustion from not getting full rest for weeks catches up to me, and I fall asleep.

“Back so soon?”

I jump. “Gah!” Turning around to where the voice came from and I see Freddy- clearly, not in a creative mood because otherwise he wouldn’t have appeared so quick. “Why are you here?!”

“This is my domain, sweetheart.” Freddy explains, something I already knew and he knows I already know and I groan.

“It’s the middle of the day! Can’t I have this one moment to sleep in peace??” A wide smile spreads across his face, and I slouch over. Course not. Oh god, I am so tired. Another yell escapes me though, exhaustion making me incredibly jumpy, when suddenly he appears beside me. Physical form and everything, I can feel the fuzz of his sweater on my arm. “Don’t touch me.” I flash him a glare, not daring him. Definitely not daring him- he’ll take it. Just telling him to back the fuck off because I’m tired not only from his unfaltering ability to keep me busy and working, even when I’m asleep, and also now because my dear older, moronic cousin has lost our grimoire which was entrusted to him, which I need to get rid of Freddy, in order to sleep and actually feel rested!

Oh, my goodddddd, I would do almost anything right now to dream about stupid normal stuff like flying, or running from an encroaching car, or falling. Even falling, which wakes you up. At least I can fall right back to sleep.

“Okay, now, see, if you tell me that, I’ll just wanna do the opposite! ~” The clawed glove nears my face and my right eye twitches, but I stand still there with my arms crossed and glare at it. The rusty, nearly black metal nearing my eyes, reflecting the sharp, gross grin on Freddy’s burnt face.

“So, its opposite day then?” I ask, humouring him because what else are you going to do? When he gets bored, he’s even more dangerous.

“Yep!” Visibly, the stripe sin his sweater switch places so its green and red, and not red and green. He thinks he’s funny.

And, clearly I’m exhausted otherwise I never would’ve fallen for that. “Then please touch me Fredrick.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, raucous laughter escapes him, and he holds his belly as he doubles over and laughs. I groan and dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. I need to wake up. “Out of all the obnoxious murderers out there… “I got the worst of the lot.

“Yep, you got me. Now, let’s stop fucking around shall we? Let’s get to the good stuff!”

“Oh no.” I half groan, half whine in dread and fear. Suddenly, the fact that I fell asleep feels like stupidest move ever- at any time, he might kill me. Its just blind luck that he hasn’t felt like ending the game so far. But he could at any time, including this time.

Freddy disappears again, and I whip around to look for him. My heart starts to beat thunderously in my chest because nothing good has ever occurred when Freddy disappears. I’ve been shot, I’ve been crushed under a stone slab, I’ve been choked with 80’s twisted telephone phone cables- I’ve even been kissed. And every time, I get closer to dying. I lose oxygen, I lose blood, I lose morale. Every time I get hurt, Freddy takes me closer to death then before and I think I’m actually gone this time. He’s bored, I’m not enough anymore, the torture is over.

Which is both a relief and even more horrifying then anything else. Tears cluster in my eyes as time goes by and nothing happens. I just see the boiler room around me, everything tinted red and everything damp and shiny with grease and rust. I don’t want to die.

Suddenly, smoke starts to fill the room. Until I can’t see anything at all except the white in front of me and my hand if I would raise it, but I don’t. I just stay very still, afraid of what’s about to happen. “Fr-Freddy?” I call, weak and disappointing myself. I’m a fucking witch… but that doesn’t really mean much in this world. Not without the spell that I need from the grimoire that’s nowhere to be found. I’m a witch, and I’ve raised to think that means something, means I’m a force to reckoned with, but here I am being reckoned with and I’m useless.

The ground underneath me starts to vibrate, and the smoke slowly starts to clear.

I squint, but I can’t see much through the remaining smoke and the tears shielding my eyes except a bright light.

The vibrating gets worse, and I look down and notice that the smoke has cleared enough at the point to see what beneath my feet, and the realisation of what’s there makes fear swarm throughout every crevice of my being. Mind, body and soul.

Train tracks.

My head snaps up again to see the light, a train, barrelling closer and closer to me. It’s so loud now that I’ve realised, I’m about get his by a fucking steam train, that my ears pop and protest to the pain of it all. The train gets closer and there’s Freddy. The fucker. Wearing a conductor’s uniform and hanging out the side of the driver’s compartment. He grins and waives.

I try to use rational sense and move out of the way, but rope shoots out of the earth between the tracks and twists tightly over my shoes. I try to wrench my feet out of my shoes, panicking now as the train tracks are practically jumping, but the ripe starts to climb… higher and higher up and around my legs and my hip and my arms, until I can’t move at all. It’s so tight I can’t barely even breath- not that I’ll need to for much longer.

I brace myself, and squeeze my eyes shut against the now blinding, all-encompassing brightness of the trains light. And then the train hits-

“FOUND IT!”

I’m wrenched suddenly, and violently from my sleep on the counter and straighten up so vigorously that I nearly slip right off the bar stool. There’s drool on the bench from my sleep, my cheek feels stiff from resting on it for a while, and whip around to look at Bernard who’s standing beside me now with the leather bound, yellow paged book that he’s found. I snatch it from his fingers, dropping it on the bench and start frantically looking through it, eyes still filled with tears and now they start falling. I slap a hand over my mouth, stifling the heavy sob that racks my back and shoulders and mouth from the shock and horror of what just nearly happened. I can still see fuzzy blue dots in my vision from the light, and my nose tingles because the train just touched. It smelled like smoke and coal and that’s still in my nose. Theirs white scrapes on my wrists from the rough rope.

“Y/N,” Bernard touches my arm and I don’t push him off, but I don’t respond, either. I barely notice him, too preoccupied with looking for the right spell. I need this to be over, that can’t happen to me again! I’m not brave enough for it. Another terrible sob forces its way from my chest and I feel half like curling into my cousins chest and crying my heart out and half like killing that bastard Freddy. Wrenching his entire nasty existence from unwritten history and tearing it so it will never be salvaged again.

The second half wins, as I go back through the book backwards, and this time find the spell. “Ow-Okay.”

“Y/N, take a moment- “

“No,” I snap. I nearly got h i t, by a t r a i n. A monstrous thing the same colour as Freddy’s blades. Bernard can’t understand that, but I sure as fuck can. Stammering, but sure, I start to recite the incantation under my breath. Slowly it gets louder, as words start to become harder to say and I need concentrate more. Latin mixes together into one big word, and its har don the best of days but when there’s expression magic involved, it takes an army. More.

And I am that, right now.

Bernard looks around as wind, not coming from an open door or window, starts picking up in this room and rushes to shut the curtains and block the rest of the world from seeing in. Napkins go flying, then the chairs topple over, and then finally the wind is so strong that coffee maker rips from the wall and smashes into the glass sweets case.

I don’t see it, because I’m still following the words in the book, but I hear it. But only just, over the terrible wind screaming through my ears. Finally, the spell reaches its peak and the air in front of Bernard and me, who has gotten back to where I am, opens up. Like someone took a knife and tore literally through the fabric of space and time and magic, revealing the familiar boiler room.

The words start to speak on their own. Whispering in the wind and my lips don’t even have to move, so I let Bernard take the book. Its all so chaotic, I don’t know how I know what to do. But I reach forward and just, lightly touch the hole and its like the magic knows exactly what I want.

Dirty dust, like what Freddy turns into when you bring out of a piece of him from the dream world that I’ve been vacuuming for the past weeks appears, connects together into the shape of a man and then twists together slowly, disturbingly like vines until it isn’t dust and vines anymore. Its burnt flesh and knitted, red and green cotton.

And he looks mad. “You bitch.” Is all he manages to say, but it’s got so much hatred and fury in it that I nearly get scared. I feel it creeped into my bones and organ in my chest.

But then I remember. This is my world.

And I don’t want him in it. “Get out.” I spit, and just like the world seems to crash. Eliminating an existence -anything. Much less a person, - is a lot of work and a big deal. It shouldn’t be possible at all, and I believe that. But I believe it like some who believe murder shouldn’t be possible.

But it is and sometimes it happens, in dire situations.

It feels like I’m being torn on the inside, and scraped clean on the outside- punishment, for doing such a thing. Something to make the world balanced for this.

And Freddy warps like The Scream or a computer glitch. Half of him gong up and the other half going down. Its horrifying sight and I’m in so much pain, but I make my eyes stay open.

And then everything goes black.

___TIME SKIP: A Week___

The whole week has gone by like dream. Not a Freddy dream. Not even a happy dream. Just, like its unreal. I don’t feel much, except a slow, soft blankness like when you’re totally out of it in class after a really, really bad day.

Its not particularly a bad feeling, not compared to the horrors I endured before. Its just like I need to rest, after I used so much power, and feeling so much in general.

Oh, and I have. I’ve been sleeping all the time. Day and night. It’s been uninterrupted and nearly… empty, feeling. Bizarly, I’m well aware now when I’m asleep that I’m dreaming. I’m lucid. Like when Freddy would be there, but without him. Its not exactly restful, but still. It’s better than the nightmares.

Right now, I’m going to sleep. Feeling tiredness expand and unconsciousness take over.

Immediately, I nearly jolt right awake again from fear. Nearly. But his hand grips onto my arm before I can.

Freddy’s right in front of me, smiling sharp like a much madder, pissed off the Cheshire cat. “Heya again sweetheart.” His voice sounds too real. His touch feels to real. This cant be- “It took a fucking lot. Pulled a few strings, don’t know how. Don’t ask. But I’m back. Don’t worry though, I’m not about to kill you. That was a real neat trick you pulled… “I jump, and whimper when the a blade on his glove touches my cheek, and he leans much closer.

“So, we have a lot to talk about.”

You didn’t think you could rid of this Slasher, did you?

[give-me-back-my-rhodey]

Long Have I Waited for You- AUgust Day 23

Title: Long Have I Waited for You

Author: Purple_ducky00

Rating: M

Warnings: Violence, torture, Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting, Child Abuse

Relationships: pre-Tony/Bucky

Squares filled: Y4: Cold for the @buckybarnesbingo​ 

Link: Read on AO3

Summary: Howard agrees that if he has a son, he would give Bucky said son's hand in marriage. Now, 80 years later, will Bucky hold up his end of the deal?

+++++++++++++

“That is not the fucking way to do it!” Bucky screams. “Are you a genius or an idiot, Stark?”

 Howard Stark yells back at him. Steve just wants to be far away from here. Bucky and Howard always clash, and they always seem to be in an argument. And it’s always up to Steve to stop it. Lucky him. “Come on guys. It’s just… not that big of a deal!”

 “Not that big of a deal, Stevie? Do you know what he’s trying to do? Tell me, Stark, did you have a mother? Or sisters? Don’t you know how to treat a lady?”

 “I’ve treated plenty of women, thank you very much!” Howard shoots back. “Never heard a single complaint. But if I’m wrong, I’d hate to see how you treat women. Probably is what makes them think they can take over everything now. Hell, if I had a daughter, you’d be the last person I’d allow to marry her.”

 Bucky shoots back. “No problem. But… I claim the right to marry your son, you asshole!”

Howard opens his mouth to reply, then realizes what Bucky said. Steve gasps. He knew about Bucky, but it’s a hush-hush subject. No one talks about it. Bucky could face some serious consequences if word got out. Steve holds his breath, seeing how Howard will respond. Howard smirks. “Deal. If we both live through this, and I happen to get married and have a son, you can marry him.”

 “Deal.” Bucky shakes his hand. Steve sags in relief.

 After Howard retires for the night, Bucky shakes his head and scoffs. “Th’ idiot. What’s he gonna do, just marry my old ass off to his teenage son? Not gonna happen.”

 “Leave it, Buck. Just be happy that he didn’t decide to tell the whole camp about you.” Steve shoves him. “That was sure a foolhardy thing to say, jerk.”

 “Shaddup punk. I know, but he just gets me so heated sometimes.” Bucky rubs the back of his neck.

 Steve stands. “Whatever, Buck. I’m gonna go to bed now. We got an early day tomorrow.”

 He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind, but every once in a while, they creep back up. He sometimes wonders what Howard’s son would look like. He often wished that Howard were much older than he. Bucky would never actually marry a kid that’s only twenty when he’s sixty-five. It’s not right, but somehow is more acceptable than a man marrying a man.

++++++

Bucky had scoffed at Howard’s deal, but he can’t get the thought out of his head. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to marry whomever you love with no backlash? That would be a perfect world, and Bucky knows this world is far from perfect.

 His last thought as he fell down the ravine was well, I guess Howard can be glad I won’t marry his son.

 ++++++

Tony Stark does not have a happy childhood. His mother loves him, but she travels far too often to be close to him.  His father is either too busy or too drunk to deal with him. When Howard does give him the time of day, it’s to tell him how worthless and stupid he is.

 “Too bad Barnes died in the war,” Howard would often say, “had he lived, I’d be ok with holding up my end of the bargain. Little piece of shit, you never did anything for me. You’d be a great househusband or whatever Barnes would do for you.”

 Once Tony asked what he was talking about. It earned him a slap across the face and a growled reply. “He claimed the right to marry my son. I agreed because I never thought I’d have a child. Children are worthless, and I don’t know why we didn’t give you up for adoption immediately.”

 He had heard this spiel many times over and had become numb to the insults. Therefore, he walked away with a silver lining that someone did, in fact, once want him. Tony went to bed happy that night, despite his stinging face.

 ++++++++

Tony is sixteen when he catches a man lurking around their house. Dressed in bondage-type gear, wearing a mask over the lower half of his face, and carrying many weapons, Tony isn’t sure what he is, except that he’s up to no good. At least, Tony’s almost positive that he saw this. Being hopped up on some kind of drug probably didn’t help his case.

 In retrospect, Tony knows he was stupid, but he walks up to the man and says, “Can I help you?”

 The man’s grey eyes widen. He quickly creates a diversion and disappears quickly. Tony blinks, wondering if this was all in his head. When he tells Jarvis, the man just pats his head and tells him they will better the security. Tony gets the feeling that the older man doesn’t believe him. He’s not quite sure he believes himself either. So, he shrugs and pushes the event to the back of his brain.

 ++++++

Stark is not at the house. The only beings there are the staff and Stark’s son. Son. Winter thinks. Howard Stark’s son… A memory flashes. “I’ve treated plenty of women, thank you very much!” Howard shoots back. “Never heard a single complaint. But if I’m wrong, I’d hate to see how you treat women. Probably is what makes them think they can take over everything now. Hell, if I had a daughter, you’d be the last person I’d allow to marry her.”         Bucky shoots back. “No problem. But… I claim the right to marry your son, you asshole!”             Howard opens his mouth to reply, then realizes what Bucky said. Steve gasps. He smirks. “Deal. If we both live through this, and I happen to get married and have a son, you can marry him.” Howard’s son. His groom. They should be married. Winter knows he must leave HYDRA.

 The boy steps out of the house, clearly under the influence. Stumbling over towards Winter’s direction, he slurs, “Caaan I hellllllllll’ you?”

 Realizing that the boy sees him, Winter throws a flash grenade to the left. The boy looks over, and Winter hides. No point in revealing himself now. He reports back to his handler, telling him that Howard Stark was not home. Winter begins making plans to defect then and there.

 He begins stashing a few supplies here and there, times when he wouldn’t be missed. He follows all orders without fail, not allowing any room for deviance. In about ten months, he believes he is ready to leave. He chooses to leave late one night. Grabbing his supplies, he silently sneaks through the base, avoiding all agents. Winter is almost free when zzzt electricity crackles against his back. An agent hits him with a taser. Winter flails and falls, blacking out. He wakes in the chair.

 “Kept him out of conditioning too long.” His head handler shakes his head, hand on his chin.

 There’s another man there today – he’s tall and bald with a large beard. He crosses his arms and laughs. “He’s pretty stupid if he thinks he can just leave. Make sure he’s properly conditioned and wiped. I have a job for him fairly soon. This will suit you as well, Alex.”

Alex, his head handler, nods. “Of course. I’d be happy to hear it. Wipe him several times, just in case. We may need to revert to original conditioning.”

NO! Winter wants to yell. He remembers original conditioning. He was in pain for too long. He can’t take it again. He can’t… He won’t… A technician gives him the bite guard. He opens his mouth automatically. Winter’s chair tilts back, and the headset comes down over his skull. With the motion of his handler’s hand, a technician flips the switch and the pain starts. Winter knows he shouldn’t, but he screams. He screams over and over again, but they won’t stop. They won’t stop until he forgets. Until he forgets everything except his training. Why can’t he just forget?

 Winter knows pain. Pain is his only friend. No one else is there with him nearly as much as pain. Pain is with him every day now. It will be there until he gives up. Two months of original conditioning, and he gives up. He can’t take any more. Winter knows that does not make him a perfect Asset, but he can take no more. Now, he doesn’t know why they gave him this pain, and he doesn’t want to. All it will do is bring him more. Handler is happy. He freezes Winter quickly, then thaws him quickly. As Winter recovers, a lesser handler says his mission words and tells him where to go.

 They give him a pistol and a motorcycle. “Make it look like an accident and steal the contents of the trunk,” they say. “Bring back all evidence.”

 Winter tails the car, causes it to crash. The face of the man is strangely familiar, and he calls him “Sergeant Barnes”. Winter kills him and the woman. He pulls the bags out of the trunk and notices a roadside camera. He shoots the glass and steals the tape. Head Handler is very happy with the results. He rewards Winter with an easy freezing. To Winter, this is paradise.

 He doesn’t remember why he tried to leave, but he remembers the pain. Winter does not deviate from his handlers’ instructions again… until 2014. He knows the man. Even though the head handler wiped him, he knows the man on the bridge. The man on the bridge will not fight him. It’s… St… Stevie. Stevie calls him Bucky… Is he Bucky? Winter doesn’t know.

 As the hellicarriers go down, Winter pulls Stevie out of the water. He needs to find out about himself before he can find Stevie again. He needs to find out who he is.

 +++++

Tony is now thirty-eight when Steve comes home from the hospital. “Bucky… he’s alive.” He gasps to Tony.

Bucky? Alive? Tony thinks. I wonder… No, he stops the thought right there. “How is he still alive?”

 “HYDRA had him. They must have given him a knock-off serum because he’s still alive today. I can imagine what he went through. I know Bucky would never join HYDRA willingly. When I first met him, he didn’t know who I was. He seemed genuinely confused. Nat gave me the file on him, and I don’t even want to read it. I’ll probably throw up. But he saved me from the helicarrier and disappeared.”

 Tony spins around to a screen. “I can have J scan all cameras and monitors everywhere. We can find him in no time.”

 “Before you decide to help me, there’s something I have to tell you first.” Steve looks down at his hands. “Your parents’ death wasn’t an accident.”

 Tony sinks to a chair. “And it was Barnes?”

 “All points seem to that, but I don’t know for sure.” Steve nods unhappily.

 Tony tries to wrap the whole thing around his head. “You’re going to have to give me time to process.” He tells Steve. “I’m sorry, but I spent the last however many years – since I was seventeen – that Dad was drunk and just spun out. Give me some time, and then I’ll help you.”

 Dad’s probably laughing in his grave right now. Tony thinks ruefully. I wouldn’t put it past him to somehow know that Barnes would kill him. Now, if I want to complete the deal, I’ll have to marry my parents’ murderer. It’s really just his luck.

 ++++++

Winter, no Bucky, spends time figuring out his life. He knows any HYDRA agent can just say those words, and he’ll be under conditioning again. Bucky knows he needs to find a place to go for safety, but it’s a Stark Tower.

 Stark Tower, where Stevie is, where his arranged husband is. Where he has to face all of his memories at once. Figuring his pain is worse than the alternative, Bucky makes his way to Stark Tower. He finds a way in, but he is met with an Iron Man suit stopping him from going any further.

 “Stop right there.” The modulated voice says.

 Bucky’s eyes grow wide. “Husband…” He blurts without thinking.

 “Oh, thank fuck, you remember.” The voice in the suit says. “Dear old dad will be rolling over in his grave right now. Welcome to my humble abode.”

 “I need help.” Bucky says.

 “Come on in. We can figure it out.” Tony Stark stops out of his suit. Bucky can admire his arranged husband’s hindquarters.  Howard was a dick, but his son shows potential in more ways than one. Maybe they can make that arrangement work after all.

[qvicksilversass]

Young Lady, You’re Scaring Me

(Steve Rogers x Reader)

You’ve been in love with Steve for, well, ever, but he never seems to notice you. So in desperation you ask Tony for advice…yeah, totally not a good idea.

Words: 2138  Warnings: language! daft fluff mainly. :)

The lights were giving you a headache, the code was giving you a headache, the fact you couldn’t stop being distracted by thoughts of Steve; that was driving you crazy. For the last year, your feelings for him had grown and he seemed oblivious. He’s so hard to read, always so professional never giving anything away. You glance across the lab to your best friends, you could ask for help? 

“Hey, Tony?”

“Yesss?”

“Can I ask your advice on something?”

“Ooh, is this serious? I’m guessing this isn’t about the new suits?” Tony grinned and jumped on his chair, sliding over to you a mischievous look of interest in his eyes. 

“Say you really liked someone, but they never notice you? What would you do?”

“Oh, y/n I’m flattered, but Pepper and I have just got back together-”

“Not you, you idiot!” You grinned shoving him, he spins away and Bruce chuckles giving you a rolling eyes smile. Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut? You took off your glasses and pinched your nose.

“I have a few ideas, you know, master of relationships here…"  Tony grinned, rolling his chair back to you, “but I gotta know who he is first.”

“No way. You’ll just laugh.”

“Me?” he feigned offence, “I need to tailor my advice y/n, now spill it.”

“Tell me or I’ll find out. Either way, I’m gonna know."  He pokes you with every word and you bat his hands away in a fit of giggles.

"It’s Steve….” you whispered and he got closer pretending not to hear you.

“It’s who?”

“Steve! I’m in love with Steve ok?!”

“Really?! Capsicle?” his eyes go wide, covering his mouth in mock-surprise.

“Yes, really and he doesn’t know I exist.”

“Well it’s going to be hard getting past his chastity belt,” Tony falls about  laughing, “nobody’s ever got into them britches!”

“Will you help me or not?”

“Just…britches!..Give me a minute!”

—

Hours later you were busy finalizing code when Tony suddenly shouted in your direction.

“Better hide y/n!”

“Eh?”

“Cap’s on his way in.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“You want an answer don’t you?!”

“Tony Stark!"  

"Five seconds till he walks in…”

“I hate you!” You complained but ran out of sight anyway, hiding behind a prototype suit.

“No you don’t! Turn your com on.”

“Yes I do!” You shout just before Steve walks in, heading straight to Tony.

“What is it Stark?"    

"Hmm? Oh yeah, I need to test the new recall mechanism on your suit, it’s been malfunctioning?”

“Right? and you needed me here?”

“Yes,” he pulls Steve over and messes with his suit, it’s obvious he’s not really doing anything, to you anyway, “Sooo, Steve…”

God, was he going to be this obvious? You cringed from around the corner.

“Stark? Do you have something you wanna tell me?”

“How about y/n…?”

“Y/n? What has she got to do with my suit?”

“Nothing…except she wants you out of it and in her bed…” If Steve heard that you would actually shove Steve’s shield up Tony’s-

“She’s hot right? Like smart, cute hot with the glasses and…”

“Aren’t you and Pepper a couple again?” 

“Yes, that’s not my point.”

“Then what is?” Steve said, getting fed up. Seriously, Tony, you could do a better job of this!

“Do you like her? I ship it.”

“What? Why do you, I’m not…ship?"  he blushed and got all awkward before composing himself.

"Are you done?”

Steve tests the recall, of course it works and Tony nods. Steve walks out and Tony runs over to you.

“Did you see how flustered the old guy got?” he giggles and you shove him, “He so likes you…”

“How obvious can you be Tony? Why did I ask you for help?”

“Capsicle’s melting y/n!”

—

“Are you sure about this?" 

Tony had Nat sworn to secrecy, her dressing you up in some of her clothes. 

"You wanna get in his pants, you have to take control.”

“I’m not throwing myself at him, Tony.” 

“You might have to.”

“He doesn’t seem the type to go for all this though…”  you frown down at the heels and clingy dress you were wearing, your eyes itching from the contacts he’d convinced you to wear.  How did Nat walk in these heels never mind kill people?

“...and has your ‘scientist chic’ worked so far?" 

Did he actually just do air quotes?

"No-”

“Well, go on, knock him dead…figuratively!”

Tony pushed you through the door giving you a thumbs up, and you stumble into the common room where Steve and Bucky are eating and talking. Your heart beating so fast you thought it might explode in your chest. You took out your lunch as usual and as usual, neither of them noticed you.

“Hi guys.” The confidence you wanted to project only comes out as a whisper and Tony rolls his eyes and sighs at you from the doorway.

“What the?” Bucky spits out his drink and Steve glances up confused, not quite the expression you were going for.

Feel your resolve fading the longer they stare at you and you just stand there staring back at them.

“Y/n? trying out a new look huh?” Bucky mumbled.

“Yeah, its…"  You wobble your way to the empty chair and start eating lunch. You notice Steve looking and lean over the counter like Tony told you puffing out your chest. What did you have to lose at this point?

"So Steve, I er, wanted to…"  you glance up and smile only meeting his eyes for a second before he coughs and jumps up.

"Got to go, got training, yep, training.” he runs out of the kitchen you facepalm the counter, well that went well. 

“Nice try doll,” Bucky gets up to leave too, winking back at you as he leaves, “you scrub up nice." 

Tony pats you on the back, "There there, plan b?”

—

“Wake up!” 

“Come on sleeping beauty!” 

The annoying voice invades your sleep and your eyes reluctantly open. What the hell did he want?  He’s interrupting a perfect dream, you and Steve on a date to Disney World...

“Urgh, fuck off Tony!”

“Steve’s in the gym alone, you need to go down there.”

You sit up rubbing your eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness and checking the time. 

“Tony, why would I be walking through the gym at 5am?”

“Just do it, trust me.” 

“Urgh, fine.” You yawn grabbing a hoodie and shorts and wandering out of your room.

“You could have brushed your hair.”

“Say one more thing…”

You pause as you walk into the gym. Steve’s lifting weights, his abs gleaming with sweat and you lick your lips, entranced.

“Oh…” 

“See, told you. Now when he looks over try to look sexy.”

“Sexy? How?”  

Steve stops what he's doing, putting the bar back and looking up to you with a confused smile, “Y/n?” 

What were you doing? Right. Sexy. Look sexy. Got it. 

“Hey.” You start to walk over, swaying your hips - Nope, not got it!

You don't see the treadmill and go flying, the thud of your ass meeting the floor echoing around the gym.  Steve runs over to see if you’re okay but all you can hear is Tony’s hysterical laughter in your ear.

“I’m okay.” 

“You took quite a fall there.” Steve’s trying to hold in a laugh and his bare chest is way up close to you. So close you want to reach out and touch him. 

“Yep.” You manage to squeak out before legging it out of there, mortified.

When you get to the lab, Tony and Bruce are watching the footage of you. You storm in and click it off and cross your arms seething at Tony.

“You know I’m gonna keep that cctv right?” He smirks and you groan.

“I thought you were supposed to be helping? Now he just thinks I’m crazy!”

“But he has noticed you…”

“I’m just going to give up while I have a tiny bit of dignity left.” Bruce chuckles and you send him a glare, he holds his hands up.

“Wait, just one more idea. Please?” 

You look back to Bruce for support but he shrugs going back to his work. 

“He likes you y/n. I know it.”

“Argh…fine!” Even as you uttered the words you had the feeling you’d regret them.

 —

IronTone:  be in the gym at 9. America’s ass is teaching you self-defence techniques with the new recruits. ;) 

You peered down at your phone in confusion. Tony had already taught you enough to get yourself out of trouble, not that you’d ever been near any action in all the years you’d worked for him anyway. 

Y/n:  He agreed to that? How?

IronTone: I used my charm of course 

Y/n: You have charm? :p

IronTone: Really y/n

I just said he’s the only man for the job, and I'm worried about your safety

after all, it’s dangerous being around me all the time

Y/n: Wow

IronTone: I know, I’m a genius

I’ve left a little something in your closet, don’t forget your com

This was too far, there’s no way you could do this one. It was too much, too obvious. Even by Tony's standards. You held up the vest crop top thing and some skimpy shorts, how could you wear these? this couldn’t be what the recruits wore they were like something from the 80′s.

Sighing you tried them on, cringing at yourself in the mirror and putting your com in your ear.

“Get your ass down there.”

“Isn't this a bit?”

“You look great, now move.”

With a groan, you head to the gym and it’s really busy. Curiously with most of the avengers training, the recruits chatting and watching them. One after another they turn to look at you. 

“Tony, everyone’s looking at me.” You whisper into your com awkwardly standing behind the group of recruits, they’re all dressed in joggers and t-shirts, whispering between themselves. 

“Look sharp here he comes.” 

Steve heads over, searching the recruits for you and you give him a smile and wave. 

“Hey guys, today we’re-erm,” his eyes go wide, looking you over, “erm, we’re covering self-defence again today.”

He collects himself, giving you a quick smile and turning back to the recruits, “Partner up and go over what we’ve learnt so far. Y/n you’re with me.” 

“Good start, y/n.” 

“But I didn’t do anything.” 

The recruits all busy themselves starting to train and your stomach flips when Steve guides you over to a mat. 

“Quick pretend your lace is undone,” you crouch down messing with your laces and Tony groans, “for god's sake not like that!” 

“How am I supposed to know?!” You hiss, standing up again, Steve giving you a funny look.

“You okay?” 

You bite your lip and nod, his eyes going to your lips, “So...yep, let’s start with the basics.”

Wait, did that actually work? 

But it was the only sign. After that, he was as professional as could be. No matter what Tony told you to try, nothing phased him. Not even when you asked him to show how to break a headlock, though you had to admit you enjoyed that one.

“I think that lip thing was just a fluke, can I go home yet?” 

You took a quick drink break, gulping the water down. You were less than unfit and all this was making you start to sweat. 

“Hang on, do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Drink, let a little water dribble down your…” 

You take another drink, ignoring Tony’s dribble comment, but you do notice Steve watching you from the mat, “You ready to go again?” 

“Of course.”

“Make him catch you, always works.” Tony suggests, and you roll your eyes.  

“So I have to hold my arm like this?”  Steve nods and moves to attack you, while you ‘accidentally’ trip over the edge of the mat and fall backwards with a yelp. Steve catches you with one hand around your waist, bringing you back up against him. 

“Wow, nice reflexes,” You smirk, “you really saved me there.” 

“Now go for the kill.”  Tony whispers, why you don't know as only you can hear him.

“Maybe we should have started slower.” 

His voice is a little shaky and you let one hand drift down his arm, leaning close to whisper in his ear, “I was thinking, maybe you could teach me more in private?”

This time you do fall, when he jumps away from you. 

"What the…young lady, you’re scaring me!” 

Young lady?! 

“Fuck it! I give up!”

Hear his gasp, more shocked at your outburst than what you’d just done. You pick yourself up and start walking away from him, yanking the com out of your ear as you go.

"Language!” Steve shouts after you, getting the attention of the rest of the team and the other recruits, they all turn to wattch you both, nothing but amusement in their eyes.

“English!” You shout back. 

“Actually that was German!” he shouts, pausing before he shouts again, “Why are we shouting?!”

You turn back to him as the room erupts into laughter, “Why do you think?! God Steve!”   

You’d made an idiot out of yourself for the last time. You had your answer and you weren’t sticking around to see Tony and the others laughing at you.

Before you get to the exit, Steve pulls you away to the side, "Y/n I’m flattered, but what’s got into you?"  

Flattered? Well, if that doesn’t make you feel even worse. 

"I told Tony you didn’t see me like that, but he was convinced you liked me!”

“You? What?" Steve chuckles and you take it wrong storming off.

"Hey, wait.” 

Steve holds your arms rubbing them, “You asked Tony Stark for relationship advice? Are you crazy?”

“Maybe a little.” 

“I preferred it when you were yourself, all this crazy shit? I’m not ready for that.”

”Language.“ you smirk, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

"Always had a thing for shy broads, smart, cute…” he tilts your face to meet his, nose brushing yours, “I was working up to asking you to dinner and a movie.”

“Steve I’ve known you for a year, you never got past hello.”

“Yeah, it took longer than I hoped," Steve smiled and kissed you, quick and gentle, the barest touch of his lips against yours.

"So doll, will you go to dinner with me?”

—

Masterlist 

Tags:  @goal-mine, @officialstegosaurus, @bugalouie, @iamtheonewhocares, @itsdarkwitch, @iamwarrenspeace, @n0th0, @bywonater​, @wellfuckbuck​, @tremilyteapot​​, @deidreexx​​, @the-sassy-slytherin92​​, @ginger-wayward-assbutt @emrysaaryn​​ @slushilie​  @scarlettglowss @creativehiddles

(Add/remove yourself from my taglist here :) or send a message x)

[hanschenrilow]

me and sam @ernnst's takes on modern au clothing styles...

Melchior — Melchior is a fan of never wearing a shirt so whenever he’s hanging out casually with his friends he doesn’t wear one. But when he has to be human and go in public he literally dresses like an 80s teen movie character… like he wears striped or floral patterned button-ups (and Hawaiian shirts) tucked into shorts. He literally only owns shirts like that. He also does that Teen Boy thing where he wears a jean jacket over like…a gray pullover hoodie with jeans. He also wears Converse like Moritz but they’re new and not like 6 years old. He also wears reading glasses.

Moritz — Moritz wears flannels all the time and he’s one of those guys that wears the same jacket every day because he’s insecure but that’s usually just when he’s in public or around anyone that isn’t his 4 friends. He also has owned the same pair of Converse since like 8th grade and he wears them every. single. day. and they’re busted as hell but they’re his favorite. He owns a bunch of lame early 2000s punk band t-shirts (like Green Day and The Cure) and flannels. and like 2 pairs of jeans. That’s all he rotates and we love him for it.

Hanschen — Hanschen dresses like… business casual. He always wears leather Oxfords (you will never catch him in casual shoes unless he’s fuckin hiking or something) and button-ups (but like. t-shirt ones) and slacks and he also wears sock garters completely earnestly (there’s an inherent horny energy behind wearing garters of any sort which is 80% of why he does it). He also wears sweaters but they’re like nice expensive sweaters so they aren’t cutesy like Ernst’s… he wears normal t-shirts from time to time but again they’re expensive. He also probably always wears an expensive leather watch because that’s his aesthetic. He wears jeans probably like… once a month. He’s generally just clean and well put together though.

Ernst — Ernst dresses like he shops exclusively at Old Navy and The Gap (because he does and his mom buys him all of his clothes)… He wears sweaters over button-up shirts or just sweaters with slacks and he’s fucking cute. He unironically wears sweaters with cats all over them (or any other tacky patterns) because he likes fun prints… his gay style is campy and he rocks it. He likes funky socks as well and he’s always cold so he always wears sweaters even in the summertime (in the winter he also wears sweaters that are way too big for him because he is valid babey). Also he likes wearing Hanschen’s shirts because he is gay 💁 He also wears reading glasses!

Georg — Georg really is the dude who wears the same gray hoodie every single day of his life… and I've said this for like all of them but. Converse… boys be wearing them… he also has his classic geek ass thick glasses of course. He owns a bunch of merch shirts tbh like for video games and (even though he stopped wearing them in 9th grade bc cringe) anime.

Otto — Otto shops exclusively at thrift stores but he makes it work by dressing as tacky as possible and being ironic about it. He wears super weird thrift shop shirts that have brand names that don't exist anymore and slogans for companies from the 30s or just things that don't apply to him at all ('World's Best Grandma'). He has no sense of style but he makes it work by pretending it's just a joke. He has also been known to wear ugly patterned Hawaiian shirts and really brightly colored windbreakers from the 90s.

Wendla — Wendla genuinely just dresses like how she does in DWSA… She likes wearing sundresses and floral prints and cardigans with them cute little boots. She also definitely has a collection of barrettes and bobby pins that she puts in her hair that have flowers or butterflies on them.

Ilse — Ilse's style is art lesbian in which she wears overalls or sweaters/shirts tucked into jeans with boots… she has like a collection of different patterned Doc Martens. BUT she also likes wearing long skirts ("bohemian" I guess you could call it) with tons of jewelry (especially necklaces and rings) and floral patterns. There's no way of knowing which style she'll choose on a certain day tbh.

Anna — Anna wears Lots of jean. Jean skirts...jean shorts...jean jackets. She also owns a ton of quirky slogan t-shirts and also she really likes the color yellow. She wears scrunchies a lot and exclusively wears white Keds that she colored on in 9th grade with every outfit. Anna also wears a lot of those slogan baseball caps… like the ones that say 'bad hair day' and such. She never wears makeup except for like, eyeliner on occasion.

Martha — Martha's style is like...academic. She likes wearing plaid and earthy tones. She also mildly dresses like how she does in DWSA (especially the boots). I can also see her wearing different types of hats tbh. Martha is also really into the 40s style so she would be wearing red lipstick a lot… and if she's wearing pants they're never jeans they're like cigarette pants or dungarees.

Thea — Thea likes...corduroy. She wears dresses on top of sweaters… ballet flats… her hair always in braids or a braid. She doesn't really wear anything shorter than her knees or anything with slogans or brands tbh it's mainly solid colors or prints like polka dots.

[adampage]

Cowboy Shit

Adam Page, Word count: 1,989

(Note from Emi robwiethoff: this isn’t mine, a very nice anon wrote this for me and I love them for it) 

You forced yourself to look up from the bar when you heard the door open. You could feel your breath get caught in your throat as the handsome cowboy started making his way over to the bar, where you were tending. He was tall, muscular, he had to have been at least six tall and you couldn’t help but try to imagine the abs he probably had under that tight, black button up shirt he was wearing. You didn’t want him to think you were checking him out, so your eyes finally met his and you thought you were gonna lose it. Even his eyes were gorgeous! Deep dark blue eyes that shined in comparison to the blonde stubble on his chin. Fuck.

“Can I get something started for you?” You asked, your voice cracking slightly. It was a small town, everyone knew everyone. But you didn’t know the stranger in front of you. And he was so gorgeous that you were sure that you’d remember his handsome face.

“I’ll start with a beer, thanks miss,” he said as he sat down. You nodded, taking a cold beer out of the fridge behind you and pouring it carefully onto a tall glass. You kept your eyes down as you served it to him, the last thing you wanted to do was stare at him, but that was battle you would soon lose. As you looked up at him, he gave you a small smile, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you returned it.

“What brings you here?” You asked him, once traffic at the bar had slowed down.

“I wanted some beer,” he replied, making you hold back a sigh.

“I meant this town. What brings you to this shithole? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

He chuckled, and you felt you were going to melt at how deep and sexy his laugh was. His voice was husky and deep as is, but his laugh was even better.

“I’d hope this town isn’t a shithole, I just got a job here. I’m the new teacher at Hollow Creek.”

He’s cute, and he’s smart? Who gave him the right?

“Hollow Creek, huh? You know all those kids there are super bratty. They’re real annoying,” you lied, knowing damn well those kids were the most well behaved kids in the state, “That’s why their last teacher left. Couldn’t handle it anymore.” Their last teacher had retired after 50 years of teaching, but you wanted to see where his heart was at, so you kept up the lie.

The man smirked, “Look at you, little liar! I’ve heard nothing but good things about the students. And their last teacher is like 80, so I don’t think they annoyed her away.“

You blushed, “Just testing you. What’s your name anyways?”

“Hangman.” You snickered at how ridiculous that sounded, causing him to blush and roll his eyes. “Okay, fine. It’s Adam. But don’t underestimate the things I can do with ropes.” Your eyes widened slightly, picturing him tying you up. Holy shit…

“Um-”

“I’m kidding. I’ll see you around…”

“Eliana,” you told him.

“Eliana. It was nice meeting you.”

The months started to go by in a haze. Every single day after work, Hangman, as you often called him, would come by the bar, order a beer or two and just chat with you. The two of you started to grow close, and your feelings for him also started to grow. He was sweet, funny, and caring. Every time he would laugh or smile, his eyes would shine, and that was enough to make whatever worries you had go away. Tonight was different. When Adam walked into the bar, he slumped down into his usual seat, head hanging down.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked him, as you reached to give him a beer.

“No beer. Give me whiskey. Strongest one you’ve got,” he said, halting you from opening the beer.

“Adam…” you started. It was rare that you called you Adam, you always called him Hangman as a joke, but this time was much more serious.

“Last I checked, you’re not supposed to ask me questions. Just get me some whiskey, dammit,” he snapped, completely taking you by surprise. Sadly he was right, you didn’t have a right to question or judge what customers were ordering. But it still made you sad. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to keep your face blank. As you grabbed the bottle of whiskey, your hands shook slightly. It was an extra effort not to drop it, but you poured it into a shot glass and served it to Adam.

“As you wish,” you mumbled, not liking how upset he looked. His eyes met yours, and he furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to read your face. He quickly down the shot, wincing after.

“Two more,” he ordered, and you wordlessly poured him two more shots. You walked away, needing to tend the other people at the bar, and also needing to get away from him. You didn’t know what was wrong with him, but you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for talking about it.

As you served a vodka and orange to Cassidy, the ginger guy who didn’t have a job but was seemingly always spending money somehow, Adam waved you over, calling your name. When you finished serving Cassidy, you begrudgingly walked back over to Adam.

“Three more,” he ordered.

“What’s with you tonight? You’re not your usual self,” you commented, serving him the shots. He downed them extremely quickly, and you knew he was going to get drunk in no time. You wanted to cut him off, but by policy, he could order two more before you did have to cut him off.

“What, just cause you’re all worry free all the time doesn’t mean I am! Some of us have shit to do, El. Life isn’t just handing out beer and whiskey to men that stare at you and flirt with you,” he snapped, making your jaw drop.

You glared at him, “It’s a job, Adam. No one even flirts with me. What’s your problem tonight? What crawled up your ass?”

“You don’t think these men are flirting with you? Why else would half of these assholes come here everyday? To drink? There’s a liquor store two miles away. Besides, don’t you have a fucking date with Cassidy?”

You raised your eyebrows at him, “What?”

He leaned over, getting a little too close for comfort, “You tell me. You’re the one fucking him.” He stood up, angrily getting out of his seat and leaving.

You didn’t know where the fuck he was getting his information, but he was dead wrong. “Orange” Cassidy did indeed ask you out the night before, as Hangman was leaving the bar, but you had rejected him. You had eyes for one cowboy, all you wanted was your Hangman.

The next day, Adam walked back into the bar, and you were relieved to see him. He didn’t even sit down, he just pulled out his wallet.

“I need to pay my tab off,” he said, eyes not meeting yours. Adam normally paid part of his tab, but he never tried to pay all of it off at once. Which meant he had no intention of coming back.

“Yo-you’re not coming back?” Your voice cracked, frowning as you looked at him. “I don’t understand. Adam…”

“I won’t come back, no. Beer is cheaper at the liquor store.”

“Did I do something that hurt you? Adam, I didn’t do anything with-”

“Eliana. It’s okay. You can do whatever with whoever you want. I just… I think I’m kind of over the whole bar scene.”

You frowned, “Adam… I-”

“No, El. Can you just show me my tab please so I can get out of here?”

You felt your eyes water and you grabbed the tab and handed it to him. You pouted as he took several bills out of his wallet and set them down. You counted the bills, making sure it added up to the total, and handed him back his change.

“Great,” and that’s the last thing he said.

A few weeks passed, and Hangman didn’t return to the bar. Every night, you got your hopes up, but he still didn’t come back. Eventually Cassidy asked you out again, and you declined once more. You thought you were heart broken, and you couldn’t get Adam out of your head. It seemed ridiculous, considering the fact you were only friends, but you wanted more. Your heart longed for him, hoping the moment where he’d wrap his arms around you and kiss you would finally come. But now you never saw him anymore. Not even on the streets, not around the shops, nowhere. You missed your friend. The way he bit his lip sometimes when he smiled at you, the way he tried to tell corny jokes at you to make you laugh.

When you locked up the bar, you could hear someone behind you, which startled you. You turned around, placing a hand over your heart. Adam stared back at you, wearing light blue jeans, his red button shirt was unbuttoned, showing his white t-shirt underneath. Surely enough he was wearing his usual cowboy boots, he often said he had wear them because they were “Cowboy shit.”

“You closing up?” He asked, his voice strained, not holding the usual confidence that he spoke with.

“Yeah, but I’d make an exception for you,” you said, eager to have him back in your life. You just wanted him back, anyway you could get him.

“Yeah? Why? I don’t deserve it.”

You sighed, “Just get in here.” You opened the door, and he held it for you as you both walked in. You locked the door behind you, not wanting the people of the town to think you were still open. Adam stood in front of you, immediately resting his hands on your shoulders. You were a lot shorter than him, and it showed, him towering over you.

“I’m really sorry, Eliana. I fucked up a lot, and I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I talked to Cassidy today and I realized how much of an idiot I’ve been. Look, I genuinely enjoy your friendship and I don’t want you to think I was getting close to you just because I had a crush on you. I think you’re funny, you’re the sweetest person I’ve met in my life, but it was really hard for me when I thought you were dating Cassidy. I want you, and I want to be with you, and I thought you were with him, but he told me that you rejected him. I’m really sorry I was such an ass. I shouldn’t have been as immature as I was, and I never meant to hurt you. I don’t know how you feel about me, but there’s my apology, and I hope we can at least be friends again.”

“Adam, I’m pretty sure it’s against the cowboy rule book to turn your back on your friends. Especially one who really cares about you.”

You were ready to forgive him, but you kind of wanted to make him work for it a little.

“Oh, you got a copy of the cowboy rule book?” He joked, smiling down at you.

“Yeah, well, I kind of got feelings for some clown who thinks he’s all about that cowboy shit,” you retorted, smirking at him. His face lit up, when he realized that he was the cowboy clown, and he leaned down and kissed you. His hands cupped your cheeks, and you moved you arms around his waist, hugging him close to you. When he pulled his lips away from yours, he smiled at you.

“I’ve missed you, Hangman,” you said, finally able to get what you’ve wanted.

“I’ve missed you too, El.”

________________________

NONNIE IM STRAIGHT UP SQUEALING THIS WAS SO GOOD IM SLDKFJSLDKFJSLDHSJKDFGHSKFJGHSKFDJHSKDJFHSHS HE’S JUST TOO CUTE HE’S TOO ADORABLE I AM SCREAMINGGGG THANK U NONNIE I LOVE IT SO MUCH AND JUST??? HE GOT SO HORRIBLY JEALOUS BUT HE CAME BACK AND APOLOGIZED AN SDLFSDKFJHSDJ THANK YOU

[the-captains-ayebrows]

Deal With It (2/2)

Rival Poker Players AU.  Emma Swan, poker hustler with more than just card tricks up her sleeve, meets Killian Jones, a fellow gambler, at a shady little casino down south. After a memorable first encounter, they seem to keep finding each other, but are they really ready to gamble with their hearts? Emma just doesn’t know if she can deal with it.

Rating: T for swearing and innuendo, Word Count ~2800 (this chapter)

[AO3 link] [Chapter 1]

A/N:This is not where I meant to end the story. I think we can end it here and be ok, but I also have about two more chapters worth of ideas for this AU. So, here's the deal: we'll say this is done for now, and there may be a sequel or bonus material if I ever get around to it.

This chapter is dedicated to @snowbellewells for her beta-ing and encouragement and to @wheres-your-rum for a really great liveblog the other day that made me think maybe I should keep posting things.  Thanks guys!

It's not like Emma was looking for Hook. Not really. It's just that it’s kind of hard to avoid someone if you don't know where they are. So, she kept a casual ear open for mentions of his name. Casually. And someone might have casually mentioned in passing that he might be playing in a tournament in Deadwood. Obviously she had to come here and check it out - to make sure her informational sources were accurate. Or something.

It isn't like she's going to let him see her. That would be incredibly counterproductive. She did take the guy for a few grand after all. Not that it didn't kind of serve him right because who the hell keeps that kind of cash on them? But still… better if he never actually sees her. She did the jail thing once. No intentions of going back.

Then again, she has been doing a lot better at the tables since their little encounter. Honestly, at the rate she's winning, she'll have enough money saved up for her entry fee for Vegas a month ahead of time. It's almost like robbing him ( kissing him ) changed her luck for the better. Gamblers are nothing if not superstitious creatures. Maybe, possibly, one more rendezvous and a little bit more good luck will rub off on her. Yep. Luck. That’s what she wants to rub off.

Besides, he was winning last time. That really chaps her ass. Like she told him, she was having an off day. A good run of bad luck. She needs a rematch to settle the score. Take him down a notch. He really is too damn cocky for his own good, all that swagger and smirk. Except that his swaggering, smirking self doesn’t seem to be here.

Emma turns slowly on her bar stool, swirling the teensy plastic sword piercing the olives in her dirty martini and holding in her huff of annoyance as she surveys the gaming tables, once again finding them Hook-free. Hookless? Whatever.

Emma lifts the little sword to her mouth and slides an olive off with her teeth. Maybe her timing is just off. It looks like a few of the tournament tables are on a break between rounds, but she’s getting antsy. Maybe she should down the rest of her drink and head to another casino. She’s wearing her favorite little red dress tonight, the one that hugs every curve. She is here to work after all. It’s not like she wore it for anyone in particular. It’s for the marks. It shouldn’t be hard for her to pick up a few-

“Now be a good girl and play along, because you bloody well owe me.”

Emma nearly chokes on her olive and that’s probably the only thing that keeps her from whirling around and punching Hook in the face. How the fuck did he manage to sneak up on her?

She coughs, clearing the traces of olive from her windpipe, and the hot breath on the shell of her ear turns to a quick peck on the cheek. She’s furious that he got the drop on her, but she doesn’t know what kind of game he’s playing yet, so she reins it in. Hook steps around to face her, a wide, innocent smile curving his lips, though his eyes are deadly serious.

“Darling, so sorry for startling you, but I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I was just telling these nice gentlemen here-” he gestures to the pair of brutes walking up behind him, “that I couldn’t possibly play a hand without my favorite lucky charm.”

Emma gives him a saccharine smile. “Would that be the blue diamonds or purple horseshoes?”

Hook barks out a forced laugh. “Ha! See boys? That’s why I love her. That delightful sense of humor. Now, if you lads will excuse me for a moment, I’ll join you at the table presently.” He claps one of the men on the shoulder and they amble away to take seats at one of the poker tables leaving Emma and Hook alone.

Hook watches them go, making sure they’re settled and not paying attention to him anymore before he turns again to Emma, that familiar smirk back in its rightful place.

Emma's vapid expression falls away, quickly replaced with an annoyed glare. “You’re pretty damn pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

"Careful, sweetheart , they could look our way at any moment," Hook warns with a wicked grin. "And yes, I rather am. Fancy seeing you here. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Panic flashes through her at the question. Oh, you know, just low-key stalking you so I’d never have to see you again which is completely logical and not at all creepy. She hopes he can’t read the real answer on her face, but thankfully he chooses that moment to reach out with his hook and brush a lock of hair back from her shoulder. The easy familiarity of the gesture irritates her - irritation is much easier to deal with than the way his stupid blue eyes are doing things to her stomach - so she deepens her scowl and does what she does best: deflect and distract.

"Oh, no. No. We're not talking about me right now. What kind of scam are you running on the Big and Scary twins?" She gestures subtly with her almost empty drink to Hook's companions. Tall, broad and with matching ginger hair indicating some kind of familial relationship, each man looks as though he could bench press a horse.

"The Stabbington brothers over there - and yes, so help me that's their true surname - seem to think I owe them the opportunity to win back the considerable sum of money that they lost to me over a game of dice."

"Were said dice loaded?”

He cocks an eyebrow and shrugs. “Not that they know of.”

“And this all has what to do with me?" Emma crosses her arms beneath her breasts and doesn’t miss the flicker of his eyes down to her cleavage.

"Well, first of all, I'd like for them to be thinking about your neckline rather than their cards when you come over and kiss me on the neck in a few minutes."

"And then?" Emma didn’t miss the brightening of his expression that she hadn’t outright refused his scheme.

"And then I'd like an extra set of eyes on them to make sure they don't attempt to live up to their name when I win again."

Emma nods. "So you want me to watch your back while they’re watching my front. Got it. And you couldn't have just asked me without scaring the shit out of me first?"

Hook narrows his eyes. "Given the nature of our last encounter, I didn't wish to give you the chance to get away. You do owe me, Swan, and don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second."

Emma fixes him with her most sarcastic smile. "I'd despair if you did." She huffs a sigh. "What if I’m not interested? You don’t really have me in a helping mood right now, pal."

"I suppose I could report you to security and get you banned from every casino in town."

Emma's eyes widen and she lowers her voice to a threatening hiss. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I'm quite daring, love. Don't you doubt that. But…” He pauses, letting his eyes roam over her face, studying her. “I think you are interested, and I'd much rather work with you than against you. I propose a bargain. Simple, really. You help me and I'll give you a cut of whatever I win."

"Half."

"Not a chance. 80-20. My 80, your 20 to be clear."

"Not worth it. 60-40."

Hooks features twist into a tight-lipped grimace of annoyance. "If we stand here arguing, you'll be getting 100% of nothing, as will I. Although I may get the parting gift of a broken limb from our friends over there. I'm already down one appendage, I'd prefer to keep those that remain in top form."

Emma leans back against the bar and slowly sips the last of her cocktail. "Then quit arguing with me and give me 40%."

Hook drops his head in defeat, and Emma beams knowing she’s won. He lifts his eyes to hers again, and she’s sure he’s trying to be all commanding and intense, but she can see a hint of mirth dancing in those baby blues. The bastard is actually looking forward to this.

"Fine. But you'd better earn it, love. I need you to be quite convincing as the adoring girlfriend. Feel free to let your hands wander. Don’t be afraid to, you know, really get into it.”

He says it with a scrunch of his nose that has Emma rolling her eyes, but some traitorous part of her is kind of looking forward to this, too. She’s a gambler for God’s sake, the prospect of a little danger and intrigue fires up her pulse. She hasn’t run a two-person job since…

And just like that the spark fizzles out. Hook seems to notice the change, but doesn’t comment, only cants his head to the side in question. Emma braces herself, her old defenses rising, but he doesn’t ask. He just snaps his own mask back into place, and gives her thigh a squeeze as he leans in close to her. Her heartbeat begins racing again, but this time for a very different reason.

“Now be a good lass buy us another round. My tab’s open, and I’ll have anything with rum."

Emma has to admit to herself (though certainly not to him ) that she really did enjoy their little game. After getting the drinks, she’d gone with his original request and sashayed over the table, bending very deliberately at the waist to set the glasses down. Rather than immediately taking her seat next to Hook, she’d moved behind his chair, leaning down to loosely drape her arms around his neck and letting the fingers of her right hand slide inside the open collar of his shirt. Not too far - just enough so she could feel the increasing thrum of his heartbeat when she nuzzled into his neck and grazed a kiss across the corded muscle of his throat. He’d swallowed hard as she drew back, her nails scratching through the coarse hair on his chest as she retracted her hand. She’d smiled to herself at that, and couldn’t help leaning close one more time to whisper in his ear, “ For luck .”

Watching Hook play without having to be concerned about playing against him was truly educational. His powers of perception impressed her, and the few tells and signals he seemed to miss, she was able to silently communicate to him with a subtle glance, brush of her hand or nudge to his leg. He never ignored her cues, either, trusting her instincts as much as his own. Well, except that one time…

“Why the devil did you make me throw that last hand, Swan? I had them!”

It’s hours later and with several hundred dollar bills tucked into her bra, Emma sits next to Hook at the bar for a celebratory drink.

“I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to fold-”

“After you slid your hand up my leg all the way to my-”

“You said feel free to let my hands wander.”

Hook leans toward her and raises a dark eyebrow in challenge. “And how is a man supposed to concentrate when you’re taking such liberties with him? You knew I would fold.”

Emma leans in as well, propping her elbow on the bar. “I knew you needed to fold. You’d won too many hands. I’d already sweet talked the one with the gold teeth into backing down when he started reaching for the knife in his boot. I didn’t want to have to schmooze the one with the eye-patch, too.”

Hook laughs lightly at that. “You were bloody brilliant, Swan. Those dolts were powerless against you.”  

He’s practically beaming at her with something that looks almost like pride, and Emma has no idea what to do with that. She doesn’t know what to do with him at all. He’s her competition, but here they are working together - pretty seamlessly if she’s honest about it. And what’s with all this supportive crap? She’s used to guys wanting something from her, to use her to stroke their ego or their cock. But this guy? She can tell he’s attracted to her, but all this other stuff - the listening to her, the actually seeming impressed with her - it’s confusing and unsettling.

To make matters worse, he’s just as likable, kissable, fuckable, everything- able as she remembered, and lord, has she been remembering. As much as she tries NOT to think about it, their kiss drifts into her mind at the most inopportune times. Like right now.

She takes a sip of her gin and tonic (no more olives for her tonight), and brushes off his compliment. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I saved your ass.”

“Cheers to that.” He raises his glass and she clinks hers against it, but before he drinks, he asks, “How did you know he had a knife in his boot?”

Emma had been waiting for this question and times her answer just as he’s taking his sip of rum. “I was playing footsie with him under the table.”

Hook half chokes on his drink and splutters, “You what?”

Gotcha.  Emma shrugs, letting a little of her internal gloating show on her face. “Hey, you told me to keep them distracted. You were no help at all.” She flicks her wrist to backhand him on the shoulder. “You kept antagonizing him! You’re a really shitty damsel in distress, you know that?”

Hook chuckles, rubbing his hook gingerly over the imaginary bruise she’s apparently left on his arm, then leans closer and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Ah, but I make up for it with my many other talents.”

His voice is laden with innuendo, and it’s cheesy as hell, and yet it’s all Emma can do to stop herself from shifting in her seat at the mental images he inspires. She manages to limit her outward physical response to a dramatic eye roll.  “Hm. At least you won enough money to make this worthwhile.”

“Aye, that I did. You know, I don’t mean to upset you Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

Emma stiffens at the word ‘team’, unwanted memories from her past returning for the second time tonight. “I work alone. This was a-”

“One-time thing? I seem to have heard that before.”

Emma ignores him, trying to change the subject. “What were you doing playing absolutely-not-loaded dice with those guys anyway? I thought you were supposed to be here for the poker tournament.”

She sees the change in his expression the second her words register and clenches her glass until her knuckles turn white, cursing herself internally for the slip.

“And how would you know I was entered in the tourney?”

Emma presses on. “Why loaded dice? I thought you never cheated. All that bullshit about good form?”

His brows furrow in offense, and Emma relaxes a little, thinking she’s successfully diverted him again. “I don’t consider good form to be bullshit, Swan, and I never cheat at cards. But... “ and here he gives her a rather pointed look, “some pickings are a bit too easy to pass up.”

“Touche.”

“And speaking of easy pickings…” Hook looks disdainfully at the half-empty glass in his hand. “This swill is hardly worthy of our celebration, but I did happen to appropriate a very fine bottle of top shelf rum from a storage closet round back that someone had thoughtfully left unlocked.”

“Stealing rum? Loaded dice? You really are a pirate.”

Oh, and there’s the smirk, this time with added smolder. “What do you say, Swan? Fancy a nightcap?”

A little thrill runs through her at the prospect. Nope. No way. Definitely not. Terrible idea. “Yeah.” A small smile tilts the corners of her lips. “I mean, we need to keep up our cover act in case those goons are still around. We should at least be seen going upstairs together.” Dammit.

He answers with a dazzling grin and neatly steps down from his bar stool, extending his hooked arm to help her do the same. She grasps the hook and alights from her stool, but for a split second she sees emotion flash behind his eyes, gone before she can decipher it. He seems frozen in place, his face a blank slate. It takes her giving him a little tug with the hand still holding his hook to get him moving.

“Come on, pirate. Show me to the rum.”

[rockybalfeatherboa]

More B&T headcanons

More hc

-Ted has his haircut bc he pretty much just showed the barber a picture of Dee Dee Ramone

-Bill can (casually) dress pretty well but ted is the one who usually needs,,,a lil help

-he gains a better sense of fashion after high school when he moves in with bill tho

-every time they drink together ted does this lil hip swivel fists up dance when he’s drunk and bill absolutely hates it

-bills mom used to be a bad ass biker gang chick w a lot of tattoos but now she’s in jail,,,she’s really sweet and bill and his dad go to visitation often (sometimes ted tags along and he’s always so excited!! To see !!! mama s. preston esquire !!!!)

-they only have like 2 classes together but they sit with each other at lunch

-they’re both passing English but uhh not too well in everything else

-they’re in and out of detention a lot only sometimes bc they won’t stop talking and giggling during class but mostly bc of tardies

-they have learned how to have basically entire conversations thru facial expressions

-Bill can forge his dad’s signature perfectly and as far as Eugene Preston Esq. knows nothing happens at school

-Ted has a B+ in chemistry bc he cheats his motherfuckin ASS off !!!

-ted loves his dad and capt. Logan loves ted but they just,,,,are very out of touch w each other.. Ted’s dad is super old fashioned (according to the cartoon he’s a republican yikes!) and doesn’t really understand Ted’s personality or the new hip times of San Dimas 1988.. i like to imagine their dynamic like Eric and Red Forman

-both bill and ted place heavy metal and rock as their #1 music taste but synth and gangsta rap come very close

-Bill almost knows an entire cheerleading routine from watching them when they practice

-Ted and Deacon are so cool as brothers they have sworn to never snitch on each other to their dad

-missy is not a dumb hoe!!! Or a gold digger or sugar baby!!!,,,she’s just a super hopeless romantic and falls in and out of love easily, and her charms make men wanna propose to her every one luvs missy she’s so good!!

-ok ppl will admit she’s a lil weird,,,but very cool as well 😎

-Ted had to keep taking the driving test over and over bc he keeps hitting the cones and the only reason he got he license is bc one instructor got so tired of him always bein in the DMV she just passed him anyway

-Bill and ted give each other DIY piercings all the time and the only ones that don’t close up are the ones in their ears and even those got infected (once)

-like for example bill tried to pierce Ted’s nose and they already had enough trouble trying to get the nose ring thru the hole (that was bleeding a lot), but then his body just kinda ,,rejected the (cheap) jewelry over time and the hole closed up in like 2 weeks

-Bill was able to hide his shoulder tattoo from his dad for about half a year before they took a trip to the water park and had to do some explaining real fucking quick

-Ted loves Van Halen and especially David lee Roth and one time got a Charlie horse from trying to do those high kick jumps

-Ted’s dad is the type of guy to stand up in his living room and salute when the national anthem plays on tv and ted and deacon think that shit is so corny

-Bills dad tries so hard to be the hip cool dad bill kinda thinks it’s embarrassing but he loves the freedom he gets

-Bill n ted tried to recruit ppl for Wyld Stallyns but not too many ppl at school were interested and Deacon wasn’t really either.. they weren’t too bummed out bc they have big dreams about getting Eddie Van Halen

-Ted will only let go of a hug if u let go first

-Bill has a major crush on Christina Applegate as Kelly Bundy and pretty much only watches the show for her

-At deacon’s baseball games Capt. Logan is pretty quiet until something good happens then he stands up and goes “thaT’S MY SON!!!!! THATS MY SON!!!!! “

-he gets uncomfortable when ted tried to hug him (bc of old fashioned values about guys hugging and toxic masculinity) but he lets it happen,, ted goes all in while Capt. Logan gives a half hearted hug back but ted is oblivious to this

-Bill has glasses but doesn’t wear em bc his vision isn’t *that* bad but he pulls em out whenever he needs to read a sign from super far way

-before they settled on “Wyld Stallyns” bill and ted have considered the following: Rat Piss (with drawn logo provided by bill of a hand squeezing the piss out of a rat), Silk Angel, Jayne Mansfield’s Head, and Loins o’ Fire,,,,they wanted to be Van Halen so fucking bad

-Deacon jokingly suggested “The Brothers Bonehead” but they were just like shut up Deacon

-Ted could (and absolutely will!) inhale an entire jar of pickles

-same thing for bill but except with Kings Hawaiian bread rolls (were those a thing in the 80s-90s?? ah who cares)

-they’re both ticklish but especially Bill !!!!!

-every Christmas is just a battle of “idk dude what do YOU want?”

-whenever bill gets nervous her gets a slight lisp it’s kinda like the S sounds as a “thzhz” sound but it’s very very unnoticeable unless ur really listening

-Ted’s laugh is the purest sound to touch ur ears,,,heart emoji

-and bill has a lovely singing voice it’s so clear and deep and so nice ted and everyone loves it

-Ted wears a bandana sometimes,,he looks cute ,, just putting that out there

-also ted used to love dinosaurs and reading about them ,, he still does but just doesn’t read about them as much anymore but his love for dinos is still 💯