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hairstevington · 1 year ago

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Do I wanna know?

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Somewhere in the multiverse, there is a world where everyone has a choice - If you had the option of reading a list of everyone who's ever been in love with you, would you do it?

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Modern day AU sort of?? It's not based in realism, just go with it. Best friends to lovers, Robin & Steve & Eddie all live together because I said so, mutual pining, fluff, confession of feelings, lots of denial but they figure it out eventually

A/N: This idea came to me during my stats class, and then it became very difficult to continue focusing on my stats class. (I wrote it as soon as we were dismissed lol). Enjoy this cute little Steddie one shot! Ao3 link here :)

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“Dude, did you see what they just announced?” Steve asked as he played video games with Eddie.

“Yeah, it’s some wild shit,” Eddie replied. “How is it even possible?”

“I think it’s fake,” Robin called from the kitchen as she made them all pizza rolls.

“Not fake,” Steve insisted. “I was reading about it on the internet and a bunch of people are saying it’s legit.”

“Well, if you read it on the internet, it must be true,” Robin remarked sarcastically.

“Whatever,” Steve said. “I’m gonna get mine and find out.”

The deal was that, somehow, everyone had the option of getting a list of statistics about their lives. It was advertised with a variety of categories to look through - some of them could have been retrieved through bank statements and background checks, like the number of countries visited, money spent, etc. Other categories (let’s be real, the most intriguing categories), were far more mysterious.

Number of near-death experiences. Every book you’ve read, with a total word count. And, the most exciting of the bunch - How many people have been in love with you, and who.

“Don’t waste your money or your time,” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s bullshit. Probably just another way for the government to squeeze more money out of us.”

“Come on, it’s not some conspiracy, Eds,” Steve replied. “I’m just curious, that's all.”

“Oh, I bet,” Robin chimed in. “Just be honest and admit you want to know about the love thing. You and your ego, Dingus.” Steve smiled. He couldn’t argue with her.

“As if you’re not also dying to read yours,” he countered.

“I’m pretty sure mine would just hurt my feelings,” Robin said with a sigh. “Robin Buckley - loved by her platonic soulmate Steve Harrington and Creepy Carl from band camp.” Eddie snickered.

“Carl wasn’t that creepy,” he said.

“You’re only saying that because you were also kind of creepy in high school,” she replied. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Eddie responded with a shrug. “But I think I speak for all former creeps when I say we were just socially stunted and awkward. Most of us grew up to be half-decent people.”

“Way to humble brag,” Steve teased.

“I’m bragging by saying I’m half-decent?” Eddie replied. Steve laughed and nodded. Meanwhile, Robin quickly scrolled through her phone until she stumbled across what she was looking for with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Creepy Carl’s most recent post is about how the patriarchy is a myth.” Steve laughed again and pushed Eddie playfully. Eddie flopped over on the couch and groaned.

“Dammit, Carl, I was rooting for you!” he joked.

“We were all rooting for you, how dare you!” the three of them shouted in unison.

That was, of course, a reference to America’s Next Top Model, which Robin showed the boys clips of one night during a rant about the toxicity and absolute batshit nature of early 2000s reality TV. That quote, for whatever reason, stuck. They had a lot of inside jokes like that.

This is how life had been for the three of them the last few years. They’d become best friends straight out of high school, then all moved in together. Life was comfortable and nice.

Steve somehow convinced Robin that they would both get their lists together. Eddie, on the other hand, downright refused.

“I don’t need any of that shit,” he insisted. “It’s not gonna do me any good, and I’m perfectly fine staying in the dark.”

“Okay, I get it,” Steve said, holding his hands up. “You’re scared and lame, that’s totally okay.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, dickhead,” he replied. “This whole thing is stupid anyway. And - and it’s not like we can seriously trust whatever it says. It’s probably just…all lies, anyway.”

“Yeah, but they’re fun lies,” Robin countered. “It’s like hearing gossip about your own life.”

“Exactly!” Steve agreed. “It’s just for fun.”

“Have your fun, then,” Eddie said devilishly. “I’ll be in my room, not being an idiot.”

Robin and Steve put their names and date of birth into a search engine and, within five minutes, each had their respective documents in their inboxes. Steve opened his immediately and eagerly, skipping past all the boring shit until he found the good stuff.

Number of people who have had crushes on Steve Harrington: 436.

Number of people who have been in love with Steve Harrington: 85.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, looking at the long list of names. He looked up from his phone to see Robin staring at the wall. “Why aren’t you reading?”

“I don’t think I can do it,” she said. “I’m chickening out.” Steve scoffed.

“What? Robs, come on. You already ordered the damn thing.”

“Yeah, but -” She sighed. “But now it’s, like, real.”

“Do you want me to read yours for you?” he asked. She shook her head.

“No, I think I’m just going to keep it unread for now,” she decided. Steve shrugged.

“Okay, if that’s what you want.” Robin scooted herself over on the couch so she could look at Steve’s phone screen.

“Wait, they even have crushes on there?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Jeez, Harrington. That’s quite the list.” Steve smirked, realizing it very much did give him an ego boost. He continued scrolling to see even more categories.

Number of people Steve Harrington has had a crush on: 63.

Jesus, Steve thought to himself. That’s kind of embarrassing. In his defense, some of them were celebrities. He continued reading.

Number of people Steve Harrington has been in love with: 3.

Steve didn’t even have to read the list to know who was on it. He quickly clicked his phone off before Robin could see.

“Hey!” she said. “What was that for? It’s not like there are any secrets between us.”

“No, I just - I’ll read it later,” Steve said.

Robin would usually be right. She was almost completely right. It’s just that Steve had one secret. And it wasn’t even really a secret, it was just something he kept to himself, because it didn’t really matter.

Nancy Wheeler

Robin Buckley

Eddie Munson

He had barely admitted it to himself, honestly. It’s not like anything would happen. Him and Eddie were best friends, and if something was going to happen between them, it would have already happened. Now, they were too close, and living together. It was different. It didn’t matter. Besides, Robin was on his list, and he wasn’t running off to date her.

Steve put his phone away and didn’t check the list again for a couple days.

“So, how’s the list?” Eddie asked one morning as he made a pot of coffee. “You haven’t said anything about it.” Steve shrugged.

“It’s like a million pages long,” Robin chimed in. Eddie clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“That’s not surprising,” he said. “It’s a shame Harrington isn’t much of a reader. It might take him years to get through.” Steve glared at Eddie, who grinned in response.

“Are you ever going to stop poking fun at me about that?” he wondered.

“Aaaaabsolutely not,” Eddie replied. “Steve, The Hobbit is 310 pages. 310. Even one page a day you would have been done in a year, and you’re still not done.”

“Okay, listen,” Steve responded defensively. “It’s not my kind of book, alright?”

“He likes the ones with the pictures,” Robin teased. Eddie laughed and high-fived her.

“Wooow, okay,” Steve replied. “I see how it is. I’m just gonna grab my cereal and go, then.”

“Nooo, don’t leave on our behalf,” Eddie said.

“We’re soorrrryyyyyy,” Robin added. Steve chuckled and shook his head.

“Whatever,” he resigned. “I haven’t read the damn list. Not all of it, anyway.” Robin’s ears perked up.

“But you’ve read some of it, right?” she asked. “Spill!”

“Just the first ten names or so,” Steve said. He had gotten a glimpse when he skimmed over it the first time. “I think it’s in chronological order.”

“Anyone surprising?” Eddie wondered. Steve shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Although it did confirm my suspicion that Katie Crystal was into me, after all.”

“I’m thinking maybe I should read mine,” Robin said quietly.

“Yeah, well duh,” Eddie replied. “You paid for it.”

“It’s just - it’s not a big deal, right?” Steve looked at Eddie to survey his reaction. Eddie just shrugged. “It’s like you said, Eds. We don’t even know if it’s accurate.”

Steve didn’t really know if all of it was accurate, but some of it sure as shit was.

“Exactly,” Eddie agreed. “So, Steve, there’s a chance that Katie Crystal actually hated your guts. Who’s to say?”

Steve rolled his eyes. Another few days passed.

Robin flip-flopped between whether or not she wanted to read her list every few hours or so. Steve and Eddie placed their bets on how long it would take her to crack.

Meanwhile, Steve counted his lucky stars that Eddie decided not to buy his list. It was clear that they were bros and nothing more, so Eddie finding out would have made everything incredibly weird.

This was for the best.

Things carried on as they usually did, until one day Steve was so bored, he decided to revisit the godforsaken document. Plus, he’d been on a few dates that ended in disaster, and reading about the hundreds of people that were into him was bound to put him in good spirits.

He had no idea just how right he was.

The names were all relatively normal. Steve tended to know when girls had a thing for him, especially back in high school. There were some names he didn’t recognize, which meant that there were total strangers crushing on him. He wondered how that was even possible. Like, at that point, they were just basing it on looks and vibes alone.

Eh. Steve had crushes on people in the past over less. He kept reading.

He made his way down the list until he reached Eddie’s name. He read it again and again to make sure he was seeing it right.

Eddie had said repeatedly that this thing could be total bullshit, though. Steve had to take it all with a grain of salt. Besides, crushes meant nothing. Hell, Steve was pretty sure Eddie had mentioned once that he thought Steve was hot when they first became friends.

Steve made his way to the list of people who’d loved him. None of the names mattered except one.

Eddie Munson.

“Oh, shit,” Steve muttered. “Oh, shit!” He jumped up out of bed and paced the floor. He had no idea what to do with this information.

It could be bullshit. It could be nothing.

Or maybe, Eddie had kept saying it was bullshit because he knew what Steve would find.

“OH MY GOD.”

Robin came bursting into Steve’s room a few moments later.

“What? What’s going on?” she said. She looked to see his phone on the floor and his hands in his hair. “Oh my god, you read it! What was it? What’s got you all freaked out?”

“I gotta - uhh - I gotta -” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence with Robin in the room. He had to find Eddie - that’s what he had to do. But his head was spinning too much to do so.

“That’s it. I’m gonna read mine right now,” Robin decided. She swiftly left to go back to her room while Steve continued to pace.

“Holy shit,” he said to himself. He thought about it for a few minutes, scrawled something on a piece of paper, and then walked down the hall to Eddie’s room.

Eddie opened the door a few inches, still wearing his sweatpants. He hadn’t left his room yet that day, but his guitar was lying on his bed, which meant he’d been practicing.

“What’s up?” Eddie asked.

“I finished the list,” Steve replied. Eddie’s jaw clenched just enough for Steve to notice, and then he shrugged.

“And?” Steve continued to look at Eddie until he broke his composure. He sighed, then opened his door wider. “Come in,” he said.

Steve had been in Eddie’s bedroom a million times. They’d watched movies in there and stayed up all night talking and smoked together and dear sweet lord I am so dumb for never noticing.

“Is it bullshit?” Steve asked. Eddie started spinning the ring on his middle finger anxiously, refusing to make eye contact.

“Uhh, is what bullshit?” Eddie replied. Steve put his hands on his hips and cocked his head.

“Come on, you know what I’m talking about,” he said. “I just - is it bullshit? Tell me the truth.”

Eddie stared at him for a few long moments before gently shaking his head.

“It’s not bullshit.”

Steve’s hands fell back to his sides, and he felt himself get lightheaded.

“It’s -” he began, struggling to find the words. He cleared his throat. “Wow, I uh -”

“It doesn’t matter, though,” Eddie interjected. “Just so you know. I like what we have. We’re, ya know, we’re friends. Roommates.”

“Do you still -?” Steve started to ask. He noticed Eddie’s eyes flooded with fear, a sight he rarely saw. “I mean, do you still?”

“Steve, I -” Eddie began, his voice tired. “I really, uh. I don’t know what to say.”

Steve dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he’d ripped from his notebook. He held it out for Eddie to take, and when Eddie didn’t reach for it, Steve stepped closer and stuffed the page right into Eddie’s hand.

“Read it,” Steve encouraged.

“What is it?”

“It’s your list.” Eddie’s faced scrunched with confusion. “Yeah, I made it myself.”

“I told you, I don’t wanna know,” he said, trying to give the paper back to Steve.

“Trust me, you do.”

Eddie sighed, then unfolded the paper and read it.

People who are in love with Eddie Munson:

-Me

-(Steve Harrington)

Steve waited and watched Eddie’s eyes travel up and down the page, similar to the way Steve’s had when he read Eddie’s name on his own list. Finally, Eddie looked up.

“Really?” he asked, his voice soft. Steve smiled and nodded.

“Really.”

In that moment, they both knew this changed everything, and yet it changed nothing at all. They’d just skipped a bunch of steps of dating - blown past the getting-to-know-you stage straight into living together and doing all the domestic shit.

Eddie and Steve each stepped toward the other until their hands met.

“OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!”

Robin’s voice pierced through their intimate moment and completely obliterated it. The boys glanced at each other in confusion and then ran out to see what Robin was yelling about.

She was already out the front door by the time they got to the kitchen. If this were a cartoon, she would have left behind a cloud of smoke.

“What do you think that’s about?” Steve asked. Eddie felt his phone buzz and checked it to find Robin had texted a screenshot to the household group chat. He smirked.

“Vicki’s on her list,” Eddie said. Steve chuckled, happy that everyone managed to find their happy ending.

“You know what that means?” Steve asked.

“That you owe me 20 bucks?” Eddie teased.

“Well, that," Steve replied. "But is also means we’re alone in the apartment for a while." Eddie grinned and took Steve by the hand.

“I like the way you think.”

They ran to Steve’s room together, and if the confession of love hadn’t already changed everything, sleeping together certainly did.

It was the good kind of change, though. The kind that moved mountains and cleared all the clouds from the sky.

At last, the idiots were together. All it took was years of denial and one payment of $44.49.

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vivid4am · 4 years ago

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Life Goes On (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky meets his neighbor who keeps playing the same song on repeat.

Takes place before TFATWS

Warnings: Cursing, suicidal ideation(?), hella Beatles references

A/N: This is my first fanfic in like a long time, so sorry if my writing skills are a little week.

Whoever Bucky’s neighbor was, he loathed them.

Life really hasn’t been kind to him lately. After being under control by HYDRA for so many years, breaking out and finding his best friend only to be turned into dust and coming back five years later with his then best friend abandoning him to go back in time to be with the love of his life. Yeah, not a good hand was dealt to him.

The only good thing was being pardoned by the United States government and not being sent to jail for the rest of his goddamn miserable life.

So here he was, sitting on his living room floor, staring at his T.V. and listening to that godforsaken song his neighbor was playing on repeat.

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da

Life goes on, bra

La-la, how the life goes on

It was taunting almost. After all the shit Bucky’s went through, he wished his life didn’t go on. Wished he could be like Steve, go back in time and find someone who he could live the rest of his life with. Wished that the United States government did lock him up. Wished that they executed him.

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da

Life goes on, bra

La-la, how the life goes on

Maybe he can complain to Dr. Raynor about this tomorrow. Tell her that the song almost makes him feel murderous again. Maybe she’ll report him and they will finally lock him up. It’s what he deserves anyway, after all the heinous crimes he’s committed. Bucky laid his head back against the wall and sighed. He then stopped and listened.

Solace and silence. The song was finally over. A smile stretched across Bucky’s unshaven face and he choked out a laugh. It didn’t last long though.

That stupid bass line along with that stupid piano started to fill his ears again.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky said to himself. He knocked on the wall, trying to grab his neighbor’s attention to stop playing that stupid fucking song.

The song suddenly stopped and a voice came through the wall.

“Sorry, didn’t realize you weren’t a Beatles fan.” The voice said.

Bucky didn’t give himself time to think, he just spoke. “I have no fucking clue who they are.” He replied.

Bucky didn’t get a response. Silence filled his Brooklyn apartment. Then came a knock on his door. Bucky scrunched his face up. Who the hell would come visit him at this time at night? Mr. Nakajima? He pulled the blankets off his legs and stood up, his dog tags hanging off his neck. He peeked through the peephole and saw a girl standing in the hall with a white t-shirt, Cookie Monster pajama pants and her arms crossed over her chest. He sighed and opened the door.

“Can I-”

“How do you not know who the fucking Beatles are?”

“Excuse me?” Well, maybe it’s because I’m a hundred and some year old man and have never been aware of my surroundings in the 60s before.

“The Beatles! Y��know, John, Paul, George, and Ringo? Abbey Road? Hey Jude? Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club? Here Comes The Sun? The fucking Beatles?”

Bucky was shocked to be frank. Why was this girl screaming at him about The Beatles? He knew he should’ve listened to what Steve put down in that journal, dammit.

All he could do was shake his head. “Sorry, no.”

“What were you, born yesterday?” The attitude on this girl was thick. She intimidated him almost, staring into his stone cold blue eyes.

“No.” Yes.

“Don’t tell me you listen to that shitty Soundcloud rapper bullshit either.” The girl mumbled, pushing her way into Bucky’s apartment. Buck couldn’t help but panic. What if she saw his arm? What would he say to her? Then again, he didn’t really owe her any answers, she was the one who just waltzed into his apartment.

Luckily Bucky had a grey sweatshirt laying on his kitchen counter. He pulled it over his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The girl stopped in front of his living room. “Nice pad you got here.” She said, admiring his single cushioned arm chair, TV stand and makeshift floor bed.

“Uh- new furniture coming in, my old stuff fell apart.” He lied, looking down feeling almost embarrassed. “Eh, it’s okay. You’re better than the last tenets that were here.” She said, searching around his apartment.

“I’m sorry, but- what are you looking for? Matter of fact, why are you in here?” He asked, following her around. Hopefully she didn’t find his knife stash. He wasn’t supposed to have any weapons, but he needed something in case someone tried to break in. He still gets paranoid sometimes.

“Looking for the source in your shitty taste in music.” The girl deadpanned.

“I-uh, I don’t listen to music.”

The girl skidded to a halt. She turned around, shock riddled on her face. “Really? I mean, with that haircut and dog tags, you strike me as a guy who listens to Led Zeppelin religiously.” She then put her hand up. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Led Zeppelin are either.”

Bucky grimaced at the girl and she sighed.

“Tomorrow,” She started, “meet me next door at 8, I get off work at 7:30.” She said before walking towards the door. Bucky gave her a confused look. “For what?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The girl gave him a cheeky smile. “So I can show you music.” She replied, opening the door.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” She said before she shut the door.

“Bucky.” He whispered, but she was already gone.

| Next Part

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lambourngb · 3 years ago

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a skeleton of something more [malex wip]

Inspired by the promo/trailer for season 3. Spoilers and speculation ahead.

A tumblr work-in-progress

Pairing: Michael/Alex, Alex/Forrest

Summary: Alex goes undercover to seek out Deep Sky. Starts mid-2x13.

Alex leaned his back against the solid wood of his front door, letting the heavy oak take up his weight. He kept making the standard uneven bargain with his body, of giving just a little more, going through the motions for a little longer, and then it would be over. But the tally sheet his body held was long, overflowing with so many unfulfilled promises that it seemed ever more likely he would end this journey in the red.

If it ever ended.

At least, tonight, he had haggled wisely for some space to breathe. On the other side of the door, he had managed to escape Forrest’s hopeful and not subtle attempts to follow him inside, toward the bedroom for a long-awaited reunion. A reunion that Alex had deftly avoided without a trace of guilt. He had used the bland excuse of fatigue from a long, cramped ride from Holloman Air Force Base to Roswell on a bus that had predated the ADA by a good thirty years. It was transparent but still true, written on every line of pain in his smile as he had said “Not tonight.” that even Forrest could read it, even if only Alex knew the real source of his fatigue.

He waited several long moments, before turning to look out the peephole to watch Forrest’s Prius silently reverse out of his driveway. Exhaling out long and low, the tension he had started carrying a little more than a year ago slipped away, letting the calm certainty of safety of his house slip down his body as he released the facade.

Alex was almost done with this assignment, he reminded himself, as he rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth, scrubbing away the taste of Forrest Long from earlier.

Just a little while longer, and he will have enough good will built up to finally meet the leader of Deep Sky face-to-face, after all who could resist the request of a senior member, especially one with the last name of Long? It had been a lucky find that Alex had made in cleaning out his father’s house after his death, a ring and an old photo of the members. In washed out Kodak colors was the cabal of Deep Sky. Former military men with names Alex had memorized off the salvaged hard drives from the Caulfield prison. Linked not by overlapping time on the alien project, but what had become of their careers after their military service had ended. All of them vowing to carry on the protection of Earth against an alien threat, but without the oversight of the government.

The photo in his dad’s desk had been expected, but the silver ring? He had remembered clutching it, his hands still sore from tearing down the shed with Michael, and feeling the imprint of the symbol press deep into his skin. Searing across what Mimi had called his long-love line, singular and deep on his palm. Searing even deeper inside with the recognition that the symbol matched the ring Forrest Long wore.

The genial historian with the loose-fitting cardigan and blue-streaked hair, who had shown flattering interest in Alex, had worn the same ring. Easy on his hand, flashing in the bright sunlight when he had eagerly met up with Alex at the paintball fields with sharpshooter skills. After that date had crashed and burned thanks to a mishmash of his father’s voice and the feeling he had whenever he thought about kissing someone, not Michael, well, Alex had figured that would be the last he would see of the man.

It hadn’t been.

Suddenly, Forrest was everywhere he was, the Crashdown, the Wild Pony. It should have been suspicious to Alex, after months of sharing the same town with the other man without a single encounter. His heart was still bounding uselessly after Michael, while his hands had been full of his suddenly feeble father, and he had missed the snare of the trap. Not just the one his father had laid. Then after his kidnapping, two things had become clear to Alex, his father would never change from the hateful man he was, and Alex’s heart would never change when it came to his feelings for Michael.

Alex pushed his leaden body away from the door, tottering on his feet for a moment before the new prosthesis shored up his balance and he took a deep breath for the strength to move forward.

Fuck. That was a mistake.

His house smelled like rain. Michael. The unexpected consequence of having Michael watch over his house while he had moved around the country, playing up the role of the grieving scion of the Manes family legacy. After a year of brief trips back to Roswell and long stints on the road, the house now smelled like Michael.

Alex sucked in greedy gulps of air, chasing the taste of green and petrichor with his tongue to wash away his previous actions at the bus stop. His security system, his reinforced door and window locks, the weight of his gun still tucked in his back holster, none of it made him feel as safe as the smell of Michael in his home. It was the smallest crumb of promise, but it filled him.

Moving toward the kitchen for a drink, he clocked the changes Michael had made in his absence. His heavier luggage, shipped ahead of him, was already stored, including the set of crutches and the charging station for his back-up prosthesis. The lights in the kitchen came on with a single touch, all of them bright. Dammit, Michael had fixed the two burnt out bulbs, along with the slightly weeping fitting on the sink faucet.

There was zero sign of neglect in his house, no matter where he looked. Not even the faintest trace of dust on his guitars. The house looked warm and well tended. Loved.

The rush of tears welled in his throat, an impossibly large lump, as Alex fought to keep from breaking down. Don’t fucking cry, don’t do it, that’s for at night, he swore creatively at himself. Tears were only allowed under the cover of dark, in hotel rooms or visiting officer quarters, not in the middle of his brightly lit kitchen.

A knock sounded on the front door.

Abruptly, every drop of tortured longing was gone, as Alex straightened his shoulders and crossed the threshold back to the door. He pasted the right amount of faked aspiration mixed with real annoyance on his face as he yanked the door open, expecting to see Forrest back on his step with a weak excuse concocted to overcome the earlier rebuff.

Michael looked up in the porch light, his black hat in hand and his curls wild with nervous raking. “Uh, hi.” He scuffed his boots against the concrete before growing still under Alex’s gaze.

He looked over Michael’s shoulder nervously, for the distinctive truck that everyone in town knew belonged to Michael, but his driveway was empty.

“I parked a few streets over. I don’t think anyone saw me-” Michael’s explanation was cut off short as Alex grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside. Stumbling from Alex’s strong grip, Michael fell forward, and then back as the front door slammed shut with them both safely inside out of view. His mouth was still open in surprise as Alex covered his lips in a kiss.

The surprise was short-lived. Michael came alive under the kiss, opening and yielding to Alex’s hungry lips and tongue. Alex brought his hands up into Michael’s curls, cupping his head protectively as he pressed Michael firmly against the door, drinking in every sound Michael was making.

Hours before, he had kissed Forrest at the bus station, playing up the role of a dutiful boyfriend returning home. It was the tariff he paid with his body to get closer to the roots of Deep Sky, but this, feeling Michael whole and safe under his hands, tasting him now, that was sustenance. Lifeblood. There was an evolution of difference between the two, like comparing simple bacteria wiggling toward complexity and the finished product of a man, standing upright.

It was both a reminder of why he was doing this and a reinstatement of focus, as he slowly broke the kiss with reluctance. Michael chased at his lips, his mouth red and wet, his eyes dark with want. He could feel the heat coming off of Michael’s thin brown shirt, his hands itched to pull it off, to descend back into the physical, but Alex knew that he owed Michael an explanation for earlier.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t know he was going to be there to meet my bus. I thought it would be okay for you to give me a ride,” Alex explained quietly, as he ran his hands from Michael’s neck down to his fingertips, drinking in all the changes that had happened while he was gone. Michael looked thinner to him, as if he wasn’t eating enough despite the healthy amount of work and money. “I guess he wanted to surprise me and thought it would be romantic.”

Michael made a face at the idea of surprises ever being considered romantic, especially to Alex. He turned sweetly toward Alex’s palm, kissing the center as Alex pushed a stubborn curl out of his eyes. “Are you sure that’s all it was? He wasn’t testing you, was he?”

“I don’t think so.” Alex couldn’t pull his hands away from Michael, and leaned in to kiss him again. It started soft and shallow, trading breaths with Michael, lips against lips, licking deep into his mouth as his previous weariness disappeared now that Michael was here. “He saw you watching us. Now that I’m back, he’s worried about losing my attention to you. He hasn’t hidden his jealousy that I asked you to watch my house last year.”

“Did I look sufficiently broken-hearted?” The question was light, but Alex could hear the grain of truth under it.

“You did.” Alex closed his eyes, the guilt of the situation flooded back inside. The statue of his father looking down on him didn’t make him feel nearly as sick as having Michael’s eyes on him as he let Forrest kiss him in front of the town in a cinematic homecoming moment. It was a cruel reminder to Alex that he had never been able to give Michael that, a public welcome that spelled out who they were to each other, not once in ten plus years of deployments and duty station assignments. Trading a glance across the Wild Pony was as close as they came. “I wish it wasn’t like this, sneaking around, pretending-”

“Hey, I agreed to this, right at the very beginning when I was your only back-up. Remember?”

“We were just friends back then, you couldn’t have known that things would end up like this.”

Michael laughed, his head tilted back against the door, casting an attractive line of his throat to his collarbone. “We’ve never been just friends, Alex, but I knew what I was signing up for when you told me what you planned to do to smoke out Deep Sky. We’re in this together.”

*** to be continued... here

#malex fic #malex wip #season 3 spoilers #isn't everyone writing a trailer fic?#rnm #not forrest long friendly

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hua-fei-hua · 4 years ago

Text

the diner at the end of the night

It starts with Yuuji’s stomach in the middle of the night, as everything is apt to do. His tummy is giving him the rumblies, the kind of rumblies that only greasy fried food from either a fast food chain or homely diner could satisfy. The sort of thing that Jujutsu Tech has absolutely none of in their kitchens, period— nevermind at this hour— which can only mean one thing…

“Hey! Hey, Nobara! I know you’re up, you preening peacock!” Yuuji calls, banging on her dorm room door. When he gets no response, he knocks harder and faster. “You can’t just teach me your weekend spa and skincare routine and expect me not to know your evening schedule!”

Nobara’s door snaps open, and the Queen Herself steps out. “Yuuji, it’s midnight. What do you want?” she snaps.

“I’m hungry,” he says.

A pause. One filled with murderous tension for sure (oh, for sure), but that’s never really had an effect on Yuuji when he’s in a cinnamon roll-type mood.

“You wanna go find some cheeseburgers or something?” he asks, so brightly he may as well be the sun, coming out at night to herald the end of times. When Nobara makes an ugly face at him, he elaborates a bit. “It’s not really the sort of adventure you can really have as a country kid. Going out in the middle of the night, hot on the trail of some delicious food—”

“I’m in,” Nobara says before he can even finish his sentence. She shoves him out of the way, steps out, and shuts the door behind her. “Let’s go get Megumi.”

“Huh? Why?” Not that Yuuji’s complaining— he rather likes Megumi, thinks of him as a real swell guy— but he doesn’t really consider Megumi to be the midnight-rendezvous-for-an-adventure type guy.

“Because he knows the area better?” Nobara says, gesturing with both her head and her hands. “Duh?”

“Oh, I thought you were going to say we needed at least one brain cell around to read the map,” Yuuji says, sighing with relief. Not that he has a map anyway, although Megumi probably does, in that shadowy pocket realm of his. Megumi keeps everything in there, like some sort of overprepared soccer mom with the ginormous purse.

Nobara smacks his arm. “Don’t be an idiot,” she chides, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. “Megumi is a certified dumbass, through and through. Gojou-sensei has it framed on his desk and everything; I saw it myself.”

“Uhhh, Nobara?” Yuuji says as they start plodding down the hall, their only light coming from the bright, silvery moon as it streams through the windows. “I’m pretty sure that’s a joke.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nobara snaps. “It said ‘Legal Department of Dumbassery’ on it and everything. You’re telling me that’s not legit?”

Yuuji wants to say that he doesn’t think that the Legal Department of Dumbassery is a real governmental division, but he doesn’t know enough about the government to dispute it. “I’ll ask Nanamin about it later,” he decides aloud, and the two of them park themselves in front of Megumi’s door.

“Oi!” Nobara barks, knocking so hard on Megumi’s door that she might actually break through it. “I know you’re awake, you hideous bat. Answer us, dammit!”

The door slides open with a sharp crack!

“What,” Megumi grumbles, glaring at the both of them.

“I wanna go find a wild burger joint!” Yuuji chirps.

“And I didn’t move all the way out to Tokyo to be fed nothing but a proper diet decided for me by a licensed doctor instead of all the greasy fast food I can cram into my pretty, lipsticked maw,” Nobara adds.

“You’re wearing lipstick right now?” Yuuji asks, aside.

“I’m talking about in general,” Nobara says, also aside.

Megumi frowns at them for a second, then plods back into his room, unplugs his phone, and returns to the doorway as he’s typing something in. “Is there anything nearby that’s still open?”

“Don’t do that!!” Yuuji says, snatching Megumi’s phone out of his hands and YEETING it back onto Megumi’s bed. “You’re gonna murder the spirit of fun that comes with nighttime exploration!!!”

“Also, full offense, but you take forever and a day to make decisions,” Nobara adds.

While Megumi sends murderous (but ultimately empty) looks their way, Nobara and Yuuji each grab one of his arms and drag him down the hall with them.

“Did either of you bring your phone along,” Megumi asks, exasperated, but already long since resigned to this sort of thing. (Because if Nobara and Yuuji are ride or die, he’s strapped to the roof of the car with no hope of escape.)

“No, of course not!” Yuuji replies as they exit the gates and plunge into the surrounding woods. “Nanamin has access to my location!! We can’t have a Super Secret Jujutsu Tech First Years Midnight Outing if the adults know where we are.”

“Knowing Gojou-sensei though, he might have already long since implanted a tracking chip in Megumi’s skull,” Nobara says.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Megumi snaps, though he knows he has no way of proving them false. He finally twists his arms out of their grasp and begins following them out of his own free will. “What if we get mugged? Or encounter a curse?”

“Then we beat the shit out of them,” Yuuji says, easy breezy lemon squeezy. “No big deal.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure why you’re so worried about all this,” Nobara says, pulling her hammer out of her belt loops for a few trick flips.

“You brought your hammer but not your cell phone??” Megumi throws his hands in the air in defeat.

“Yeah, and also a pocket mirror.” Nobara pulls that out too and inspects her face as they walk.

Megumi mutters to himself, “I am an intellectual locked in a tent with the circus clowns when I should be debating in the forum.” He shakes his head, then speaks up. “If you’re going to be so vain, why not just bring your phone along and take more of your bazillions of selfies?”

“In this lighting?” Nobara scoffs. “Better to take no new selfies at all than have a single ugly one.”

“Not like most of yours are all that great anyway.”

“What was that?”

Megumi rolls his eyes, not caring if she can see him or not. “Don’t worry about it, Your Majesty.”

Nobara claps the mirror closed with a satisfied little grunt, pockets it, and runs ahead to catch up with Yuuji, who has been blazing the trail at top speed, as he turns off the established trail and into what appears to be a dark corner of the forest. “Hey, dumbass, where are you going? This looks like it’s more likely to take us to a murder cabin in the woods than the sweet, sweet cheeseburgers of our dreams.”

“Well, we don’t know that,” Yuuji easily replies.

“Oh, so you’re just listening to the same little voice in your head that would tell you to go towards the light when you’re bleeding out in somebody’s arms, huh?” Now it’s Nobara’s turn to throw her hands into the air from exasperation.

“I can’t heaaaaar you~~~ fireflies!!” With a scream of delight, Yuuji runs off.

It’s not firefly season, but Megumi is a city kid who doesn’t know that, and the other two, while from farther out, aren’t familiar with the local firefly season either. So, naïvely, they follow the fireflies deeper into the woods, scrambling over fallen logs and wading through the brush in search of more floating, flickering fairy lights.

“Woaaah, guys, check it out!” Yuuji says, stumbling over a rock and crashing through a bush. “Guys, it’s a diner!!”

“WHAT???” Nobara bellows, following him. “No way. No way. You’re lying—”

“Oh, my god, he’s not,” Megumi says as they break into the exact same clearing.

And a diner it so clearly is, with the word DINER lit up in blocky, all-caps English right above the windows streaming warm, yellow light out into the abyss. (Where the electricity for all this light came from is literally anyone’s guess, but none of them bother.) There’s no one outside, but through the windows, a few patrons are visible, sitting in booths or at barstools, as well as a waitress hustling and bustling about.

“Seems legit,” says Yuuji, then jerks his head at the door. “Let’s go.”

“Hold on a second,” says Megumi, signalling Nobara, who’s already two steps ahead of him and grabbing Yuuji by the hood.

(“Ack,” goes Yuuji, now halfway to the ground.)

“Don’t you think this whole thing is kind of really suspicious?” Megumi asks, summoning his divine dogs by the light of the diner and gestures to a lonely car parked near the far side of the building. “Who drives a car off the road and into the middle of the woods at this hour?”

“Oh!” Yuuji makes a little surprised sound. “I hadn’t noticed that!”

There’s a beat of quiet to emphasize the stupidity of his one-track mind. Not silence, as there’s still the sounds of the dogs sniffing about and the creatures of the night making their song, but there’s a pointed lack of speaking.

Nobara releases Yuuji (who falls to the ground, screams a little on the way down) and pulls her hammer out again to toss it around in thought. “Personally, in my pretty opinion, that’s a good sign, if anything. It means that this place is so good that someone drove through all that to get here.

Yuuji takes this opportunity to crawl over to the divine dogs and start ruffling around with them.

Megumi squints at Nobara in an, “are you serious? Are you kidding me? Surely, you must be fucking with me,” sort of way.

But before he says anything, Yuuji’s stomach rumbles. Very loudly. He pauses his petting of the white wolf (while the black one repeatedly jumps on and off his back) and looks up.

His friends stare down at him expectantly.

“I’m hungry,” he says simply.

The tension between Yuuji and Megumi in particular grows to be so thick, Nobara almost expects cursed energy to start arcing through the air between them before they kiss-kiss fall in love. The last bit she’d rather not be around for, but if it does happen, she’s prepared to just walk into the diner herself and order a soda for herself and only herself.

The dogs start whining, oblivious to it all. Megumi sighs as he crouches down to pet the black one, ruffle its fur real well, and he says, “All right.”

“WOOHOO!” Yuuji jumps up (almost clearing the diner roof), then high-fives Nobara on the way down.

“MID-NIGHT BUR-GERS, MID-NIGHT BUR-GERS!!” they chant, spinning around in a circle whilst holding hands.

Megumi stands up, and his dogs whine at him. He gives each of them a quick scruffle behind the ears— “shh, shh,” he says, “stay out here, now, stay,” —then (much less tenderly) turns to his drooling comrades and says, “Let’s go, then.”

Nobara and Yuuji have one last whirl about, one last high-octane high five, then together, the trio walk into the diner.

The first abnormal thing that pops right out at them are the dolls. Somehow, none of them noticed it from the outside looking in, but there’s a long, continuous shelf along the wall with dozens upon dozens of perfect, porcelain dolls sitting on it, their eyes either a creepy, inky black, or that obnoxious shade of Gojou-sensei blue.

“Oh, how cute,” Nobara says, tapping her chin thoughtfully, evidently undisturbed. She reaches out to perhaps touch one doll’s straw curls—

“Please don’t touch those, Miss; they’re vintage.”

The three kids jump with surprise, so suddenly does the waitress call out to them.

She tightens her blonde ponytail as she waddles towards them, flashing an apologetic smile that Megumi swears is just a little too wide. “Sorry about that, dears,” she says, “just follow me, and I’ll get you situated just fine.”

Nobara, Yuuji, and Megumi exchange looks. Looks that say, “Are you guys seeing this? This shit’s kind of creepy,” on Megumi’s end, “I’m gonna murder that lady for keeping me from touching that stupid little doll,” on Nobara’s end, and “Are you guys ready for burgers? That was kind of weird, and it’s making me kind of nervous, but really I’m just ready for burgers,” on Yuuji’s end, to be precise.

(They don’t really have the whole same wavelength thing down quite yet.)

“Thank you,” Yuuji says in hesitant English as they follow her almost like ducklings, although the waitress doesn’t seem to notice the switch.

Yuuji looks to Megumi for reassurance.

Megumi gives it a try. “Can we get a window booth?” he asks, wanting to keep watch over his dogs, just in case something goes awry.

“Of course!” the waitress chirps, guiding them to a booth where the only thing separating the kids from the divine dogs is a single panel of glass.

“Oi, what’s with the English?” Nobara complains. She did not come to a sorcery school in Tokyo to rack her brains for foreign vocab, after all. “She speaks Japanese just fine!”

“Doesn’t feel right,” Megumi mutters darkly (emo-ly).

Yuuji shrugs. “Just felt like trying it out, I guess.”

“Uhuh.” Nobara crosses her arms, sitting by herself on the opposite side of the boys.

“Are we sure that was Japanese?” Megumi asks. Because he’s not.

Nobara shrugs and picks up one of the menus. “I could understand her just fine,” she says, propping up the menu to show off the elaborately lettered ‘Milliways’ on the front.

(So elaborately lettered, in fact, that none of them realize that it’s a word and not a pretty squiggle design.)

“It doesn’t sound quite right, though,” Yuuji argues.

“Your ears must be broken, then,” Nobara sniffs. “I bet Sukuna is eating your ear canal from the inside out.” She pokes her menu, and as it falls down, she takes out her pocket mirror to check her reflection—

“Hey, what the—” She twists around, cranes her neck to get a better look at the other people in the diner, but the waitress happens to choose that exact moment to pop out of hot dog diddly darn nowhere.

“While y’all are choosing your orders, can I get you kids anything to drink?” she asks, pleasantly as ever.

(Now that the boys have mentioned it, there is something odd about the way she speaks. Nobara swears she caught something in that last sentence, but she just can’t place what, exactly, is off about it.)

“Ah, yes, I’ll have a strawberry milkshake,” Yuuji says, evidently deciding that it’s too much work to do everything in English if the waitress doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Pink as the demon that possesses my soul every other Wednesday night from seven to nine.”

“All right,” she says without missing a beat. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, what the fuck is ‘the icy breezy please don’t leave me tea’?” Nobara asks, sliding her menu towards the waitress and jabbing a finger at a picture on the menu.

“One iced tea for the lady,” the waitress replies, writing that down.

“Wait, no—” Nobara begins, but the waitress has long since moved on.

“Anything else?” (Her smile now looks very sockable.)

“Uhh, yeah, may I have a Calpis?” Megumi asks, and now it’s his turn to be on the receiving end of one of Nobara’s death glares.

For what feels like the very first time, the waitress blinks. “Pardon?” she asks, her blinking getting owlish and rapid, like she has to make up for her earlier lacking.

Megumi starts to sweat under everyone’s gaze. “A Calpis,” he repeats. Do they not have those here? They’re sold in literally every convenience store in the city.

The waitress clicks her tongue while Nobara harrumphs and walls herself off from the outside world with her menu again.

“I don’t know if we have those,” the waitress says, tapping the end of her pencil against her chin. “I’ll have to check the fridge. Is there anything else I can get you otherwise?”

Megumi scrambles for the menu. “Uhhh…”

“Dude, just order a coffee,” Yuuji jokes as he slides the other boy his own menu.

Megumi scowls as he pretends to look over the menu again. “No,” he says, stubborn as an ass. “That method of staying up late is artificial.”

Nobara snickers. “Yeah, Yuuji; don’t you know that Megumi likes to keep those eyebags of his authentically Gucci?”

Megumi glowers at her, even pushing down her menu to do so. “I will dump Yuuji’s hair dye into your shampoo,” he threatens through gritted teeth, in that same sort of tone you’d use to say, “you suck.”

“And I’ll make you drink it,” Nobara retorts, in that same sort of tone you’d use to say, “and you swallow.”

Megumi looks at the waitress, who is, for whatever reason, entirely unperturbed. “I’ll have an ice water,” he says, a bit more dead inside than usual. He needs it, he knows, to keep himself awake and alert in this god forsaken diner with his idiots, after all.

“All right, then, I’ll be back with your drinks right quick now,” the waitress says, and she bustles off.

The kids breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“She was weird,” Nobara declares, as though she’s decided this all on her own. “I don’t know if I like her.”

“Nobara, you barely like anyone,” Megumi points out.

“I like Maki-senpai,” she says.

“We know,” Megumi replies.

“She’s so cool and pretty~”

“So we’ve heard.”

“I think you’re cool and pretty, Megumi!!” Yuuji chirps, bouncing around in his seat and shaking Megumi’s shoulder as he does so.

“Thank you, Yuuji,” Megumi replies dryly, allowing himself to be rattled around. “I’m so flattered my voice has literally been flattened.”

“Eww, Yuuji, get better taste.” Nobara wrinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue. “Megumi is, like, super ugly.”

“Thanks,” Megumi grunts, looking rather like a horse with its ears pinned back. (Probably doesn’t help that Yuuji is still shaking him around.)

“Like, look at his hair. Hideous.” She reaches over and ruffles it around, just to make it worse on purpose. “He looks like a stained mop after a calligraphy accident that got stuck in a microwave with a piece of tin foil,” she continues. “Literally, the only person I can think of who’s uglier would be Gojou-sensei.”

“AWW, YOU THINK I’M PRETTY??” Yuuji asks, forgoing continuing to rattle Megumi in favor of now rattling the table.

“Of course not, but you’re easier on the eyes than Mr. Rolls Out Of Bed And Makes A Mirror Cry So Hard It Shatters here.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Aww, you’re welcome~”

“Oh, but!” Yuuji lets go of the table, hits his palm with a fist. “That reminds me! If you guys were to curse Gojou-sensei, what would you curse him with?”

Nobara and Megumi exchange looks of mild confusion.

“Not in a sorcery sort of way,” Yuuji clarifies.

“I’d make it so that his lips are perpetually chapped and peeling,” Nobara instantly answers. “And if he tries using more of that stupid, garishly pink lip gloss of his, then his lips just peel off. No more glossy lips for sensei.”

“For someone so vain, you sure do hate the idea of Gojou’s lip gloss,” Megumi comments.

“I must be the fairest in the land.” Nobara flicks her bangs out of her eyes.

“I thought you just said that Gojou-sensei was the ugliest man you’ve ever seen in your life,” Yuuji points out.

But Nobara just pats him on the face as she shooshes him. “Silence, Yuuji,” she says.

Yuuji makes some sort of guttural noise of displeasure (not unlike a dog), bats her hand away, and turns to Megumi. “Anyway, what about you?”

Megumi ponders it for a moment. He’s more of a direct action kind of guy, truth be told, but if given free reign…

“I’d make it so that he always feels like there’s a rock in his shoe, but every time he stops to try to shake it out, nothing comes out,” he says.

Nobara and Yuuji stare at him, mouths agape.

“Megumi, that’s so evil,” Yuuji says, hushed with awe.

“And doable,” Nobara adds. “Let’s pick up some rocks on the way back.”

“Provided the food arrives and we get to go back,” Megumi grumbles. How late is it, anyway? It’s been…

Megumi checks his wrist for the time, then realizes he’d already taken off his watch for the night before he’d been kidnapped by his two doofus classmates for the ransom of buying cheeseburgers with them. “What time is it?”

Yuuji jams his hand into his pocket.

“I left my phone in the dorm!” he declares, as though it wasn’t his idea to do so in the first place.

Wonderful. How delightfully obvious. Megumi has to restrain himself from just patting Yuuji on the head like one of his dogs and going, “It’s okay, it’s not your fault you’re so dumb.” He turns to Nobara.

She pulls out a nail file and begins examining her nails. “Me? Wear a watch? And risk getting a watch tan? I think not.”

Megumi heaves an exasperated sigh and pulls a leg in so he can sit a little taller by sitting on it. He scans the diner, taking in fully the rest of their surroundings for the first time.

There’s the cook, working merrily away in full sight of the dining area. Nearest him are three men by the sounters, each sitting on a barstool with a newspaper in their hands. One looks like your average businessman, down to the leather briefcase sitting by his feet. The next looks like a private eye, with the Sherlock Holmes style hat and everything. The third looks perhaps like a fisherman, with a plaid flannel shirt, damp-looking denim overalls, along with a little, yellow hat.

(Never once does any of our trio notice any of the three counter men actually turn the page of their paper.)

On the other side of the diner, in a little corner table, appears to be a couple straight out of old American TV. A jock and a cheerleader, drinking a milkshake together, by the looks of it. They seem too lost in each other to notice anything else— which, gross, makes Megumi look away.

He spots a clock hanging on the wall, cranes his neck to get a better look at it so he can read it. “2:45— what the—?”

“It’s probably just broken,” Yuuji says, getting up a little bit to mirror Megumi.

Megumi sighs, begins his search for another clock, because there has to be another one in here, right?

Except that’s it. No other people. Nothing else of note, except for the dolls they’ve already started tuning out of their lines of sight.

(What the fuck happened to their waitress?)

“Here are y’all’s drinks; sorry we didn’t have what you wanted, darling.”

The kids flinch as their drinks are placed before them, the waitress once again materializing out of nowhere.

“Oh, sorry if I scared you kids,” she says. “Anyway, have you decided on your orders?”

“I’d like two cheeseburgers and some fries,” Yuuji says, recovering quickly such as to not miss a beat. He wants his simple midnight snack, after all, and just sip-sip-sipping away at his milkshake isn’t gonna do it for him.

Nobara takes that second to recover. “I’ll take the… ‘Miss Steak Wake to Bake For Ninety-Nine Nonsense Scents’.” She makes a funky face at the menu, as though it’s changing its words on purpose just to make her feel silly.

Yuuji barks with laughter. “What does that even mea— ack!”

(That last part comes from the way Nobara folds up her menu all nice and neat (as a lady should always do) and bonk-bonk-bonks him on the head with it.)

“All right, so that will be two orders of cheeseburgers and fries, and one order of the House Specialty Steak Stake; would that be all, or am I missing something?”

Nobara and Yuuji look at Megumi, who pushes his menu into the center of the table.

“Surprise me,” he says, dead tired of this place already. He doesn’t expect to like anything they serve, but it would be a waste of time if all he got was this measly ice water.

Speaking of his ice water, he raises his glass to his lips and lets a couple ice cubes fall into his mouth for him to crunch on, because for whatever reason they’ve given him what appears to be more ice than actual water.

The waitress smiles and nods, clicks her pen and pockets it alongside her notepad as she says, “All righty, then; your orders will arrive shortly. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show~”

The trio blinks, and she’s gone, along with their menus.

“That was weird,” Nobara says yet again. “Our waitress is literally so weird.”

“Could be weirder,” Yuuji says cheerfully. “Instead of a waitress, we could have had our orders taken by a talking cow with biiiig anime eyes that opens up by singing about how it and its cow friends built this city on rock and roll before proceeding to ask us which parts of it we’d like to dine on tonight.”

Megumi grimaces while Nobara gives him a bug-eyed stare.

“What the fresh fuck are you talking about?” Nobara furiously whispers, leaning across the table to gesture at him.

“What? Have neither of you ever seen—” Yuuji begins, but there’s a thud against the window that chills their blood.

Slowly, mechanically, all three turn their heads to look out the window, feeling morbidly like puppets caught on a string.

There’s nothing but the empty blackness.

Megumi stands up so fast, he knocks his knee against the table, causing him to seethe at the sudden numbness. His dogs, are they—

He looks to the ground outside and breathes a sigh of relief. Both Black and White are safe and sound, although they’re not sitting, the way he told them to. Instead, they’re crouching low to the ground, on the defensive against…

…the void, it seems.

Just the void.

The tension leaves Megumi, replaced by a sort of empty confusion.

“I’m not crazy, right?” Yuuji stage whispers, which really only does the obscenely unnecessary service of making his friends more nervous. “There’s nothing there, right? No giant curse, nothing?”

Nobara lets out a quiet breath. “As much as it physically pains me to say this, just this once, Yuuji, you’re not crazy.”

The fact that he’s not alone doesn’t reassure Megumi in the slightest, who knows that the touch of insanity present in any sorcerer is the key to their survival. He sits back down slowly (hey, isn’t it weird that literally no one in the diner batted an eye at his sudden outburst?), uneasy.

Something’s not right, that much has long since been established. Unfortunately, Yuuji is far too hungry for them to have any other options aside from hope the food arrives soon, eat quickly, and get out of here fast.

Megumi scans the diner again while Nobara and Yuuji fall into their usual rhythm of ludicrous bicker-banter about who-cared-what (probably about whether the American English rhotic counted as a vowel). Not a single person has moved; he doubts anyone’s even blinked, and the same can be said about the walls of creepy dolls (to the best of his knowledge anyway). By all accounts, everything is fi— what was that.

“Hey, Yuuji, I dare you to touch one of the dolls,” Nobara says, swirling her straw around in her iced tea. She doesn’t like it very much, finds it to be much too watery for her tastes, but there’s nothing like a good, persistent clinky-dink-dink sound to drive Megumi insane.

“What’s in it for—” Yuuji begins, but Megumi slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Yuuji,” he hisses, and the boy in question shivers subtly at the way Megumi’s warm breath tickles his ear. “I swear to god, do not touch the dolls.”

(Yuuji bites his lip; Megumi’s hand is warm and soft and nice, but kind of hard to breathe through.)

“Aww, little baby boy Megumi scared of the dollies?” Nobara teases, reaching into her back pocket. Pulling out her straw doll, she shoves it into his face, and at the same time, Yuuji licks Megumi’s palm.

“Guys—” Megumi gibbers, almost falling out of his seat from how violently he jerks away from them.

Nobara tosses her doll up in the air, cackling, but swipes for it a second too early, and it lands on the table. She shrugs it off, though, until—

“Nobara, behind you!”

At the sound of Yuuji’s warning, Nobara rubbernecks and finds herself face to face with an enormous slug seeping out from behind one of the nearby dolls. She yelps, scrambling out of her chair, nearly tripping to the floor, as she makes a mad grab for her hammer and nails.

“Gross, gross, gross, gross, gross, gross,” she says, her hammer starting to glow blue with cursed energy. She stops just before she tosses her nails into the air, though, getting a better look at her target and realizing what it is.

“Oh,” she says, feeling a little foolish as she lets her hammer die off. “It’s just a little bitty baby curse. No big deal.”

“Where’d it come from?” Yuuji asks as Megumi crawls back into his seat.

“Probably just Megumi’s bad attitude,” Nobara jokes, tossing up a nail and letting it fly towards the small fry with a bright, little ping!

The curse hisses and writhes for a moment before it disintegrates.

Nobara sits down, smooths out her skirt. “That was no big deal,” she says, with a toss of her hair. She pulls out her pocket mirror, checks herself out in it, angles it over her shoulder to check out the diner behind, and nearly drops it remembering something. She snaps it shut, opens her mouth to say something to the boys—

“Sorry that took so long, kids; the cook was having a bit of a moment earlier.”

Nobara flinches, scrambling away from the waitress until her back hits the window with a hollow thud! Heart pounding, she stares at the older woman with wide, frantic eyes, but the waitress doesn’t even blink as she sets down three plates in front of the three kids.

Nobara scrambles for her mirror, then realizes it’s still in her hand, mistakenly drops it on her lap, then grapples around for it like it’s a bar of soap in the bath.

“Thank you!” Yuuji chirps, bouncing up in his seat to emphasize his excited gratuity.

“Of course!” The waitress bows, and she’s gone by the time Nobara gets a proper handle on her mirror again.

Nobara slams it down on the table, eyes her steak wearily. While at least it’s not well-done, it doesn’t even look like that great of a steak— she’s from the country; she knows how good freshly butchered and grilled cow looks and tastes. Well, at least it’s better than what Megumi got: four dinky little mozzarella sticks with a side of red bell pepper chunks. He’s making a face at the dish right as Nobara forgets what she was about to say in favor of insulting him.

“Awww, Megu-Megu-chan, I forgot that your taste buds are still babies,” she says to him, stirring around her straw to annoy him further.

“Don’t call me that,” Megumi says, pushing his food around with a fork.

“Okay, then, Min-Min~”

Megumi stands up, leans over the table, and jabs his fork at Nobara, who grins as she ducks out of the way.

“I am hereby revoking your right to call me by my given name,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Oooh, emphasizing your close relationship with Yuuji now, huh?”

While they’re fighting like that, Yuuji himself has already said his thanks and has begun scarfing down his absolutely immaculate looking burgers and fries. Like, these are the biggest, juiciest burgers he’s ever seen in his LIFE, with perfectly crisp, beautifully golden fries. He’s not gonna let some stupid, petty squabble/fistfight between his two best friends get in the way of inhaling that so fast it would make Sonic the Hedgehod weep tears of envy.

That is until Megumi slaps his next french fry out of his hand.

“Hey! What was that for!” Yuuji says, sliding under the table to pick it up and eat it anyway.

“Yuuji— Yuuji, spit that out!” Megumi seizes Yuuji’s face in his hands, forces him to open his mouth.

Tragically, Yuuji has already long since invested in the neat parlour trick of being able to swallow with his mouth open, which he performs for Megumi right then and there (mostly out of panic).

“Why?? What’s going on???” Yuuji sputters with great difficulty, as Megumi still has his face squished between his hands.

Megumi pulls Yuuji’s face close to his own (Yuuji starts to sweat, and really, with eyes that intense staring straight into your soul— who wouldn’t?) and says, very seriously, “This place is haunted.”

“Haaah?”

Yuuji starts wriggling, so Megumi lets him go. He knocks on the glass window, and while the fact that it rattles isn’t particularly reassuring, the way a little grey-green curse oozes and flutters its way out is even less so. In fact, it’s rather unsettling.

Yuuji shoots Nobara a look, looking for some sort of reassurance that Megumi is merely messing around with him, but she simply gestures for him to come over to her side as Megumi strangles the curse to death with his bare hands.

Which he does, by sliding under the table and popping back up on the other side, naturally.

“Check it out,” she says, flipping open her now-cracked mirror (what, you thought she could just slam and drop it all the time without damaging it?) and angling it at something in the background.

Yuuji cuddles up close, rests his chin on the top of her head, and tries his best to see anything other than her ear in the mirror. “What? What is it?” he asks, until Nobara elbows him in the gut.

“You’re going to muss my hair,” she complains, then just hands him the mirror. “Look for the cook.”

Yuuji twists his neck around, spots the cook, then takes the mirror for himself to try and angle it in such a way that the cook is reflected in it. And yet, no matter how hard he tries, while he can easily find the other wall, for some reason, the cook never appears.

Frowning, he throws an arm over the back of the booth and pulls himself onto his knees to get a better look at the diner around him, then realizes that despite there being several other parties present in the diner, he doesn’t see them in the mirror. Not the jock and cheerleader, not the trio of bland, little men sitting on stools with their newspapers and blocking the cook half the time, and certainly not the cook when he’s— again— only sort of visible maybe half the time.

“They’re not showing up,” he complains at his normal volume, but Nobara and Megumi duck into his space and shoosh him.

“Yuuji,” Nobara says, putting her hands on his shoulders (pauses, plucks her mirror out of his hands, and tucks it away in her tool belt again), “those aren’t people.”

A pause.

“Eh?”

“Those aren’t human beings!” Megumi whisper shouts, furiously gesturing. Nobara rattles him around aggressively.

“I know, I know, I know! I got it the first time; I was joking!” Yuuji says, a little overwhelmed by their reactions, truth be told. “It’s jooooke.”

Megumi sits back down, and Nobara lets him go, both sighing in sync.

(“Jinx,” Nobara mutters.)

(“Under the roof,” Megumi mumbles back.)

(Nobara swears, foiled.)

Yuuji crawls under the table to get back to his plate of food, which, all things considered, still looks pretty good. (That’s not saying much, since he eats Sukuna’s musty-ass thousand-year-old fingers for breakfast almost literally.) “So,” he says, sure to keep his voice low, as he sloooooowly creeps his hand towards the fries. “What are we gonna do?”

Megumi swats Yuuji’s hand away from the plate. “For one thing,” he says, “we are not going to eat the food.”

“But that’s rude!” Yuuji protests. “We have to finish.”

“Yuuji, you don’t understand,” Megumi says. “I think the restaurant is targeting you.”

Yuuji pouts. “Nobara, hand me your rubber mallet.”

Instead, she bonks him on the head with it. “Listen, dumbass. I can’t believe we have to explain this kind of shit to you.”

“He doesn’t know any better,” Megumi argues. “No one’s taught him anything about—”

Bonk-bonk-bonk!

Megumi grabs her hammer, and as they play tug-of-war with it, he continues explaining himself to Yuuji, who— mercifully— is no longer trying to eat anything. “Think about it. Everything about this place is trying to lure you in. You were the one to find this place in the middle of buttfuck nowhere—”

“Hehehe you said ‘butt’,” Yuuji says. “Nobara, he said—”

Bonk.

“—You were the one to get the objectively good-looking food,” Megumi continues. “And frankly, had I not stopped you, I don’t think anyone was going to stop you from touching that stupid fucking doll either, unlike with Nobara.”

Yuuji props his chin up with a fist, giving his best thinking face. “I see, I see,” he says, making his mouth extremely small as he talks for absolutely no good reason.

His eyes slide back towards their dinner plates. “So it’s cursed?” he asks. “The food, I mean. And everything else, too, I guess.” His eyes pop a bit wider. “Hey, how come we can’t see any cursed residue or whatever?”

“It’s magic, Yuuji,” Nobara says.

“That’s no fun,” Yuuji says.

“We. Don’t. Know,” Megumi says. “Maybe we wandered into someone’s domain? Doesn’t matter; we need to get out.”

“Why don’t we just walk out the door?” Yuuji asks, but something deeply unfortunate happens before either of his friends can respond.

“Feed me, Yuuji.”

The kids scream when Sukuna’s mouth pops out to talk.

“What the fuck— bad time to let the bitch out, Yuuji!” Nobara screams, scrabbling for the steak knife that came with her meal.

Sukuna cackles, moves from Yuuji’s cheek to his forehead, and Megumi has to catch Nobara’s arm before she mistakenly causes serious bodily harm on reflex.

“Aww, you damn fuck shitting bitch, and here I thought I’d be able to have some good old-fashioned angsty bloodshed,” the King of Curses (never may he reign) teases. “Such a shame. Unless I—”

Yuuji seizes a handful of fries (beautiful, golden, crispy fries that he still wishes he could eat) and crams them all at once into Sukuna’s mouth.

Sukuna chokes, tries to spit them out, but apparently, Yuuji is determined to have his plate clean by any means necessary.

“Gross,” Sukuna hisses, retreating from Yuuji’s forehead to migrate into his hand, only to have Nobara stab her mediocre-at-best steak and jam it into Sukuna’s stupid, little cursed mouth.

“We’re playing whack-a-mole tonight, boys,” she says, excited, and she and Yuuji begin their absurd game.

Megumi watches, not sure if he’s supposed to feel disgusted, embarrassed, or impressed by their actions and abilities.

“Megumi! Megumi you gotta help us!!” Yuuji says, using his literally superhuman abilities to accurately throw french fries and burger bits into Sukuna’s mouth as it appears all over his body with genuinely terrifying accuracy.

Megumi doesn’t say anything. He thinks he’s forgotten how.

“Megumi, have you got a drop of pine oil for a brain?” Nobara says, using her free hand to smack her palm into his forehead. “Help us, you knucklehead!”

Almost as if to show him, Nobara swipes up one of his four absolutely abysmal looking mozzarella sticks, grabs hold of Yuuji’s hand, forces Sukuna’s stupid little mouth open, and shoves it right in there.

Sukuna’s mouth disappears, and for several solid minutes, the kids sit in tense silence, waiting for it to pop up again.

Yuuji pats himself down, slowly at first, then with developing manic energy. He stops suddenly, looks up at his friends. “I think he’s gone,” he says.

Megumi looks visibly surprised, while Nobara’s eyeballs are about two millimeters from actually falling out of her skull.

“Are you saying we fed the legendary King of Curses a mozzarella stick so bad it killed him?” she says, flicking the crumbs of said murderous mozzarella stick off her fingers.

Megumi reaches into his pocket and dredges up all the spare change he had on him, dumps into the center of the table. “Who gives a shit,” he says, borderline hisses. “We need to get out of here. Yuuji, are you still hungry?”

Yuuji’s stomach answers that question for him.

Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose. This is stupid. This is ridiculous. What the hell is his life. “Fuck it— I’ll break into Gojou’s secret pantry and cook you something when we get back.”

“Promise not to burn the compound down?” Yuuji makes these stupid giant puppy eyes and everything.

“I can do no such thing.” Megumi links his arm with Yuuji’s (to keep him from escaping) as he stands and grabs Nobara by the collar. “Empty your pockets; we’re leaving.”

“All right, all right!” Yuuji squirms out of Megumi’s grasp and throws his whole wallet down while Nobara turns her coin purse upside down .

“That should keep them busy,” she says, elbowing Megumi in the side to make him let her go. She pulls her hammer out and does a few trick tosses with it before nodding at the boys. “Let’s go.”

All three of them bolt for the door. No one inside even blinks.

Megumi whistles for his dogs as he bursts out the door, and they’re at his feet in a heartbeat, low to the ground, snapping and snarling at something up ahead. Megumi clenches his jaw, readying himself for what he’s about to see.

It promptly goes slack at the absolutely terrifying creature before the three of them.

It’s a curse, probably, judging from the obscene amount of cursed energy radiating from it. At first glance, it looks like a stag, but as it steps forward, comes into the sickly yellow light still streaming out the diner’s windows, it’s clearly not, what with the front-facing eyes and an open mouth full of sharp, glistening teeth.

All three kids’ blood runs cold.

The curse takes another step forward, and the next thing Nobara notices about it is its putrid stench. She crouches down, slowly picks a few nails out of their pouch, and infuses them with cursed energy.

Beside her, Yuuji cracks his knuckles, his fists beginning to glow blue. “You guys ready?”

Megumi brings his dogs back in, reaches into his shadow pocket, and pulls out a sword. “If either of you die,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’m going to kill you.”

Nobara faces him and laughs. She does a flip toss with her hammer as she pulls out her nails and imbues them with her cursed energy. “Aww, you’re worried about us? How cute.” She tosses her nails up, and as she turns away from Megumi, she SLAMS her hammer into them, sending them flying into the beast’s face faster than the naked eye can trace.

The beast roars; the ground trembles at the sound. The nails slow midair; Nobara digs her heels into the ground, grits her teeth, and forces more cursed energy into the nails. She’s not used to this type of force, but that’s not what concerns her.

Meanwhile, Yuuji breaks into a sprint, eyes glowing as he charges at the beast; there’s nothing going through his mind, just the one-track desire to win.

The beast turns to face him (and okay, he feels that in the way his organs shiver inside his belly), and Nobara’s nails dig into its neck, right around where the jugular would be if it were really alive. The force of its resulting roar tugs at Yuuji’s hair like a strong wind would, and so he punches it square in the nose.

“SHUT UP!” he screams, basically inverting its face with the power of his bare fist. With his other hand, he latches onto its antlers, using his momentum to swing onto the creature’s head. “Megumi! Toss me a weapon!”

Megumi mumbles an apology to Maki-senpai as he reaches into his shadow pocket for a random weapon, throwing it up to Yuuji. Nobara snaps her fingers, her nails instantly sinking into the tender flesh of the beast, which screams and flails in pain.

Yuuji grits his teeth, but somehow manages to catch what Megumi’s thrown him— some sort of giant, square butcher's knife. He hacks off the beast's ear (messy work, but he manages it), tosses it down to Nobara, and jumps off before the writhing can throw him off.

"Do the resonance thing!" he shouts from halfway down.

"Oh, like I needed to be told?" she snaps. She jumps back, whips the doll out of her tool belt, and throws it down as the ear lands in front of her.

"Well, ex-cuse me, princess! I’m trying to communicate here!"

(Megumi rolls his eyes, luckily having time for that as he awaits the perfect moment to strike.)

Nobara slams her hammer into a half dozen more cursed nails. “Resonance!” she screams, but her voice is lost in the thunderous ring that comes out of them.

The beast freezes up, and finally, it’s Megumi’s turn. He adjusts his grip on his sword, then charges at the beast, slicing it all the way down its belly.

He skids to a stop, flicks the blood off the blade, and pivots around, expecting to see the cursed beast at least disintegrating from that strike.

But it’s not. It’s watering the earth with its blood (and bizarre, alien-like plants spring up from where it falls), still standing despite it all. In fact, it starts moving again, first shaking itself out, then regenerating everything the kids damaged. It starts to glow blue, cursed energy surrounding it and billowing out like flames that have just been fed eight gallons of gasoline.

Nobara stops breathing for a second, her straw doll glowing with raw, foreign energy before it disintegrates itself. “Shit,” she hisses. While this isn’t a first in her life, it has been many years since she’s fought something so much more overwhelmingly powerful.

Beside her, Yuuji adopts a fighting stance again. Some idiots never learn, and in a battle of stubbornness, he’d beat even an ass. Well, if he’s going to try again—

Megumi dumps his sword back into his shadow pocket and summons Nue. He jumps upon its back and shouts, “Nobara!”

In a flash, Nobara shoves her hammer back into its belt loop, snatches up Yuuji by the hoodie, and makes a break for it.

“Ack!” Yuuji stammers, caught off guard. Being suddenly jerked back and dragged away at accelerations typically only achievable by sports vehicles will do that to you.

“We’re leaving,” Nobara says, adjusting her grip on his hood once, twice, then ultimately just giving up on that, tossing him up a bit so that she can just carry him under her arm instead.

“What??” Yuuji wriggles for a bit, just to get a bit more comfortable, but it’s a little bit pointless since Megumi swoops in and picks them both up in Nue’s claws. “What’s going on?” he sputters, twisting around to look back at the monster they’ve left behind. Its cursed energy output has died off, and it’s not pursuing them. It just shakes out its head and lumbers back into the darkness whence it came. What about all the curses in the diner?”

“Whatever that thing is, it’s too powerful for us right now,” Megumi tells him. “And we can’t exorcise the diner if we’ve been killed by that giant special grade thing.”

“What if we brought in Gojou-sensei later?”

Noticing Nue tiring, Megumi reaches over and knocks each of his friends on the head. “Brace yourselves,” he tells them.

“What???” Yuuji shouts, and they all tumble to the forest floor.

Megumi cracks his knuckles and swipes at a bit of blood oozing from a scrape on his cheek. “I told you to brace yourself.”

“And I was asking you why we can’t go get Gojou-sensei to help us later!” Yuuji snips, sitting upright.

Nobara groans, wiping a smear of mud off her jaw. “Are you crazy?” she caps. “If we tell him we had a midnight adventure without him, he’s gonna fall to pieces so fast, we’ll all be hit by the shrapnel!” She picks herself up and brushes the dirt and leaves into Yuuji’s face just for kicks.

Yuuji spits out a leaf. “Can you not?”

Nobara huffs, mad that her joke didn’t land.

Megumi looks upwards, at the fragments of the sky visible through the treetops. “Let’s just come back in the morning,” he says. It’s been a long night; they’re all exhausted. He doesn’t have the brainpower to manage this right now.

“All right,” Yuuji sighs, standing up. He shakes himself out all at once like a dog, somehow not dirtying anyone like that.

They tiredly amble out of the dark woods, miraculously finding the trail out, and creep back into the building. Absently, Megumi checks a clock— 4:18? He must be imagining things, he decides.

The three of them stumble into Yuuji’s room and crash into a heap together, fast asleep the second their heads hit the bed.

But they never find the diner again.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fushiguro megumi #kugisaki nobara #itadori yuuji #long post #the flower is not a-writing

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buckstaposition · 4 years ago

Text

I cling to your lips like gloss (3)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie 👋

tags&warnings: spoilers for season 3, wonky timelines & odd pacing, drinking, swearing, mentions of sex work, mentions of canon-typical violence, Miss Salome is back!, some mild domesticity, partial nudity, a lil’ bit of sexual & romantic tension, soft&protective!Javi today tomorrow and forever

words: 8906 🙃🤡🙃🤡

summary: “The United States government is buying you a dress because you being at that party is of strategic importance to this investigation.”

Author’s note: Thank you SO SO much everyone who read, reblogged, and commented! It means so much to me and I want you to know that I read those comments and reviews at least every other day

Also this chapter was originally going to feature more as I was planning to move into the actual plot of the season, but then it just got longer and longer and I wanted to keep it under 10k words so that has all been moved to the beginning of ch4 instead. Anyway, remember it’s okay to take breaks in between, stay hydrated, and enjoy!

—

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries @fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83 @cinewhore @maddoggrahaml

(message me if you want to be added to the list)

beautiful moodboard made by @huliabitch

Masterlist

Prologue • Chapter 1 - The Informant • Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals

Chapter 3 - Swallow Pride and Anger

He made a habit of checking in with Miss Rivas regularly, usually on Wednesday evenings. It was late enough in the week for her to have gathered something to tell him, and for him to need interactions beyond dealing with pissy bureaucrats and the chorus of 'yes boss'es from his agents. That and he made the conscious choice to never bother her on Thursdays, seeing as how often she'd come back from a work day in the double digits, only to rise again with the sun on Friday mornings for her frequent trips back to Medellín.

On this Wednesday, his self-imposed cigarette embargo inside his office combined with a slow and frustrating day had led him to go back to his apartment at an uncharacteristically early hour. He threw his jacket, wallet and keys down on the table, then loosened his tie and grabbed a beer from his fridge. He took a slow pull from the bottle, allowing himself to slump a bit against the kitchen counter. This apartment, while never what he would call a home, was still a sanctuary of sorts, even if most days he only came here to sleep and change clothes. He finished about half the bottle before clicking the bent cap back on haphazardly and placing it back in the fridge. He checked his watch and decided that a shower would, if not make him feel better, at least wash off the stale dryness of the embassy complex's aircon.

His hair still damp, he exited the bathroom about half an hour later. He padded across the floor barefoot, shuffling around the few rooms a bit, pulling on a clean t-shirt and preparing a small meal in the kitchen. He didn't have much except for the usual staples, chosen by how easy they were to prepare and by how effectively they would fill his stomach, rather than for any considerations of taste. The only thing he allowed himself to indulge in was the selection of fresh fruit he picked up at the street market down the road. By the time he'd gotten something in his stomach it was nearing seven. Javier reckoned she would be home by now and would have had enough time to settle in. He grabbed his fruit plate and trudged over to his wall-mounted landline phone. After placing the plate on the low side table, he dialled the satphone's number and waited for the line to connect.

"Agent Peña, good evening!" The sound quality was much better than with those tinny phone cells. It allowed him to hear how pleased she sounded as she greeted him, and how slightly out of breath.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Miss Rivas. I can call back later?" It occurred to him that she might be in the process of making dinner herself.

"Oh no, it's alright!" He heard the shuffling of steps and the hum of music in the background. "Hang on, let me finish on the landline, then I'm all yours." She must have set the satphone down right next to her stereo system. He could hear music more clearly now, still distant like not all of it survived the transmission, but distinct enough to make out a string section paired with electric guitar and words in an unfamiliar language.

"Interesting music selection." He mused as she came back on the line.

"Huh? Oh yes, Angelika let me borrow some of her tapes. Newly historical contraband from behind the Iron Curtain." She laughed quietly, and Javier thought of how for some of his former CIA colleagues, that might have been reason enough to drag her in for an interrogation. He sneered at the notion, glad it was no longer relevant. "Not that I understand anything, but that's why music is called the universal language, I suppose."

"Your German friend." Javier hummed thoughtfully. He'd had to look up what that Stasi remark meant, embarassingly enough. Despite the added information included, he'd been made to change it to 'Calí KBG' in his preliminary report on the matter.

"Yes. I'm sorry I couldn't convince her to help more. It's half the way she was brought up and half fear. I guess the thought of going up against a powerful drug cartel and helping the American government at the same time is just a bit too much. And with her and Julio now trying for a baby she just really doesn't want to risk it, you know?"

"It's okay." Javier said reflexively, allowing himself to sit on the floor by his phone, his back against the wall. Angelika Florez-something-long-and-German-with-lots-of-umlauts that he wasn't even going to attempt to pronounce worked at the Calí phone company and would have been an invaluable asset, but then again she'd already placed herself in danger by allowing Diana to relay what she knew. Javier wasn't going to force anyone to become an informant. "Anything new on your end?"

"New corner office."

"Nice."

"Oh, very." He heard more soft rustling over the line, as if she was moving around, and then some light clicking noises that might have been a large window or door being opened. "Miguel Rodríguez did stop by yesterday. Unannounced, of course. Cut into my lunch break."

Javier straightened, the hand with a piece of orange sinking back down from his lips. "Oh? What did he want?" Unfortunately it was nothing he could be nailed down for. The Rodríguez brothers did own that bank and had every right to be there, every once in a while.

"Wanted to talk about the tax evasion scheme I devised. I swear, there's nothing rich people hate more than paying their taxes!" Her huff made him laugh softly, despite everything. "Nothing of substance to report, sadly."

"We'll get them." Javier promised. "With your help, they'll go down like a bag of rocks in water."

She hummed, tapping her nails against the phone casing absently. He could hear the light click of it over the line. Javier let himself enjoy the reprieve this unassuming silence offered.

"I've been wondering," she started again after a moment, pensive, "how you met Gabriela. Was it when she was still at the brothel or after?"

Actually screw reprieve. Javier felt like all his blood was now rushing to his ears and neck. "Umm..." he said, eloquently. "W-why d'you want to know?" And hadn't the other woman told her that detail, since they apparently shared everything? He had made it until now in forcibly not dwelling on what exactly this 'everything' would entail.

"Sorry no, that came out wrong. I was just wondering if she'd ever been in any way involved in your... work. I'm sorry, this isn't... I just- I worry."

Javier exhaled slowly, thinking back on the night he'd chanced upon the stunning redhead at a bar. He hadn't planned on it becoming a regular thing, and then before he knew it, the sporadic nights he spent with her were the only thing removed from the stress of his job. "No, never."

"Dammit."

That was... not what he'd expected. He frowned a moment before it dawned on him.

"You're worried that by involving her when Maritza asked you for help you put her in danger."

"...Yes." She sounded glum now, not pleased and at ease enough to attempt to joke with him like before. He hated it.

"Hey, it's alright. Nothing happened to her." At least to her. At least one person had come out of that nightmare mostly unscathed. It was something to be grateful for. "They're gone now. Escobar and his men are gone. She's safe."

"Thank you, Agent Peña. I just-" Her voice sounded so small, suddenly. He frowned, plate of fruit long forgotten. "I couldn't bear it if I lost her, too. And while I didn't live in Medellín for all of it I ...you hear things."

Unbidden, his mind flashed to the brothel on 23rd street in Envigado, all the women executed, La Quica putting bullets through their brains because one of them had been brave enough to call the Search Bloc and DEA on him. He thought of Helena. He thought of the dozens more who had the violence in their lives compounded tenfold because they'd dared to defy the narcos' terror. And often enough, through him. Sometimes the guilt ate Javier alive.

"Hang on a moment." He said, already heaving himself up and striding over to the kitchen, grabbing his unfinished beer from the fridge, then doubling back over to the bar and grabbing a glass and a bottle of whiskey. Mixing the two was probably not a good idea. As much as drinking in general. He didn't care right now. Javier tried to be a better man than he had been, but there were times when he slipped.

He poured himself a glass of the liquor as he sat back down and snatched the phone receiver back up from where it swung against the wall.

"I'm back." He announced simply and took a swig.

"I shouldn't have brought it up." She sighed long and drawn. "I'm sorry for... I suppose I just wanted to make myself feel better. That if something had happened to Gabi it wouldn't have been my fault, too. I didn't think- I cannot begin to imagine, Agent Peña-"

"It's alright." Javier said, reflexively. The beer bottle was just one generous sip away from being empty now. His fingers played with the rim of it absently as he stretched his legs out in front of him, the tumbler of whiskey at his side.

"It's not alright." Miss Rivas insisted, sounding even more distraught. He hated that, too.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It is what it is." He scrubbed a palm over his face, rubbing at his burning eyes. The alcohol was beginning to swirl through his bloodstream. It helped, he supposed, that there was a sort of artificial distance through the telephone line. Otherwise the next words would likely never have left his lips.

"Can I tell you something?" Javier Peña wasn't a religious man, but there were times when he saw the sense of a confessional.

"Of course." Her voice was just the slightest bit shaky. "Should I get myself a drink, too?"

"If you want." He threw back the last bit of beer, following it up immediately with a gulp of whiskey, then pressed the still cold bottle against his flushed neck. He hesitated a moment, listening intently to the shuffling and rustling on the other end of the line. He felt his shoulders tighten and draw up, let his head fall back against the wall with a soft 'thud', his fingertips tracing the rim of the glass until he heard her soft affirmative.

This was not a time to let shame hinder him. Hell, the fact that he paid women for sex was the first thing she ever knew about him.

"You should know that I have a kind of... reputation." Javier began slowly. Like she didn't know that already. Like she couldn't guess. Like maybe this illusion where he could make this a confession instead of a confirmation was somehow more dignified.

He'd gotten the idea a few months into coming down here. Or rather the idea had found him in the shape of a lovely, doe-eyed brunette who'd introduced herself as 'Aurélia'. And Javier had been hungry and lonely, his shame at his ruined wedding fresh and the frustration of running after leads into empty corners even fresher. And he doesn't even remember how he ended up inside her room, and while under no illusion that what was about to transpire was merely a business deal, a service rendered and compensated for, he'd found himself talking. Javier wasn't a talker, but she'd been so sweet in the way she carded her slender fingers through his hair and let him ramble on, probably wasting her time.

"That's who you're here for?" Javier remembered still, with such distinct clarity, how her fingers had stuttered against his scalp. Javier had lifted his far-too-heavy head from her comfortable bosom and peered up at her, wondering whether disclosing all this had been a mistake. What kind of idiot walks into a brothel in Medellín half drunk and says he's a cop looking to take down Pablo fucking Escobar plus associates?

"They come here sometimes. Those sicarios I mean." Aurélia had said, resuming her caresses. Sweet girl. Sweet, sad girl who kissed so softly.

"Oh yeah?" Just his luck. "Not tonight though, hopefully." Suddenly he wasn't quite as drunk or tired anymore.

"Not tonight, no. At least not that I know of. Anyway, it's not- I shouldn't tell you this." She'd tilted his head up and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. That girl could kiss like she was in love with you.

That was that. Four days later he'd come back, with a proposal wrung from his superiors. Any information that could lead to the capture of one of the Cartel's sicarios for a generous chunk of solid American cash.

"Aurélia?" Miss Rivas asked in a voice as if she was running calculations. "With curls or with a birthmark?"

"Umm, birthmark." A mole on her left cheek, just under the eye, like a rococo lady in every period piece about the French, except real.

"Oh! Catalina Vasquez!"

"You know her?" Of course she knew her. Apparently Medellín was actually a damn village and not a city of millions.

"Yeah, the family lived just down the street growing up. I used to babysit them sometimes, her and her younger sisters."

Javier hummed, unsure of how to reply. He pinned the receiver between his head and shoulder and shoved the freed hand up under the collar of his shirt to rub at the tension in the back of his neck.

"Sorry for interrupting, do go on."

It had taken some convincing. A whole lot of planning, too. But by the end of it he had one of Gacha's sicarios in custody. A large, brutish man who'd nicknamed himself 'Cobra'. Low-level and not especially bright, as it turned out, but not completely worthless. Javier had gone back to the brothel that night to give Aurélia her reward, and then he'd come back again the night after, when the high of success had worn off and he'd craved being kissed again like it meant something. Only, she'd been gone. Left without a trace, her erstwhile colleagues unwilling to divulge the whats and wheres and whys. Frustrated and anxious and in no small part betrayed, he'd drowned himself in a willing bottle blonde who could do extremely interesting things with her mouth. And that was that, the start of a career and a reputation. Not that he ever expected to be 'serviced' when he was there in a professional capacity. But when they offered, he found himself too weak to refuse. And they almost always offered. For whatever reason.

Professional pride perhaps.

"What happened to her?" It had been years but he had to ask, just on the off chance.

"She took your money and cut loose, moved to the coast and got a job at a baker's. Last thing I heard she was married and had another baby on the way."

"Good. That's ...good." He'd wondered, all these years... "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything."

"For listening. For letting me ...unload." For lifting a bit of guilt and uncertainty off of me. "Just... you don't have to do that. So thank you."

A short rustling, the squeak and groan of a chair, then: "I will listen to whatever you want to tell me, Agent Peña."

Javier released a sigh, deep and weary, and set aside his glass and the bottle that was significantly lighter than it had been. His mind was somewhere in that soupy stage now, floating aimlessly on some sort of thick fog. It dulled the creeping pain in his back that told him he was too old to be sitting on the floor now. He mumbled something indistinct, rubbed his eyes and shook his head in an attempt to clear the haze.

"Well, in any case, now you know." He'd only need to tell her about Lorraine, Helena, and Carillo, and he'd have shared all of his major sins. Huh.

"What are you asking for?"

Absolution. "A verdict?"

"I have no intention of judging you, Agent Peña. Not for this. You acquainted yourself with all the working girls in Bogotá and Medellín, and I married a man I did not love and stayed with him for years."

"That's hardly the same."

"Isn't it?" Her voice was soft and rueful, brimming with words not ready to be spoken quite yet. He sensed it, and agreed, and therefore decided that it was time to cut this heart-to-heart off here for both their sakes.

"Hell, I don't know. Maybe, in a way." He was way too drunk for this. He shouldn't have drunk this much. Where had his threshold gone? It's like he'd spent years tempering his liver for nothing.

"Well then, I'll let you know whether or not it'll be worth for you to come down to Medellín next weekend. Sleep well. And drink some water before then."

Javier glanced at the clock mounted on the oppsite wall. When the hell had it gotten this late? No wonder his ass was numb and his back was killing him. There was a moment when the strangest words were just hanging on to the tip of his tongue, ready to plummet off. That it would always be worth it to see her. Even just to take a turn about a park with her and the kid. Javier swallowed thickly. Gathered his professionalism and detachment.

"Until then, Miss Rivas. Good night." --- --- --- The phone rings insistently in a way that tells him it's been at it a while. Javier sighed while sliding the glass door of his office shut behind him. He hadn't planned on being all but ambushed by one of Stechner's CIA stooges under the guise of 'inter-agency liasing', and that was after getting caught up with a lenghty presentation one of his newly transferred agents had prepared for him. Feistl, he'd said his name was. The presentation was full of good ideas, too, just too involved. Javier had told the guy as much. If you can get your point across with ten words there's no point using fifty.

Javier picked up the receiver, one hand rubbing at the dull throbbing that was just starting to build in his temple.

"Peña."

"You're still at your office? It's past eight, you should go home." He smiles despite himself, and the chiding tone.

"Got delayed." He offered by way of an explanation. She harrumphed softly.

"Not that I'm not delighted to hear from you, but what's the occasion?" She rarely called him, he usually called her. She certainly didn't call on Thursday nights because when she wasn't preparing to drive up to Medellín she was usually exhausted enough at this point in the week to turn in early.

"I hope you're sitting down."

Javier perched himself on the edge of his desk where it wasn't piled high with reports and mind-numbing paperwork awaiting his signature. "I am."

"They're having a party and I've been invited. Friday next week. They'll all be there; Santacruz is apparently coming down from New York for it. The chief accountant, the money launderer, everyone. And their wives, or other-"

Javier's foot slipped a bit where he'd foolishly leaned a significant percentage of his weight on it. He caught himself as the desk gave a loud groan, slipping a bit on the linoleum floor. He righted himself quickly, sitting more firmly on the edge of the desk.

"What do you know?"

"Apparently there's going to be some sort of important announcement, but no one knows what it is, not even Miguel. Gilberto called it. All I know is that all four of them will be there, as well as everyone important in the organization. And then some. Likely every politician and law enforcement official in their pocket. Other cartels, too, but I don't know who exactly-"

"Miss Rivas, stop." Javier said firmly. Her voice had gotten that rambling, frantic quality that wore thin its natural pleasant rasp. "That's plenty. This is..." he twisted around and fished for his desk calendar, grabbing the nearest pen to circle the day, "This is huge. It could even be just the break we need."

She was silent for a moment, only her long, deliberate breaths crackling over the line. "You think so?"

"I think regardless of what it is, if it's important enough for a gathering this big, then yes."

"I don't suppose you could raid the party and arrest them all just like that?" She mused.

"Only in my dreams, Miss Rivas." He allowed himself a second to picture it: surroundig what was no doubt a very large and fancy property, riding in like the cavalry, the dumbstruck faces as the Gentlemen of Calí and their associates realized their luck had run out, clapping the handcuffs on them - he'd want to do it himself, hear the gratifying click of metal on metal that would wipe the self-satisfied smirks off their faces.

The warrants for the Calí godfathers existed, that wasn't the problem. The problems started with finding the location, circumventing their no doubt expert security, getting the lot of them without anyone escaping... Then there was the trouble of getting a search warrant for the property, even if they did know the address, and it was going to be a whole lot more complicated if the guy who signed those warrants was at that party himself. Then there was the fact that for all the valuable intel Miss Rivas had provided already, it wasn't nearly enough to nail the godfathers beyond what their army of slippery attorneys could weasel them right back out of. What they really needed was for someone to talk. Someone who had been there for longer and knew the operations of the cartel more intimately than Miss Rivas ever could (or than he would want her to, if Javier was being honest). The mysterious money launderer perhaps, or the chief accountant. Either would be good, both would be better - then again, the immunity deals that usually came with these kinds of cooperations didn't sit too well with Javier.

"Hell, I don't even have a plus one. Do I really have to go? I could pretend to be sick." She sighed and scoffed, and muttered something about not having anything to wear.

"I think you know." And if these people didn't know his face (and would put a bullet through it on sight) he'd gladly offer to be her plus one, if only to keep her safe. He hated knowing she'd be all alone there, among the wolves. It didn't make what he still had to ask of her any easier.

"Yes, I know. Miguel called me the 'third corner of their finance trifecta'." A bitter laugh, not that Javier needed that cue to know. He could tell from her voice alone how much she despised it. "In any case, now you know, so you can make whatever arrangements you need. I'll see you tomorrow?" Ah yes, about that.

"I'm afraid I can't make lunch. Urgent meeting called by the ambassador." Urgent and useless, but when the new president and minister of justice wanted a briefing he had to oblige. "Sorry."

"That's alright. Dinner then? My aunt will be in the hospital overnight."

"I'll see what I can do." There was just one more thing. "Miss Rivas?"

"Yes?"

"Would you be willing to wear a wire? To the party?"

"Well, I was thinking a cocktail dress would be more appropriate-"

Javier scoffed. "You know what I mean." He could picture her grin on the other end of the line, pleased at her little joke.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I suppose I might as well, seeing as I'm not getting out of this-"

"Thank you."

"Best bring the necessary ...equipment with you. I need to go dress shopping this weekend."

He promised that he would. He promised to call as soon as he knew when he'd be in Medellín. And he promised to go home for the day as soon as they said their good-byes.

He intended to do just that; he only needed to file away some things first.

"Boss?" Another one of the new transfers poked his head in after knocking. Why was he still here at this hour? Javier struggled to recall his name.

"Yeah, what is it, uh..." He did feel bad about it, too. A little bit at least.

"Van Ness, sir."

"What is it, Van Ness?"

"Duffy just faxed this over." Van Ness leaned further into Javier's office, holding himself steady on the doorframe, and handed him the flimsy sheet of paper. "They've gotten a lead through Cornerstone."

--- --- ---

Dinner instead turned into an apologetic phonecall during a meeting break and then a red eye flight out to Medellín. Then there's another meeting at the Search Bloc home base with Colombian National Police representatives and the only high point of it is that he briefly sees Hugo Jr who looks well. So by the time Javier finally starts out to Envigado it's lunchtime again. He makes it there just slightly after.

He walked up to the small house, past the flowerbeds on the windowsills, and knocked on the door. That side of the house was south-facing and it was a hot, cloudless day that has him sweating in his suit in no time. He's just about to knock again, thinking perhaps the first time he'd been too soft to be heard so as not to disturb the aunt who must be resting after her overnight stay at the hospital, but then he hears the quick tap of feet and the door is yanked open by an out-of-breath Diana. "Hey."

She was wearing a wide smile and cut-off denim shorts with a simple blue cotton blouse and her hair was loose and much longer than when they'd first met. It seemed like no time at all had passed since then when in reality it had been close to a year now.

"Hi," Javier breathed, "Sorry for the delay."

She waved it off. "Come on in, I saved you a plate." She turned and walked back the short and narrow hallway. Stop gawking at her legs.

"That's not necessary." He tried to deflect, toeing off his shoes near the door and loosening his tie and shirt collar, just the top button.

"Nonsense, unless you've eaten?" She looked over her shoulder before turning into the small kitchen.

"I haven't, no." Javier conceded, following behind. It wasn't exactly spacious, a round table squished to one wall with just enough space for three chairs. Little Salome sat at one, drawing with an array of colorful crayons. She acknowledged him silently before going back to her drawing and Javier sat down.

"Coffee?" Diana asked over the hum of the microwave, already pulling two mugs from a cupboard.

"Please." Javier stretched his legs out as far as he could without becoming a tripping hazard. "How's your aunt?"

"Resting now. She's been better recently, but overall she's been declining so I don't know-" She gave a helpless shrug, then brought over the mugs, shortly followed by the steaming plate which she set in front of him. He'd learned a while ago that even the most minute resistance was futile anyway. Besides, he actually was really rather hungry. Catering wasn't a priority for the CNP.

He waited until she sat down in the chair opposite to start eating. They talked quietly, not exactly smalltalk, but nothing too heavy either. It was strange sort of almost-domesticity if one looked over the fact that he was being snuck in like a teenage delinquent boyfriend whenever the aunt was out or asleep (which was fine by him as he had no desire to meet the woman whose only daughter he'd gotten killed).

"So how does that whole wire situation work in real life?" Diana asked after she'd cleared away the dishes (and physically slapping his hand away when he moved to help).

"Well it's... there's a literal wire, a microphone on one end, and a recording device on the other. And a battery." Javier began haltingly.

"And it needs to be concealed under the clothes, obviously."

"Obviously."

"Hmm, I see. How big?" She sat back down again, brushing a hand through Salome's hair affectionately. "And how do I secure it under the dress? I need to know these things so I can pick out one that'll cover it all, you see."

Javier nodded. "Did you want to leave soon? Because I was thinking it's probably easiest if I just came along."

At this, she seemed surprised, but recovered quickly. "You sure?"

He sipped the last of his now tepid coffee and nodded again. "Yeah, let's go buy you a dress."

"There's no need to buy me a dress, Agent Peña." He recognized that tone by now, how testy she got at any allusion of charity. It was an ingrained reflex that he knew better than to be irked by.

"The United States government is buying you a dress because you being at that party is of strategic importance to this investigation." He stood to put the empty mug in the sink before she could beat him to it, then returned to the table, standing behind the seat he'd previously occupied and gripping the back of it. "Besides, more of American taxpayer money is spent on worse things." Like Stechner's salary, he thought. She gave him a look that said they'd have more words on this, probably when they reached the checkout, then stood, saying she'd go say goodbye to her aunt.

Javier nodded, watching her leave. A little noise caught his attention. Salome still didn't speak much, but she knew how to make herself known nonetheless. "What is it, Miss Salome?" Javier stooped to get closer to eye level with the kid. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes and held up a scrap of the paper she'd been drawing on.

"Oh, what's this?" She shook the paper insistently in her tiny fist, an adorable frown creasing between her brows, as if miffed that he was being slow. And it's... he's gotten more relaxed around the little girl by now, but it still always lingers that he's part of the reason she's an orphan, and traumatised into a selective mutism that apparently even the average counselor or child psychiatrist doesn't quite know how to deal with to boot, that leaves him with a lingering apprehension that manifests in the kind of awkward hesitation that now has her scrambling off the chair and patting his leg as she holds the paper up for him to take.

"Want me to take a look?" He bends and takes it gently. Is answered by a sort of long-suffering sigh. The scrap is barely the size of his palm, covered in colorful blobs of red and orange and yellow and blue, pink and green and purple swirls in between.

"Very pretty." He decrees and attempts to hand it back just as Miss Rivas is poking her head back the room.

"Can you please grab the car seat?"

"Huh?" It's not very eloquent, but then again he's engaged in a game of impromptu reverse tug-of-war with a toddler. "She's coming with?" She's also pushing the paper back at him again, pouting.

"Yes of course she is. The car seat? It's on the shelf behind you." There is no argument to be had with the women in this family, so he doesn't even attempt it, just straightens and looks for the car seat which is indeed in the described spot. "And that drawing is for you so just take it."

"For me?" It's still clutched in his hand, and Salome is heaving a huff as if to say 'Duh. Idiot.' His throat feels tight all of a sudden. "Well, thank you very much." He makes a show of tucking it very carefully into the pocket of his suit jacket, then turns to retrieve the car seat. Together they make their way out. It takes a moment to set up the car seat in the back, another to wrestle the stroller into the trunk, but eventually they're on their way downtown.

--- --- ---

They have entered a world of ruffles. And sequins. For a moment Javier thinks he's having flashbacks to Lorraine's endless sessions discussing bridesmaid's dresses all those years ago. He exchanges a look with Miss Rivas, her expression stony and tense.

"Alright, quick in and out. If at all possible, I want to be out of here again before Salome wakes up." Javier nodded, tightening his grip on the stroller handles. Salome had dozed off in the car on the drive over and was now out cold, not even stirring throughout the transferral from car seat to stroller. Javier eyed the sea of satins and gulped, then turned to the woman at his side. "What's your plan?"

"I'm going to find a shop assistant." She narrowed her eyes, gaze flitting over the masses of racks.

"Good plan." Javier mumbled. He had an inkling that they'd be here forever if they attempted to brave this ocean of dresses alone.

"Right, you can..." she trailed off as her eyes fixed on a woman some feet away, her head just bobbing up from between two racks where she was rearranging some very bright red and very small garments, "...um, wait by the changing rooms?"

"It's fine." Javier replied, starting to push the stroller in that direction. If nothing else he figured he could function as a temporary clothing rack or something. On instinct, he scans the perimeter while Miss Rivas elucidates to the shop assistant what she is looking for and the younger woman, perhaps in her mid- to late twenties, snaps her fingers in triumph before announcing that she has 'just what you're looking for' and starts marching away. They follow her like ducklings from rack to rack, and a good ten minutes later they have an armful of cocktail dresses of varying lengths, cuts, and colors. It's the kind of brutal efficiency that even Search Bloc could only dream of, all in the petite shape of this eager retail employee with a side pony.

"Let me know if you need help." She chirps as she deftly deposits them in the changing room area before returning to her other tasks.

It's an almost enclosed space, five curtained cabins in an open half-circle arrangement with a long-ish bench in the middle and some tall mirrors on the spaces between. He wheels the stroller beside the bench and sits a moment later, so that the both of them are facing the changing room where the shop assistant had hung up the dress selection. Shrugs off his suit jacket, then drapes it carefully over the sleeping child to block out the light and muffle the noise of shoppers. Miss Rivas looked at him expectantly, one hand on the curtain that was half drawn.

"What?"

"You're gonna have to show me how to put on the wire thingy." She jerked her head towards the changing room. Javier gulped, the implication dawning on him. Looked at the stroller helplessly. There was nothing but an effectively timed baby snore and a twitch of one little ladybug-socked foot.

"Come on, the sooner we get this over with the sooner we can leave." As previously stated, there is no arguing with the women of this family, especially when they're right, so he resigns himself, dives for the case that holds the machinery, and stands. Miss Rivas stepped aside, drawing up the curtain after a furtive glance around. "We're both adults."

"Yeah." Javier agreed, his throat tight. At least these cabins were decently sized or they'd be squished in there like sardines in a can.

Javier turned away to give her some privacy, fiddling with the wire instead, pretending it had gotten more tangled than it was. At her soft confirmation that she's ready he turns around, making a conscious effort not to look... anywhere really. At least she'd only chucked her top; the shorts are still on.

"Agent Peña, I would assume that you have seen women in their underwear before." She sounded amused, and clearly more relaxed about this than he could ever pretend to be. He gives a terse nod, making his eyeline give a wide berth until his gaze lands squarely on her face where a bemused smirk just barely masks something more uncertain.

"Sorry, there is a real dearth of female agents or this would be much less awkward." Javier stepped closer, holding the wire in his hands like the world's flimsiest shield. She's right of course, the sight of a woman's brassiere hasn't been new to him since he was a teenager sneakily perusing clothing catalogues in his bedroom after dark. Hers isn't even... it's... functional, off-white, unwired and unembellished, and reveals just the edge of a tan line, something he quickly drags his gaze away from. The problem is of course, that the path his eyes take is further down her body, suddenly snagging on a raised line down at the very edge of her ribcage on the left side.

"What's this?" His thumb drags across the raised skin instinctually. It's a thin, straight line of scar tissue, around half the length of his index finger and sitting right on the lowest rib. Diana gasped softly and he snatched his hand away like he'd touched one of the electric fences back on the ranch. "Sorry."

"It's fine, it's just a scar." She took a steadying breath and retraced the path his finger had just taken on her skin with her own, pensive. "I got caught in a shootout on my way home when I was home for summer from university once. It's just a graze." Just a graze that would have been more than that if it had hit just a few inches to the side. Javier felt faint at the thought.

"Do you have any?"

"Huh?" His brain is lagging on something, hence the eloquent reply.

"You said you get shot at a lot in this job. Ever been hit?" She ducks her head a little, looking up at him through her lashes from where she's leaning back against the wall. "Come on, I showed you mine, you show me yours." It's clearly a joke, and one she obviously regrets as soon as the words are out, judging by the pained expression that comes right after the statement.

"Just one." Javier said, tapping his leg about a handwidth above the knee. "Went right through. Apparently missed the main artery by less than half an inch."

"Hmm, " she hummed, "Looks like we're both lucky then."

"Yeah," Javier agreed, his voice soft and low, "lucky."

The changing rooms really were not cramped, but with two fully grown adults inside, they were just about spacious enough. They stood barely an arm's length apart, mirror to one side and thick faux-velvet curtain to the other. Javier felt heat prickle from the base of his neck downwards, and he wasn't even the one with half his chest out. He'd only rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows, leaving his forearms bare.

Her hand brushed over one gently, curling around his wrist and startling him out of whatever feverish reverie he'd zoned out into.

"So," she trailed her fingertips further down, over his knuckles and the wire slung around them, before tapping against the small black cylinder that housed the recording device and battery, "does this thing get hot?"

Pull yourself together and be fucking professional! "It shouldn't."

"Right, well let's get it on then."

He handed her the microphone end first. Explained ideal placement, the closer to the face the better. This was a modified necktie bug, small and discreet, secured against the skin with tape if necessary. She took it, pinned the mic to the strap of her bra, high up on the shoulder. The wire itself was long enough to wind around her torso once with some slack. The slim casing that held the battery and recording device she tucked into her bra for now. Listened intently as he explained how to turn the device on and off.

"I'll keep this on for the rest of the day, just to get used to the feeling." Her smile was a bit wobbly as she spoke.

"Yeah, that's ...uh, a good idea." Javier fidgeted a moment, not sure what to do with his hands. "Right, I'll leave you to your-"

She gripped his hands just as he was about to turn and leave. Alarmed, he stilled. Watched he lip wobble and the rims of her eyes redden under furrowed brows. "Hey, what is it?, What's wrong?"

She heaved a deep and shaky breath that ended in an even shakier laugh. "I'm sorry I'm just... I'm scared."

"You don't have to do this if you don't feel safe." Javier was quick to offer. "You've helped us so much already."

She swallowed hard. "No, I do want to! Do this, help you. I want to bring them down! Besides, I'm going to be there anyway, so it would be a waste not to-"

She was trembling now, unaware of her own body's reaction until it was brought into sharp relief by his large warm hands on her shoulders.

"Hey," he said, thumbs rubbing gently at her collarbones, "It's going to be alright. I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

She knew, realistically, that there was only so far he could carry a promise like that, but her nerves calmed nonetheless. It was silly, really. This relationship was just a professional alliance, no matter how many deep secrets they'd shared with one another. Officially of course they couldn't ever be associated, at least as long as any of the 'Gentlemen' of Calí still roamed free. And yet, she trusted him.

"I know. I'm sorry." She babbled, nerves imploring her to externalize her anxiety through words. "I came to you; I wanted this... want this. I'm in. I'll try to be brave."

He squeezed her shoulders gently. "You're one of the bravest people I know." And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? Because deep down he didn't want her to be brave. Helena had been brave too, and what did it get her?

"I'm just… I'm tired of being afraid." She steadied herself on him, hands gripping his biceps now.

"Sometimes being afraid is what keeps us alive." He murmured, bringing one hand up to tilt her face to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you're safe, okay? Whatever I can, I promise. I can't have you on my conscience as well." The last part was whispered so softly that she barely caught it, but she nodded, pulling herself together and schooling her breathing.

"Thank you." She squeezed her hands once and let go. Javier searched her face for a moment longer, thumb brushing over her cheekbone absently, before he remembered himself and drew back.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "yeah I'll be fine."

"Okay." Javier breathed, straightening, hand going for the curtain. "I'll wait outside."

Her answering smile was still shaky, but not quite as much so.

When Javier ducked out of the changing room his first glance is towards the stroller, where Salome is still napping peacefully. His second glance is directed towards the shop assistant sorting through the returns rack, directed there by the woman's disapproving huff. It's not the same one who helped them pick out dresses, but a slightly older woman, one who carries the gravitas of authority derived by experience with her.

"Did your wife need help?" She quips while untangling garments from hangers. Out of all that's happened over the past quarter of an hour or so, this is what really makes Javier's ears burn.

"Yes, with the um... zipper." He stutters, wishing for the first time that day since leaving the base that he could have a smoke.

"Hmm," the shop assistant resumed her folding, "You would not believe the kinds of things people get up to in there." Her disapproving stare moved to the stroller where Salome was still blissfully asleep under his blazer. He snatches the garment away guiltily, but Salome doesn't even stir, just slumbers on cutely. At last, the woman's eyes soften.

"Yes, well... call me or any of my colleagues if you need further... assistance."

"Thanks." He clears his throat and sits as she sails off with an armful of clothes. Miss Rivas poked her head out not a second later.

"I'm sorry, your what?"

At least she was laughing again, even if her eyes were still slightly red-rimmed and watery.

"Sorry, next time I'll be sure to clarify that you are my confidential informant and we're taking down the world's biggest drug cartel together." He retorts, and she breaks out into a wide grin accompanied by a snorty burst of laughter.

"Well, if you put it like that it sounds almost romantic." Now it's his turn to snort. "I do actually need help with this zipper, though."

She stepped half out of the little alcove, clad in a floor-length, wine-red halter gown with intricate beading all over, and a slit so high it makes his brain short-circuit. Which causes him to just stare at her dumbly for a long moment, even after she's already turned to present the high back of it.

"Agent Peña?" She throws over her shoulder, somewhere between amused and slightly concerned. He jumps and strides over, fingers fidgeting with the zipper tab until he gets a decent grip and starts to pull it up the rest of the way.

"Uh, no I meant down." Her voice is as strained as he feels. He pulls the tab down, desperately trying not to focus on the skin being revealed as he does. She releases a relieved breath when he's done and turns, stepping back inside the changing room.

"Thanks."

"This one good?" He asks with a non-committal shrug, nodding towards the dress without really looking at it.

"No, I think I do need to be able to breathe. And also I'd like to be able to walk without flashing everyone. I do work with these people, after all." She smiled, one hand on the curtain ready to draw it back shut. "I'll be quick with the rest, but you can take Salome for a turn if you want, maybe have a smoke outside? We can meet back here or by the registers."

They both look at the little girl's sleeping form simultaneously, watch her eyes move rapidly under her lids as she is lost in dreams.

"Thanks, but it's alright. I can stay in case you need further...help."

It really isn't long after that. She hurries, but they also make light conversation while she tries on another five or six dresses. She doesn't come out with most of them but narrates all their flaws very entertainingly. Javier once again enjoys how forward she is, not censoring herself in the least as she complains about everything from odd sizing to itchy material to unfortunate placement of embellishments.

"Okay, last one." She announces and then draws back the curtain with a flourish and Javier... just gapes. The dress is midnight blue, so dark it looks almost black until light hits the silky fabric and reflects off of it. The color compliments the deep bronze tan of her skin like it had been chosen specifically for her. It's slim-cut, body-hugging and high-collared with thin spaghetti straps and subtle beading on the bodice. A tasteful slit goes to just above the knee and the hem brushes just over the tops of her feet.

"I think this will work."

'Oh it definitely works.' Luckily Javier's mouth is currently too dry for these words to slip out, so he just nods, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Great! Let me change back real quick and let's get out of here."

He's just adjusting his suit jacket to lie over the still blissfully sleeping toddler like a blanket when Diana steps back out, back on her shorts and top.

"Looks like the American taxpayers are in luck. It's discounted." She said as she read the tag, then draped the blue dress over the top of the stroller. "Twenty percent. Not bad."

Javier snorted. Took the other dresses and hung them up on the returns rack. Grabbed the stroller handles and gently set the vehicle in motion. Salome stirred a moment, then bunched a chubby hand in the fabric sheltering her from the chilly air-conditioning and settled back down. Diana's gaze is soft upon her niece, and soft still when she raises her eyes to meet Javier's.

They make their way down to the registers, walking from the top floor of the department store downwards, weaving around racks and shelves and other shoppers. Javier is pushing the stroller, Miss Rivas at his side where possible, her hand loosely hooked into the crook of his elbow again as she likes to do. It's two floors down, as they traverse the men's section, that she suddenly sidetracks, half disentangling herself, half pulling him over to a wall display. Neckties. He raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Since we're here already." She shrugs, like that explains everything. It doesn't. The eyebrw remains up and quizzical.

"Explain."

There's a dangerous glint in her eye as she lets her fingertips glide over the assorted fabrics.

"Gabi said you only have ugly ties." Has she now.

"She's only seen two!" Javier protests without heat. She eyes him critically, eyes the tie he put on this morning at the asscrack of dawn for his damn meetings. He has half a mind to argue that he didn't feel like dressing up all pretty for some pissy general at half past four in the morning.

"Was this one of them?" Though truth be told perhaps his tie selection is a bit... outdated. This one is several brownish tones in a very 70s pattern, if he's being honest.

"No?" But this one was also one of the old ones that had been gifts from Lorraine he'd never gotten rid of.

"Then you have three ugly ties." There is no arguing with this woman. So, he submits. "You'll have to make announcements on national television sooner or later; you'll need to look decent."

"I'm not arguing, am I?" He figures what's the point. What's the worst that could happen. And she knows she's won, too. Gleefully starts peering through the selection before them.

"Is this revenge? For this?" He motioned to the dress still draped over the stroller, his meaning clear between them. Is this for making you go to a party with the world's most powerful drug bosses with a wire up your boobs.

"No." She lied, picking up a solid charcoal tie and holding it up to his collar. "Of course not."

She picks out four, two solid and two patterned.

By the time he parks the car back on a side street in Envigado Salome is awake and very grumpy. A snack of peach slices and crackers mollifies her somewhat, but just enough to get her in the house and distracted by her toys before throwing a fit. Javier carried in the car seat and then the stroller, after Diana's signal that the coast was clear, and lastly he grabs her shopping bag and stuffs the last item on his itinerary for this visit inside, before he forgets again.

"Another coffee?" He wants to, he really does, but if he ingests any caffeine now he knows he won't sleep until well after midnight. So he shakes his head, apologetic. He's tired, sure, but he'll power through until he reaches his hotel (and then promptly collapse on the bed there.)

"I have one last... I brought you something, just in case." He hands her the bag, and she looks at him quizzically. Until she looks inside, that is.

"What's this?" She holds the garment up in question, turns it in her hands a a few times. Javier clears his throat.

"Bulletproof vest."

She gulps. Pales imperceptibly, eyes flitting between him and the vest.

"You really think this is neces-"

"Just in case." He insists. It probably wouldn't- it's a newer model, thinner and more discreet than the tac vests they use out in the field, but likely still too bulky to be hidden under her normal work clothes, even though she favors looser cuts. He takes it from her gently, motions for her to put her arms up so he can lower the vest over her head and do it up at the sides. Explains how it needs to be secured tight to the body so it doesn't shift.

"It won't work under my normal work clothes." Miss Rivas frowns, hands smoothing down over the front of it, calculating. Probably going through her wardrobe mentally. Doing an admirable job of not letting fear grip her again like that earlier hiccup. "It's too bulky."

"No, you're right." Javier conceded, hands still at her sides where his fingers are hooked into the clasps of the vest. "You should still take it. Who knows when it'll come in handy."

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Author’s note cont’d: this is the song Javi is hearing over the phone in the first scene btw

youtube

learn about bugs and wires here (though I do admit that I am playing a bit fast and loose with this here ;)

this is what I based the first dress on:

and here’s the final dress:

and yes, I hate about 90% of the ties they have him wear in the show and that is how that bit came about. Sorry to throw Lorraine under the bus a bit there but I’m sure they were fashionable at the time :/

Next Chapter

#narcos (tv)#narcos #narcos fanfic #I cling to your lips like gloss (series)#like gloss tag #javier pena x ofc #javier peña #javier peña fanfic #my writing #multipart #series #part 3

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supernaturallyobsessedchic · 4 years ago

Text

When He’s Sick

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: sick!dean (it’s a thing, trust me), man flu (most women in relationships, also maybe some gay men would know the constant struggles when their man is sick the ‘man flu’ (usually it’s a cold)), mentions of depression, mentions of panic attacks, fluffiness

Word Count: 2,466

a/n: was reading @supernatural-jackles preference list, the title is same as her preference when the boys are sick. Here’s my imagination running wild when I should be preparing to post 7 Days to Die. But, Dammit Jen’s so good, plus, Jen, I hope this is okay...I never talked ahead of time with you about it, this happened spontaneously....I guess read and let me know if it’s all good. If not I’ll remove it.

They had been in the town for a number of days. Hunt finished, long finished. But it turns out, someone, somewhere, somehow, the boys got sick with a nasty virus.

Sam was the first down and out. Not throwing up, but heating up with a fever. But his gut feeling like he isn’t going to last. Even if he ate something light on his stomach.

Y/N offered a small variety of foods to the giant. Saltines, applesauce, banana, toast, mashed potatoes, soup, anything light. But he turned it down.

She heard retching in the bathroom. That leaves with the older Winchester. Now when he’s sick, he’s sick. Really sick. Hearing him lose the contents of last night’s supper told her he wasn’t going to be able to keep anything solid down. At least not heavy. But they need to eat something.

He came out after washing up, pale as a ghost. If not dead already. It worried her, seeing how pale he was.

“Any leads on Dick?” He asks, words slurred. A garbled burp escaped. Only to turn into another throw up session. When he felt something coming up, he turned at his heel to make it to the toilet.

It had been weeks since Bobby’s death, Dean was running himself ragged finding Dick. Both him and Sam both wanted revenge. But at least, Sam knows when to stop to sleep and eat. But Dean, has one speed. Go.

She could only shake her head. He needs to take a break.

“You are in no condition to keep this up Dean.” She says from the door.

“Rain or shine, I’m hunting Dick.” He says. He hears her snort. “Oh grow up.” he groans as another wave hit him. Only making him groan louder, unable to throw up.

She took the time to head out to grab some supplies for them before they leave to head to the hunters cabin where they hid out, but also primarily lived.

Grabbing canned soups, broth, and even grabbed a thing of potatoes to mash up. She had weird, not so traditional ways of getting nourishment when sick but also something to be easy on the stomach.

Driving back she heads to their room. Sam still in bed, sound asleep. She hears a moan from the kitchen. To find Dean on the floor.

“Dean!” she says, concerned. Dropping the groceries on the table before rushing over to help him up.

“I’m fine.” He slurs.

“You’re not fine, you’re on the kitchen floor for no reason.” She says, helping him up.

She could feel the muscles in his arms trembling, they were fatigued.

“The floor moved on me.” He mumbles.

As she struggles to get him up right, she had his back at her chest, so his head fell back on her shoulder. He was out of it. But she wraps an arm around to touch his forehead.

“Dean, you’re burning up. We need to cool you off.” She says. Pushing him up to his feet.

“Seriously, I’m fine.” He continues.

He’s up, but knees weak nearly gave out. She has his arm around her shoulder as she practically dragged him to his bed. When his but landed on the side of the bed he didn’t stop the rest of his body to fall onto the bed with a significant bounce.

“No you’re not. You got something, you and Sam both. You threw up, and are running a fever. You need to stop and rest. It’s not gonna kill you.” She says.

He didn’t have the energy to fight her. He doesn’t even fight her when she takes his boots off. Undressing him down to his t-shirt and boxers, tucking him in bed under a thin layer of sheets.

I’m gonna have to play nurse. She thought.

Pulling the thermometer out on the boys. Sam rang a temperature in the hundreds, but it was easily manageable.

“102, just rest up Sam, ‘kay?” she says.

Sam nods. “No problem, this sucks.” He groans.

“I’m making some soup and mashed potatoes. It’s cream of chicken and veggie soup. What’s best is you could also put some of the soup on the potatoes.” She suggests.

“Sounds good, my stomach has calmed down some, so I’ll try some.” He says.

“That’s good.” She says.

“How’s Dean?” he asked.

“His fever is nearing 104, he ate a few saltines before taking the fever reducer. He’ll try to throw up, but it just turns into dry heaves, I can tell they hurt. Whatever he got, it’s worse than what you have.” She says.

“If he gets worse?” he asks.

“He might need to go to the hospital then. For all I know it’s just the flu.” She says.

“The flu can get bad though.” Sam goes.

“In kids and the immunocompromised. And the elderly…And the uninsured…” she listed.

Sam chuckled. “It’s so sad how it’s preventable, but the government makes it a fucking hassle to just take care of your own health.” He says.

“And they die as the end result, because the meds they need or the care they need are too much for them, and they can’t get them. It’s wrong on so many levels. It’s like they’re bullies stealing our lunch money, they’re holding it out of reach and we’re too short to grab it.” she says.

“That’s what I was thinking of saying. But I’m not thinking straight.” He says.

“It’s the fever. Rest up Sammy. I’ll tell the caretaker we’re staying until you two are a little better. At least better enough for the road trip back to the cabin.” She suggests.

“I know I could, him I’m worried about.” Sam says. She nods, agreeing.

She was only able to get them the room for a couple of more hours before they had to move out. Sam was able to eat her soup and potatoes, Dean not so much. The smell of the food made him gag.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I just made it look like your food smells awful, and it don’t. it smells amazing, my stomach is just in knots.” Dean whines, rolling on his side in his bed.

“It’s okay Dean, I know. I could tell you wanted to try but your stomach is making it rough. I’ll just pack it up in some topper wear and I’ll pack us up and drive us back.” She says.

“Um, no, you’re not driving my car.” Dean says, trying to get up. Only to dry heave while getting up, lurching forward, nothing coming up.

“Dean, you’re in no condition. Neither is Sam. I couldn’t get us to stay longer. You’re just going to have to deal with it.” she says. “I’ll help you out to the car when we’re ready.” She says.

The drive was smoother than it could have been. Dean passed out in the back seat; Sam curled up in his usual sleeping position when it came to sitting in the passenger seat.

She didn’t like driving older vehicles. They drove like boats, and this was worse, it was a truck. The year wasn’t that far off, but it was old enough. The four door truck had comfy, inviting seats that took Sam and Dean into dreamland in the instant they got comfortable.

She managed to get the cabin just fine, unpacking without jostling them awake. She got their beds ready with cleaner sheets, Sam was easy to wake up. He was eager to get into a bed. Dean was reluctant, already cozy and relaxed he was content with sleeping in the truck.

“Dean, you can’t stay in here. You’ll make your fever worse.” She says, nudging him awake more.

“Fine.” He mumbles, sitting up sluggishly. Shoulders slumped.

“Come on Dean, I’ll help you.” She says.

“I can walk myself.” He snaps. He’s grumpy.

She snapped her hand away from him, letting him walk himself. But kept to herself after that. But it didn’t really stop her from checking in on him.

Cleaning the cabin she put on her phone her music she’d sing to while doing such chores. Grew up on country music she listened to some old Keith Urban Music, from his albums Defy Gravity, Love, Pain and the Whole Crazy thing, and Be Here, she dusted singing along to Standin’ Right in Front of You.

“Y/N, please stop singing! I’m trying to sleep!” she heard Dean shout from his room.

Feeling guilty, she just hummed the song as she cleaned. She felt bad for a minute, the feeling sticking with her throughout her cleaning.

She cooked up more soup for the boys, cleaned, and once done she just jammed out on the couch with the TV on Spanish Soap Operas. Trying to shake the guilt feeling she had early, as it crept back up on her.

That night, after the boys ate and got situated for bed, one Winchester had something on his mind.

She was watching cable television, surfing here and there trying to get away from Spanish Soaps, but always finding her way back when finding nothing else on. She heard the floor creak behind her.

Her headphones were off, music off, just relaxing watching TV, she turned to see the older Winchester standing adjacent of the couch. Looking exhausted.

“You’re not coming to bed?” he asked. Voice still rough from being sick.

“I’m not tired. Besides, you need the bed. You’re still sick.” She says softly.

“You’ve been cleaning all day, taking care of me and Sam, you’ve got to be exhausted.” He says, something off about his tone.

“Dean, it’s fine. Just go back to bed, rest.” She says kindly.

He doesn’t say anything to that, but sits on the couch with her.

“Do you even like Spanish Soap Operas?” he asks, hiding a chuckle.

“I don’t like Soap Operas period.” She says. “But we got only cable TV, and it’s 2 in the morning. There’s nothing on.” She says.

“I’m sensing there’s more going on.” Dean goes.

“Dean, why are you up in the first place?” She asks. “You’re sick, you need to rest to get better.” She adds.

“Well see, there’s this girl. She’s more than a friend to me. I’ve been kind of a dick to her lately.” He says.

“Dean, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have babied you; I should have kept it down when I was cleaning. It’s fine.” She says.

“And I know how sensitive you are, and can be. You love to take care of those you love. I’m the same way.” He says. “I guess I was more mad at myself for getting sick, I was so fixated on finding Dick I even didn’t care how sick I got.” He adds.

“You got a drive in you it’s scary, but it’s fine Dean. You’re only human. You have limitations, we all do. But you got to recognize your physical limitations and give yourself a break, and then get back at it again when you’re better.” She says.

“Back at you sweetheart.” He goes.

“Huh?” she asks.

“You got to know your mental limitations too. I’ve noticed how quiet you’ve been getting since we got sick. Plus, in the past, I’ve seen it happen. Sam mentioned it to me, Bobby knew it. Depression. It’s no joke Y/N. You got to take care of yourself mentally too.” Dean says.

She locks up, her walls going on. And he sees her tense. “And it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. but you can’t bottle it up. You got to deal with it. But you don’t have to do it alone.” He adds.

She nods, fiddling with her fingers.

“What has that demon told you in your head lately?” he asks.

“I’m not doing good enough to care for you or Sam.” She says quietly. Voice beginning to crack. “Stop trying.” She adds.

“You know that’s bull shit right?” he asks. He can see her shake her head.

“You snapped at me, yelled at me to keep it down.” she says. “That’s when it started getting bad.” She adds.

“And now?” he asks.

“It’s saying he’s going to throw you out; he doesn’t want you or your issues. You’re too much for him.” She says. Her throat holding back a sob.

“I’d never do that to you. You’re more than my friend, you’re my girl. I know I haven’t been the best friend lately. But I’m here now. Yes I’m sick, but I want to be there for my girl.” He says. “I’ll kick this demons ass for you, just tell me what you need.” He adds.

“I’m about to have a panic attack, I can feel it come on, can you hold me through it?” she asks, her voice disappearing.

Not saying a word, he invites her in his arms, and the two cuddle on the couch as she cries her eyes out, shakes and trembles, and works to get her breathing under control.

After a while she fallen asleep in the Older Winchester’s arms, when a wooden creak can be heard in the living room.

“How is she holding up?” Sam asks, walking in.

“She’s asleep now, that was a bad attack from the looks of it.” Dean says.

“How are you feeling by the way?” Sam asks.

“Better, but still a little under the weather. You?” He says.

“A bit better. Just a sore throat now.” Sam answers.

“I say we take care of her tomorrow, even if she’s not sick, but she needs us.” Dean says.

“I agree with that.” Sam says. “You up to carrying her or?” He asks.

“Dude, I’m exhausted. And I really don’t want to move her. Just grab us a blanket and some pillows, we’ll crash here.” Dean says with a groan.

“Sure thing.” Sam says with a tired smile. Heading into Dean’s room, grabbing a few blankets, a couple of pillows and heads back to the couch covering them up, and handing Dean the pillows.

“Night Jerk.” Sam goes.

“Night Bitch.” Dean says.

Sun rose high that morning. Dean woke up with, feeling a warm spot on his chest. Seeing her still asleep, not moving from her spot.

Brushing a strand of hair back, his fingers grace over her forehead. His brows furrow when he feels how warm she feels.

She moans, waking up, causing a dry cough.

“Sounds like someone got sick.” Dean says.

“I feel sick too.” She says, her voice rough and scratchy.

“I finally get to return the favor, and take care of you for a change.” He says with a big grin, hugging her close making her giggle.

“I’m loving it so far.” She says hugging him back.

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 10/2/2020

Dean Taglist:

@pandazombie69, @luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @mlovesstories, @winchesters-favorite-girl

41 notes · View notes

snowdice · 5 years ago

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Masterpost (Old)

This is an old, slightly broken Masterpost, but I might not remember to change all the links. The new one is here.

If you would just like to see all of my writing, I tag everything with #adriana writes on my blog. Click here for everything in chronological order of my posting. Click here for my AO3 account.

Completed fics are marked complete in their summary. You can click on the universe tags to read fics for that universe in chronological order of my posting.

The Prison You Deserve: (Complete) Virgil should have known better. Trying to help only ever ended badly for him. After a misunderstanding, Virgil gets thrown into the most infamous prison across all of the kingdoms, where the most evil criminals are thrown to get what they deserve at the hands of nightmarish creatures from the void. Luckily (for once) Virgil really didn’t deserve it. Trusting that this isn’t just a cruel trick and he isn’t actually going to be tortured though is going to take a while. (In which Patton is a eldritch horror, telepathic nightmare, and still is the sweetest thing on the planet and off it.)

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Bonus Features

Road Trips and Missing Persons: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Mismatched High Heel Shoes: (One-shot: Complete) The boys are having fun. (This was for the #magpie500 event.)

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Cops and Not Robbers AU

You I’ll Come Back For: (Complete) They’d met in a jail cell, you see, but unlike now Patton had not been anywhere near trapped, not that Virgil had been aware of that fact. He’d just seen his sweet little cell mate who’d clearly not done anything to deserve being on that side of the bars. Virgil had said “What did you do to get stuck in this joint?” and Patton had started crying. It had taken zero lies and five hours for Patton to coax out the information he’d needed. He’d thought when he’d pranced up to the bars and told Roman he was ready to leave that the absolutely astonished expression which was quickly slipping into fury would be the last thing he’d ever see of the man whose crimes numbered enough to keep him in prison for the rest of his life. He’d escaped during his transfer to federal prison. (This was a dice fic. It also appears below!)

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Mistaken Identities: (One-Shot: Complete) Roman was just walking out of an ice-cream shop when an unfamiliar man’s irate voice made him pause mid lick and look up. “Dammit Remus, I told you to meet me two blocks that way and you’re getting ice cream?” | Now as an identical twin, especially one with a brother who had a… certain personality, he wasn’t exactly unused to this sort of thing happening. So, he promptly opened his mouth to say, “Oh no I’m not…” | “Remus, I don’t care right now,” he interrupted. “Get in the car.” | “But-” | The man snapped his fingers and a hand descended on his shoulder. “Get him in the car.” | Roman meets Deceit and later Logan when he is mistaken for his brother who is apparently doing SOMETHING with his life.

AO3 Tumblr

A Bloody Handkerchief: (One-Shot: Complete) Dee and Roman help Logan move and Dee finds something from their past.

AO3 Tumblr

Cuffed Universe

Tea, Cookies, and Handcuffs: (Complete) Logan finds a strange man on his property and of course invites him in for tea.

AO3 Tumblr

What Remains Universe

What Remains of Us: (Complete) Virgil was young, but smart. “How are we going to do this?” he asked. “You’re 12. You can’t get a job or a house.” | “Remember when dad used to read us The Boxcar Children?” he asked. “It’ll be like that. Well, not exactly; there aren’t many old train tracks around, but we’ll find something. I even found an old copy of the book in the $.10 bin at the bookstore. The ending’s ripped out, but we’ve got the part where they figure out how to live in the woods. It’ll be like a guide.” | Patton and his little brother Virgil go on a “hiking trip” after the aunt they’d been living with hit Virgil.

AO3 Tumblr

Remains of Memories: (Complete) Patton is about to graduate high school. As his life changes, he figures it’s time to confront some memories with the people he loves.

AO3 Tumblr

Touch Me Gently Universe:

Touch Me Gently: (Complete) He had a total of four soulmarks: not an unheard-of thing, but rather rare. There were purple fingerprints on his wrist, looking like a day-old bruise from where someone had grabbed him too hard. What his mother had seen when he’d entered the kitchen was actually two soulmarks that overlapped slightly: a light blue one that darkened his lips and a yellow handprint that covered the lower parts of his cheek and jaw. The ring finger and the tip of the pinkie hit his lip, mixing with the blue to look like a sickly greenish-yellow bruise. What his dad had seen peaking out of the top of his t-shirt was a dark blue mark in the shape of fingers around his neck. Roman had been overjoyed when he realized what the marks were after the initial confusion. His parents had been a little less enthusiastic. (Roman meets his soulmates one-by-one and it’s not at all what everyone assumed when they first saw his soulmarks.)

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Bonus Features

Never a Chance to Hate You: (Complete) Logan picks Dee up for a date early in their relationship. Dee reflects on how his perceptions of his soulmates changed once he met them.

AO3 Tumblr

Is There Anything Left of Patton? (Zombie AU; One-Shot Series) (Complete)

Logan has a secret in his basement. Three months into living with him, Virgil finds that secret. He almost wishes the secret was a simple as he first thought it was. Almost. AO3 Link

Something Left

Someone You’ll Never Meet

Food You’ll Never Eat

Things You’ll Never Do

There are Things You Have Lost

There Are Things That Are Missing

And There is a Question

Is There Anything Left of Patton?

And There is an Answer

But What Does It Mean?

One More Dance

One More Chance

When There Is Something Left

Bonus Features End Credit Scenes

Dilemmas (One-Shots Series)

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” he yelled.| “Patton,” Remus said evenly.|“It doesn’t!” he screamed turning on him viciously. “There’s a big difference between not being sad someone’s dead and… and… and no! No! I wouldn’t be okay with seeing someone I hated die. I wouldn’t!”| “Yes, you would,” Remus said, standing up himself. He pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You would! And you know you would! Do you think you are the only one who can get a read on another side when functions cross? Those thoughts in your head are my domain and I knew exactly what you were feeling when I asked that question!” Virgil was forcibly summoned immediately, eyes wide. Patton and Remus have a philosophical discussion and then will have to deal with the fall out. (AO3 Link)

Moral Dilemmas

Ethical Reasoning

The Dangers of Stereotypes

When I Can Say I Love You: (Complete) In a world where their very existences are illegal, let alone their relationship, Patton and Logan share a moment discussing what they wish their world could be.

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The Horror of Stereotypes: (Complete) There had always been a certain stereotype about people like him for as long as anyone could remember. After the Heart War of 1963, those stereotypes had been legalized and places like this had been created to enforce the universal truth: everyone had a soulmate. One soulmate. No more and no less. At least they were supposed to. When Remus’s brother gets arrested because of his two soulmarks, Remus risks everything by infiltrating the facility he legally should be in as well due to his own two soulmates to save him. There he meets Logan and it turns out they have a lot in common: they both got hired this week, they both have two soulmates, and they’re both here for the same reason. Oh. And as it turns out, they’re each other’s soulmates too.

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Bonus Features

Labeled Universe (A Superhero AU)

Sometimes Labels Fail: (Complete) Logan was good at labels, at categories. Logan sorted the citizens of his city into 6 different categories in his mind: heroes, villains, vigilantes, criminals, government authorities, and civilians, and knew how to deal with each. But… but what was he supposed to do with him. Virgil was just trying to survive, though he didn’t think the part of him that compelled him to throw himself into fights whenever he saw the superhero Bluebird struggling had gotten the memo. His English teacher was right; he really was stupid. When the villain criminal… when Shadow Caster gets injured while throwing himself into the line of fire for Logan, Logan can’t find it in himself to turn him over to be arrested. Luckily, he knows a doctor very, very well. Virgil is going to get kidnapped adopted by the end of it.

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Bonus Features

Sometimes Labels Shift (Post Sometimes Labels Fail Stories)

Here’s a timeline for these fics with some commentary.

Mini Fic Series: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three

Two Dinner Plates: (Complete) A muscle ticked in Logan’s jaw and Virgil tried not to flinch. “We seem to be coming from fundamentally different philosophies on how food should be distributed in a family structure.” In which we finally actually talk about Virgil’s thing™ with food. It goes about how one would expect it to.

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Back to School: (Complete) It’s Virgil’s first day back to school after everything and he has some adjustments to make.Aka a blatant excuse to enact the hug Virgil initiative.

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Sticky Note Pandemonium: (Complete) There were also sticky notes on the kitchen counter, the refrigerator, Virgil’s backpack, and even the oven, not to mention every wall. There was even one sticky note stuck on Logan’s butt.His husband had gone on a rampage.

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Arguments and other ‘A’ Words: (Complete) Logan and Virgil have a row. Virgil’s new family has a weird way of fighting.

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The Things We Haven’t Talked About: (Complete) Patton and Logan have noticed some concerning behavior from Virgil in their month with him. Beyond the flinching and haunted look in his eyes courtesy of his last foster father, there’s something else of concern for Patton and Logan and they really aren’t equipped to deal with it. They enlist some help from a couple of friends.

AO3 Part 1 Part 2

Wind Symphony: (Complete) Patton and Logan are still trying to figure out how to be parents and are worried about strange behavior coming from their new son as of late. Logan takes measures to figure out what is wrong.

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Coffee and Cinnamon Rolls: (Complete) Remy meets his best friend/bosses new child and immediately has the must protect at all cost urges.

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Virgil’s Birthday: (Complete) Virgil has his first birthday with Logan and Patton and he’s going to get everything he ever wanted.

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Punishments: (Complete) Virgil gets into a fight at school. At home, everyone has to deal with their individual hang ups when it comes to punishments.

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Family Game Night: (Complete) The boys have a nice family game night. Patton gets to deal with figuring out how to not let them cheat with their superpowers.

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Family Science Night: (Complete) Dumb science nerd father and his curiosity-killed-the-cat idiot child play with electricity and superpowers.

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We Need to Put a Bell on Virgil: (Complete) Patton and Logan lose Virgil.

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Pumpkins, Corn, and Caffeine: (Complete) Remy steals Virgil to take him to a pumpkin patch. (A Labeled Universe Fic)

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Vengeance is Soft: (Complete) Logan sighed. Patton was a wonderful man: kind, gentle, and empathetic. He listened and took into account other’s perspectives and feelings on every issue and always did his best to make people feel at east. Patton while sick was an absolute monster. | Patton’s friends and family deal with him while he’s sick and here’s the thing about Patton. Patton is a hypocrite.

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First Week Fics: A collection of fics about Virgil's first week with Logan and Patton in the Labeled Universe.

AO3 Part 1 Part 2

The Importance of Practice: (Complete) Virgil attempts to perform a simple light manipulation trick during training. He fails. (?)

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Lessons From a Book: (Complete) Virgil cannot get anywhere in his training. He guesses he finally manged to piss Logan off.

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Divestment of Childhood: (Complete) Now, the thing about Virgil was, he knew how to sneak out of a house in the middle of the night. He was very, very good at it. If sneaking out of places was something one could go to college for, Virgil could easily get a PhD. He knew all of the tricks. He did none of these things.Virgil runs away from home.

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Virgil’s Culinary Abilities: (Complete) Patton’s running late so Virgil cooks dinner.

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Relabeled; Refiled (Prequels to Sometimes Labels Fail)

Coffee Shop Meet Cute: (Complete) Is this what falling in love felt like or was Patton just about to pass out from exhaustion? Patton and Logan’s first meeting in the Sometimes Labels Fail Universe.

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Coffee Shop Incident Report: (Complete) Patton and Logan’s first meeting in the Sometimes Labels Fail Universe, but what Logan put in his files about it afterwards.

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The Things We Never Mentioned: (Complete) “Believe it or not, academia and relationships are not mutually exclusive.” That was likely true, Logan knew. It was also not the problem. The problem was his ability to move things with his mind, a blue suit he kept in his bag, and the mountains of red files he kept hidden in his apartment. No one knew that Logan was Bluebird, the cities resident superhero. He hadn’t even told his parents and he wasn’t planning on doing so. Sharing such a secret with anyone was a danger to everyone involved. He refused to do so. At the same time, he knew that starting a romantic relationship with anyone who didn’t know the truth, was unfair to that person. Inevitably they would find out and there would be a disastrous fallout, but beyond that, starting a relationship on a foundation of lies was a horribly cruel thing to do to another person. These two conflicting rules Logan followed had never posed an issue for him before recently, but…But he did like Patton.

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Logan’s 25 Step Plan to Ask a Boy Out: (Complete) “No! Logan look,” she said. “He likes you and you like him. You don’t need a list or a plan or schematics for this. Just walk up to him and ask him out before you hesitate so much that he thinks you don’t like him anymore.” | Logan’s eyes widened. “Is that something that can happen.” | “Oh god, this is hopeless.” | How is Logan so good at, but simultaneously so bad at this?

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Facts on White Chrysanthemums: (Complete) Logicality first kiss in the Labeled Universe.

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Gaps in His Files: (Complete) Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Epilogue

Remy’s Follow Up Questions: (Complete) Remy sees Patton for the first time after the closet freak out.

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First Anniversary: Logan and Patton go on a trip for their first anniversary.

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Board Games: (Complete) “You’re really going to seduce me to win a monopoly game?” he asked. | “Is it working?” Logan likes to cheat at board games. Especially at Monopoly.

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The Origin Story of a Yapping Mop: (Complete) Virgil was not the first living creature Logan carried in his arms to Patton. This is how they ended up with a dog.

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Illusory Records (Janus’ story (with a lot of Remus))

A Life That is Yours: (Complete) Decades before he was known the well-known and semi-respected vigilante Deceit, Janus makes a choice. He hopes it is good for the both of them.

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Deceit’s Follow Up Questions: (Complete) So what, if his actions could possibly be construed to look like they were in some way related to helping Bluebird. Maybe an outside might think he was in some way angry about what had happened to the superhero, but that wasn’t what was happening. It just… hit a nerve; it wasn’t a big deal. It did not mean he liked the man. It barely meant he respected him. Ugh. When had he started respecting a superhero?

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Illusions of Grandeur… Or Perhaps Just Illusions: Remus is training to be an undercover super-agent, but training is boring. So, being Remus he… finds some “fun” (read trouble) with the city’s resident vigilante.

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Other

Party Time Boredom: (Complete) Emile is bored at a party, but Bluebird suggests he go talk to a boy.

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Roll the Dice Event

1. Buckets of Roses: (Complete) As far as anyone knew, Logan was supposed to be in class right now. Which begs the question of why and how Roman is now in his room with him. (“And now that I have explained why I am currently in my own dorm room, would you care to explain why you are here?” “Not, um, not particularly.”)

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2. Touch Me Gently: (Complete) He had a total of four soulmarks: not an unheard-of thing, but rather rare. There were purple fingerprints on his wrist, looking like a day-old bruise from where someone had grabbed him too hard. What his mother had seen when he’d entered the kitchen was actually two soulmarks that overlapped slightly: a light blue one that darkened his lips and a yellow handprint that covered the lower parts of his cheek and jaw. The ring finger and the tip of the pinkie hit his lip, mixing with the blue to look like a sickly greenish-yellow bruise. What his dad had seen peaking out of the top of his t-shirt was a dark blue mark in the shape of fingers around his neck. Roman had been overjoyed when he realized what the marks were after the initial confusion. His parents had been a little less enthusiastic. (Roman meets his soulmates one-by-one and it’s not at all what everyone assumed when they first saw his soulmarks.)

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Bonus Features

3. Markups: (Complete) Roman leered down at him, clearly incredibly pleased with himself. “You,” he said as Logan did his best to swallow down the rest of his laughter, “have been criticizing my work all day. Which is basically like you’ve been criticizing me. So…why don’t I return the favor?” He wiggled the uncapped pen in front of Logan’s nose. “You wouldn’t dare,” Logan said lowly. (Logan and Roman do some editing.)

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4. Moral Dilemmas: (Complete) “But that doesn’t make any sense!” he yelled.| “Patton,” Remus said evenly.|“It doesn’t!” he screamed turning on him viciously. “There’s a big difference between not being sad someone’s dead and… and… and no! No! I wouldn’t be okay with seeing someone I hated die. I wouldn’t!”| “Yes, you would,” Remus said, standing up himself. He pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You would! And you know you would! Do you think you are the only one who can get a read on another side when functions cross? Those thoughts in your head are my domain and I knew exactly what you were feeling when I asked that question!” Virgil was forcibly summoned immediately, eyes wide. Patton and Remus have a philosophical discussion and then will have to deal with the fall out.

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5. You I’ll Come Back For: (Complete) They’d met in a jail cell, you see, but unlike now Patton had not been anywhere near trapped, not that Virgil had been aware of that fact. He’d just seen his sweet little cell mate who’d clearly not done anything to deserve being on that side of the bars. Virgil had said “What did you do to get stuck in this joint?” and Patton had started crying. It had taken zero lies and five hours for Patton to coax out the information he’d needed. He’d thought when he’d pranced up to the bars and told Roman he was ready to leave that the absolutely astonished expression which was quickly slipping into fury would be the last thing he’d ever see of the man whose crimes numbered enough to keep him in prison for the rest of his life. He’d escaped during his transfer to federal prison.

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

6. The Horror of Stereotypes: (Complete) There had always been a certain stereotype about people like him for as long as anyone could remember. After the Heart War of 1963, those stereotypes had been legalized and places like this had been created to enforce the universal truth: everyone had a soulmate. One soulmate. No more and no less. At least they were supposed to. When Remus’s brother gets arrested because of his two soulmarks, Remus risks everything by infiltrating the facility he legally should be in as well due to his own two soulmates to save him. There he meets Logan and it turns out they have a lot in common: they both got hired this week, they both have two soulmates, and they’re both here for the same reason. Oh. And as it turns out, they’re each other’s soulmates too.

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Bonus Features

7. Remains of Memories: (Complete) Patton is about to graduate high school. As his life changes, he figures it’s time to confront some memories with the people he loves.

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8. Tea, Cookies, and Handcuffs: (Complete) Logan finds a strange man on his property and of course invites him in for tea.

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9. A Mystery in a Mask (but Not Out of It): (Complete) Roman accidentally sleeps with a co-worker, but since his job is being a superhero and they all wear mask, he’s not sure which co-worker. Also Patton got kidnapped.

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10. Pumpkins, Corn, and Caffeine: (Complete) Remy steals Virgil to take him to a pumpkin patch. (A Labeled Universe Fic)

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11. Where Ghosts Live: (Complete) Logan meets three ghosts on the way to his destination. All of them have different things to say.

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12. The Death of Benji (Complete) A crime has been committed in the mindscape. Patton and Janus investigate. Virgil semi-reluctantly helps.

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#master post #not writing #blog organization

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barnesandco · 5 years ago

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Nikah: April

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, sick Bucky.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge.

Torrential April showers hammer at the proverbial ceiling of their marriage, slip into the cracks between the walls of their home, begin to loosen the foundation they are standing on, one brick at a time.The gray sky is a gloomy canvas framed by their kitchen window, a painting appropriately matching their murky moods.

Bucky’s leaning against the counter, marble top digging into his steel-rod spine, arms crossed like a shield across his chest. Across his heart. She glances up at him through damp eyelashes before turning back to her laptop, pretending to focus on her presentation. The dinner table is a mess, a sea of papers and textbooks broken by a lighthouse of a tea cup.

“You have a cold,” She tells him as his iron stare is interrupted by a wheezing cough.

“This even is important,” He says, ignoring her apparent concern for his well-being.

“So is your health, Bucky.”

“My health or your work?” He retorts sharply, anger rebuilding after a lull in the storm. There’s a fundraiser for providing state-of-the-art prostheses and frames for disabled children, and he and Colonel Rhodes have been invited as special guests for the attention they’ll bring to the cause. This is his first public engagement after his marriage, and people will want to see his wife on his arm. Only, she’s refusing to go.

“Look, I don’t want to fight about this, especially with the condition you’re in, but-”

“Then don’t,” Bucky urges, the plea followed by another sneeze that rattles his lungs in his rib cage. Her eyes soften, letting the evident concern for her sick husband show. With a sigh, she pushes back from the table and puts the cup in the sink before turning to him.

“My PhD defense is two days after the gala,” She argues, and he scoffs, internally regretting the action as it aggravates the scratch in his throat.

“You can’t spare two hours?”

“Why does it matter if I’m not there? It’s your work event, not a personal thing.”

“You’re invited and expected to be there with me as my wife, my partner,” Bucky growls as well as he can, voice hoarse and straining.

“Bucky, this is my future, my life. The conclusion to ten years of studying. I want to go, trust me, I want to be there- but my work…” She tries to explain, tears forming in the corners of her sleep deprived eyes and Bucky wants to answer. Tell her he doesn’t believe her, that she doesn’t care, that he knows he’s just a tool to be used and put away when the job is done. But he still cares, dammit. These kids matter, and unfortunately for them, so does the press coverage. If she isn’t there, the media won’t approve, spinning lies like cotton candy and feeding it to everyone who enjoys that circus, and that could mean disaster for her chances at a green card, and his standing as a “reformed” traitor.

The past two hours of back and forth, the headache-inducing argument, it all swims in his vision and the nausea finally catches up to him and he runs into the bathroom and throws up. Hears running water and looks up to see her holding out a glass of water that he gulps down quickly. She kneels on the pristine tiles beside him and presses a hand to his flaming forehead. Her own wrinkles at the feel of his fever, but he relaxes, as if the tornado hellscape of illness is leaving his body through that point of contact.

“I told you take it easy,” She grumbles, helping him to his feet. Their quarrel is a tangible presence between them, but all fight seems to have left him along with the contents of his stomach. She helps him settle down in bed and is about to go to retrieve some medicine when Bucky’s hand shoots out to grab hers. Looking down, she squeezes it briefly before leaving.

Bucky counts the seconds to her return with bated breath, and she arrives - guardian angel with Advil and water - to sit next to him on the edge of her bed. Supports him with a hand on his back while he takes the medicine, and once he’s finished, looks at him nervously with hands clasped in her lap.

“Is there anything else I can do? Do you need-”

“You can go to the ball with me,” He answers through teeth grit against the fever that isn’t subsiding yet. She looks up.

“We’ll talk about that later,” She says, resolute.

“We will talk about it now, and we’ll keep talkin’ till-” He begins to get up, leaning on his elbows but she gently pushes him down onto the pillow with a soft hand on his chest. Leaning over him, so close he’s sure he can recreate the color of her irises from memory, she answers.

“Get some rest. Please,” She asks, pressing a kiss to his burning forehead. Her plans to let him recover on his own are postponed by the feel of his flaming skin and she pulls back to look at him, worried again. Her temper shifts like the tides, pushing and pulling, water slowly eroding his heart made of stone.

“You’re still burning hot.” Bucky bites back a flirtatious remark, which still pops up in his mind, despite the situation. “I should call a doctor,” She says, and Bucky shakes his head.

“ ‘S okay.”

“It’s not okay. You’re at 102 degrees, at least,” She argues, reaching for her phone and he covers her hand with his.

“It’s a cold, doll. I’ll be fine, trust me,” He reassures, in spite of the shivers racking his body.

“What should I do, then?” Instead of his response, she receives a coughing fit of alarming proportions, the sound grating and scraping at the walls of their room. “I’ll be right back,” She says, leaving before he can stop her, and he can only hope she won’t call anyone.

Five minutes later, she comes back holding a bowl of… honey?

“It’s a remedy my mom would make when I was a kid. Desi cough syrup. Ginger and honey with a bit of cinnamon.” She gauges his response, but Bucky only opens his mouth, allowing her to feed it to him. It doesn’t taste bad, warms and soothes his throat, and he lays back again.

“Better?” She wants to know as she puts the bowl on the bedside table.

“A little. Still cold.”

“Oh.” Her face falls, but she gets up to turn on the thermostat, and lays an extra blanket on him. Bucky doesn’t want her to leave, upset as he is, so he asks her:

“Does this mean you’ll come?” He gets a glare for his efforts from the doorway. She comes back and pulls the blanket tighter around him and sighs heavily, as if to expel the weight of the world from her lungs.

“Not now, Bucky. Rest-”

“Stay. Fine, we won’t talk now, but don’t go. You’re exhausted. You need sleep,” He insists, reaching for her hand as she’s about to leave again, and she mulls it over. Crumpling the neat arrangement of duvet-comforter-blanket, he makes room, and she gets in beside him.

The back of her hand, her knuckles, reach out to run a line across his forehead and then drag down his cheek. “You’re shaking,” She comments, and Bucky no longer knows if it’s due to the fever or the effect she has that makes his heart tremble like a leaf in a hurricane. “Come here,” She says, and to his astonishment, comes closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him to her. Her chin rests on the crown of his head while his nose is pressed to her collarbone. Slowly, cautiously, his arms envelope her waist, belting around the base of her spine.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against her soft skin, feeling her pulse thrum against his lips where they meet. Her barely-there yes is accompanied by her hand on the nape of his neck, running her fingers through the hair there.

Bucky falls asleep in the cloud of his wife’s jasmine perfume, her touch still distant and tense, but he only dreams of a better wedding. A second chance. The kind that she is deserving of, instead of the frail one she received, even if it was at her own insistence.

“You’re eloping?” Sam asks, voice rising to a comical pitch that Bucky didn’t know was possible. He shrugs at his teammate, who stands above him in front of the couch Bucky is lounging on, having burst into his room. Normally, he’d have chewed Sam out for not knocking, but he’s in Peter’s room, hiding from Sam, so he hardly has any right to. Looks like it isn’t much of a hiding place, but then - if Bucky had wanted to actually hide instead of procrastinate this conversation, Sam would have never found him.

Bucky nods, straightening up slightly, and Sam sits down beside him.

“Why, man?” He asks, the line between concerned captain and caring friend blurring.

“She didn’t want to make a big deal about it. Said there wasn’t much point in spendin’ all that money for somethin’ like this, especially because she knows I’d be spendin’ the money,” Bucky answers. It’s true. Peter had almost thrown a tantrum when she had announced that she wouldn’t wear a lehenga, or a wedding outfit of any other sort for that matter. Weddings are a huge deal anywhere, but especially in Pakistan, and she’s her parents’ eldest, the pride and joy of the family. Her marriage would have been celebrated with so much enthusiasm. It would have been an event to remember. But it won’t be.

He knows it’s reasonable, the proper thing to do, but part of him - the 20-year-old Brooklyn romantic - longs for a wedding. A party. A celebration. However, he has come to terms with the fact that there is nothing to celebrate here. Just a temporary arrangement. A favor. They had agreed on a courthouse marriage. Elopement. Simple as that.

Bucky’s eyes open with a great modicum of difficulty to find that he is burning. Everything is on fire, his bed a furnace baking him alive, so much so that it takes torturous moments before he realizes his wife is in his arms. The urge to throw off the blankets and dunk himself in an ice bath is suppressed just long enough for him to look over her head at the alarm clock on the bedside table that reads eleven. They appear to have slept through yesterday afternoon, the whole night, and late into the next morning, and the clouds have parted to reveal sunshine like gold.

The temperature becomes unbearable, and regrettably, he has to move out of her grasp around him, her hand tightening where it’s gripping his bicep.

“Sweetheart,” He says, not wanting to wake her, but having no choice. She shifts, burrows her face into his chest and Bucky’s heart cries. He sighs, running a thumb firmly over her shoulder, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Sweetheart.” She hums, the vibrations reverberating through her lips and his sweat-drenched shirt. “Baby, wake up. I gotta go.” She frowns, whimpers, nuzzling into him, and Bucky hates himself for waking her, resting a hand on the side of her neck. “Darlin’ please. I have to go,” He says urgently, and it’s true. He needs the toilet. She jerks back with a gasp, and he smiles at her, trying not to race to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry- I-” “It’s okay, give me a sec,” He says, leaving. When he returns, she’s sitting back against the headboard, and she straightens up to talk to him, adjusting her shirt.

“I- uh, I thought about it, and... well. I’ve been studying for years and years. This is my work, my research, and if I’m not ready now, I don’t think I’ll ever be. What I’m trying to say is- I guess I’ll go to the gala.” She says, getting up and moving to peck his cheek on her way out, still demure and a little stiff, but Bucky thinks: he’s the luckiest damn fool on this side of the galaxy.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader

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libsterslobsters · 4 years ago

Text

Since I've Been Loving You...

Part four of The Song Remains the Same series

Summary: The Reader hadn't had many friends in her lifetime before a chance encounter in Romania brought Bucky Barnes into her life. That's all he is. Just a friend... that she may be slowly falling for. As for Bucky, dating may have changed since the 1940s, but he's pretty sure that's what he and the Reader have been doing for the past four months, and he assumes she's on the same page.. When a night in results in deep fears revealed, both parties involved learn more about themselves and each other than they bargained for.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see little bits of the future and understands every language)

Warnings: language, mild angst, slow burn (See fic "Communication Breakdown" on my page for resolution), mentions of minor character death, fluff, misunderstandings

Author's note: In this ficlet series, I've referenced the one time Bucky and the reader caught a mouse in her apartment multiple times, so I figured I'd better go ahead and write it 😉. As always, the reader is unnamed, but since these characters live in my head rent free, I call her Violet Aimes.

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The radio is on full blast as she dances around her apartment, rearranging a cabinet here, brushing away a cobweb there. Despite the fact that the season is months away, she’s set about the task of Spring Cleaning… in the middle of Autumn.

Since she lives on her own, she rarely has the motivation to clean her apartment. She keeps it functional and hygienic, but other than that, she usually doesn’t do much. That is, until recently, when the most extraordinary thing has happened: she’s made a friend.

As a child, a huge premium is put on your ability to make people’s aquaintances. Every time you go anywhere knew, you’re asked, “Did you make any friends today?” As an adult, friends are seen as nice, but not a priority. That is, unless they can help you get ahead. Since she rarely lets anyone get close to her (it’s too damn dangerous when you see the future, not to mention speak every language automatically, and because of that, the U.S. government would very much like to get it’s hands on you), her list of friends in adulthood has remained quite short. But, it turns out what they say is true: it’s not the quantity that counts, but the quality, and Bucky Barnes is indeed a quality friend to have. He’s kind, he’s loyal, brave, and- she shakes her head- attractive, yes. He’d make someone someday a fine partner. Not her, of course. If there was ever a chance that something like that could happen between them, experience has shown her that once someone learns her secret, they immediately decide it’s best to keep their distance romantically. What was the phrase she heard a while back? Don’t stick your dick in crazy? Well, she can’t blame anyone for thinking that way, dick sticking or not, because while she’ s not crazy, her life definitely is.

Pushing all of those thoughts to the side, she grabs her broom and begins to sweep her kitchen. It’s a small space. In fact, she can only walk three paces in either direction. Still, by the time she’s finished, she has a respectable pile of trash at her feet waiting for the dustpan. Only three more rooms to go in… she glances down at her phone… forty-five minutes. Yikes. Well, if she’s going to spend the afternoon cleaning, she needs an appropriate album to listen to.

Thank goodness for streaming services, because although she has a hefty CD collection (it’s no longer the ‘cool’ way to enjoy music, but what can she say, a girl’s gotta have hobbies), if she started looking through it, she’d be here all day, trying to make a damn decision. So, instead she searches for the first thing that comes to mind: Amy Grant, Heart In Motion. It’s cheesy, but it’s bright and poppy. A perfect combination for getting her though the arduous task of cleaning. So, duster in hand, she slips her earbuds in and, once again, gets to the task at hand.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s a few minutes early, so he’s not expecting the door to be open, or even for her to be home. In hindsight, he should’ve texted and asked if it was okay, him showing up before the agreed time, but he didn’t think of it, and now that he’s in her building, well… he’ll just hang around in the hallway until it’s closer to five o’clock.

Not for the first time in the past three months, he thinks to himself that he has absolutely no idea what the protocal is for dating these days. He’s read multiple articles (Reddit is a wellspring of information that he wasn’t necessarily looking for, but there it was) and watched several Youtube videos, but one person seems to contradict another. Wait twenty-four hours after a date to call, no don’t do that, it makes her nervous, but if you call before then, you’ll scare her off with your desperation. Let her determine who makes the first move, but don’t be afraid to take control. Go with casual dates, but make them special. All in all, he can’t help thinking this was much simpler seventy years ago when there were basically three choices on what you’d do on any given night: the movie theater, a diner, or dancing. Maybe a combination of the three, and if you were lucky, possibly parking afterwards. Now… good grief. The best he can figure is to just go with his gut. In essence, get to know her, enjoy their time together. Other than that… well, he’s still figuring it out. So far, things are going slowly, and he’s okay with that. It’s really nice, actually. No pressure for either of them.

He’s still emmersed in his thoughts when he steps out of the elevator and onto the sixth floor. It’s always vaguely noisy. The walls are thin ( the building was constructed before the collapse of the Soviet Union, which he only recently learned about), and there’s several couples cohabiting on this floor who… well, frankly, he’s surprised the ones next door to her haven’t killed each other yet. However, as he gets nearer to the door, one sound grabs his attention. That of someone singing. Singing loudly, and completely off-key. He’s heard some tone-deaf people before, but wow. This is bad.

He’s just outside her door when realization dawns on him. The singer (who is either blissfully unaware of how bad they sound, or simply does not care) is her. He stifles a laugh. The voice is so comically mismatched with the girl he’s come to have quite the crush on. But hey, at least she’s having fun, if the sheer enthusiasm is anything to judge from. In fact, he kind of hates to break up the impromptu concert (although the neighbors might thank him), but he should let her know he’s here.

Thirty seconds after he shoots a quick text in her direction, there’s still no reply, and the singing hasn’t stopped. She’s just moved on to a new song. Phone’s on silent, then. Alright knocking. Just as he raises his hand to do so, his phone dings. “Come on up! It’s open!” Clearly she didn’t take, “I’m here” to mean “I’m right here, ten feet away from where you’re more than likely standing.” Alright then, since he has permission…

He can see straight through the kitchen and living room into her bedroom from the front door, so he usually averts his eyes (everyone deserves some privacy, after all), but today, before he can manage that feat, he catches sight of… is she dancing? It’s not a fox trot, that’s for sure… and is that a feather duster? None of that matters, because, still oblivious that he’s done exactly what she suggested and let himself in, she starts belting out the next verse.

“Classic case of boy meets girl, moving in the same direction.” Oh, now he can see. Her headphones are in. That explains it. “You’re not asking for the world; I’m not asking for perfection.” What’s the best way to go about alerting a person that involved in what they’re doing to your presence without making them jump out of their skin?

“Just a love that’s well designed for passing the test of time-” Knocking is always a classic. Maybe, since he’s closer this time, she’ll hear him. “I’m here to tell you, I’m here to stay. Every hour, every day.” Here it goes.

The good part is, his knocking does get her attention. The bad news-

“Holy fucking-” She jumps, startled, and if her earphones weren’t in, her phone would fall to the floor. “Dammit, Barnes!”

He tries hard, but he’s not entirely certain he’s convincingly covered his laugh with a cough.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball.” She’s trying to seem annoyed, but her own smile gives her away.

“Star Wars, right?”

“Good to know your memory still works. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

“You told me to let myself in.” Her forehead wrinkles.

“Yeah, but that was when I thought “here” meant “down the street, so you don’t have to stop singing for another two minutes.” She pushes a few escaped hairs back from her forehead. “Are your ears okay? I usually save the live music for when no one else is around.”

He chuckles. “Somehow, I think I’ll make a full recovery.”

“Thank goodness.” Stowing the feather duster, she pushes past him out of the door. “I hope my fine vocal performance haven’t put you completely off, because tonight’s selection is a musical.” Huh. It’s been a while since he watched one of those. Well, apart from whichever Disney flick they’ve caught up on recently (they never watch anything too intense; he still hasn’t figured out if it’s out of concern for his well being or because that’s what she prefers, and he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask).

He must stay silent for too long, because, cheeks slightly flushed, she explains-

“Don’t knock it just yet. This one’s a classic. Plus, it takes place sometime you’re already familiar with, so you can tell me if there’s any historical inaccuracies.”

“Wait-” He crosses his arms. “-is that an old man joke? Because if it is, I’m gonna have to start on how I woke up only to find out music has been completely ruined by the kids these days.” That’s it. Her smile is back, embarassment erased.

“We’re just gonna have to agree to disagree on that one.” Settling into place on the couch, she boots up her laptop. “Now sit down and watch Singin’ in the Rain with me. It’s the least you could do after taking five years off my life by sneaking around.”

He snickers and with a nod, sits next to her.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Here’s a historical inaccuracy for you.” She was sort of joking about that part, but it seems like he’s taken it to heart and is good-naturedly pointing out everything Hollywood got wrong about the 1920s. “Hemlines were NOT that short back then. At least, not where I was from.”

“What?” She pretends to be shocked (although truthfully, she is a little). “Don’t tell me the roaring twenties weren’t as wild as The Great Gatsby would have us believe!”

His forehead wrinkles. “I think I read that one. Didn’t think much of it.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but neither did I.” She was bored to death and hated pretty much every single character, but that’s not what’s most important right now. “How long were the dresses back then if they weren’t Debby Reynolds short?”

He seems to think about it a moment, then- “Around here, if I’m remembering right.” His hand brushes just above her knee. “That’s about as wild as it got in our part of Brooklyn, and even that was just the flappers. Of course, my Ma had them all the way down to her ankles until I was grown.” They’ve never spoken about their parents before. She appreciates the trust he’s putting in her, bringing up the distant past. Still, she hesitates before returning the gesture.

“My Mom and I didn’t have a great relationship. She was a little-” She makes a vague motion. “-not all there. She told me that my Dad came from outer space, if you can believe that.” Now that she thinks about it, that’s probably not the weirdest thing she’s ever heard, even if she doubts it’s true. “Anyway, she died when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand closes over hers, and she forgets how to breath. “Do you have any other family?”

“No.” She shakes her head, attempting to laugh it off. “Just me.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, and she’s about to make a joke to lighten the mood, when-

“I had a sister. Rebecca.” He sighs. “She’s dead now. Looked it up. I thought about looking up her kids, but it’s probably better if I didn’t.”

In a sudden moment of boldness, she gives his hand a squeeze. “Maybe one day, when things aren’t as complicated.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Maybe one day.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Despite his opinions of what music has become since he was young (and the fact that this movie really is full of historical innacuracies, but then again, he was under the age of ten when all of this was happening, so his view of the world might’ve been on the narrow side), Bucky can’t help but enjoy it. The male lead has a serious set of pipes. It kind of reminds him of Frank Sinatra. Plus, it’s bright and light and funny. Most of all, it makes her smile.

Around the halfway point, they hit pause to make some popcorn (“Not like the movie theaters, because I’m cheap, but we can doctor it.” ; he didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s been so long since the last time he had popcorn, she probably could’ve offered him packing peanuts to munch on and he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference), but now they’re back on the couch, the bowl resting somewhere between them. He’s not sure when or how it happened exactly, but at some point, they both migrated so far towards the middle of the sofa that now she’s leaning against him, pressed against his shoulder, and his arm is draped over the back of the couch. It’s nice. If only he could work up the nerve to kiss her.

They’re both laughing just a little too loudly over the scene where the voiceover goes out of sync with the picture part of the movie when a flurry of motion catches his eye. He turns his head to get a better look, and it’s just in time to see a mouse run directly over both of their feet.

“What the-” Her eyes go wide as she sees the creature and registers what it is.

“I think you might have a roommate.”

In a flash, she’s pulled her legs onto the couch, knocking the bowl of popcorn onto the floor. “Oh god! Please tell me that wasn’t what I thought it was.”

“It wasn’t. Unless you thought it was a mouse.” She shudders.

“Bucky, I really don’t like mice.” Considering he found one in his pipes a few months ago, he’s not the biggest fan either.

“I’m not too fond of them myself.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I mean, I really don’t like them. As in, I’m irrationally afraid of them.” Wait-

“You’re afraid of-” She nods, and he feels bad for it, but he has to stifle a laugh. “Doll, you realize they’re a lot smaller than you are.” He immediately regrets the pet name, but she doesn’t react.

“So are atoms. Split one and you’ve got an atomic bomb.” She’s got a point, but still…

“They won’t hurt you. Most of them are pretty shy-”

“The one I woke up to eating my hair when I was a kid wasn’t.” Well, now it makes more since.

“Maybe we can find some traps tomorrow-”

“No. I need it out of my apartment. Tonight.” Tonight… just to refresh his memory, he glances out the window. Uh-huh. Just as he thought. It’s pitch black, and he doubts it’s gotten any warmer since his arrival two hours ago. “I’ll catch it somehow. I just can’t sleep knowing it’s there.”

He starts to tell her that she’ll have better luck winning the lottery without a ticket than catching that rodent, but as he peers down at her face, he sees that she’s gone a shade paler and her eyes are wide. She really is terrified of this… mouse. Alright. Decision made.

“Okay.” Careful to avoid grinding the popcorn into the truly ugly shag carpetting covering the living room, he stands. “Can you tell me where to find a broom? Maybe a spare rag if you have it?”

“Broom’s behind the door. Wash rags are under the sink.” He’s already bent over, searching for the objects in quesiton when she asks, “What are you planning to do?” That assumes he has a plan rather than just a random guess.

“Go poking around. Check behind the fridge, in the cabinets. They like to hide out where they won’t be seen.”

“You don’t have to-” She stops short as he straightens, dish rag in hand. “-but if you do, I owe you big time.”

“Tell me the next time you have a vision of me forgetting to take the clothes out of the washer and put them in the dryer, and we’ll call it even.”

Despite his best efforts, the kitchen and bathroom lend no results. He’s really hoping to avoid poking around her bedroom (that still seems a little too personal, especially since mice like to hide in places like underwear drawers), so that leaves….

It’s completely thoughtless, him pulling the couch out from the wall while she’s still sitting there. It doesn’t strike him as odd until she says,

“You could’ve asked me to get up, you know.”

“No need.” Looks like they’re in luck. “There’s your roommate.” Wrong thing to say, because she shoots off the couch like it’s on fire and, without her feet so much as touching the ground, jumps on top of the coffee table.

“Shit! It was under there the entire time?”

“Looks that way. There’s a hole in the wall, so-” He raises the broom, but before he can bring it down-

“No! Don’t kill it!” What the- He glances at the woman still standing on the coffee table. “It has as much right to live as we do. Just wanted to get out of the cold.” Okay, but-

“What do you want to do with it then?”

She grimaces.

“Just… can you get rid of it?” Can he… oh boy. But, he’s not about to say no. That is until he realizes-

“I could if it were still here.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He couldn’t have put it better himself. “Okay, um.” She frowns, then with a sigh, squeezes her eyes shut.

“What are you-”

“Sometimes I can see something if I’m not paying attention to anything else.” A few seconds pass, and then she cringes. “Ew! Okay, bottom cabinet, right hand side in the kitchen. I’m gonna have to rewash all of those dishes.” Good enough.

Now that his mission is to catch and carry instead of kill the furry fiend, he moves more quietly, grabbing the now-empty popcorn bowl from the floor as an afterthought. He really hopes that this vision isn’t too far in the future, because although it’s preferable to the way he’s spent a lot of his time in the past seventy years, he’d rather not crouch by a cabinet for the rest of the night. He’ll do it, but if there’s another option…. Pulling open the door as slowly as he can, he catches sight of it. Hope she wasn’t too attached to that box of cornflakes, because Mickey here has helped himself. If he can just get his hand in… the mouse registers that he’s got company and starts to dart out of the way, but this time, Bucky’s prepared for it and catches it between the towel and the bowl.

“Got him!” She cheers from her place on the table, but still takes a step back when he comes nearer.

“Thank god!”

“Never been called that before.” She rolls her eyes, but chuckles.

“Thank you, Buck. Now can we get him the fuck out of here?”

“Sure, but where exactly?” He’s not opposed to letting Mickey Mouse loose in the hallway so he can go bug the neighbors, but then Mr. Mouse might make his way back here, and this seems like the kind of adventure you only have once.

“Um-” She starts to climb down, but hesitates. “Are you sure you’ve got him?”

“I’m sure.” It physically hurts him not to laugh.

“Then out in the courtyard, do you think?” She jumps from the coffee table and picks up her coat, pulling it on.

“That’ll work.” He starts towards the door.

“Don’t you want your coat? I can drape it over your shoulders?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright.” He’s about to mention she doesn’t have to come with him, but before he can, she’s by his side, one arm hesitantly wrapped around his back.

“I’ll stay close then. Can’t have you freezing to death on a mission of mercy.”

As luck would have it, everyone else is already tucked away this time of night, so they have the elevator and the dingy lobby all to themselves. Still walking side by side, she pushes open the door and they step through.

“Just set him down, or-”

“No. Let’s go to the bushes. Give him some quick and easy cover so he won’t be too cold.” Shaking his head, he makes his way towards the shrubbery. Him and his human coat.

“This seem like a good place for a mouse house?” Chuckling, she nods. “Alright then, little man. You’re officially being evicted.” As soon as he releases the mouse, she jumps back with a yelp, still grasping his arm.

“Sorry!” It’s a lost cause. He can’t hold it back. At long last he lets out the laugh he was holding back.

“I’m sorry, Doll-” Why does it feel so natural to call her that? He’ll think about it later, but right now he needs to do damage control. Even when he was coming up, it was rude to laugh at a person.

But, if she’s offended, it doesn’t show, and instead she beams at him.

“Is that the stupidest thing you’ve ever done or what?” It’s one of the strangest, but he’s been known to do stupid things, especially if it’s someone he… oh. Oh. Well, that’s not one he was ever expecting to say again. But it’s true. Somehow, although it’s under the most unlikely of circumstances, he has come to love this woman. More than that, he’s pretty sure he’s starting to fall-

“I’ll take the stunned silence as a yes.” It’s a joke and it snaps him out of his revelry. He loves her, but now’s not the time to say it. For now-

“No, Doll.” Taking her hand, he begins to walk back towards the building. “Not even close.”

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n #bucky x reader #fanfiction #bucky fanfic #fluff

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hi-alex-the-ghost · 4 years ago

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Lantana Camera

Here’s a little fox I wrote for some secondary/side characters in my comic/story lantana camera

(951 words)(WIP)

“Anthony, dear, It's 3 am why are you up?”

“Markus, hun, It's 3am, why are you still awake?”

“Touché, I have no excuse.” Mark hid his face in mock shame, Anthony coming over to kiss his forehead before heading toward the kitchen. “No wait, why are you awake?” Anthony paused looking over his shoulder.

“I got a call from Cody and Leo, they need me at ‘The Summit‘.”

“Thats, that's a nightclub? If you're gonna go party I don’t mind, you can just tell me.” Anthony smiled, filling up his thermos.

“No, no, they got a call from the owner. Apparently a group of underage teenagers were there with fake IDs.” He sighed, shouldering on his jacket and pausing at the door to look at Mark.

“Tell your students I said hi?” Mark offered, an awkward smile on his face. Anthony chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, will do. Get some sleep, feather.” He closed the door behind him. The smile dropped as he unlocked his car, and drove deeper into the city.

He arrived at the nightclub not too soon after, seeing three teens sitting on the ground outside, two police officers and a social worker standing next to them.

“Hey, Leo, hey Cody.” Anthony addresses the social worker and the nicer of the two police officers. The other officer scoffs rolling his eyes.

“I'm going to sit in the car, be there in five or I'm leaving without you.” He all but storms off, slamming the car door on his way. Cody sighs rolling his eyes.

“Yep. Ryans just a d*ck sometimes, don't mind him. How've you been Anthony? How's the boyfriend?” He asks, shrugging off his partner's attitude.

“Mark's good, was still awake when I got your call but that's not too new. What about you two?” Anthony asked, deciding to finally pull his hair back into a ponytail the best he could.

“I'm alright, kinda hoping to get this sorting out soon.” Cody, commented, glancing at the kids, earning him a myriad of reactions from them.

“Hey be nice, this is my every day so toughen up buttercup.” Leo remarked, smirking. One of the kids laughed, poking at the other two, who looked either very anxious, or very angry.

“Ok, you two, easy, everyone knows about your bromance.” Anthony said, poking fun at his friends. He brushed his hair back looking between the three kids. “So, I'm assuming there's a reason they needed to call the school counselor at three am?”

“Well, its funny story doc, ya see-” the other two covered his mouth, shushing him nearly immediately. The three whispered amongst themselves, much to Cody and Sebastiens dismay.

“Technically, Cody called me because Sebastien’s in the system, and I called you because I figured you would know who his angry accomplice is.”

“Hey what about Carlos? He's my accomplice too! Y-you can't leave him out like that i- what what is it what id do Carmine- oh i said your names! Oh right yeah, my bad my bad, see i know we said we werent gonna do that and not trust them but i just went and spilled the beans!” Sebastien laughed nervously, starting to ramble.

“Seb, shut up.” Carmie said annoyed, setting her chin in the palm of her hand.

“Nice to see you're just as happy as ever, Carmine. How's Dr.Hernandez's project coming along?” Anthony teased, smiling at his students.Carmine rolled her eyes, perking up a bit.

“Finished it. Just gotta turn it in.” She bragged, attempting and failing to hide her pride in herself. Anthony smiled glancing over at cody.

“Come on, Copper, they’re good kids. You can give them a warning or something right?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at Cody’s stoic face. They stared at each other before Anthony rolled his eyes. “You're not scary, Co-dak, not even a bit.” He flicked Cody's hat back off his head, his hair falling out and down his back. “Oh wow your hairs looking nice, really shiny.” Cody finally broke and smiled, picking his hat back up.

“Thank you, it's soft too. Now with all of the familiarities out of the way, someone needs to take these three somewhere they won't cause trouble.” He gestured between Leo, Anthony, Sebastion, Carlos, and Carmine.

“With that said,and i'm assuming the three of you don't want to face you respective guardians at this hour, Anthony, Wanna play a game?” Leo asked Anthony, with a smirk on his face. Anthony rolled his eyes, placing a fist on his palm out in front of him.

“Wait, you, are you two gonna rock, paper, scissors? Over who gets to take us home? Like a candy-prize-slot machine type thingy?” Sebastian's thick Brooklyn accent was strung through everything he said.

“Seb, please, for the love god, shut up.” Carmine threw a crumpled up napkin at her friend, who then moved, causing the projectile to him carlos. “Sorry Carlos” she said, smiling softly at Carlos’ over exaggerated frown.

“Dammit! I lost! You get the children.” Leo said dejectedly, fixing his braids and shaking his head disappointedly.

“Wait, we‘re the prize? Not the like, losing punishment?” Carmine asked, looking almost genuinely confused. Leo frowned. “Yeah, of course guys, you aren’t a punishment.” Carmine rolled her eyes leaning back, quickly shrugging off any shred of emotion.

“Carmey, you think we’re punishments?” Sebastian asked, concerned for his friend.

“No, I think you're a punishment.” She glared. He feigned offence and threw himself across Carlos, who smiled awkwardly down at his boyfriend. Anthony rolled his eyes and grabbed his phone.

“Alright, let me call my boyfriend and make sure he’s aware that I’m kidnapping three Highschoolers for a secret government experiment.”

#alex irl #alex talks #art #my writing #lantana camera #lantana #my story #open commissions

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alarawriting · 5 years ago

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52 Project #4: Rand Mart

All I wanted to do was buy a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, and ham. But I’d been to four cash registers already, and no one had been willing to ring me up yet.

The first cashier – a girl with dyed black hair, a tattoo of a dove on her cheek, and nose and tongue piercings – informed me that she’d ring up my bread, but she was morally opposed to the consumption of animal products, so the conscience clause permitted her to refuse to ring up my milk and ham. The dark-skinned woman with a red dot on her forehead, at the next cash register, would ring up my ham and bread, but told me that the American milk industry was unconscionably cruel to cows, who were beloved in the eyes of Brahma. The woman with the light blue scarf around her mouth, nose and hair, at the third register, was willing to ring up the bread and milk, but thought that pigs were unclean and their meat banned by the Prophet. And the fourth cashier, a bearded man with a yarmulke, wouldn’t ring up any of my goods, because it was Saturday.

There was a self-service lane, of course, but it wrapped around the entire cash register area with about forty people queued up in it because no one wanted to go to a cashier-operated register. I’d thought that the fact that so few people were lined up at the registers meant that I’d get through the line quickly. I should have known better.

There were two other cash registers open. On one, a painfully thin woman was haranguing a slightly overweight woman over her choice of sodas. “High fructose corn syrup is pure poison!” she was shouting. “It’s murder! If I let you buy those Sprites I might as well be putting a gun to your head!” At the last cashier-operated register, the clean-cut young man behind the counter was ringing everyone up for all their products… as long as they accepted Christ as their personal lord and savior.

Screw this. I abandoned my groceries in one of the many, many baskets set outside the cash registers for exactly that purpose. The baskets were overflowing. I wondered how the supermarkets made any money anymore.

And then I did what I’d sworn I’d never do again. I got in my car, and I drove to Rand Mart.

***

Rand Mart was infamous for being a terrible employer. It abused its employees, forcing them to work unpaid overtime, failing to give them health care coverage, busted any attempt to unionize, and fired them for absenteeism if they were ever sick at all. I wouldn’t have been caught dead there under any other circumstances. But I wasn’t willing to lie my way into the Christian-only grocery stores, and the service at the secular grocery store was getting steadily worse.

Ever since the Conscience Clause Laws, created originally to allow pharmacists to get out of filling prescriptions for drugs whose purposes their religions disapproved of, were expanded by Supreme Court decision to allow any person to refuse any duty in the course of their work, provided that they had a “heartfelt moral objection” to performing it… more and more people were discovering the joys of sticking it to their employers (and customers) by developing heartfelt moral objections to any number of things. Their employers weren’t allowed to fire them for it, either.

Originally it had been based on religion, until the vegans sued, claiming that just because their belief that meat was murder was not based on the teachings of a god, it was no less heartfelt or moral. The Supremes bought that, deciding that when the Founding Fathers said that Congress should establish no religion, which had been extended to Congress not infringing on any religion, that any heartfelt moral belief counted as a religion for the purposes of not being infringed on, because it wasn’t the business of the law to decide what was and was not a religion.

Corporations weren’t allowed to practice religious discrimination in hiring unless their own heartfelt moral beliefs would be compromised. So the Christian-only stores could get away with hiring only Christians – which had made them very, very popular lately, even though they’d only let Christians shop there, because most Americans are Christian at least in name and most Christians didn’t have a religious objection to selling anyone anything, as long as it couldn’t be used to allow women to enjoy sex without guilt. But a secular store couldn’t demand that its employees actually do their jobs, because no one had a heartfelt moral belief that employees should do work, apparently.

Except for Rand Mart.

Rand Mart had successfully won the right to discriminate against any employee of any religion who wouldn’t do their job on the grounds that their heartfelt moral belief was Objectivism. They believed (heartfeltedly and morally, it seemed) that the government should not interfere in contractual matters between employee and employer, or consumer and vendor, and that therefore they had the right to sign their employees to contracts that stated that they accepted the inability to raise a religious objection to anything as a condition of employment, and make it stick. They used the Hobby Lobby case as precedent along with the Conscience Clause decision to prove that a corporation had the rights to adhere to the heartfelt moral beliefs of its owners even if doing so trampled on the rights of its employees.

As a result, you could get absolutely anything at Rand Mart that they felt they’d make money on selling to you, and no one could raise any sort of objection. Guns? Sure! The Second Amendment and the Conscience Clause meant that they didn’t have to do background checks, because that was government interference with their relationship with their customer, and they believed they shouldn’t have to abide by that rule. Abortifacients? You betcha! They weren’t the only ones – sex shops frequently invoked their heartfelt belief in the right of all humans to sexual pleasure and control over their own bodies to sell things like birth control, Plan B, and actual abortion drugs, without prescriptions, and no one could really stop them because they had the names of everyone who’d ever used a credit card to buy sex merchandise, which included most of the fine, upstanding citizens who tended to protest abortion clinics. But Rand Mart was the one you would go to if you didn’t want to walk through displays of lingerie and dildos to get the pill. Marijuana? Rand Mart didn’t believe in anti-drug laws, and while they were sane enough not to provoke the government on stuff like meth and heroin, they sold weed quite openly, and the Feds were more likely to bust a legal California grower of the medical grade stuff than Rand Mart.

Obviously, given their willingness to sell such culturally controversial stuff, you could get any of the basics at Rand-Mart as well, and none of their employees were allowed to refuse to sell to you. So I drove over there, because I really, really wanted my bread, ham and milk.

As usual, Rand Mart’s parking lot was a zoo. True confession time: this wasn’t the first time I’d been driven to have to go to the place. Every time I went here I swore I’d never do it again, and while my abhorrence of their treatment of employees was one reason, the behavior of the other customers was another. Pedestrians were everywhere, because why should they have to follow rules like the presence of crosswalk markings to make life convenient for drivers? They had the right to walk and they were going to walk, dammit. This, of course, made the drivers of the other cars frustrated, and when you considered how tiny the parking spots were and how quickly they got snapped up, you had frustrated, angry drivers rapidly turning into slavering, starving beasts who’d savage each other for a parking spot. Road rage deaths were not unheard of in Rand Mart parking lots, including incidents where folks used their brand new Rand Mart guns to put a hole in a fellow shopper for fender bender accidents caused by overeagerness to take a parking spot. I parked all the way out at the end of the lot and walked, careful to avoid the cars who were taking out their aggression against the thick clouds of pedestrians in front of the store by nearly running down the ones walking to or from their cars.

The way Rand Mart is laid out, you have to walk through an entire aisle of really cheap impulse buys and sales items before you can even get into the store proper. Then the groceries are all the way on the other side. Shoppers inside Rand Mart are every bit as considerate as the ones outside, which is to say, I had to dodge a lot of folks who were walking straight at me as if I wasn’t even there, or as if they wanted to play Store Aisle Chicken. I was really, really glad I needed so few things and didn’t need to push a cart, because there were so many endcaps and stands of merchandise and random pallets of restock that I couldn’t see how a cart could get through half the aisles.

I plugged my metaphorical ears to the siren song of really cheap electronics, and really cheap DVDs, and really cheap winter jackets, and really cheap kitchen appliances. (I’m a bachelor. I don’t really cook. I do, however, make a lot of use of rice cookers, and toaster ovens, and single-serve coffee machines, and I own lots and lots of other kitchen appliances that promise to pretty much make my food for me, despite which I still never use the damned things.) In what seemed like a long and peril-fraught journey, but was actually probably about three or four minutes, I got to the grocery aisles and started looking for the stuff I’d come for.

And then I ran into Emily. Wearing a Rand Mart uniform, and stocking yogurt cups onto the shelves.

Emily used to be my manager. I work in IT, where the controversies are few; as long as we don’t hire any Amish dudes, we’re not likely to get saddled with deadweight. However, the hours are long, and Emily decided she wanted a new career that would let her spend more time with her young son, so last I’d heard, she’d opened a day care. Considering that this was Saturday, I supposed it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that this was her second job, but Rand Mart was infamous for giving their front line employees really egregiously varying schedules with totally inconsistent amounts and times for hours, so they weren’t generally compatible with having, or being, a second job. “Hey, Emily!” I said. “How’s life been treating you?”

“Oh, hey, Brad. You’re looking pretty stressed. They giving you a hard time at work?”

“Oh, no, no, I’m just stressed because I had to come to this place,” I said. “Six cashiers at the Allfood, and none of them willing to ring up a simple purchase of ham, milk and bread.”

“Don’t I know it,” Emily said. “The other day I was in Curtains and More with my son, just trying to get him some new bedsheets, and they practically threw me out of the store because I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I told them I don’t wear it because my circulation’s not great and my fingers swell up, but they didn’t believe me. I had to show them my wedding picture in my wallet before I could buy a damned thing, because they thought I was an unwed mother, and that’s sinful. Do you know every single employee in that place is a pregnant woman?”

“What, do they fire them if they’re not pregnant?”

“The owner’s into some odd Christian sect where you’re supposed to have as many babies for the Lord as possible. So I guess they’re not always pregnant, but they’re always either pregnant, on maternity leave, or they’ve got a little baby. It’s crazy.”

Her story reminded me that I needed to get cups for my coffee machine, and that as far as I knew coffee wasn’t against anyone’s religion. Maybe I’d drop by Curtains and More myself. I was a single guy without any kids, so I figured I wouldn’t run into the problems Emily had. “Are they one of those places where you have to be Christian to get in?”

“Oh, no, no. That’s what tripped me up; I was completely not expecting to run into an issue like that. They looked secular.”

“So why’re you working here at Rand Mart anyway? Still doing the daycare thing?”

She shook her head sadly. “No… I couldn’t keep it going. I hired a couple of extra workers, trying to expand – you know, the state’s very strict about how many children you can have per working adult. Well, it turned out that one of them had a strong Christian belief in ‘spare the rod, spoil the child.’ Apparently it’s a central tenet of her religion that you have to beat kids.”

“Oh my god. Really?”

“Yup. Obviously I couldn’t let her anywhere near the kids – she made it clear that if she saw them engaging in bad behavior, she had to follow her moral beliefs on how to ‘train them up’, rather than my instructions. Well, I could have lost my license for allowing any corporal punishment at all on my premises, so I couldn’t let her anywhere near the kids, but I couldn’t fire her, because Conscience Clause. So I had her running errands, but what I really had needed was someone to watch kids. Without being able to take on the extra kids that her watching them would have allowed me to take, I couldn’t afford her salary.”

I shook my head. “Unreal.”

“I managed to eventually fire her for taking too long to run her errands, but I had to document it for months so she couldn’t claim it was an illegal termination on religious grounds. By then it was too late – I was too far into the red to recover. I had to declare bankruptcy. I couldn’t get hired back into IT management because I guess making a sudden shift into running a day care made me look flaky? Or out of touch, anyway. So, you know, I’m still looking, but I’ve got to pay the bills, so…” She shrugged. “Here I am.”

“That sucks. I’ll check the internal postings, see if there are any openings at the company. I’m sure they’d love to have you back.”

“That’d be great,” she said. “But listen, I gotta finish this and clock my task completion time so they don’t dock me for excessive inefficiency.”

“Oh, yeah, I understand. I gotta find my groceries, myself. See you around!”

“Sure, see you,” she said, and went back to unpacking yogurts, this time pulling them out of the box in stacks of three and shoving them onto the shelf as fast as she could go.

Once I had my groceries and I was checking out, I ran into my old friend Ryan, who was working the cash register. “Ryan! You’re working at Rand Mart too?”

“Sad but true,” he said.

“Thought you were working at that hipster coffee place.”

“Went out of business last month,” Ryan said regretfully. “We hired this one guy who would not stop aggressively proselytizing to the customers, and people just felt really uncomfortable ordering coffee from someone who kept insisting that they embrace the Lord. The owner tried to keep him in the back, but you know, small coffee joint. There’s not much to do that isn’t in the front, customer facing… he’d do unloading and garbage runs but the rest of the time there was nothing for him to do but work out front.”

“Yeah, I just heard about my old manager’s day care folding because she hired the wrong person.”

“It’s bad, all right,” Ryan said. “The small businesses can’t take it, and even the bigger ones are starting to feel it. That’ll be $15.99.”

For a pound of deli ham, a loaf of bread, and a gallon of milk? I goggled at the receipt, glad I hadn’t tried to get the coffee single-serving cups here. Well, Rand Mart never pretended to have the lowest prices on groceries; they’ll just sell you anything you want without a hassle, and that’s enough of a draw that they can charge out the wazoo. That and all the cheap impulse buy stuff creating the illusion that the store’s prices were overall low. “You guys are definitely cleaning up on it though,” I said as I swiped my credit card.

Ryan snorted. “I’m out of here first chance I get. There’s a new burger joint down the road, Charley’s. I put in an application there and we’ll see where it goes.”

“Is that one of those places where you have to wear flair?”

“Naah, flair is corporate now. They do have all the kitschy plastic toys all over the ceiling though.”

“I’ll have to check them out.” Maybe today. A burger sounded good. I was getting kind of hungry.

As I walked out of Rand Mart, I swore to myself that this time, this time, I wasn’t coming back.

***

Charley’s was a low-key kind of place, dark wooden beams and light brown wallpaper showing great sports stars from the entire 20th and 21st centuries, despite which it was actually not a sports bar. It was rare to find a burger joint that was neither excessively corporate, nor did it have 25 television screens showing different subchannels of ESPN. Their menu said they were all about the social experience, implying to me that one lone dude like me was probably not their target customer. On the other hand I’ll do a lot to avoid the black attention sucking hole that is large television screens with no sound. I’m not into sports nearly enough to want to see Ukrainian men’s field hockey or whatever ridiculous crap they show on ESPN17, and especially not enough to want to see it with the sound off and no captions.

I was pleasantly surprised by how fast my server collected my drink order and came back with my Coke. She was a cute brunette with curly hair. “I’d like to get a Works Cheeseburger, hold the spinach,” I said.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”

I blinked at her. “Are you out? I don’t have to have all the toppings—“

“No, I mean, a cheeseburger isn’t kosher, so I can’t put that order in for you. Sorry.”

Oh, not this again. “Come on. You’re working on Saturday. You can put in a cheeseburger order.”

“No, I really can’t. I have to work on Saturday because I need the hours, but I do keep kosher.”

I sighed. “Can you get me a different server, then? I came here to get a cheeseburger.”

“I could get you a cheese veggieburger… the tofu ones taste really authentic.”

“No. I want a cheeseburger. Made of beef, and cheese. Are there any other servers who’ll take my order?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t refer you to any of my colleagues,” she said. “If it was just a matter of you preferring a different server, that’d be one thing, but I can’t get a different server for you when I know that I’m enabling you to get a cheeseburger.”

“Okay, I’m not going to order a cheeseburger, but I don’t like you and your sanctimonious attitude, so just go get me a different server because I don’t like you.”

“No, sir, I know you’re lying and you really are going to order a cheeseburger if I do that.”

I glared at her. “Look, I know enough about Judaism to know that you don’t need to enforce the kosher laws on non-Jews, so what justification do you have for not letting me order a cheeseburger? Don’t the kosher laws just apply to Jews?”

“Yes, but I can tell you’re actually Jewish.”

I blinked. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, of course you’d say that, sir, since you don’t keep kosher and you don’t keep the Sabbath, but I know a Jewish man when I see one.”

I had a roommate who was Jewish once, and that was the full extent of my connection to Judaism. “Look, I’m not. Really. I’m allowed to eat a cheeseburger.”

“I sincerely believe that you probably are, and you’re lying to me because you want a cheeseburger.”

So I gave her two bucks for the Coke, which was $1.99, and told her to keep the change. If she was hungry enough to take Saturday hours despite being dedicated enough to her faith to enforce kosher on non-Jewish customers, maybe a spate of 1 cent tips would persuade her to let customers order a cheeseburger in a goddamn burger joint. Or maybe they’d cause her to quit. What the heck was someone with a religious objection to cheeseburgers doing working in a burger joint anyway? I bet she wouldn’t have let me get a bacon burger either.

To be honest, I was pretty sure she was enforcing kosher laws on a non-Jew because she could. Used to be that every store treated its employees more or less the same way Rand Mart does. Long hours, low wages, and if you didn’t take the customer’s abuse with a big smile, you could lose your job, no matter how unreasonable the demands. Nowadays, the hours were longer and the wages were lower – businesses couldn’t stay in business with all the deadweight they were forced to carry if they didn’t exploit the hell out of their workers – but employees could get away with nearly anything if they expressed a heartfelt belief. In fact, I’d read an advice article online that suggested that as soon as you got a job in retail, you should come up with some religious reason to deny a customer something, because then if they tried to fire you for anything else, you could sue them on the grounds that it was retaliation against you exercising your First Amendment rights.

Dammit, I was really, really not in the mood for McDonalds’ or something. The last time I’d tried to go through a drive-thru, I’d found out that the fry cook on shift that day disapproved of the high carbon footprint left by cars, and was refusing to allow any of the fries to go out via the drive-thru. Plus, I’d really wanted a good burger. Rand-Mart had one of those snack bars that they have at places like Target, but I was pretty sure their burgers were at best a single step in quality above McDonald’s, if not the same or worse.

I decided to go to Anomie. Their food wasn’t the best, but the good thing was, you put in your order through an electronic kiosk, swiped your card, and people you never saw in the back, who never saw you, would take whatever orders they felt they could morally accept. Then the food would be slid to you through a numbered slot, kind of like the idea behind the old Automat. You never had to see a single person that worked there.

***

After a mediocre cheeseburger I managed to obtain without interacting with a single human being, I felt somewhat up to going and getting my coffee. It’d be cheapest at the grocery store, but I wasn’t going to go back there if I could help it – even though I was pretty sure none of the cashiers I’d run into would actually prevent me from getting coffee, except maybe the Sprite Is Poison lady, I still didn’t feel like paying any of those people’s wages. So I decided to try Curtains and More. If they weren’t the kind of store that would try to check my religion before letting me in, what was the worst that could happen?

Ten minutes later I was standing in front of a security guard who was saying “I’m sorry, sir,” while blocking my entrance to the store. “You can’t go in there.”

I stared at him. “Why not?”

“Well, you’re a man, sir. Men aren’t allowed in Curtains and More.”

“…My friend just was here and she never told me men aren’t allowed. She brought in her son.”

“Boys under the age of 10 are allowed, but men aren’t. Our corporate policy at Curtains and More is that men and women shouldn’t mingle socially, so they shouldn’t shop at the same stores.”

“So is there another curtains store that just sells to men?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. I don’t make the rule.”

“But you’re a man.”

“Yeah, I have to stand out here all day. I’m not actually allowed in the building.”

“So how do you punch your time card?”

“There’s an app for that. I have to do it with my cell phone.” He sighed. “Kind of dumb, if you ask me, but what’re you going to do?”

“Shop somewhere else, I guess.” I shook my head. “I thought these folks were Christians.”

“They are, but they’re some weird sect that thinks men and women shouldn’t see each other unless they’re family.”

“And that women should be pregnant all the time?”

“Didn’t know that, but I’ve seen employees go in through the side door, and yeah, most of them are pregnant. Is that why?”

“That’s what I heard,” I said glumly. “Why do they let women in and not men, I wonder? Most of these kinds of places discriminate against women, not men.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t have to turn too many guys away. I guess men don’t shop for curtains as much.”

“Guess not.” It was as good an explanation as any. “I’m gonna have to go back to Rand Mart, aren’t I?”

“I hear they’ve got a pretty good selection,” the security guard said.

***

I figured I’d probably end up back at Rand Mart, but I had to at least try to avoid it, so I tried a few other coffee places; most coffee places sell pods for coffee machines, after all.

I tried Starbucks, and walked right back out as I heard the cashier refusing to serve unbelievers. I didn’t even know what they were unbelieving in, and I didn’t care. The Dunkin Donuts was run by someone who professed a sincere and heartfelt belief that children should work in the family business, and I didn’t want to be served by an eight-year-old again. There was a hipster coffee joint, but they wouldn’t let me in because my belt looked like it might be made of real leather, and they believed strongly in veganism. I considered leaving my belt in the car, but then my pants might fall down in the coffee shop, and I wasn’t risking that. Besides, people like that might give me some song and dance about single-serve coffee pods being terrible for the environment, or something.

And that was how I found myself going back to Rand Mart, about an hour after declaring I was never going back again.

I passed a group of employees on smoke break on my way in. They were holding “HOMELESS AND HUNGRY – PLEASE HELP” signs. I gave one of them a five. For all I knew my friends might be there next month.

Then I dodged around an excessively aggressive cart return guy pushing a conga line of wheeled death, and slipped into the store. I was beginning to come to the conclusion that no matter how many times I vowed I’d never come back here, I’d never be able to keep that promise.

#52 project #alara original writing #political satire

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snappedsky · 4 years ago

Text

Fanatics 73.8

The Battalion get revenge on the Director.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

Government of Doom Part 8

The Director angrily taps his fingers on his desk as he watches the surveillance footage on his computer. The Battalion is making an absolute mockery of his facility; blasting through his fortified prison doors like paper, knocking down his military-trained guards like dominoes, and freeing all of his prisoners! And to add insult to injury, they’re all smiling while they do it, like they’re having the absolute time of their life.

And they are. Of course the Battalion and the Night Terrors are having a good time, but so are the liberated prisoners. Most of them are pretty injured, but they help each other, and no amount of exhaustion can slow them down now. Some of them have been trapped here for years, and now they finally have a taste of freedom, and it’s oh so sweet.

Everyone finally slows to a stop as they reach destroyed doors, indicating that they have finally gone through the whole floor.

“Looks like we’re done here,” Pepito says, “is that everyone?”

“Should be,” Squee replies, “I think this floor was all the prisoners.”

“How many floors are there?” Tak asks.

“Four, according to the elevator,” Dib replies.

“Shmee says the second floor is for storage rooms,” Squee says, “that’s where all our stuff was being kept.”

“And the first floor looked like break rooms,” Johnny adds.

“Was there food?” Pepito asks excitedly.

“Was there?!” all of the prisoners cry out.

“Y-yes,” Nny replies, startled.

“Then I vote we go there next,” Pepito smiles, raising his hand.

“Fine,” Zim grunts, “we’ll get some food and drink, and then we go to the fourth floor. That must be where the Director is. Onward, team!”

“Hang on, Zim,” Squee says as everyone starts heading for the elevator. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to fight the Director head-on. Dib said he’s been watching us for years. He knows what to expect from us but we have no idea what he’s got.”

“Are you saying you don’t want revenge for what he’s done?” Zim questions.

“Of course I do! He tried to suck my brain out of my head,” he replies, pointing at the burn marks on his temples. “But I’m just saying, I think we can go at it from a more…psychological approach.”

Zim grins, intrigued. “I’m listening.”

“Before I tell you,” Squee whispers, leaning in closer. “There’s one thing we have to take care of.”

Back in his office, the Director watches the kids on his computer screen. He leans forward curiously, wondering what they’re whispering about. Then a strange antenna pokes out of Zim’s PAK and all the power goes out.

“What!” he barks, now in complete darkness.

“There,” Zim says, replacing the antenna with a lantern. Tak and Skoodge do the same with their PAKs while Mimi lights up her eyes and Squee grabs a flashlight from his bag. “All power to the facility has been turned off. If that director had any cameras, he’s blind now.”

“Literally too, unless his cybernetic eye has night vision,” Dib adds.

“It probably does,” Tak grunts.

“Jeez, the silence is almost deafening after listening to that alarm for so long,” Tenna comments.

“It’s so much better,” Gaz remarks.

“Agreed,” Squee nods, “so, shall we go eat?”

“Yeah!” the prisoners cheer emphatically.

The group arrive at the nearest elevator and Zim pries the doors open with his spider legs. Once everyone’s inside, a metal tentacle runs from Tak’s PAK and stabs into the wall. Electricity runs through it, giving the elevator enough power to take them to the first basement floor. Along the way, Squee explains his plan.

Once they’ve reached the floor, everyone rushes out and into the nearest room. Thankfully, it’s a small kitchen stocked with food. The prisoners immediately dig in like ravenous animals- which some of them actually are.

While everyone relaxes and eats, Squee hands his Night Terrors each a couple of flat, round bombs.

“After you plant them, push this button,” he instructs, pointing at a small red button on the top of the explosives. “Come back as soon as you’re done.”

“Got it!” Reverend Meat salutes before they run off.

“Is that gonna be enough bombs?” Devi asks.

“Sure,” Squee shrugs as he sits down. “The explosions are just to cause a cave-in anyway.”

“Hehehe,” Zim giggles nefariously as he rubs his hands. “I cannot wait to see the Director’s face. He will rue the day he messed with the Battalion.”

“I’m sure he’ll do plenty of ruing,” Pepito nods as he shoves a handful of chips into his mouth.

The Night Terrors return within a few minutes, assuring their little boss of a job well done. Not long after, everyone has eaten and the kitchen has been completely cleaned out. It wasn’t exactly a turkey dinner, but for these prisoners, it sure felt like one.

“Okay, now that we’re ready to leave,” Zim says as he stands up. “Time for phase 2.”

That same antenna exits his PAK again, releasing a field of power that turns the facility’s electricity back on, except for the red alert. As soon as he’s done that, Tak slices a chuck of metal out of the wall, revealing the wires hidden beneath. She quickly gets to work, stripping and attaching wires until another alarm starts ringing; one that repeats ‘Evacuate’.

Downstairs, the Director had been pacing back and forth in his dark office, using the night vision in his cybernetic eye. He deliberates about what to do next: he doesn’t want to get directly involved, but he can’t let these kids get away with these transgressions.

He’s quite startled when the lights turn back on, and even more startled when the alarm starts.

“What? Evacuation?” he questions as he hurries to his computer. “I didn’t issue an evacuation.”

He quickly scrolls through the surveillance footage until he finds the Battalion. After having just demolished one of his kitchens, they’ve all gone into the nearest elevator and are riding it to the surface.

The Director growls and stomps to his elevator. “Dammit.”

The Battalion and the Night Terrors reach the surface before anyone else and exit the hangar. The prisoners are all so happy to finally be free; they stretch and cheer and even cry in the sunlight.

“I never thought I’d miss the sun,” a vampire comments.

“I wonder when the next full moon is,” a werewolf muses.

“I cannot wait to get back to my coven,” a witch sighs.

The little hippogriffs hop around their father happily as he spreads his wings. The mermaid splashes her tail happily in her little tank.

“You’re all welcome to leave now,” Dib says, “but you might want to stick around and watch the show.”

Everyone gathers by the Epic, which according to Mimi’s calculations is the perfect distance away. They all settle down and watch as the SDA quickly evacuate out of the hangar.

“Can we blow it yet?” Zim asks impatiently.

“We gotta wait until we’re sure everyone’s out,” Squee replies, holding an activator in his hand.

They wait a few minutes out, until the number of people leaving lessens to a trickle and eventually nothing.

“Is that everyone?” Squee asks.

“I don’t see the Director,” Dib says.

“Who cares. Blow it!” Zim explains and slamming his hand down on Squee’s activator.

Immediately the ground shakes as muffled explosions are heard before the hangar and the surrounding dirt collapses inwards, creating a large crater. The Battalion, the Night Terrors, and the prisoners all cheer while the SDA watch in horror as their facility is completely destroyed.

“That worked way better than I thought it would,” Gaz comments.

“It was glorious!” Pepito cheers.

“Good work, team,” Zim says.

Their celebration is cut short when something bursts out of the rubble. The Director pulls himself out on top of the crater. His suit is torn and ripped, his hair is messed up, and there are some cuts on the left side of his face, but he seems otherwise unharmed.

“You…” he snarls as he stands up on solid ground, a few feet from the Epic. “You little brats! Do you realize what you’ve done?”

“Sure,” Gaz shrugs, “destroyed your precious facility.”

“Freed all your experiments,” Squee adds.

“Ruined your life’s work,” Pepito concludes, “not bad for a day’s work, huh?”

They chuckle amongst themselves while the Director fumes.

“You will not get away with this,” he snarls, the fingers on his right hand twitching. The kids stop laughing as they sense danger.

The Director’s right sleeves are torn apart, revealing his robotic arm as it unfolds and expands into a large cannon.

“Everyone, stay behind me!” Zim barks as he jumps forward. His spider legs extend and create a force field. The Director fires a large plasma beam from his cannon. Zim’s shield blocks it, but the force of the blast is enough to push him back a couple inches.

The Director smirks as he reaches into his jacket with his other hand and tosses out three small, metal discs. They slide across the ground, stopping near Zim’s feet. He recoils as he recognizes them as the shocking devices that were used to capture them. But before they can go off, Eff and D-boy slide underneath Zim’s shield and kicks them back to the Director.

He flinches and quickly blasts them with his cannon. But once the beam has cleared, his cybernetic eye picks up something approaching at high speed. He barely catches a glimpse of something purple before Sickness appears before him and smashes his eye with a swift kick, knocking him to the ground.

Snarling, the Director lifts his cannon and prepares to fire again. Sickness dashes away to be replaced with Reverend Meat, who grabs the cannon and points it at the sky. The beam fires harmlessly before he crushes the underside of the cannon with a quick squeeze.

“H-how-!” the Director barks as he reaches into his jacket. He grabs another electrocuting device and moves to stick it to Reverend Meat. But before he can, the Doughboys flip over Reverend Meat’s shoulders and land on the Director, pinning him to the ground. Then, Reverend Meat grips his metallic arm and rips it from his shoulder.

The Director pants on the ground as the Night Terrors stand over him, waiting for him to retaliate. He glares at them and asks, “what…what are you?”

“Huh? You don’t know who we are?” D-boy asks, offended.

“Seriously? You’ve been watching them for years and never noticed us?” Eff adds, pointing at the Battalion.

“Yeah, we’re like super important to their story,” Sickness points out.

“You need better spies,” Reverend Meat comments.

They prepare to attack him when Dib speaks up. “Wait, that’s enough!”

The Night Terrors look at him incredulously. “You’re not our boss,” Reverend Meat points out.

“Guys, come on,” Squee scolds, “if Dib says stop, then stop.”

They shrug apathetically and release the Director before walking back to the rest of the group. As he sits up, Dib starts to approach.

“Dib, be careful,” Zim warns, “we don’t know what other tricks he’s hiding.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, “I don’t think he has any more enhancements.”

He looks down at the Director. “I’m right, aren’t I? You were willing to give yourself robotic upgrades but there was a line you couldn’t cross, cause if you did, you wouldn’t be human anymore. You’d be just like the creatures you detest.”

The Director just glares at him.

Dib’s expression softens and he looks back at his friends and the prisoners. “But look at them. They’re not mindless killing machines. This planet is their home too.”

“Life doesn’t have to be all about survival; kill-or-be-killed,” he continues as he turns back to the Director. “Sometimes it can be- it should be just…living.”

The Director still doesn’t reply.

Dib just shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you listen to me or not. You’re pretty much useless now. And if later you decide to rise up and cause trouble again,” he grins brightly, “we’ll stop you.”

The Director blinks with surprise as Dib walks back to his friends and watches them quietly.

“So…we won?” one of the witches ask.

Dib nods, “we won.”

Immediately, everyone erupts into cheers. They hug each other and incessantly thank the Battalion for help. Most of them are pretty receiving, except for Nny who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. At least until Squee hugs him, and his scowl melts into a weary smile.

“Do you guys need help getting anywhere?” Dib asks.

“Thank you, but you’ve done enough,” one of the vampires replies, “we need to take care of ourselves from here.”

“Yeah, you can leave the rest to us,” a werewolf adds.

“Well then, good luck,” Dib smiles.

“Thanks, you too!” everyone waves happily as the Battalion and the Night Terrors climb into the Epic.

As the ship takes off into the air, they stick around for a second to watch the ex-prisoners leave the compound. They help each other, carrying the baby hippogriffs and pushing the mermaid’s tank on the trolley.

“They’ll be okay,” Devi says, smiling warmly.

“Yeah,” Nny agrees, “so let’s go home already.”

“My pleasure,” Zim replies and activates the Epic’s thrusters. They blast through the sky and fly away.

The Director stares after them until they’ve disappeared from sight then looks back at the ex-prisoners. Watching them right now, so happy and free, it almost feels like Dib is right. They aren’t so dangerous.

“Uh, s-sir?” one of the SDA scientists says as he approaches the Director. “What…do we do now?” The Director takes a deep breath before standing up and facing his employees. “You’re all on temporary leave. Go home; spend some time with your family. I’ll call you when anything changes.”

“What about you, sir?” he asks.

“I’m going home too,” the Director replies as he looks up at the clear, blue sky. “I got a lot of thinking to do.”

Later that night, after everyone got home and cleaned up, Zim calls the Battalion to his base for an emergency meeting.

“What is it now?” Gaz asks impatiently as they exit the elevator to his lab.

“Yeah, I was just about to go to be-ohhhh,” Pepito stops as they notice the glass cage in the middle of the room, with the SDA agents still inside. They’re lying on the ground, gibbering mindlessly, their eyes distant and drool running out of their mouths.

“I forgot about them,” Squee remarks.

“Yeah,” Zim says, “turns out, Gir had been singing his Doom song to them this whole time.”

“Good god,” Dib comments pitifully.

“Yeah. So what should we do with them?” Zim asks.

“Annihilate them,” Tak snarls.

“Settle down, Tak,” Pepito scolds, “why can’t we just let them go? I mean they’re pretty much useless now.”

“Actually,” Squee argues, “you know what might be really funny?”

Everyone looks at him curiously and he grins.

Back in Nevada, the Director sits in his office in his modest, country home. The right sleeve of his sweatshirt is hemmed and there’s a patch over his right eye. He’s rolling around a stress ball on his desk as he stares blankly at his computer screen.

His deep train of thought is interrupted when his house shakes, like something just crashed outside his door. He quickly stands up and goes outside to find a large, metal crate sitting on his front step. Facing him is a big, red button with a note taped next to it. It reads: ‘An olive branch. XO, the Battalion.’

The Director narrows his eye suspiciously before pushing the button. The metal walls quickly fold up into a small disc, releasing the four SDA agents. They all lie on the ground, gibbering, moaning, and drooling and completely mindless.

The Director sighs bitterly. “I hate those kids.”

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #johnny the homicidal maniac #johnny the homicidal maniac fanfiction #iz jthm crossover #myocs #myart

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jpat82 · 5 years ago

Text

Secret World

Chapter 15

The sun started to set as the world around me slowly became dark, haunting laughter rang in my ears as I reached the compound flinging the door open. My lungs felt like they were on fire and the sounds of my foot steps echoed through the vast room, bouncing off the cement walls. I hit the button for the elevator just as Friday welcomed me. I looked over my shoulder to the outside, I could see their eyes as the ding on the elevator cab announced its arrival.

I walked in and pressed the button for the next floor down to the common room. To where everyone seemed to gather, a place I could feel safe for the moment. Somewhere I could catch a breath, away from the British man and Aunt May, away from Peter so I could wrap my mind around the events of the day. I could stop and try and figure out why they shadows creatures were talking when they never could before. My life had been upended again for what felt like the millionth time.

My reflection stared back me, alone tear slowly tracked its way down my cheek. My hair a mess, my cheeks flushed and burning from the run back. Why was all this happening to me, I didn't want this. I wanted what everyone else did. To live a normal life, one where I could of gone to school, to have friends, to not have to run every single day of my life. I loathed this gift, this curse.

The cab dinged as the doors rolled opened. The warm light from the common room greeted me with scents of chicken marinating in spicy sauces and apples enveloped me. Slowly I stepped out, I closed my eyes for a brief moment just to allow myself to be comforted in the fact that I was no long out in world but safe in here.

"Echo, where have to been?" Wanda's worried voice questioned.

I opened my eyes to see her rushing towards me, her brows pinched together. I let out the breath I had been holding as I tried to figure out what I wanted to say. The truth? A lie? No doubt Peter called everyone. I watched as she pulled a phone from her pocket and her thumbs tapped against the slick glass.

"I'm fine." I stated weakly, even I could hear my voice waver as I said it.

"You maybe able to lie to everyone else, but not to me." She said, as hooked her head toward the kitchen table. "You are different, and I don't want to press but Peter was very worried when he called. What happened?"

"I...I..." I stammered as I stared in her eyes. I felt another tear streamed down my cheek as I looked into her worried face. "She looked like my Auntie, she is her, just not her. Just like everything else on this planet, it's the same and different all the same time. And then the guy, I know him, I can feel it but I don't know from where."

"What do you mean?" She asked as I paused to take a deep breath to calm myself back down.

"I'm not from here!" I bursted out as the dam opened and the tears fell.

For the next hour I explained everything to her, between the tears and sobering moments, I let everything out again. Wanda was patient, and listened as she bustled around the kitchen finishing what I presumed to be dinner for the team. She asked questions once in a while for clarification. And when I had let everything out, including the events of today the tears had completely stopped. She nodded for a moment and then looked back up to me.

"So, we have to figure out who this man is, with everything that you have told me then he is going to be a problem." She stated. I nodded in response before laying my head on the table feeling drained. "The shadow creatures, you said they attacked that boy, right? After he poked fun at Peter."

"Yes." I croaked out staring over at the wall.

"You said it's not the first time they have done something like this?" She asked as she sat down on the stool opposite of me.

"I've never seen it." I replied.

"You said when the government had you, the locked door was some how unlocked? It was dark, could they have let you out?"

"Wanda, these things have scratched me, and drew blood they have tormented me for years. I doubt they are trying to help me." I told her flatly as the ding of the elevator behind me announced the arrival of other people.

"Girl, you sure scared the daylights outta the kid." Sam stated as I could hear him walk towards me.

"Sam, be nice." Wanda warned him.

"Hear that, she's telling you to be nice this time." Bucky spoke up, the feet of the chair next me scraped as it was pulled back and groaned from the man's weight as he sat down. Sam walked around the edge of the table and looked to see what Wanda was cooking. His eyes drifted over towards me, a hint suspicion in them.

"So what got ya so spooked?" He asked me, slowly I left my head, my eyes tracked his movements as he slowly moved from pot to pan.

"Sam!" Wanda scolded.

"What? It's a legitimate question." He stated turning to face her. I could feel my heart start to race in my chest, this was exactly what I didn't want.

"She doesn't have to tell you." Wanda snapped at him.

"Like hell she doesn't." Sam snapped back, turning to face her fully. "We don't know her, Peter barely knows her. We've completely let her into the compound, and for all we know she could be someone like hydra was."

"Dude, settle down, she isn't hydra." Bucky finally spoke, leaning back in his chair as he stared the other man down.

"And you would know, how?" Sam retorted his head snapping toward Bucky.

"For starters, she isn't very stealthy, nor is she attempting to hide herself." Bucky spoke calmly as he crossed his arms.

"But she is hiding something." Sam stated looking for him to Wanda.

"You're right, she is." Bucky stayed, looking over at me and then back to Sam. "But it's nothing sinister, otherwise you wouldn't know it. Whatever she's hiding, I think don't she poses you or any of us a threat. I think she is hiding is more like it."

"Man, you are seriously not going to argue with me on this? You of all people." Sam responded.

"Look, if me being here is a problem I'll leave." I announced growing tired of everyone talking about me like I wasn't even sitting there. "It's not like I haven't been on my own for years, I can take care of myself. I don't need this."

I stood quickly, my chair scraped a crossed the floor as Sam glared across the table at me.

"Echo!" Wanda called out as I turned and started heading toward the elevator. "Dammit Sam!"

I heard the other chair scrape, and the sound of heavy boot fall coming up quickly. I didn't waiver as I continued to walk to the elevator, pressing the button down watching it turned green. Someone had put me in for access this time. I felt Bucky's hand only moments before the world around me changed.

Snow everywhere, it is cold, so cold. The pain in my left arm was intense, I looked over to see it gone, flesh ripped up and bloody. Fear echoed its way into my soul as I laid there in the white snow, blood spattered around the left side. The world was growing dark as people walked up, speaking in another language. Fear, so much fear.

I jumped away from him, sucking in air as fast as I could, my body trembled uncontrollably. I had never had a vision so intense, so real, so life like as I had that time. I felt the tear slowly track down my face as I stood facing Bucky three feet away. The room was silent for the first time since the two of them had walked in. A dull throb in my left shoulder, remnants, something that never happened to me. Something I couldn't explain.

"What the hell?" I whispered to myself.

********

"Sir, you want me to do what again?" A man in tactical black suit asked, looking over his shoulder from the computer.

There was a girl on screen, standing next to his boss, fear in her eyes as she stared at him. His boss walked over to the computer and point at the girl on screen.

"I want to know who she is, and where she is." He stated, his accent filling the room as he spoke. "She recognized me, and I don't know who she is. So find her, I don't want to risk her ruining the Livatech program."

Permanent tag-

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@octobermermaid @ajosieface @instantnoodlese @crystlblu @coffeebooksandfandom @thisismysecrethappyplace @the-wayward-robot @lokilvrr @shynara51 @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl @loislp @savedbyimagination @bubblycypres87 @ifyousayyouloveme @courtmr @blue-cat-1989 @saharzek @lokiodinsoninwriting @silverhart93 @rynabarnesrogers @geeksareunique

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#peter parker x 1st person #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman x 1st person #alternate universe #secret world

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canumoveurseatup-no · 6 years ago

Text

Baby Boy

Summary: Tony always takes care of everyone and it takes a toll on him. You take matters into your own hands and let him know he doesn’t always have to be the big guy.

Requested by: @mbaku-babygirl

Pairing: Sub!Tony Stark x Dom!Black!Reader 18+

WC: 4.1k

Warnings: sub!Tony, pegging, a little angsty, smut. This is after civil war, Infinity war didn’t happen and they’re all back together but there’s still a bit of tension

A/N: I never in my life have been dominant and never will be dominant, I am strictly a sub so I did my best with this request ( this is more soft!Dom than anything) but I hope you guys enjoy this. Please leave feedback💕

Everyone was back together and it’s been six months since they came out of hiding. The government realized the accords weren’t actually helping and the others were able to come out of hiding. Surprisingly, Tony let them all come back and they all tried to make amends. Bruce and Thor were back. For a long while it was just you, Tony, and Rhodey, he was glad to have everyone back but you could tell he was anxious about it all.

He catered to everyone’s needs just like he always did and barely saved anytime for himself. You weren’t so forgiving though. You tried to avoid Natasha because she wasn’t able of letting go of her double agent persona. Had she just did as asked this all never would have happened. You stayed away from Steve because he was supposed to be Tony’s friend and knew what his old war friend did and that Bucky... sure he didn’t know what he was doing back then but it doesn’t change the fact you never got to meet your in-laws.

Everyone else can suck it except Thor and Bruce, but you stuck around Tony when he wasn’t around them. He would beg you to come to dinner with them all the time and while they all sat at the table, you’d sit on a stool at the island. It was the same thing tonight. Now, you were washing dishes and everyone had dispersed except Natasha. She stood awkwardly in front of the island.

“Y/N/N,” She mumbled

“Y/N,” you corrected, “You know I only allow friends to call me by my nickname,”

She sighed in defeat, “I am your friend, Y/N,”

You shook your head and continued to dry the dishes, “No.. you lost the ability to call yourself my friend the day you let those two leave. The day you let them get into that jet and fly away which in turn caused Rhodey to get paralyzed.” Your tone was low and cold. Yeah Rhodey had gotten better but with no thanks to them.

“Tell me, Natalia,” you spat out her birth name, knowing she hated it, “Does it ever get exhausting having to put makeup on two different faces each morning?” You placed your hands on the counter and looked her, waiting for her to answer.

She sighed and clenched her jaw, “Tony forgave us, why haven’t you?” She wore a small confused frown on her face.

“I’m not Tony. All he ever wanted to was to keep you all together. He was so selfless when it came to you all. Sure he didn’t always go about it the right way but dammit that man cared for you all and you guys just shit on him in return,” You loved Tony more than anything, so you took his feelings and efforts seriously. “You all were the closest thing to a real family he ever had and you betrayed him in the worst way possible. How or why he forgave you? I’m not sure. But don’t expect the same thing from me,”

You finished washing and drying to dishes, she continued to stand there speechless, not sure of what to say. You walked away and found Tony and Bruce in the lab with Vision and Wanda. “Hey Bruce,” you smiled and gave him a side hug. You were okay with him and Thor, he explained where he’d been and why he left in the first place. While the others were in hiding, Vision had evolved and now the science bros were back and trying to figure it out.

You kissed Tony’s cheek and he smiled at you, “What movie are we watching tonight?” He asked while fiddling with something on his computer, “The team wants to start movie night again,”

He sounded so happy and as often as you’d like to be happy for him that he has the team back, you just couldn’t. Your smile drops and you arch an eyebrow, “Whatever you guys want to watch I suppose but I won’t be in attendance ,” you turn and play with his screwdriver, finding it more interesting.

He turns to you and frowns, “Please? For me?,” he used those puppy eyes on you and as hard as it was, you had to say no.

“Sorry, babes. But you know why I won’t,” you saw him nod his head in defeat.

“Maybe it it won’t be that bad, Y/N. It could be fun and bring us back together like old times,” Wanda nervously spoke and lightly shrugged her shoulders.

“Old times are just that, Maximoff,” you kissed Tony’s cheek once more and walked out of the lab, leaving Tony to apologize for you.

———

When it came to training you held nothing back. Taking all of your frustrations out on them. Especially Steve. The way you moved against him to attack had taken him by surprise, you’ve changed your techniques. Sam ended up in the infirmary with a concussion, Natasha ended up with a broken clavicle, Wanda wouldn’t even go up against you. Most of Clint’s weapons ended up ruined and Bucky wouldn’t even put up a fight, understanding your place of frustration. He hurt your husband and too many times Thor would have to pull you away.

“Sweetheart, I think you should tone it down,” Tony pulled you to the side and you knew your attitude on the whole ordeal wasn’t helping Tony much. He missed them, of course he’d be relieved they were back. You on the other hand had given up on them coming back a year after Steve helped them escape. You let that hurt go.

You unwrapped your hands and threw the tape on the ground, walking out of the training room. You walked into the kitchen and sat down with a protein shake from the fridge. You smoothed out your forehead as you noticed you were frowning.

“You coming to the party tonight?,” Steve slowly crept into the kitchen. You huffed and rolled your eyes and got up, trying to get away, “Y/N, please talk to me. Listen, I know I hurt Tony-,”

“No!,” you pointed your finger angrily, “You clearly don’t Steve because had you known how hurt he was or even would be- you would have been honest with him from the door about everything and you know what I mean!,”

Steve stood with his hands in his pockets, eyeing you like a child who was getting punished.

“You wouldn’t have hurt him the way you did that day! God, the way I found him w-was horrifying,” you swallowed thickly and felt tears well in your eyes, “You will never get my forgiveness. The woman you knew three years ago is not who I am now. You can hide behind a beard and this new tough guy persona but you’re still a coward to me, Steven Grant Rogers, all of you are!!,”

FRIDAY had notified Tony of your accelerated heart rate and he was in the kitchen in no time trying to analyze the situation, “What’s going on?,”

You smugly smile and shook your head, “Nothing, just having a heart-to-heart. Aren’t we Stevie?” You tilted your head and cocked an eyebrow. Tony turned to Steve and he just lightly nodded his head.

“What is the party I’m just now hearing about?” You turned your attention back to Tony and he just twiddled his thumbs.

“Just a celebration that we’re all back together, I figured it’d be good since they’ve been back for a while now,” he smiled as if that would make you any less angry. You tried your best to hold in your bitter laugh but you just shook your head. You really tried to empathize with Tony about how good he felt that they were all together again but you cared about him too much to forgive the people that hurt him the way they did.

You saw the hopeful glint in his eyes before swallowing your pride and clenching your jaw. You gave him a half smile, “Well then... what color will the Starks be wearing tonight?,”

———-

Cerulean. He picked cerulean and while you looked amazing in this color, you wanted to take it off because you didn’t want to go to this damn party in the first place. You walked around with a glass of champagne in you hand, greeting the guests. “Mrs. Stark!, it’s so good to see you. The set up is amazing. How are things with everyone back together?,” A measly interviewer found his way into the venue and you rolled your eyes, “No comment,”

You walked past the chocolate fountain and groaned. Tony hates those things, you know he only did it because Wanda and Sam love them. All the food and little desserts reminded you of the parties from the past and you just frowned. How could anyone expect you to just easily re-adjust to them being back like this?

“Penny for your thoughts?,” Vision came up beside you and you wanted to walk away but you were here to support Tony so you would be cordial so you wouldn’t made a scene.

“Tony hates the ahi tuna cucumber bites,” You frowned before putting the appetizer in your mouth. Vision just barely nods, “Yes but Natasha requested them,”

“Of course she did. I’m sure you all being on the run didn’t necessarily offer you 5 star dinners now did it?,” You kept frowning at the food table. Nothing on this damn table was anything Tony liked. He hated all this shit. The damn fountain, the ahi tuna, the deviled eggs, the certain array of finger sandwiches, the types of steaks being cooked by the hibachi chef, even the damn drinks! Tony friggin hates Veuve Clicquot! He’s a Krug Clos d’Ambonnay kinda guy. He really catered to everyone else with this. Usually he’ll have something here and there that he likes but he strictly ignored his own wants for this and you didn’t really like that.

“We are sorry, Y/N,” Vision spoke, pulling you out of your own head rant.

“Sure you are. But riddle me this, if you break a glass plate and apologize to it does it get put back together?,”

Before he can answer you walk away to find Tony with a few of the others as well as a few other businessmen and agents.

“There she goes! The lovely Mrs. Stark,” He was having such a great time and you really tried to as well because this wasn’t about you, it was about him and the team. You loved to see that smile on his face, the tune of his laughter. It was great, so seeing him smile at you tonight in his matching suit, you felt yourself release some tension in your frown and shoulders.

He lightly grabbed your hand and pulled you into him before planting a kiss on your temple. You saw the way Steve, Bucky and Sam avoided eye contact but you just kept it moving.

“Gentlemen,” you nodded to the other men and agents.

“Y/N! It’s good to see you. How great is it to have everyone back like before?,” one of the agents asked before sipping his drink.

You spared Tony a glance and carefully thought about what you were about to say next, “I... I’m just glad Tony is at ease again. His feelings matter to me so despite what I might really think and feel... it’s him that matters to me,” you shuttered out a breath and felt Tony pull you more into his side in comfort. He smiled down at you and admired you. He knew this was hard for you but he was glad you still stood by him. Without you, he would have become a complete and utter, unfixable mess.

“I’m gonna make you some food after this, okay? You don’t eat a single thing on that table over there and I know you’re starving and need real food,”

He shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, “Eh, the ahi tuna bites aren’t that bad,”

“Anthony,” you said his name sternly and you saw the way he froze up at your use of his full name, “You’re not going to sacrifice your comfort for this party, you hear me?,”

Tony felt a shiver run down his spine at how you spoke to him and he hesitantly nodded his head, “Y-yes. Yeah. I hear you,”

You patted his cheek and kissed his lips, “That’s my boy. I’ll be roaming around greeting our guests. Have fun, don’t drink too much or stay up too late. End this at a reasonable time,”

He just slightly smiled at you and nodded. You talking to him like that had him blushing and feeling small but he wasn’t against that feeling. He enjoyed it and it confused him a little.

---------

You had retired the party early to clean yourself up and cook him something for him to eat. With a clean face and wearing nothing but his Black Sabbath shirt, you danced around the kitchen listening to his playlist while he wrapped up the party and sent everyone home with a taxi or designated driver. The team went to bed and he came to find you in the kitchen. You nodded your head and swayed your hips to the guitar riffs of Into the Void. He watched you from the kitchen doorway, loving the way you looked in his shirt and bare faced.

“I see my music taste has rubbed off on you,” He came to the island as you finished putting his meal on a plate. Of course you’d gone out the way to give him his protein, veggies and starch.

“Eh, just a bit,” you winked and told him to sit down, giving him his plate and giving him a bottle of water to which he frowned at, “You’re gonna drink that water, Tony. You drank enough tonight,”

He just loved when you talked to him like that. He quickly opened the bottle and took a big gulp from it and started eating as you cleaned up the kitchen of the little mess you made. Once you were finished you sat close beside him, rubbing his leg.

“Is it good, baby?,” you ran your hands through his hair and he lulled his head back into your touch.

“Yes, thank you so much,”

“Anything for you, baby boy,” you kissed his cheek as he finished up. He felt that same chill run down his spine and he stiffened up in his seat.

“Y/N,” He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Yes?,”

“I uh... I have a request,”

--------

You were right beside Tony soothing him as he trusted you to do this for him. Tony loves being babied but his job as Tony Stark and Iron Man took that from him and you were more than willing to do this for him. It’s been a fantasy of yours for a while anyway, which is how this beginners strap on came into play. You laid beside Tony, kissing his cheek and slowly jerking him off with lube.

“You like that, baby? Like the way I use my hand to please you?,”

Tony’s head fell to the side and a little moan escaped his lips, “More, please,” he sounded so helpless and it was the cutest yet hottest thing ever. You went a little faster and he started bucking his hips, “Stay still for me, baby boy. Just relax. I got you,” you whispered in his ear and focused on the head of his dick, making him dig his heels into the mattress.

“Oh, please can I cum?,” The way he looked into your eyes was a different look than he’s ever given you and it only encouraged you to continue with your actions, “please, Y/N,”

The begging, the panting, his little whines had urged you to pump your hand faster.

“Cum for me. Go ahead and make a mess,” you saw the way his stomach muscles tensed as you continued pumping, long white ropes on his cum landing on is lower stomach, “There you go baby,” you encouraged and praised, “Good boy, baby,” you kissed his cheek and crawled in between his legs to lick all of his seed off his stomach. Hearing hims mewl at the feeling. You kissed the head of his dick and swirled your tongue around it, making him call out lightly.

You removed the vibrating toy from his little hole and massaged more lube into it. You and Tony had spent some time cleaning him out so you know he was ready for you. Adding some lube to the strap on, you took his dick in your other hand, stroking him once again, “You ready for me, baby? It’s gonna feel so good,” you lifted his legs around your waist and leaned forward.

“Look at me, baby. Do you trust me?,” You held the head of the dildo against him and his breath shuttered.

“Yes, I trust you,”

“What was the safe word we agreed on?,”

“Nanotech”

“Good boy,” you kissed his lips and littered kisses all over his neck and chest, calming him down before you took care of him like he’s been scared to ask for all these years. You pressed the tip of your strap into him and he tensed up, “Be still baby, if you want this I’m gonna need you to relax,”

You ran your hands along his chest and he melded into the bed and peered up at you through half closed eyes. You slowly pushed in inch by inch and he relaxed completely. He softly panted at the pleasure and he finally let go. Your rolled your hips and he held onto the back of his thighs while you held his legs up by his calves.

“Look at you, baby. Opening right up for me,” You cooed to him and he just whined back up to you. The pillow he had under the small of his back helped you get the right angle so you can get that special spot within him. “Feel good, baby? Glad you finally spoke up like a big boy and asked for what you wanted?,” You so easily got into this role of being dominant, this was your thing and you’re glad he was okay with admitting he needed it.

“Y/N, oh my God, baby,” Tony gasped and started jerking himself off as you slowly thrust deep in him, picking up the pace, “Fuck, that’s so good, sooo good,” his eyes were squeezed shut and he started moving his hips against you.

“Don’t get greedy, Tony. Take what I give you like a good boy then maybe I’ll give you some more,”

His whines were only fueling you more but he loved that you didn’t give into him easily. He loved that you made him work for it. He stroked himself faster and his eyes rolled back into his head. “Y/N,” he dragged out your name in pleasure and you felt your clit throb. You turned on the vibrator that was built into the strap on and felt your own pleasure setting in.

“Want more, baby. Please,” he begged, your smiled down at him and hooked his legs on your shoulder before leaning forward and placing your hands by his head.

“Want me to fuck you faster, baby? Need me to give it to you harder and fuck you like the good boy you are? Bet you wanna let go of all the stuff that runs around in that head of yours, let go and lemme fuck all of that out of you, baby. You trust me to do that for you?,” You smiled down at his state and he feverishly nods his head.

“Yes, yes. Please please,” you were infatuated with how desperate he sounded. You bit your lip and braced yourself, withdrawing your hips from his body, you thrusted hard and a groan got caught in his throat, usually the sound of your skins slapping came from him fucking you and that turned you on, but this time, the sound intoxicated you and had you moaning against his lips.

“Look at me and tell me how good it feels to have me inside you like this, baby. Deep in you, hitting that special spot, bet you’re ready to cum already, aren’t you?,”

His eyes snapped open but had a hard time staying that way from the intensity at which you were fucking him with, “It feels so good, Y/N. Almost too good,” his voice was so small. You attached your lips to his. The kiss didn’t match the way you were fucking him. It was slow and smooth, a way to tell him how much you love him and how good he was doing. He pulled back for air and held onto your forearms by his head

“Y/N, please... choke me please. I need it,” He needed it to let go completely and you happy obliged. You pulled back a bit and placed your dominant hand around his neck, softly squeezing at the sides as he told you to squeeze harder, “Don’t be afraid, Y/N. I need it, I’ll be fine. I trust you,” Him saying he trusted you had filled you up like fuel to a gas tank. You squeezed at the sides and felt his pulse pound against your fingers and you felt yourself turn feral.

You fucked into him faster as you felt yourself about to cum from the vibrator attacking your clit.

“Fuck, Tony,” you moaned and he gasped for air and moved against you, “You’re doing such a good job taking me in your little hole like this,”

“O-oh my God,” you felt his thighs wrap tighter around you. You started jerking him off with your other hand and you knew that would be his end. With you hitting his special spot over and over along with you choking him and jerking him off, he was being stimulated in many ways and wasn’t sure which sensation to focus on, he was becoming overwhelmed and you could tell.

“Please, Y/N, may I cum?,”

You cooed at him and smiled, “My sweet boy. You don’t have to ask tonight. You’ve been such a sweet boy to everyone. Always taking care of them, putting them before you. You don’t have to worry about that tonight, baby. Cum all you want. Take it like a good boy and cum, you deserve it,”

Your praise had pushed him over the edge and he had cum so much more than the first time. You were milking him of his cum and his body was lightly shaking while he called out your name along with swears. You were so proud of him and how well he did and how well he took you, well, your strap, but either way, he did so good. He truly was your good boy.

“O-oh God, I-, Y/N,” his words were chopped and his eyes were fluttering as you continue to fuck into him, coaxing the rest of his orgasm out of him as you chased yours, you were so close.

“I’m close, baby,” you stilled your hips and the vibrator hit your clit at the perfect angle at the right time and you felt your cum running down your legs. You rutted into Tony a few times, earning yourself a few more grunts from him.

You kissed his lips softly and he barely returned it from his fucked out state but you were okay with that. You slowly withdrew the strap from him and he whined like a kitten, “S’okay, relax. I’ll be right back, okay?,”

He barely gave you a nod as you took the toys you used tonight and removed the batteries as well as the dildo from the holder in the strap harness. You went to the kitchen, filling a pot full of water and throwing them in there and turning on the stove for them to boil. Proper toy cleaning etiquette. You took a water bottle from the pantry and rushed back to the bedroom. Finding Tony had not moved a muscle. You quickly got two warm, wet rags from the bathroom and cleaned him up and used the other for yourself. You crawled in bed with him, helping him sit up so he could drink some water.

“How you feeling?,” You kissed his cheek and held him in your arms.

“Like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders,” he lightly laughed.

“I’m glad you finally spoke up about your needs, Tony. Don’t be afraid to put yourself first, okay?,”

He kissed your lips softly and curled down further into the bed and your side.

“Will you just try to be nicer to everyone else?,”

You sighed and knew that that’s all he wanted from you with them back and working through things. You could do this, not because you missed them, but for Tony. He was the priority.

“Of course. I’ll do anything for you, baby boy,”

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Okay I hope this wasn’t as bad as I feel it is. I hope you guys enjoyed this. I will get better with my Dom!Reader fics, I promise.

Don’t forget to leave feedback, it means a lot!

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