#hes tried to drag me into traffic 3 times now to get plastic bags

[ratsfanaccount]

Im going to punt this animal into space on facebook live

[bitchassbucky]

.exe

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: stalkers, bucky being a creepo, reader being a creepo. dark!IT!bucky x dark!reader :-) female & male masturbation, voyeurism (i think), cyber crimes being committed.

A/N: this is my birthday gift to @babyboibucky <3 to my boo, I love you and you have a special place in my heart. this is gonna be a multi-part thing, it's too long to be considered as a one-shot, oops.

please enjoy! :D

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist

CTRL moodboard

4:49 PM

Just 11 more minutes until he can pack his bags up for the weekend.

One new ticket - URGENT

Goddamn it.

Bucky pulled his earphones out in annoyance, just another office idiot who doesn’t know how to print A4 sheets. If the office were to be held hostage and printing out was the only thing that can save them, half of the floor would be dead.

The new name caught his eye, Y/N Y/L. A new hire, it seems like.

Subject: One new ticket - URGENT

Hi, this is Y/N, employee number 0008675309. I’m new here and was told to send a ticket for the equipment request.

Thank you and have a great weekend!

Oh, Bucky’s gonna have a great weekend indeed. Out of pure curiosity, he’s already pulled up your employee file. A cute smile to a cute name. His annoyance dispersing already, just by thinking of ways how he can spend time with you.

Hey, Y/N! Bucky types into the text field, Welcome to the company. I’m Bucky and I got assigned to help you get settled. Do you prefer having a desktop or a laptop? I’ve attached a form in this thread, send it to me once you’re done.

Have an awesome weekend too!

As much as he hates sending out chirpy emails, he can’t help but to smile when you immediately send a reply back.

Thanks, Bucky! So sorry for sending in the request super late. Got caught up with the onboarding. Is it okay if I use my laptop until we can get a unit to my place? PC or laptop is fine with me.

Best,

Y/N

Bucky fights off another smile, rubbing his hand over his stubbled cheek as he carefully types out a reply. Unlike other days, he doesn’t mind staying beyond 5 PM today. It’s not like he has other plans for his Friday night.

No worries, Y/N. He’s already loving your name. Happy to help!

Do you have your laptop with you? I can set it up before you go home for the weekend. I can probably send in the ticket to the guys so you can have your work equipment next week.

His deft fingers are dancing over his mechanical keyboard, clacking away while the clock ticks closer to the weekend.

A ping, another reply from you. You’re new, you’re still excited to make friends in the office. If you only knew how stupid they are, though.

Yeah! I have it on me right now. I actually work on the same floor, I can drop it off there right now.

Bucky glances around his office, looking for any reflective surface he can check himself on. He runs his hand through his hair, taming any stubborn locks that fell out of his low bun. His shirt hangs just right against his huge frame, his pants hugging his figure, accentuating his silhouette even more.

Just as the clock ticks 5:00, a soft knock raps against his door, “come in!”

You are cuter, prettier in person. Your perfume hits his nose and he’s floored—metaphorically.

“Mr. Barnes,” you say, your demeanor somewhat meek and shy. Well, of course, you are. Your frame is nothing against the hunk of the man who just stood up to greet you.

“Bucky.” He prompts, smiling. You reciprocated the smile, but you really weren’t sure what to expect. Maybe a scrawny little dude mousing away on a keyboard?

“Bucky, thank you so much for doing this. I know you’d rather get off of work since it’s Friday and all.”

He hums, taking your laptop in his hands. You notice the rings adorning his fingers—complementing his tanned skin tone and—it’s not appropriate to stare at a stranger’s hand.

Heat creeps up your face as he turns to look at the stickers stuck to your laptop, “you know, I like this band.” Bucky says, pointing to an old sticker, he carefully sets down your laptop on his workstation.

“They’re great,” you muse, taking a seat on a plastic chair by the door.

You take a gander around his small office. There was nothing out of the ordinary but the big black server blinking at the back, so why do you feel trapped?

“Sorry about the temp, we have to keep the room cold for the server in the back,” Bucky explains, noticing how your arms are crossed over your chest. The skirt you’re wearing isn’t doing you any better too.

You stammer out an it’s okay with a small smile.

Bucky worked on your computer quietly, using a USB stick to load all the applications you need to set up a temporary work account on your laptop. After a few minutes, he beckoned you to come here. You scoot over to his desk, rolling the chair forward and beside him. Not too close though.

“So, this note has all your generated passwords. Type those into the app when you first log in, then you can change it if you want to.” Bucky explains, the cursor idles on the screen. He tries not to get too close to you, to give you personal space. It’s a professional workplace after all.

“This app,” he drags a window, pulling up an application, “tracks your hours and your keystrokes. It’s company-mandated because managers want to micro-manage their people, I guess.” Bucky shrugs, his disdain showing through his voice. His tone shifting lower than what you’d expected.

“Sorry, I just hate their new protocol,” his face and voice softening as he looks at you, “it’s a total privacy breach if you ask me.”

You’d normally disagree but something tells you that maybe he’s got a point. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leans closer as if to whisper something, “this note right here? It’s a nifty thing, a little script so your computer doesn’t go to sleep when you’re away. It enables and disables your numlock pad so it counts as a keystroke.”

A smirk finds its place on your face, “well, that’s…something, isn’t it?”

Never in your life would you find yourself flirting with a co-worker but there’s something about Bucky that made you excited. Interested. Intrigued.

Bucky nods, rolling his chair away to fetch a pad of sticky notes. “Another thing from your friendly neighborhood IT guy,” he peels off a leaf and sticks it on your laptop’s built-in camera, “keep your cam covered.”

You give him a chuckle and a playful salute, “yes, sir.”

Bucky’s a modern man. He sees a pretty girl and he gets giddy. He talks to a pretty girl and he gets flustered. But you—you make him feel more than giddy and flustered. There was something familiar about you, and your eyes. Has he seen you before? Met you, even? No, that’s impossible—if he had met you before, he’d surely remember you.

It was 5:34 PM when he gave you your laptop back and sent in an urgent request for your equipment. While taking down the elevator to the lobby, Bucky gave you a few tips on how to ‘survive’ working in the office. According to him, as far as you go in on time and kept your head above the rumors, you’d do fine.

He asked about your first week and he told you about this joint near the building that serves the best burgers and fries.

You’ve got a good feeling that you just made your first friend.

—

The sun was already setting down when you pulled into your apartment’s parking lot. At the very last minute, you turned into a drive-through and got some food on the go. The side trip took out 10 minutes of your time but at least you dodged the awful traffic that was building up by the highway.

Along with your laptop bag and your food, you trudge up to your third-floor apartment. It wasn’t what you wanted—the windows faced the street, the screen door doesn’t lock all the way—but it’s the one you got. As long as it’s got four walls and a roof, right?

You slip out of your work clothes and into some comfy jammies after a rewarding shower; the sooner you can get your food heat up, the sooner you can eat, and drink and then go to sleep.

So while waiting for the microwave to beep, you pry open your laptop. You told Bucky not to shut it down after he worked on it as to not lose your work on another profile, which he understood.

The work account he set up greeted you, along with the bright pink sticky note he stuck to your webcam. That wasn’t real, was it? All those cautionary tales of hackers using webcams to peep on you. Maybe he’s just trying to scare you, like some kind of initiation. Without a second thought, you took off the sticky note. It was kinda annoying anyway.

Clicking the Log Out Work button, your personal account popped into the frame. Your opened apps and documents displaying themselves for you to use. You pulled up Spotify and clicked on the first playlist you saw—which happened to be your intimate playlist.

Sure, the Pavlov reaction is real because halfway through the first song, you already found yourself getting all hot and bothered. This one’s your favorite song too.

You groan in annoyance, your food’s no longer a priority.

Picking up the laptop from the table, you walk to your bedroom, not bothering to shut the door. You live alone, it’s fine. You put the laptop on its loudest setting, setting it on your desk and you plopped down on your bed, the pillows and the comforter pooling on one side.

Your room is illuminated by a streak of light from the street. Your curtains flowing softly with the breeze that just came in.

Glancing at your laptop, you remembered Bucky. How his office smelled when you first walked in. How he stood tall when he greeted you. How he smiled. Those goddamn rings of his.

Before you caught yourself thinking rationally, your fingers are already splayed even over your thighs, caressing the soft flesh of your legs.

Bucky’s smirk and his cologne finding purchase in your fogged brain. Thoughts of him pulling you aside into his office to fool around—voices above hushed whispers as your skin erupts in goosebumps, the chilled air of his office finding its way up to your spine.

Oh, fuck it.

You undress fast, flinging your shirt over your head, dropping it somewhere below the bed. The air in your room making your nipples hard and erect as you pinch them. You breathe out a sigh, the heat of the moment creeping up your torso.

The material of your panties dampening as you imagine yourself bent over his desk, your skirt bunched over your hips as he laps your sopping cunt. Bucky’s tongue exploring your folds up and over until your pussy’s a quivering mess of drool and spit.

Your fingers slip past the band of your underwear. Even you surprised yourself by how wet you are.

God, you met him once and he’s already inching his way into your mind.

But who could blame you? You’ve been all over his Facebook profile when you learned his name via the office’s organizational chart. The first time you saw him, walking around the office with a laptop in his hands, you already knew you wanted to at least formally meet him. A scroll on his page, you found a band that you could tolerate listening to. (They’re okay, just not your taste in music.)

A plan came to mind when your department head told the team that you can work from home from time to time—only if you agreed to use a work laptop, a company-owned one. Your manager advised you to put in the request as soon as you can, for you to secure a unit before the on-hand supplies dwindle.

Deliberately sending in the request late—way, way later—than what your manager told you just so you could pull up the ‘new hire’ card and act dumb.

And it looked like he bought it too.

The image of him fucking you quiet while he grabs you from behind played inside your mind like a memory—a vision. Of how his thick cock would fill you up until your pussy is clenching around him. Would he pinch your throbbing clit, making you squirm and cream around him?

Your fingers are compared nothing to his, that’s for sure. But it does the work for now.

A breathy moan comes out of your mouth as you play with your clit, your cunt dripping down wetness as you continue to fondle your tits.

His hands would make a great addition to your chokers.

Your toes curl and your breath quickens, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening—white-hot heat creeping up your limbs.

Oh, fuck, Bucky!

—

His ears perked up as he heard you moaning his name.

Bucky was busy watching you enjoy yourself when he got caught in the moment and decided to enjoy himself too.

He was barely keeping himself behaved when you first walked into the floor wearing a button-up and slacks that accentuated your backside. Bucky wished he was the one who gave you the tour and know your name for the first time, but that was impossible—he was in the IT department.

So when he got the news that new hires will be given the chance to work from home, he hoped that he gets to be the one to help you set up.

He was losing hope by the time he got your request, he thought that you opt not to work at home but then there you were, sending him an apologetic email on a late Friday afternoon.

Of course, he happily obliged. He even set up himself a little virtual camp in the background of your computer just so he can continue spending time with you.

Just thinking about you is already making him hard again. Bucky already came in hot spurts of white as he watched you desperately undress earlier. What can he say—he was waiting for you to show your tits already. As such, he correctly guessed that you’d be annoyed with the glaringly bright sticky note he used to ‘cover’ your webcam with.

But seeing you fingerfuck yourself all alone just wasn’t enough for him, he has to have you all by yourself.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

U N P L A N N E D, part 1

There was one other time when you found yourself like this. Just once. 

In a bathroom stall in your college dorm room, your roommate on the other side with bated breath. What’s it say? She had asked, her voice echoing off the beige tiles that spilled into the messy living room, littered with solo cups and stale tortilla chips.

This time you were alone. No roommate on the other side of the door, no beige tile. Instead, a clean, white bathroom nestled on the third floor of the Los Angeles Facebook office. 

The white plastic stick in your hand, this time, showed a tiny plus sign. A light pink symbol of what was usually happiness. But alone in the bathroom at work didn’t feel like a happy place. 

You stared down at it, wondering if the tears in your eyes were responsible for the blurring of the result. You shook it, wiped at your eyes, and checked again. Still positive. 

So you capped it and tossed it into the top drawer of your desk a few minutes later, more than happy to pretend that it wasn’t a looming disaster. A life-changing, career-altering disaster. 

When it burned a hole in your drawer, begging you to open it and pray that the plus sign had changed, you decided to text Lexi. 

Y/N L/N (3:34pm): Broke down and took a test. 

You put your phone face down, hoping that an impending text from your roommate wouldn’t create a higher heart rate than what was already pounding in your ears. You tried to take a few breaths. 

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t the way you pictured life and it certainly wasn’t the way you pictured your summer. When the phone buzzed next to your mouse, you grabbed it so quickly you almost dropped it to the floor. 

Lexi MacMillan (3:35pm): And??

Y/N L/N (3:35pm): Positive.

You stared at the screen, watched as the three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again, and then vanished. You imagined Lexi sitting on set, maybe in her dressing room or maybe right beside her co-star, typing and erasing, typing and erasing. 

You ignored the email that came through on your computer, likely a request from a team member to edit one of your last images, this marketing campaign is due at 5pm! This marketing campaign was also the furthest thing from your mind right now. 

Your phone started buzzing in your hand, a picture of Lexi with big white sunglasses splashed itself across the screen. You answered it quickly, holding a hand up to your mouth to keep your voice low and your words private.

“Hi,” you said, heading back for the bathroom that was around the corner from your office. 

“What the actual fuck, dude? Are you serious?”

“Yes--why would I lie about that? Do you think I’m that twisted?!”

She let out a noise of exasperation. “No, I just--I don’t know--I thought you were being paranoid or some shit! I didn’t think it was actually possible!”

“Me neither,” you said, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the cool metal. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s alright. People get false positives all the time, right?”

Her voice was suddenly more relaxed than it had been, like she realized how serious this was and how fucked you were. 

“I think people get false negatives,” you replied, defeated.

“Okay, well, you can take another test tonight.”

“Okay.”

“And then if it’s still positive, you have to go to the doctor. That’s the first thing.”

“Right.”

“They’ll do another test there,” she informed you. 

“Uh huh.”

You thought back to your most recent sexual encounter, half drunk and giggly, white linens and sneaking out when he was asleep on top a memory foam pillow. Lexi already made it home, she was high on the couch with a bag of pretzels when you sauntered in at 4am. You made pizza bagels and laughed until sunrise about the fact that you hadn’t gotten laid in what felt like ages. 

I don’t know how you made it that long, she said. You must have an extremely low sex drive. 

Or you just have a high one, you laughed. You’re always horny. 

You didn’t think about it again for weeks. Okay, that was a lie. The drinks were good and the sex had been even better. Lexi had dragged you along to the party even though you knew all the players. You had deadlines for days coming up and a Sunday night didn’t seem like a good time to end up drunk somewhere near Laurel Canyon. But you went anyway.

The first time you realized something might be off was when you were a day late. It never happened. You lived your life on schedule and your period followed the rules--it was no exception. It typically came in the morning, and by bedtime, you were only a bit concerned. You went to sleep with confidence that you’d wake up to it. 

The second day came and went, too. Lexi put on her OBGYN hat and assured you that it was nothing to worry about. Women are late all the time, uteruses have a mind of their own, really. 

Days three and four were busy at work. Five and six were spent finalizing ideas for a new commercial campaign for a product launch, dinner with Lexi and Glenne. It wasn’t until the seventh day, when the light purple app on your phone gave a gentle nudge. Be sure to log your period! 

There was no way you’d miss it altogether. You’d been careful and you watched him toss the condom into a garbage bin in the bathroom through tired eyes. He fell asleep beside you while he traced a circle on your skin--you were sure you’d never hear from him. 

So you slipped out in the early morning light and took an Uber home, knowing that while it might not mean anything, it was at least a story to tell your close friends and to keep tucked away in your mind. 

“Okay--I have to go,” Lexi said suddenly. “Derek’s being a dumbass today and can’t get his fucking lines right, so, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay,” you said, voice small, blurry-eyed again. You let yourself slump down to the floor, at least thankful that this time, the tile wasn’t beige. 

You did your best to make it through the rest of the day, playing Lexi’s words over and over in your head. People get false positives all the time! You weren’t so sure, but telling yourself that seemed to quell the nausea. 

Traffic was heavy on the way home, sunglasses pushed up on your face and radio high enough to drown out your thoughts. You parked your car on the same leaf-littered street in Century City, walked the block to your apartment, and dropped your bag on the floor before heading for the bathroom. 

Lexi keyed in right after you sat down, water on to induce the stream of urine that you had prayed for the whole way home. 

“Hi,” she said, pushing her sunglasses off of her face and dropping her keys on the kitchen counter. She let out a small laugh at the sight of you: pants around your ankles, hair up in a scrunchie, pink plastic cap in your mouth as you held the second stick between your legs. 

The afternoon sunshine danced through the window, a breeze from the open sliding door felt like sweet relief in your stuffy first floor apartment.

“Hi,” you breathed out, flushing and pulling up your pants before capping the test and putting it on the counter. 

She took a few steps towards you, her eyes wider than usual. “How long does it take to show up?” 

“I don’t know--a minute or two, maybe? The first one was quick.”

She came over and stood beside you, her eyes on the tiny window where the result would appear. She crossed her arms and leaned over, letting her shoulder bump into yours. 

There was one line forming, like fog fading in the early morning, the other came into view as the two of you stood side by side. You let out a shaky breath--tears in your eyes again when she turned to see you. 

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

You didn’t say anything in response, but a few sobs escaped through your lips when she wrapped her arms around you. She smoothed your hair with her hand and eventually brought you back to the kitchen, pulling two beers out of the fridge and setting them on the counter as she rummaged through a drawer for a bottle opener.

“I can’t have that!” You said, pointing at it like it was poison, mascara smudged beneath your eyes.

“Oh fuck,” she said, a small laugh from her mouth pulled one from yours, too. “Damn--sorry, it just--felt like a good option.”

“It would be,” you said. “Typically.”

She was quiet for a second. “Is it his?”

You shrugged, staring at the shade of dark red polish on your nails. “Has to be, right?”

“You haven’t had sex with anyone else?” 

She asked as if she didn’t know. You shook your head. 

She sighed. “That, uh, that makes it a bigger deal.”

“I know--I don’t even--what am I supposed to do? Call him up and tell him? I don’t even have his number.”

“Maybe we should call Glenne.”

“No!” You said quickly, shaking your head with force. “Don’t bring her into it yet. She’ll just tell Jeff and I need to figure shit out first.”

Lexi bit her lip, torn between the two options. She’d known Glenne since they were kids, they grew up down the street from each other in Sherman Oaks and when they got drunk enough, they tried to remember the super secret handshake they’d made up in the 8th grade. 

You’d met Glenne plenty of times in college, especially after Lexi became a more permanent fixture in your life. You’d met Lexi at resident assistant training the fall of your sophomore year, but you still had no clue how adults trusted her to be in charge of eighteen students each semester. 

The party was at Glenne’s house--the one she shared with her boyfriend Jeff. You’d met him a handful of times, too, but you typically opted out of the dinner parties or cocktail hours that Lexi invited you to. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like her friends. They’d always been nice and welcoming, but being the one person not involved in the entertainment industry normally left you feeling like the odd man out. 

What's the latest at Facebook? They’d ask, gathered around a table with wine glasses in hand. 

You’d give them the update, tell them about whatever marketing campaign you’d been working on or whatever new feature you’d helped with, but the conversation always made it’s way back to music or acting or something in between. 

Glenne worked for Apple Music in artist relations, her boyfriend for a prominent artist management firm. Lexi MacMillan, a self-proclaimed B-list actress in a new Netflix series, fit right into their world of Teslas and hedge fund investments. 

She never liked to admit that she came from money, and she was more than humble about the uneven split in your rent or the fact that she often paid for groceries. Your salary at Facebook was good--more than a lot of your other friends who had graphic design and marketing degrees, but it was small in comparison to the type of money the rest of them were pulling in. 

“Well she’s gonna be the easiest way to get in touch with him.”

“I know,” you waved a hand and took a seat at the island. “Just, not yet. I mean, don’t you think I’ll need proof? I can’t just show up on his doorstep and say: ‘hey, remember me? I’m your manager’s girlfriend’s friend’s friend and we had sex one time at your house in late April and now I’m pregnant?’”

She stifled a laugh, nodding as if it was a good idea, her tone completely serious. “I mean personally I would love to see you do that.”

“Well, I’m not,” you said firmly. “There must be rules for this type of shit. I don’t know the etiquette.”

“You mean the baby mamma etiquette?”

You shot her a look, narrowed eyes before you let your forehead rest on the counter, a groan from your lips. “My life is over, Lexi--this is seriously the worse thing that can happen.”

She brought the beer bottle up to her lips to take a swig. “Which is why we should call Glenne.”

“I have to go to the doctor first, okay? That way we don’t stir up any shit without really knowing if they’re right or not.” You motioned over your shoulder to the test you’d left behind on the bathroom counter. The other, from earlier, was still in the side pocket of your work bag. 

Lexi nodded, brown eyes with a new shade of sympathy. 

**

A woman bounced her baby on her knee, big blue eyes looked up at the two of you, nervous and caving inward in the waiting room chairs. 

“Do they all stare like that?” Lexi leaned over and whispered, her gaze fixed on the tiny human beside you. 

“I don’t know,” you said quickly, hoping she wouldn’t make any other remarks. She didn’t--quickly distracted by the nurse who called your name and greeted you both with a smile.

“Y/N?” 

You stood, walked forward and ignored the nervousness in your stomach. Lexi was following behind, she’d been positive and upbeat in the car as if heading over to the gynecologist for what you’d both been referring to as a legit test was a typical Wednesday morning errand. 

“Are you her partner?” The nurse smiled over at her when she pointed at a chair in the hallway for you to sit in. She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around your arm when Lexi pulled her head back. 

“No, just her roommate.”

“Just my roommate,” you nodded, repeating her words as if that’d ease the tension in your muscles. 

The nurse smiled, scribbled a few numbers on a post-it and before handing you a small, plastic cup. You disappeared into the bathroom and realized you’d never thought so much about pee in your entire life. When you were done, you walked back to the small room that the same nurse pointed you towards to find Lexi in the small visitor’s chair beside the paper-lined exam table.

She looked up quickly, a life-like plastic uterus was in her hands. “I maybe broke it.”

“Put it down,” you ordered, rolling your eyes at her childlike curiosity. “Let’s just get in and get out, okay?”

“Knock knock!” A voice from the doorway, Laura Weston, red hair and blue eyes. Her white coat covered a pink blouse, one that matched the color of blush on her cheeks. “Good to see you, Y/N--who’s this?”

Lexi extended her hand and smiled. “Lexi MacMillan, roommate and moral support, nice to meet you.”

“So I hear there’s a possibility of pregnancy?” Dr. Weston sat down on a rolling stool, picked up the chart on the counter and flipped through some pages. She closed it, waited a second, and offered a smile when you didn’t answer. “How are you doing?”

You nodded, licked at your lips, and then met her gaze. “Been better.”

You’d been seeing Dr. Weston for a while--you found her card in the health services building on campus during your Freshman year. Now, a whole seven years later, her smile was a calming presence in a moment of fear and uncertainty. 

“Well, note says you’ve taken two tests, and they were both positive?”

You nodded again. “Just a drugstore brand, though. I don’t know how accurate they are.”

She tilted her head side to side, lifted her shoulders a bit when she rolled towards the counter. “They’re good enough--we’re running the urine sample now and that’ll give a good idea, too. Would you like to do a blood test to be sure?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Let’s do that.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “I’ll have Justine order that for the lab downstairs.” She produced a paper wheel diagram, the colors of the rainbow seemed to distinguish different parts of a typical menstrual cycle. “When was your last period?”

Lexi handed over your phone. “April, the middle of the month. I was due eight days ago.” You pulled up the app that now seemed like less of a friend and more of a source of shame. You were proud of how well you knew your cycle. You could typically tell when you were ovulating, knew enough about your PMS symptoms to know what to expect. 

“And do you know when the possible date of conception was?”

“April 18th,” a tinge of red on your cheeks. “That’s the only possibility.”

So sure, maybe you weren’t the most sexually active human on the planet. Maybe you were slightly embarrassed that the first time you had sex in a good eleven months resulted in a possible pregnancy. 

She scribbled something on a piece of paper, just like the nurse had. A knock on the door that Dr. Weston had shut behind her. The same nurse delivered another post-it note. Pink this time, not blue like before. Dr. Weston took it in her hands and then looked up at you, an unreadable look on her face when the nurse quietly left the room.

“That urine sample read positive, too.”

You didn’t mean to do it again, but another shaky breath left your mouth and Lexi was on her feet, a hand rubbing your back in an attempt to comfort. You wiped at your face, feeling guilty for the outburst of emotion. 

Plenty of people wished and hoped and prayed for this moment. They dreamed about it and tried for years to have this moment. And you’d been stupid enough to stumble your way into it. Ahead of schedule, unprepared, and unplanned. 

“I’ll order the bloodwork and you can do that on your way out--just to be sure. But take some time and when that result comes back we can talk about some options.”

You nodded--her words were a jumble of sounds that you couldn’t really comprehend. She offered a smile and left the two of you alone, Lexi still standing beside you.

“Let’s go do the bloodwork, okay? We can get ice cream when we’re finished!” 

You nodded, wiping your cheeks again before hopping down from the table. You knew she’d keep her word. 

**

The sunny California sky and a cone of soft-serve from McDonald’s made the afternoon somewhat better. You worked from home and went to bed exhausted, almost feeling detached from reality. 

You talked with Lexi that night about having Glenne over for dinner. It’d been a few weeks since you’d seen her, drinks after work one night to celebrate Lexi’s show getting signed for a second season. So when she knocked on the door of your apartment the next evening, Lexi opened it with a big smile. 

“Hi, hi,” she said, opening her arms in greeting. “Look at your beautiful face,” she pinched Glenne’s cheek between her thumb and forefinger. 

Glenne laughed and pushed her hand away, leaning around Lexi’s shoulder to see you in the kitchen. “She’s high already?”

“No,” you laughed, “she just loves you.”

Glenne made her way past her friend, offering you a hug before she set her purse on the counter. She’d always been so poised--perfect, clear skin, hair that was always flawlessly colored and cut. She took a seat on one of the stools and put her chin in her hands, “please tell me you have margarita mix.”

Lexi laughed, rounding the kitchen counter and heading for the fridge. “Oh, do we!”

“Tacos are on the way,” you said, reaching for glasses from above the sink. 

Mexican was always the go-to. You’d moved in with Lexi after college, and when Glenne ended up living only a short drive away, take-out became a regular reason for a get together. 

“How’s life?” Glenne stared up at you. “I’ve been so busy which is why I had to cancel on that movie last week. But--what have you been up to?”

Her question was pointed at you. While you and Glenne were definitely friends, you trusted that she communicated with Lexi a lot more regularly about life updates. 

You cleared your throat, ignored the awkward glance that Lexi shot in your direction when she reached for the tequila above the fridge. “Same old, you know. Just work, and stuff.”

Okay, so lying wasn’t a strong suit. You forced a smile and turned to Lexi, hoping she’d jump in with a hilarious story or funny remark. She was too busy lining up the cups, ready to distribute the liquor. 

You looked back to Glenne. “Uh, I wanted to talk to you actually.”

That got Lexi to turn around. Her eyes were wide, lips parted as if she was thinking oh, you’re doing it right now? 

“Remember in April, at that party--” You trailed off, referencing it as if it was ages ago. 

“The album wrap?”

“Yeah, when I, you know, got laid for the first time in a while?”

She laughed, looking up at you with an amused smile. “Yeah?”

Glenne had been the most excited about your rendezvous that evening. When she’d first introduced you the two of you, she made your promise you wouldn’t get all weird around him. Apparently people did that. You laughed it off and tried to ignore him at the other end of the dinner table--an Italian restaurant in Studio City for her birthday last fall. He showed up twenty minutes late.

Lexi was still now, tequila on the counter, she wore nothing but a pair of shorts and a tube top in the afternoon heat. Glenne was impatient, the smile fading from her face when you broke eye contact with her for a second. 

She tilted her head to the side. “What? You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m, uh, I’m actually pregnant.”

Quiet. Outside the windows, the setting sun illuminated a hazy Los Angeles dusk. Kids swam in a pool at the house next door, their laughter was muffled through the sliding door out to your patio. It felt strange to say it like that. Up until this morning, the word possibly had been sprinkled in, a safe and reassuring disclaimer. 

“You’re joking,” she said, readjusting in her seat, the color drained from her tan skin.

You swallowed. “I’m not.”

She looked over to Lexi, then brought her gaze back to you. “And you’re saying it’s his?”

You rolled your eyes a little. “He’s literally the only person I’ve had sex with in the last year.” Lexi came over to the counter to stand beside you. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the smooth granite. Glenne just stared at you, still in disbelief.

“I took two home tests on Tuesday and went to the doctor yesterday.” 

What you didn’t tell her is that you cried this morning when the email came through, new test results available from Dr. Weston’s office! Positive. Both the urine and the blood test. There was no denying it now--even if you wanted to. 

“Holy fuck,” she said. “Holy fucking shit. This is not good, you guys.”

“Don’t, Glenne,” Lexi stood back up and shook her head, making a face at her friend. “She’s already freaked the fuck out and she won’t stop fucking crying, okay? She doesn’t need you to add to that.”

You tried to swallow the emotion now, heat to your cheeks when Glenne rolled her eyes.

“I’m not trying to add to it--I’m just--I have no clue how they’ll take that.”

You knew who she was referring to. His team. The people around him who’d made sure, for all this time, that something like this never happened. 

She let out a sigh and looked up at you again. She stood from her seat and rounded the counter. “I’m sorry--I just--are you okay? How are you feeling?” She hugged you, it felt more obligatory than genuine. “You haven’t told him, have you? Does he know?! Jeff doesn’t know!”

“No--you two are the only people who know. I haven’t even told my mom.”

Glenne’s arms still encircled you, Lexi stepped over and hugged you both, a kitchen group hug. “This means more tequila for us, Glenney.”

“You’re fucked up,” she laughed in response, pulling away and looking at Lexi. 

It was quiet for a second, that was Lexi’s cue to make them both a margarita. Glenne went to sit back down, immediately going into business mode when she clasped her hands on top of the counter.

She took a deep breath, you were unsure if that was for your benefit or her own. “So--okay. Where are you at with it all?”

“Are you asking if I’m, like, excited? I am not excited. This is not how my life is supposed to go.”

“Oh enough with the plan, will you?” Lexi rolled her eyes and poured the liquor into two matching glasses, nonchalance lacing her voice. 

“Well forgive me for ideally wanting to find a partner before having a baby,” you shot back at her. 

“That’s not what I mean,” she turned around. “It’s just--I dunno, dude, you’re always so hard on yourself if something doesn’t go according to the plan. I get it--this is a big one, but, stressing over your plan isn’t gonna help.”

Glenne nodded, almost reluctant to side with Lexi. “I’ve heard about the plan. You are obsessed with the plan.”

“I’m not obsessed with it,” you retorted. “I just have a good sense of how I want my life to go.”

Had. You changed the verb tense in your mind. You had a good sense, until now. 

“Well, are you...gonna keep it?” Glenne’s question was innocent, her eyes searched your face as soon as the words left her mouth, she looked nervous, like she didn’t know if it was okay to ask.

A tired voice. “I don’t know,” you shook your head. “I haven’t even thought that far.”

She nodded. “You have to tell him. Have you even talked to him at all since then?”

“No,” you laughed. “It was only, like, a month ago.”

“He didn’t text or call?” she pulled her head back in surprise.

You shrugged. “No. I wasn’t expecting that. Why? Did he mention me?”

“It came up once or twice, yeah.”

“With who?”

“With me and Jeff--and Lexi.”

You turned to your roommate, narrowed eyes when she delivered the drinks. You knew she’d seem him once since then--a brunch one morning before Glenne left town for business. 

“I told you about it--he just said you were nice and that we should all hang out,” she mimicked his accent, earning a laugh from Glenne.

“That wasn’t the first time you met him, though, right?” Glenne pulled the glass to her lips, took a sip and then made a face. “Jesus, strong enough?”

“I figured you might need it since your boyfriend is about to be hella upset.”

“Thank you, thanks for that,” you made a face at her. “But no--” you turned back to Glenne to answer her question. “I met him at your birthday party last year--in Studio City.”

“Right,” she nodded. The doorbell rang and Lexi went to greet the delivery person, or, more so, the tacos. 

“But listen, you can’t tell anyone, okay? I don’t even know what I’m gonna do yet.”

She closed her eyes, made a face that told you it was going to be hard to keep her mouth shut. You leaned forward and lowered your voice, hoping to convey how serious this was. “Give me a few days to just--to talk to him first.”

She dropped your gaze, bit at her lip. You knew it was a big ask. Don’t tell your boyfriend something that is about to make his life a living hell. 

“Please, Glenne.”

She let out a long sigh, one that sounded like it was slowly deflating her lungs, tired and unsure. “Fine,” she said. “But you’ve got to get in touch with him then--like, soon.”

You nodded, Lexi reappeared from the front door with a box in her hands and a smile on her face. “Okay--two for each of us and plenty of guac to go around.”

“So,” Glenne pursed her lips. “Need his phone number?”

**

It felt like one of those dreams you couldn’t wake up from. Like a cloud that looms over the city when everyone is dying for a sunny day. 

You ignored the two phone calls from your mom you got in the span of three days--quick to text her some excuse about work or being busy with something at home. It felt too soon to tell her. You didn’t even know what he’d say or what he’d think or do or feel and the last thing you wanted to do was get a bunch of people involved in this before you even knew what to expect. 

There were a few options, in terms of what his response might be. Glenne had continued to prep you that night in your kitchen, the more margaritas in her the more she accepted that she was now complicit. In moments it felt normal, laughing and talking and then watching a stupid youtube video of some kid falling off of skateboard. 

But when you went to bed and then woke up, realizing that no amount of sleep would change the current predicament, you decided that maybe it was time to get in touch with him. 

You had no clue when or how or where. Over text? On the phone? Lexi agreed that was too impersonal. Out to dinner? Too public. In person? Terrifying, and possibly not an option. 

The truth was that you didn’t know him. He was someone who happened to be friends with your friend. Nothing more, nothing less. At least, that’s what you told yourself when you saw a billboard on the side of the 405 with his face on it. 

So you didn’t know if he’d even want to see you--he might consider you an acquaintance or even a stranger and maybe he had no desire to ever speak to you again.

You went about work and life as if everything was normal. You showered and brushed your teeth and took solace in knowing that whatever form of life was inside you was so tiny that it could just as well be a blip on the radar. 

A story in the future of hey, remember that time, when you were, and then it...

Plenty of people got pregnant and lost it, not even knowing until it was too late. You weren’t sure if you were wishing for that, in all honesty, but you knew that the alternative felt too overwhelming to think of right now. 

But when you found yourself sitting outside in the courtyard on your lunch break, a search typed into the app store for pregnancy tracker, you figured that maybe it was time to bite the bullet. If you were starting to think in terms of what size fruit a baby is at any given stage, maybe it was time to loop him in. 

You pulled up your text thread with Glenne--scrolled up past a meme and a recipe she’d sent you, until you found his name and number. You clicked it once, create new message. 

You stared at the blank bubble. A thousand words and a thousand choices of what to say and how to say it. With a rush of adrenaline, you exited out. Clicked the number again, call now. 

It rang. Three times. Then voicemail. A deep breath, you stood from the bench and started to pace. 

Beep. “Hey, uh, this is Y/N--uh, Y/N L/N. Lexi MacMillan’s roommate. I hope you’ve been well since I saw you, and, yeah--maybe we could get dinner or something soon. My number is--the one I’m calling on, so, I know you’re probably really busy right now, that’s fine. Just, uh, yeah, would love to talk with you. Okay, bye.”

You pulled the phone away from your face and wanted to throw it into the bushes. Would love to talk with you? That didn’t exactly do it justice. 

You let out a breath and clicked it to sleep, hoping that maybe it’d get lost in translation and you’d never have to talk to him or see him or think of him ever again. 

Something told you that wasn’t very likely. 

You went back inside and finished up the day of work, thankful for distraction from Aarav when he found you in the lounge. 

“Did you see the request that Carson sent?” He dropped his laptop on the coffee table and headed for the vending machine nearby. “Not to sound like a dick, but, he’s out of touch with reality. I’m concerned about him at this point.”

“Why?” You laughed, “cause he doesn’t understand that we can’t deliver a whole project with only two hours to do it?”

“Exactly,” he leaned down to reach for the bag of popcorn it spit out. “Hopefully he just fucking leaves and goes to fucking Tinder--he could even go to the Instagram department, for all I care.”

“Levi hates him anyway--pretty sure he regrets hiring him.”

He came to sit next to you and then opened the bag, putting his feet up on the glass table in front of you. “Yeah, well, Levi’s out of here as soon as he gets something with Apple.”

You smirked over at your favorite coworker, knowing exactly what was coming out of his mouth next. 

“And then you’ll get promoted. Much deserved, the queen of saving my ass.”

You brushed your hair off your shoulder playfully. “You’re welcome.”

He cleared his throat, opened up his laptop. “Levi’s great--but if you’re my boss, I’m working remotely two days a week instead of one.”

“We’ll see about that,” you said, giving him the side eye when you looked back to your screen.

You fell into comfortable silence--grateful for the change of scenery from your office that was far enough away from Aarav and Simone, the two people who made work feel like fun. So you got back to the project, sent your designs to Carson when you finished, and prayed that he wouldn’t have a fit over the fact that you didn’t take his advice on using the Aileron font instead of Arimo.

He emailed you, eventually, but you didn’t have time to read it. As soon as it opened on your screen, your phone rang--a Los Angeles area code appeared on the screen and you felt your stomach drop to the floor. You looked over at Aarav. “Sorry--I, uh, I have to get this.”

You stepped away, leaving him on the sofa with your laptop, hand still deep in his bag of popcorn. You swiped across the screen, brought the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, uh, Y/N? It’s Harry.”

__

table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list

author’s note: Y’ALL. I’m back. As if starting a new story literally DAYS after I finish one isn’t crazy, here I am. Come talk to me and let me know your thoughts or your theories because THIS ONE is gonna be a wild ride. 

tag list: @stepping-into-the-light @thurhomish @afterstylesmadeit @iconicharry @stylesfics-xx @harryspirate @mellamolayla @harryinsweatersandbandanas @stylesfantasy @clorenafila

[artificialqueens]

Come Home to My Heart, Chapter 3 (Lemyanka) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 ✨| chapter 1 2

A/N: hi! I hope you like this new chapter as it goes deeper on the feels™️ I really wanted to give the characters more background (and a little bit of angst whoops) and finally, there are new names dropping yay! Again, there’s a time skip of two years this time. Enjoy & thanks for reading <3

-3-

When Priyanka turned fifteen, she discovered new things she loved. She loved dying the tips of her hair with bright colors every two weeks and a half, she loved skateboarding, she loved being the center of attention and a little bit of a class-clown at school, she loved hanging out with her group of friends, she loved the phone calls with Lemon to catch up and talk shit about everyone…

“Okay, can you hear me now?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s better.”

Priyanka peeped through the hallway hoping no one would decide to interrupt them. She nervously removed the shiny red nail polish with her teeth as they tried to re-connect, if her mother saw her she would’ve scolded her on the spot. The landline phone was solid red plastic with buttons and wires, it was age-worn but at least it wasn’t like her grandparent’s phone with the rotary dial system or it would take hours to get all those area code numbers correct and get Lemon on the other side.

“Thank God. I’m literally inside the closet just like in The Parent Trap. I told my mom I was calling my grandma because last time our phone bill had several zeroes.”

Priyanka chortled and entangled the curly wire with his fingertips. “Sorry about that… so, you were saying… about the audition?”

“Oh, right! I’m trying to get into this dance academy that’s supposed to be the best of the best and the audition waiting list is a nightmare… but they called me the other day and said I’ll have shot in two weeks.”

“Oh. My. God. Lemon that’s awesome!”

“I know! I feel it, Pri. I know I can do it but… I don’t want to assume anything until I get there. I’m confident in my skills but what if they perceive that confidence as cockiness or something like that. I was talking to Jan the other day and she said-”

“Wait, who’s Jan?” Priyanka frowned before the unfamiliar name.

“Jan. Jan! My friend Jan? We have Biology and Math together, remember?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard her name before.”

“I’m sure I have mentioned her… anyway. Jan is madly talented –like, she can sing- and she auditioned for music school like a year ago and told me that…”

Jan. She hadn’t mentioned a Jan before… it was weird for Priyanka that knew all Lemon’s New Yorker friends’ names and she was pretty sure Lemon remembered all her friends’ names as well.

“… anyway, I’ll keep my head high and hope for the best. I’m training extra hard these days to make it. My muscles are sore and I can’t feel my legs right now but hey, no pain no gain.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Thank you.” She paused as if she wanted to say something else, Priyanka could hear her breathing, but then she continued chattering. “Also, my mom got promoted again and now she bought a computer I can e-mail you the day of the audition. But tell me, how are things over there? Did the girls work their differences yet?”

“You know Scarlett, she won’t shut up and-”

“Priyanka, it’s dinner time.” Her mother announced from the kitchen.

She sighed. “Shit. I have to go or my mom is going to cut the phone wires. She says this time is for real.”

“Oh, okay… I’ll call you soon then.”

“Yes, please call me right after the audition or before if you wanna talk… you know. Break a leg or whatever… make sure is figuratively speaking, please.”

She heard Lemon’s giggle on the other line and something inside her went softer.

“I will… and I will be there for Christmas this year, I made my mom promise it.”

“Fingers crossed.” She said before hanging up.

When she looked at herself in the mirror she had a silly grin on her face that couldn’t be erased.

Lemon hadn’t been back in a long year and a half. After spending the first holidays after her parents’ divorce with her dad in Canada, she had to spend the next one with her mom in the Big Apple. Plus, her father got to travel to New York quite often those days and got to see her a lot. She sometimes sent things for Priyanka with him, a nice hoodie, a makeup bag, one of those stupid tourist t-shirts with the Statue of Liberty printed on it, sometimes a pair of dangling earrings or a simple letter and a picture of her. She treasured each of those little trinkets.

Priyanka was saving money from her allowance and was hoping to get a job soon so she could buy a car someday and visit her friend in the big city, they might even go on a road trip over the summer, it was a nice thought to hold onto until they could hang out again.

On the day of Lemon’s audition, Priyanka was restless. She got kicked out of one of her classes because she kept fidgeting, twitching, moving around, and chewing gum. It drove her teachers insane. Scarlett and Kiara mocked her from the window of the classroom and then got a warning as well.

Later that day she cleaned all her room to avoid thinking. She found several pictures of her and Lemon over the years –including that one time they tried Lemon’s mom makeup for the first time, Lemon was missing her two front teeth-, there were some photos from their first days of school and even Lemon at Priyanka’s plays. She was so pissed when she got that old lady role instead of the main character but she had managed to steal the scene anyway.

As the sun was setting, she didn’t know what else to do. She did the dishes without offering resistance and then got into an argument with her little sister who wanted to watch Hannah Montana while Priyanka just wanted to watch the new episode of America’s Next Top Model. She had to admit it though, the intro of Hannah Montana was kind of catchy (something she would never admit to her sister).

It was almost quarter to nine and she still didn’t have any news. There was a two-hour time difference with New York but still… it was gnawing her from the inside.

Right when Tyra was about to reveal which model got to stay for another week, the phone rang in the hallway and she couldn’t jump out of the couch fast enough.

«You have a phone call from-» Press one to accept, yeah, yeah, she knew that.

“Lemon?” She didn’t even wait for a «hello».

“Pri? Is it you?”

The sound of her voice brought her back to life, she could hear the sound of her heart beating again.

“Yes, it’s me! How did it go?”

“Oh my God, Pri… I’m calling you from a payphone in the middle of Times Square, this is insane. The girls lend me some cash to call you.” Priyanka could hear the sound of the traffic and even some giggles coming from outside of the phone.

“And? You’re killing me here, Lemz.” She had her fingers crossed even when she couldn’t see that gesture through the call and was holding the phone against her ear with her shoulder.

“It was so difficult I thought I was never going to learn the steps I’m literally so exhausted right now but…”

But.

“I got it, I got the spot!”

Priyanka started screaming.

“Priyanka!” Her mother shouted.

“Sorry…sorry!” She covered her mouth with her hand.

Lemon was cackling.

“Lemz, I might get in so much trouble for this but… Congratulations, I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you.” She sounded truly happy, Priyanka wished she could see her right at that moment. “Jan, can you give me another quarter? Thanks, doll.”

That girl Jan again.

“So what are you girls are up to?”

“We’re going to get some pizza to celebrate. Jan is here as you heard, so are Goona, Rosé, Jackie… They say hi.”

“Tell them I said hi too.”

“She says hi… No, I’m not telling that, shut up…”

“What is it?”

“They are being assholes as usual… Listen, I have to go, I’m running out of coins and I still have to call my mom.”

“Okay, we’ll talk soon… I’m so happy for you… Love you.”

“Love you too! See you in a few weeks.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait.”

“Bye, Pri.”

She hung up but stood next to the phone for a moment, staring at it.

Just a few more weeks.

Priyanka kept begging her older brother to teach her how to drive. It took a few weeks of insistence until he gave up and the lessons started. They only stopped when the snow got too thick and the roads too slippery to practice. Still, by that time Priyanka was almost an expert. She needed to perfect her parking skills before turning sixteen and that would be it.

She also needed a car but that was the least important part.

“So when’s your girlfriend coming to town?” Scarlett asked.

Priyanka choked on her hot chocolate and coughed a couple of times. “Lemon’s not my girlfriend.”

Kiara rolled her eyes.

“Ah, yes, I can’t wait to finally meet her!” Juice –the latest addition to their group- said.

They were at the coffee shop, outside was freezing cold and the smell of fresh-baked pastries had dragged them inside the warm environment. Scarlett was having a black coffee while Priyanka and Kiara had their respective hot chocolate with marshmallows and Juice ordered a cappuccino with whipped cream and sprinkles on top.

“So?” Scarlett arched a brow.

“Her flight is booked for next week if the snowstorms allow them to fly.”

“I remember you two from primary school; they were joined by the hip, even before you shared diapers or something.” Kiara mocked.

“Oh, that’s right. You were in her classroom in kindergarten back when Ilona prevented everyone from playing with her.”

“That’s because Lemon spilled some paint over Ilona’s drawing… it was kids’ things. We all forgot when some random kid wet his pants or whatever.”

“And when did the crush began?”

Priyanka shot daggers at Scarlett with her eyes.

“I don’t have a crush on her. She’s literally my best friend, you guys are delusional.”

“Sure…” Kiara stirred her chocolate. “But it’s been what? Almost two years since she graced us with her presence?”

“Yeah, her parents didn’t want her to travel alone last time so her father flew to New York.”

“All jokes aside,” Scarlett changed her irksome ‘let’s pick on Priyanka’ tone for a minute. “Are you going to tell her about…?”

At the age of fifteen, Priyanka discovered she didn’t like kissing boys.

It had been at a lame party in a basement, her classmates had invited her and one of them suggested they should play seven minutes in heaven. Priyanka was about to skip it and refill her paper cup with cheap vodka and orange juice when she got dragged by the wrist and pushed into the closet with a guy from the hockey team. She suspected he had a crush on her for the longest time and this was instigated by his friends but the moment the door was locked, she panicked.

Her friends tried to get her out of there but there were a few underdeveloped brains and much muscle blocking the door. So she guessed she was doing it. The guy wasn’t that bad –she liked to believe- he told her they didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to and he was what most girls of the classroom referred to as «handsome». Priyanka shouted she was okay to calm down her friends and figured the best she could do was getting over it once and for all.

It was her first kiss.

The guy had rough lips and a slippery tongue and it was in the middle of all that smooching when his hand went under her lower back that she knew, she wasn’t enjoying it at all. She pushed the guy aside and used the back of her hand to clean her lips, she’d need some mouthwash as well. He asked if everything was okay but she was too condescending and told him that she was feeling dizzy.

The door was unlocked when he asked his friends to do it. Priyanka walked back –ashamed-to her group of friends as Kiara told them they were all disgusting and how stupid the game was. Priyanka called her brother from a phone upstairs and left soon after. For the first time, she was quiet on the way back home.

Later that night when she was laying on her bed in the darkness, she couldn’t stop thinking about it, thinking about how she was supposed to feel kissing that guy -any guy- or thinking about the fact that she wasn’t even remotely attracted to boys but mostly, thinking how she so wished that guy was someone else, how she wished that guy was a girl.

The following week at school the not-so-nice-guy had told everyone that Priyanka was basically a slut and if it wasn’t because she was so wasted, they could’ve gone to third base in that closet that very night. Priyanka wasn’t ashamed anymore, she was angry. Very angry. During lunch, she walked directly towards him and exposed him in front of everyone, not only denying the absurdity of those rumors but also stating that she would never even consider touching his small dick.

After that, Priyanka was done with guys, boys, and men in general.

She had a heart-to-heart conversation with her friends afterward but –to no one’s surprise- she ended up with the least heterosexual and most supportive group of friends in the world.

Still… she hadn’t been able to tell Lemon yet. She had tried but there was something about phone calls that didn’t help at all, she wanted to tell her in person, she wanted to see her face and know that everything was okay. And she planned to do it during her visit.

“I’ll try.” Priyanka stated, hoping the universe cooperated with her.

“Good. So you can make out under the mistletoe next.” There she was again.

“Okay, you two,” She pointed at Scarlett and Kiara. “you have to stop it or I’m going to do you guys dirty and you know I can.”

They started laughing, clearly taking Priyanka’s threaten lightly.

“That’s it! You,” She directed toward Kiara. “I have seen you drooling over Kyne the entire semester.”

Kiara went pale.

“And you two…” She turned back to Scarlett and Juice that were cackling sitting on the couch. “Yes, I’m talking to you, do you really believe I haven’t seen the way you look at each other, those stolen glances, the subtle touches? Please, is this a Jane Austen novel or what? You ain’t that smooth.”

“Hey! I didn’t say anything!” Juice protested.

Scarlett’s mouth turned into a thin line and her ears were suddenly pink colored. She murmured something Priyanka couldn’t catch but rhymed with «witch».

“Sorry girl, I warned you heads would roll and I’m not leaving any survivors if that’s what it takes.”

Scarlett put her hands up as a sign of surrender. “I respect it, you’re a bitch but I respect it.”

So that was the word she used.

Lemon would arrive at any minute now.

Her father was picking her up from the airport, they would have lunch at some fancy restaurant in the city center and then he’d drop Lemon at Priyanka’s house until sunset –that was when she had to leave again to have dinner with her relatives.

Priyanka kept moving her right leg, restless while sitting on the couch, eyes nailed on the window.

“Priyanka, take the trash out, it’s your turn.” Her mother told her casually as she directed upstairs.

“Mom!” She complained. “I’m doing important things.”

“You’re sitting on the couch.”

“My point exactly.”

Her mom gave her the glare. “Trash. Out. Now.”

She grumbled but did as asked.

Priyanka put on an extra thick coat over her jeans and knitted orange sweater, adjusted her wool socks and boots, and adventured to the exterior world of the Canadian winter wonderland. She only had to walk a few steps but she could feel her body freezing with the icy breeze. The snow was blinding white and she could hear the whistle of the wind blowing and the sound of her own teeth chattering.

She didn’t even hear the sound of the car stopping right at the entrance of her house nor the door closing or the steps.

She barely had time to turn around when an identified running person hit her like an asteroid. Lemon was small but she still got the strength to tackle Priyanka down with a hug. She didn’t even notice whether the snow was cold or not.

“Hey!” She was still down on the ground and needed to turn around once Lemon moved. “You’re here…”

The vision was dazzling. Lemon’s face, her eyes, her smile from ear to ear with full teeth showing, her blonde hair falling like a cascade over her rosy cheeks. It was as if she had been taken from an Andersen fairytale or a Tchaikovsky composition, ice queens and fairies fluttered around Priyanka’s head.

“I’m here! Can you believe it?”

She was still pretty much straddled on Priyanka, making the brunette blush and hoping she could blame it on the weather. Finally, Lemon got to stand up and helped her friend to get on her feet again.

Lemon was irretrievably tiny but there was something different about her since the last time they had seen each other. She looked less like the little girl Priyanka remembered and more like a teen pop star of the magazines they used to read with her slightly curled lighter hair, pink glossy lips, longer lashes… She was wearing a yellow sweater and a white puffy jacket with matching fake fur around the neck, corduroy pants, and cream boots. Even her glasses were stylish now.

“Wait, are you taller?” She observed.

“No, you just shrunk in the washing machine.”

Lemon elbowed her and then turned to wave at her dad that was still in the car.

“He told me he saw you in the supermarket the other day and asked what does your mom feed you with so I could get some too.”

Priyanka laughed at loud. “He got you there.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“But enough with my height, let’s go inside, I think I got snow on my socks and I don’t want to catch a cold or wait until another short person attacks me.”

“Hey, you said enough with the height.”

“No, no. I clearly said mine, not yours.”

Lemon rolled her eyes and there it was the old Lemon she knew so well, the exact dose just a little less sugary and a bit sour.

They went to Priyanka’s room, she shared it with her middle sister but she was currently busy practicing at music school with her cello for her end of the year concert, there were a few trophies, certificates, and distinctions on her side of the room meanwhile Priyanka’s was a collage of pictures with the girls, an album cover Avril Lavigne, one large poster she got from the local cinema when Spice World was brought back for a special feature and she forced her friends to watch it for the millionth time, some random doodles she did in class and of course, photos and postcards Lemon had sent to her.

The blonde smiled when she spotted a picture of them from their first day of primary school, their backpacks were bigger than them.

They removed the heavy coats, Priyanka changed her wet socks for new ones and a pair of slippers. Lemon was prying into the mess that was her desk, her fingers roaming through her school books, comic books, magazines, and scattered papers as if she tried to figure out if she still knew the owner of that space in the way she used to.

They sat on Priyanka’s bed on the nothing-like-Priyanka flowery blanket one of her aunts got her for a birthday. Priyanka’s mom dropped by to say hi and left a tray with two smoky cups of tea.

“I love your mom, she read my mind.” Lemon said, wrapping her hands around the warm porcelain.

“She’s being nice only because you’re around.” Priyanka took a sip of her tea. “I wonder if it’s a good time to tell her that I broke one of her flowerpots when I was practicing with the skateboard.”

“You’re the worst.” Lemon giggled.

“Certified. Three years in a row.”

The blonde shook her head. “Does she still make that incredible curry with potatoes?”

“Yeah, once in a while.”

“Oh my God… I tell you I’ve dreamt about it. You know I love Christina to dead but she can’t cook at all.”

Lemon, at some point after the divorce, had stopped addressing her mother as “mom” and now she called her by her first name.

“Do you remember she always made dinner with dry spaghetti and can sauce?”

“You laugh all you want but that’s my comfort food till this day.” Priyanka defended her.

“She doesn’t even cook it anymore, now we buy it all pre-cooked or already cooked. She might even forget how to boil water. Anyway, we’ve tried a thousand restaurants but I swear to you, Pri, no one can cook like your mom.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve missed one of us.”

Lemon threw a pillow at her face.

“Of course I’ve missed you, dumbass.”

They did each other’s nails, Priyanka ended up with a light blue shade Lemon had brought for her and it was allegedly the same color as Tiffany’s, and the blonde insisted she had to draw a white ribbon to make it look like the jewel’s teeny tiny boxes.

From there, Priyanka could see everything. Lemon frowning, concentrated on her task, the way she batted her lashes, her pretty eyes, the little freckles she had over her nose, the shape of her cupid bow turned into an unintentional pout… her lips.

Priyanka gulped and then Lemon caught her staring.

“What is it?” She looked for some hint in Priyanka’s face. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No… I’m just making sure you don’t fuck up the design.”

Lemon rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly. I’m almost done.”

While Priyanka’s nails got dried, they talked about school, classes they liked and disliked, teachers that they loathed or loved, then about their plans after turning sixteen, Priyanka told her about the driving lessons and Lemon told her she wanted to dress up as Cher Horowitz –of course- for her birthday and by the time Priyanka started with Lemon’s nails, she was reviving her dance audition.

“I tell you, Pri, there was a moment I doubt I’d got in. It was a flash but I felt it in my stomach I thought I was going to puke and mess everything up.”

“Hey, but you didn’t. I’m sure you nailed it.”

The blonde sighed. “Still, New York is like… everything’s so fast and everyone’s competitive to the point where you can’t get distracted or someone else will go after what you have. It’s nice to be here for a change, this is the only place I can really relax. It sucks that I can only stay for a week and five of those seven days I have to visit my dad’s relatives out of town.” She met Priyanka’s eyes. “I wish I could get to spend more time with you, you know?”

Priyanka’s heart skipped a beat. At that moment what she suspected but didn’t dare to say at loud became a reality, all those corny songs from the 90’s suddenly made sense, all the movies Hollywood had sold labeled as «romance» acquired a new meaning and she finally understood what «to have butterflies in one’s stomach» really felt like.

She liked Lemon. She liked her best friend…. And she liked her a lot.

That was the reason she hadn’t been able to tell her about what happened earlier that year at the party because it wasn’t just that she wanted to kiss a girl instead of a guy, she wanted to kiss one particular girl and she was right in front of her at that very moment.

They never warned her about it, they never told her that she would live normally until the day she’d realize she could harbor such feeling inside, that one day she’d just… know.

She almost dropped the nail polish bottle over the blanket.

“Oh, careful.” Lemon grabbed it just in time. She looked at her friend with concern in her eyes. “Pri, are you okay? You look… pale.”

“What? Ah, yeah… it’s nothing. I’m recovering from a cold I caught, that’s it…” She shook her head and took a breath of air. “I’m sorry, you were saying…”

“About the dance academy,” Lemon resumed her story. “the girls think I can make it through the next three years, and then I can major in dancing, I might even get a scholarship if I do outstandingly well.”

There was something, a little detail there that wasn’t… right.

“I hope you can visit me soon, you gotta meet the girls; you’re going to love them. Rosé and Jan are also Geminis, I guess that’s why I get along with them so well. Luckily, Jan would be my roommate if she gets her scholarship as well and…”

“Roommate?” Priyanka asked.

“Yeah… for college? We’re thinking about moving in together because rents are expensive even for the smallest studio apartment advertised. It’s a nightmare.”

“But wait… what happened with the plan? Our plan?”

Lemon opened her mouth to reply and then shut it.

“You forgot about it…”

“No! You know I didn’t… but… my options are wider now, I have to think forward and… did you seriously think-?”

“Yes. I did.” Priyanka didn’t even let her finish speaking.

Her soul had been just crushed.

“Pri, that’s not what I mean. We made that promise when we were ten, things have… changed since then.”

“Maybe they have changed for you but I’m still stuck here, I’m still counting on our plans… our promises. I’m still counting on you. The only thing that has changed is you and your pompous New Yorker glamorous lifestyle.”

“Oh, so it was so easy for me, right? It’s not like I had to attend a school where I didn’t know anyone, being the new girl and sitting alone during lunchtime for months while going through my parents’ divorce… I hated it the first months, Priyanka, I really did and I swear that talking to you on the phone and dancing were the only things that kept me alive…” Her voice cracked. “It wasn’t until I met my friends that I felt like I could do it… that it wasn’t completely waste of time and that I wasn’t a totally useless person.”

“Lemon… you never said-”

There was a single sparkly tear falling down her cheek.

“Well, I hope you’re happy now. There you have it, my life isn’t a glamorous as you thought, is it?”

“It’s because that’s what you’ve told me! Maybe if you didn’t sugarcoat things I could’ve helped you…”

“And do what? And then what? You’d get tired of me with all those problems and we’d eventually drift apart. I’d become a burden for you.”

“What? Where did you get that from? Let me be your friend, that’s what friends do… they help each other during the rough times too, they tell each other things.”

“Oh, and you surely have told me everything that’s being going on here.”

Priyanka remained silent.

“I still talk with some people from school here and there… why didn’t you tell me about what happened at that party?”

“Lemon, that’s completely different…”

“Is it? Because from my perspective, it looks like we’re hiding things from each other now.”

“And breaking promises as well for what it seems.”

Lemon looked at her, she seemed hurt and it broke Priyanka’s heart to see her like that.

She wanted to reach her and hold her hand, hug her and tell her that everything was alright but at the same time, she was angry. She couldn’t have it both ways. It wasn’t fair.

Priyanka’s mother called them from downstairs; Lemon’s father was there to pick her up.

“I better go.” She grabbed her coat. “I’ll be back in five days if you want… whatever.”

She was gone before Priyanka could say something and frankly, she felt that if she opened her mouth it was going to get worse. It wasn’t until the girl left the house and she heard the car getting lost in the distance that she collapsed on her bed and started crying on the closest pillow she had.

Five days after, it was a New Year already but little had changed since they last met.

Lemon visited Priyanka’s house only to discover she wasn’t there.

“Could you please tell her I came to say goodbye?” She bit her inner cheek to contain a sob.

She had a flight to take back to New York.

Priyanka had taken the family’s car without permission and she had driven for a few hours, making sure there was no chance of their paths crossing. It was petty; she knew she was being childish avoiding her rather than talk things through and she was going to regret it and hate herself later, damn, she was going to get grounded for months but who cared? At that moment, the only thing that was on her mind was that she couldn’t see Lemon.

Not like that.

She did her wrong but she was partly right. Priyanka wasn’t being honest with her and she couldn’t tell her all the truth to restore their friendship.

She couldn’t tell her that she was gay and that she was in love with her because it would change it all.

It would destroy their friendship entirely.

Lemon would never reciprocate those stupid feelings of her.

Maybe if she put enough distance between them, those feelings would simply fade, go away, and right now, New York sounded distant enough.

If it was on her to do the hardest part for the sake of all the years they’ve been together, then she was going to do whatever it’d take.

Tears scorched her eyes.

At the age of fifteen, Priyanka loved her best friend Lemon but she also hated her.

[where-dreamers-go]

“Part 3 -- Lemons” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: Requested. Welcome back to the Riley Poole x Reader series! The Declaration of Independence is safe from Ian, but an unexpected turn of events has changed your plans. But you, Ben Gates, and Riley Poole have to find out what’s on the back of the Declaration in midst of a time crunch. Danger is racing to catch the three of you. Will you all be fast enough to outsmart the others and handle Doctor Chase knowing what you all were up to?

Ideally, I wanted to have this typed and uploaded in March, but…yeah..the rest of February happened and then…stuff. So~

Check out Part One and Part Two.

Word Count: 3,999)

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

The time seemed to tick away faster the more you needed it. A different destination in the plan, the van continued down the roads in the extremely late hour. The darkness eased some anxiety, if only because it meant no traffic in sight.

Sitting in the van, much quieter than earlier, the four of you entered a neighborhood. It was calm and held no activity. A familiar house sitting on a small lot. Patrick Gates’ house.

Having been friends with Ben since you with both teenagers, you just knew Patrick would not react well to any of the situation at hand. Not even if he knew a small fraction of it. You dreaded to see the look on his face if you knew about the Declaration. You cringed, actually.

To the left sat Patrick Gates’ house. Short green hedges lined as fencing. Lights were still on inside even on the second floor.

You peered over the back of the driver’s seat to get a better view.

“Looks okay.” Riley peered out of the driver’s side window as he slowed the van to a stop. The window that had been shot out by one of Ian’s men.

“Park a couple of blocks away.” Ben said.

“Well, how long do you think we got?” Riley eased the van forward.

“I'm gonna give them a couple of hours at least. I hope.” Ben started pulling off his bow tie.

“What do we do about her?” Riley gestured with his head to Abigail. “I've got some duct tape in the back.”

Your eyebrows shot up. Both you and Abigail looked to Ben.

“No, that won't be necessary. She won't be any trouble. Promise you won't be any trouble.” Ben said glancing over to her as she silently evaluated the situation.

She sighed. “I promise.” Abigail said without a hint of sass nor anger. She sounded more tired and over it than anything else.

“See? She's curious.” Ben said.

Well at least she toned down in her yelling and name calling, you thought. Added that one of the last things you wanted to do was be duct taping someone, especially her. She seemed more than capable of handling herself and getting all of you into extreme trouble later on. She didn’t appear inherently bad, just tired and appalled.

. . .

The walk to the house was cold. Quite cold. It made the four of you move even faster. Your feet would thank you for changing into even more comfortable shoes. Yet everything else would nag you for cold-weather clothes. You had considered nabbing a blanket from Riley’s van, however thought better of it because you wanted full arm movement without restrictions.

Head held as high as he could manage with the Declaration hidden in the maroon cylinder over his shoulder, Ben lead the group to the front door and rang the doorbell. Lights were still on even then. It was mildly surprising that Patrick was awake this late.

You took a deep breath, standing beside Abigail on the short path.

The door opened, Patrick answering in a robe.

“Dad.” Ben breathed out.

“Where's the party?” Patrick asked in a flat tone.

You glanced down at your attire. It wasn’t exactly casual wear. Ben was in a tux and Abigail was in a ball gown.

“Well…uh…I'm in a little trouble.” Ben started slowly.

“Is she pregnant?” Patrick asked, glancing over to Doctor Chase.

You clamped your mouth shut.

Oh, dang.

Riley and Abigail looked at each other. Everyone else glanced at her.

“Well, if she is, are you gonna leave the woman carrying your grandchild standing out in the cold?” Ben played along, anything to get indoors.

“I look pregnant?” Abigail’s voice was hushed as she directed her question to Riley and later to you.

He shook his head and looked down, couldn’t look at her.

You kept your mouth absolutely shut, shaking your head. It wasn’t entirely surprising to hear Patrick say that, for how long you had known Ben, but still.

Without a word, Patrick stepped back inside with a beckoning hand gesture as he allowed all of you in.

Ben, cautiously, walked in first. His father whispering something to him that you could hardly make out besides the words ‘dumb treasure’. Riley followed in second as you and Abigail were the last ones to enter.

The four of you shuffled into the room to the right. A living area with a fireplace.

“Well, have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable.” Patrick said as he walked into the room passed all of you. “There's some pizza. It's still warm, I think.”

All of you walked further into the room. It was nice, cosy, and decorated with various historical pieces. Yet your eyes darted towards the cardboard box of pizza.

Hello, you thought, walking over to the thin box. Starting to lean down to snatch a piece, but you stopped when you noticed the box was on top of a few books. How could he? And on the ottoman no less? That’s s—.

“Dad… I need the Silence Dogood letters.” Ben said, he stood with his father at the other end of the room. “Yeah, it's about the treasure.”

“And he dragged you three into this nonsense?” Patrick turned to the three of you.

You straightened your posture and gave a weak smile.

“Literally.” Abigail said as she crossed her arms.

“Kinda.” You said quickly.

“I volunteered.” Riley smiled.

“Well, unvolunteer, before you waste your life.” Patrick walked closer.

“Knock it off, Dad.” Ben moved in front of the fireplace.

Riley walked around you and opened the top flap of the pizza box. More than half of the slices were still uneaten. Plenty for a couple of hungry adults. Riley sat down down in the armchair as you immediately reached down to nabbed a piece of pizza.

The pizza was room temperature, but honestly at that point it wasn’t much of a negative because you were hungry and cold.

“Sure, sure, I know, I'm the family kook.” Patrick’s voice rose as his hand gestures increased tenfold. “I have a job, a house, health insurance. At least I had your mother, for however brief a time. At least I had you. What do you have? Him?”

There was a fit of uncomfortable silence.

At that moment, you did not want to tell Patrick that you were more talked into it than dragged. You wanted to help your friends. So you took the hero card instead of sitting at home in a large puddle of anxiety.

“And you’ve brought (Y/N) into this. Ben, their parent was/is a freemason!”

“Dad.”

“Master Mason,” you murmured before taking a rather large bite of pizza.

Patrick glanced at you for a second. Long enough to make your shoulders hunch and you sink closer to the pizza.

“Look, if you just give us the letters, we're gone.” Ben said calmly.

“You disappoint me, Ben.” Patrick walked to the other side of the room once more.

“Well, maybe that's the real Gates-family legacy. Sons who disappoint their fathers.” Ben fired back.

“Get out. Take your troubles with you.” Patrick spoke without even looking to his son anymore.

Ben stood his ground, however less tense.

“I found the Charlotte.” Ben added in, his voice soft, happy.

His father stood still, rigidity gone. Possibilities running through his mind.

“The Charlotte?” Patrick glanced back to his son. “You mean she was a ship?”

“Yeah, she was beautiful. It was amazing, Dad.”

“And the treasure?”

“No, no.” Ben tried getting back to the positive conversation, knowing he was literally walking a thin line. “But we found another clue that led us here.”

“Yeah, and that'll lead you to another clue. And that's all you'll ever find, is another clue. Don't you get it, Ben? I finally figured it out. The legend says that the treasure was buried to keep it from the British. But what really happened was the legend was invented, to keep the British occupied searching for buried treasure.” Patrick tried persuading his son. “The treasure is a myth.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Ben stood unmoving.

All attention in the room had focused on the two Gates. Their tension in different views on the treasure was well spoken. Neither man was one to hold back their thoughts.

“Well, you can believe what you want. You're a grown person. What am I doing? Do what you want, Ben. Do what you want.” Patrick said walking out of the room.

“He's probably right.” Abigail spoke up. “You don't even know if there is another clue.”

“Well, I can think of a way where we could find out. And we can find out right now.” Ben nodded.

The dining room. Ornate and fully furnished. It would become the testing room for the Declaration of Independence.

With a few questions for locations of specific objects, the four of you set up the room. You had cut up a couple of black trash bags and used Riley’s duct tape to piece them together to cover the table. You weren’t about to mess up the table nor contaminate the document. Being that the table was quite long, Abigail helped you tape the plastic together without leaving any bumps or gaps. It made the process faster and it eased your need for having it straight and clean. The dining chairs had been pushed out of the way while gloves were gathered.

Working quickly, the group of you placed a small dish with freshly sliced lemons, yellow gloves, blue gloves, two pairs of white gloves, an open box of baking powder, a small glass of q-tips, a box of tissues, and four short drinking glasses all onto the table. You left the salt and pepper shakers on the table. Force of habit, maybe? It wasn’t any of yours’ table. Riley set a big roll of paper towels down beside the roll of duct tape.

Abigail and Ben had removed their jackets before grabbing the maroon cylinder. You and Riley stood adjacent from the pair. Once all of the necessary tools were set out and ready, each of you put on a pair of gloves. It was time to get started.

After taking the Declaration of Independence out of it’s protective containers, Ben and Abigail gently laid it out on the table. The four of you were silent, focused.

“Looks like animal skin. How old is it?” Patrick’s voice startled all of you for a second.

“At least two hundred years.” Ben answered.

“Really? You sure?” Patrick asked, hands holding the disposable remnants of dinner.

“Pretty darn.”

“Now if this thing's in invisible ink, how do we look at it?” Riley asked.

“Throw it in the oven.” Patrick answered.

“No.” Abigail voiced strictly over Riley’s “Uh-uh.”

“Ferrous sulphate inks can only be brought out with heat.”

“Yes, but this…” Abigail started, but Ben cautiously took the lead in explaining.

“It's very old.” Ben said slowly. “This is very old, and we can’t risk compromising the map.”

“You need a reagent.” Patrick insisted as he started walking away with the empty pizza box.

“Dad, it's really late. Why don't you get some rest?”

“I'm fine.”

Ben took a moment to compose himself.

“Lemons.”

Riley offered the bowl of lemon wedges and Ben chose one. Like surgical work on M*A*S*H, Riley acted as the nurse.

Just as Ben went to squeeze the lemon wedge, Abigail seized ahold of his wrist.

“You can't do that.” Said Abigail.

“But it has to be done.” Ben said, if more to himself than to her.

You had not realize that was how he planned on using the lemon. Obviously, there needed to be a tad more communication. He had not fully explained how to reveal invisible ink prior to getting the document.

“Then someone who is trained to handle antique documents is gonna do it.” Abigail said sternly.

“OK.” He straightened up slowly.

“OK.”

Ben gave Abigail her space as she prepared.

“Now, uh, if there is a secret message, it'll probably be marked by a symbol in the upper right-hand corner.” Abigail explained. Her voice was professional and informative.

“That's right.” Ben whispered.

She rotated the cotton end of the q-tip on the lemon wedge, allowing the material to absorb the liquid.

“I am so getting fired for this.” Abigail said as her right hand and the q-tip reached its destination.

All of you watched on, eyes trained to the back of the document. Abigail only hesitated once before gliding the q-tip across the corner. She did not stop until the small section was covered.

Seconds ticked by as everyone waited. The document had only gotten slightly darker because of the liquid, but nothing appeared.

Abigail gave Ben a firm look.

“I told you. You need heat.” Patrick piped up from a doorway. Head held high and a proud smile on his face.

After multiple checks to make sure the other was going through with it, Abigail and Ben leaned close and breathed onto the document together. A small freemason symbol appeared. The pair smiled.

“See?” Patrick said leaving with a kitchen towel in hand.

The symbol slowly started fading away.

“We need more juice.” Ben nodded.

“We need more heat.” Abigail smiled, actually happy.

You bumped Riley’s arm, “It’s real.”

The four of you rushed out of the dining room.

You went into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator for lemons. There was a whole bowl of them. Thankfully plenty more than you thought you needed earlier.

Why’s he have so many lemons? You thought. Probably got a bag of them. Too bad he didn’t have any lemonade..wait. No.

“Riley?” You called out as you grabbed the bowl of lemons.

There was a patter and squeak before Riley appeared in the doorway.

“Can you help me cut up some lemons?”

“Yeah.”

It didn’t take long for you two to slice lemons. Abigail had made it back into the other room with an old hairdryer before Ben had a chance to check up on you two.

Back at the covered dining table, you set a bowl full of lemon wedges down. There wasn’t much time to calmly take a moment before running the tests. Time was still ticking. Even Riley removed his coat before all of you set up more q-tips absorbed with lemon juice. Abigail was firm in that she would be the only one to run the test. None of you argued. She was trained. You all trusted and respected that fully.

Abigail immediately plugged in the hairdryer and waved it over the document once she was finished using the q-tips. Numbers and dashes appeared as the heat activated it. Ben carefully wrote down the code on a yellow pad. He did not want to risk miswriting anything.

“That's not a map. Is it?” Riley asked, taking a closer look.

“No.” You answered in a hushed voice.

“More clues.” Patrick said, watching on. “What a surprise.” He layered on the sarcasm and you suppressed the oncoming eyeroll.

“Are those latitudes and longitudes?” Riley then asked being as he still didn’t know what they meant.

“That's why we need the Silence Dogood letters.” Ben explained to his friend.

“That's the key?” Abigail questioned.

“Yeah. ‘The key in Silence undetected.’” Ben was on a roll. “Dad, can we have the letters now?”

“Will somebody please explain to me what these magic numbers are?” Riley asked from the end of the table beside you. Couldn’t blame him for wanting to be in the know when others were.

“It's an Ottendorf cipher.” Abigail said once she shut off the blowdryer.

“That's right.” Patrick said, still observing.

“Oh, OK. What's an Ottendorf cipher?” Riley sighed.

“They're just codes.” Patrick shrugged.

“Each of these three numbers corresponds to a word in a key.” Ben answered further as he stepped back from the table. 

“Usually a random book or a newspaper article.” Abigail added.

“In this case, the Silence Dogood letters. So it's like the page number of the key text, the line on the page, and the letter in that line.” Ben pointed to the numbers with the tip of the pencil. Riley and yourself leaned in to see. “So, Dad, where are the letters?” Ben stood straight with a bright smile on his face.

“You know, it's just by sheer happenstance that his grandfather—”

“Dad.”

“—even found them. They were in an antique desk from the press room—”

“Dad.”

“—of The New England Courant. That's a newspaper.”

“Dad, where are the letters?” Ben asked, his genuine smile gone.

“I don't have them, son.” Patrick finally answered.

Ben blinked. “What?”

“I don't have them.” His hand gestures had stopped completely.

A sickening feeling filled your stomach. If the anxiety from breaking the law and most likely having your name on radar was troubling you, having another obstacle wasn’t helping. You were rushed and had a time limit before anyone, Feds especially, came to the house looking for information.

If Patrick didn’t have the letter then that meant there was another step as well as another trip. It was becoming increasingly harder each time you all accomplished one task you had set for yourselves.

Your lips formed a thin line to avoid grumbling or mouthing a curse word. That and you really didn’t want to start down the dark, rapid tunnel of anxiety at the moment.

Ben sat down in the chair behind him with a thump. Frustration rising, he used his teeth to pull off his white glove.

“Where are they?” Ben asked his father without loosing eye contact.

“I donated them to the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia.” Patrick said firmly, if not stubbornly.

“Time to go.” Ben pushed himself up and walked passed Abigail to retrieved his tux.

You started pulling off your blue gloves, your mind giving you visual steps of what you might do next. Having a drink of water and using the bathroom were on top of your list.

Tiredly, you looked over to Abigail who had her eyes back on the document.

“I still can't believe it. All this time no one knew what was on the back.” Abigail spoke softly as she stared down at the Declaration.

“The back of what?” Patrick’s hands were already reaching out.

“Uh-uh-uh!” Riley lurched forward.

“No!” Ben spun around.

You ran into the table’s edge and did nothing but cause pain in your midsection.

It was too late.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Patrick’s hands remained on the sides of the document. The more he looked, the more he touched it with his bare hands.

You cringed, physically and internally.

“I know.” Ben stated.

"Oh, my God. What have you done? This is... this is the…” Patrick stuttered.

“I know!”

“This is the Declaration of Independence.” Patrick could probably cry or crumble to the floor.

“Yes.” One of Abigail’s gloved hands delicately held the top of the Declaration. “And it's very delicate.”

“You stole it?” Patrick asked as he backed away. Panic had been quickly replaced by disappointment.

Riley immediately pointed a finger at Ben.

You stood frozen. The best you could think to do or do instinctively was to remain absolutely still. You already knew how much trouble all of you were in to not spark anything more from Patrick.

“Dad, I can explain, but I don't have time. It was necessary. And you saw the cipher.” Ben said as he approached his father.

“And that will lead to another clue, and that will lead to another clue! There is no treasure. I wasted twenty years of my life. And now you've destroyed yours.” Patrick huffed. “And you pulled me into all this.”

“Well, we can't have that.”

He gave his son a questioning look.

“Hey, Patrick?” You asked, taking off your gloves and tossing them onto the table.

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about duct tape?”

“Excuse me?”

. . .

After quick bathroom trips to freshen up, the group set to work again. Car keys were found, a disposable cup was filled, and the tv remote was located.

You approached Patrick.

“Hey, if this doesn’t work out…I have undeveloped photos in my camera hidden by the rice in my apartment.”

“Oh—I’m not getting invol—.”

“Of The Charlotte.” You quickly added.

His mouth sort of hung out in a look between shock and happiness.

“By the rice. Camera film. All yours,” you said.

“The Charlotte,” he whispered. Patrick shuffled passed you and the armchair in a daze.

Riley walked in with his roll of duct tape.

“You’re so weird,” you smiled.

Riley made a face, looked down to the tape in his hand briefly and replied, “You have like three types of tape in your apartment.”

“…true, but technically I have like five or six.”

“Focus,” Ben voiced as he pushed a chair in front of the television set.

. . .

Open road in front of all of you, the quest to protect the Declaration and the treasure continued. The four of you left after taping up Patrick to a chair with a tv remote in one hand and a cup of soda in the other. You had all ‘stolen’ his car, but at least you left Patrick in front of the television for entertainment until the Feds arrived.

The car blended in better than Riley’s van and had seating for all. No chance of anyone falling on the vehicle’s flooring.

Ben took his turn in the driver’s seat on route to the Franklin Institute. It was his father’s car anyway. Doctor Abigail Chase sat calmly in the passenger’s seat. There seemed to be less confrontation after she had more time to digest that you all truly wanted to protect the Declaration of Independence. She had not even raised her voice since leaving the van. Perhaps she was seeing how the three of you weren’t out to hurt anything of historical importance. That you were just people who loved history. Aside from the fact that Abigail had yelled, insulted, and scolded you all in the beginning, she was pretty cool. She had a right to react that way then anyway. You’d be pretty peeved too.

You had your head leaning against the window as you sat behind Ben. Sharing the backseat with Riley and the Declaration of Independence was pretty comfy. Then again, you were so tired you could probably sleep on the floor. Riley had his legs bent to be as close to a cuddle position as he could while still sitting with a seatbelt on.

“Your dad's got a sweet ride.” Riley muttered as he hugged the maroon cylinder and his backpack.

“I think we should change clothes. We look kind of conspicuous, don't you think?” Ben asked.

“I'd love to go shopping, too, but we have no money.”

“Here, I took this from his house. He usually tucks a few hundred dollars somewhere between those pages.” Ben said, handing Abigail a small handbook.

“Common Sense. How appropriate.” Abigail mused. She shook out the cash onto her lap.

You yawned and accidentally kicked the back of Ben’s seat as you adjusted your legs.

“When are we gonna get there? I'm hungry. This car smells weird.” Riley rambled off with closed eyes.

“Food’s on me.” You announced, padding your side where you had a wallet of emergency money in other hidden pocket. “I didn’t know what would happen. Plus I went out to eat with…,” you paused, aware of Doctor Chase listening, “my friend.”

“Cool.”

It was better if you and Ben were the only ones who knew which person let you go as a guest to the Gala. Then again, if the Feds had Ben’s name then they very well had checked the list even after checking who Ben was close to. Meaning that your friend was definitely questioned.

Crap.

“What friend?” Riley murmured.

“The one who is probably really confused right now.”

“That’s not a name.”

~~~~~

~~~~~

(That concludes Part Three - Lemons. I hope you enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing it. I haven’t written more since February, so it’s weird, I’m excited to move on throughout the story of the movie National Treasure. How do you think relationships will change now that the friends’ plans have be altered and danger lurks around the corner? Let me know! All the best!

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @imacuteprincess @gingerlaserbeam @cubedtriangle @sledgy14

PART 4

[scarletfish]

don’t worry, you will

Summary: Two weeks ago, Juno was engaged. Now he's quarantined with a complete stranger who can't operate a microwave and has no sense of personal space.  And they were quarantined (oh my god, they were quarantined!)

Pairings: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, background Vespa/Buddy in future chapters Word Count: 3000 Chapters: 1/5 Warnings: canon-typical alcohol abuse, depression AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016468/chapters/57779629

A/N: Thanks @space-city-traffic for the prompt, and @pipis-pods for the suggestion that Juno and Vespa communicate and become friends 

Chapter 1

Diamond paid you $1520 . Your Venmo balance is now $1520.  

Fiancee. Rent. They’re the first and last things on Juno’s mind. He realizes he’s been sitting in the parking garage for over ten minutes, idling and staring at the alert on his cracked phone screen. He turns the car off.

His car with a long crack in the windshield. Everything is goddamn broken. He gets out of the car, pauses. Gets back in the car.

This calls for a detour.

***

Twenty minutes later, Juno is ready to take his newly acquired liquor to his room so he can introduce it to his newly acquired headache, but he still has one more stop to make.

Hyperion Apartment Complex twists eight stories high, and the tacky light grey brick facade is almost reflective at night. Semi-nice rooms in a mostly bad part of town. Hyperion city makes cheap look beautiful, the way fast-food commercials brush up plastic meat with shoe polish and glue. Diamond had always hated it.

Juno shoulders into the leasing office with two large grocery bags. The front desk is empty, and everything is fading or peeling. He rings the bell and sits on a peely, faded chair to wait. Might as well put the whisky to good use.

Taking a swig, he looks out the floor-length windows to the filmy outdoor pool. (Rita swears security fished a body out of it a couple years ago. Juno told her she needs to stop watching so much Law and Order.) For the hundredth time, he wonders if this is even worth it. She's going to ask questions, it's inevitable, and he doesn't know how to answer them. Doesn't know the answers himself.

He starts poking holes in the plastic grocery bags with his thumbnail. Takes another swig. Then a couple more-

“Boss!” Rita bobs into view with her tablet in hand, Cheeto dust on her bright purple jacket.

Since the police force scandal, Juno runs a small PI business from a shitty downtown office, which is where he met Rita. To this day Juno’s not sure how or when she wormed her way into a position he wasn't even offering. He’s also not sure when she sleeps. As far as he knows, the part time leasing office representative is her third job- she also does... something with computers.

“Rita,” swig, “I need a favor.” The shorter woman has already started talking, anticipating their usual back and forth.

“And I know I ain’t supposed to call you that here, but you are my boss, and I don’t think my other bosses-- wait, huh?” Confused by the change in script, Rita eyes the half-empty bottle of whisky in Juno’s hand. Her eyes jump to the clock.

“Mista Steel, are you okay?” One pro of hiring Rita: she’s very perceptive. Con of hiring Rita: way too perceptive.

“Fine. I need you to check someone out for me.” Rita’s eyes immediately light up.

“Oooooh, boss, another case already? Is it gonna be as exciting as the one with Mista Prince Julian? Are we gonna get to travel? I’ve always wanted to go somewhere exotic, like Maine, or Florida-” Juno cuts her off before she can get going.

“He was a dramatic politician with a cheating husband who ended up dead, Rita. Not everything is a Netflix rom-com.”

There's a bitterness in his tone that might not have been there a week ago, but the smaller woman doesn't notice. She's already sunk into her desk chair, head propped in both hands, sighing dreamily as she swivels back and forth. Time to bring out the big guns.

Juno reaches into his shopping bag and pulls out the chips, dangling them in front of Rita’s heart eyes. She snatches. He raises them just out of reach.

“Focus. It’s not a case. There’s this guy I need you to find. I’ve got name and place of employment. Can you do it or not?”

Rita pouts. “But boss,” she whines, “you don’t even need me for that, you can just Google his name like I showed you. I thought we were gonna do something exciting.” Juno pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, well, Google isn’t gonna cut it this time, because,” I wasn’t really paying attention when you showed me that, “because, he’s highly secretive. And, that’s potential name. And potential place of employment, my source isn’t very,” he almost chokes on this last word, “reliable .”

The gears start turning. “Secretive… hang on Boss, is this another high-profiler? Have you been holding out on me?” She lowers her voice (not much). “Boss, this is about a case, right, you just can’t tell me because they might have tapped the phones!?”

What… who does she think they are? Juno drops his head into his hands to rub his temples. When Juno doesn't immediately contradict her, Rita continues in her stage whisper.

“Don’t worry Boss, Rita’s got your back! I’ll have this secretive criminal tracked down before they even know we’re on their case!”

“It’s not a case.”

“I’ll be as quiet as… as those monsters in The Quiet Place! Except they ain’t so quiet when they’re attacking people, but neither are we when we’ve got the bad guys cornered and we’re ready to take them out-”

Besides the recent political debacle with Julian and his missing husband (that one was a high-paying scrap tossed Juno’s way by an old friend), most of the cases he’s hired for are affair investigations and insurance fraud.

He’s certain neither he nor Rita have “taken anyone out” ever ... unless you count that time he tried to teach Rita to drive stick shift. Or the Hot Tub Debacle. But those were accidents.

Juno slings the bag of snacks onto her desk. “Just find out whatever you can about the guy, okay?”

“Fresh shrimp flavored?” Rita squeals, “Aw, you’re the best Mista Steel!” She digs into the large bag and talks around a mouthful of orange crumbs while Juno tries not to vomit in his mouth.

“Shipping ish ‘aking fore’er wi’ this crathy thirus thing goin’ gon,” she swallows, “speaking of, have you been watching the news Boss?”

“Every morning with my sunrise yoga. Listen Rita, I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?” Juno’s limbs are… heavy, suddenly. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept well in that last, oh, ten years... or maybe it’s the weight of that single text, sitting in his phone for almost a week now. Looking at Rita, he thinks of telling her everything. Just spilling his guts right onto the scuffed linoleum floor.

The engagement. The text. The Craigslist ad. The man he’s supposed to be meeting tomorrow.

Rita’s still chattering on, and her voice cuts through the haze. “-but you never told me the name of Mister Criminal?” She happily shoves another handful of chips in her mouth. “Oooo, or is it so secret you need to write it down on a piece of paper and then I can read it and eat the paper-”

“Peter Ransom. Might’ve done a job for Vallas Vicky’s hotel recently.” That’s all he knows. “And he’s not a criminal Rita, he’s just a normal guy.”

Rita’s dialogue wanders around to closing borders and something about Italy, but Juno’s already moving towards the door (it shuts a bit harder than he intended). He doesn't know why he's so upset with Rita, when all she's done is try to cheer him up and offered her help. He makes his way back to the parking garage elevator. It smells like cotton candy vape and something vaguely mossy. A group of ragged kids is flying down the incline around the corner on penny boards.

Juno takes another swig of whiskey in front of the chrome doors and jams the elevator button about twenty times before he remembers.

Of course the fucking elevator is down for the weekend.

He wants to sit at the bottom of the stairwell and drink himself into oblivion. He want to wallow in this feeling for a moment, the feeling of the universe kicking him while he’s down.

Instead, he drags himself to the stairwell, drudges down the second floor hall, and practically collapses through the door.

An eager chittering greets him from the cage in the living room. “Hey, Smallfry.”

Diamond wouldn’t go near the ball of fluff (“It’s so dirty Juno,”) so when they moved in together eight months ago, the rabbit was a launching point for multiple arguments. Juno drops his grocery bag of Timothy hay and carrots by the cage, not bothering to stash it in the kitchen.

He pointedly doesn’t look in the smaller second bedroom that Diamond claimed as an office space. He doesn’t look at their shared bed either, because the sight of the rumpled sheets will just wrap around his ribcage and squeeze and squeeze until he can’t breathe again and everything is spinning-

Juno takes another swig and collapses on the couch. And then, because he wants to hate himself a bit, he thumbs through his phone to his fiancee’s most recent text. No matter how often Juno reads it, it never changes.

3:56AM: Diamond

Juno. I’ll forward my part of two month’s rent before the month is over. That should be long enough for you to find a temporary roommate, at least until the lease expires at the end of the year. Do what you’d like with the furniture.

Ex-fiancee.

***

Juno bolts upright, disoriented and confused. The decorative couch pillows left lines on his cheek, and he’s nursing the beginning of a monster headache. He gropes around for his phone. 7PM. It’s only been a few hours.

It feels like days. Months. Years.

Juno shivers. He left the door to the porch open, and a cool fall breeze is raising goosebumps on his arm. A nearby screen door slams, and heavy boots tread the balcony next door. “Hey piss-bucket, you been day drinking again?”

The green-haired nuisance next door is only loud when she chooses to be, so Juno knows she's hoping to stir him out for a cigarette or two. He wonders briefly when Buddy will be back. Vespa only gets this chatty when her partner is gone for long periods of time on work trips.

He toys with the idea of stepping out. Hey Vespa. How're the axe-throwing students? (She refuses to tell him what she does for work, so Juno assigns her a new job every night.)

She’ll respond with something like, Great. If your failed PI business finally tanks, we could always use some new targets.

Maybe if Juno gets drunk enough, he’ll tell her why he’s not planning on ever being sober again. Tell her that he’s such a fucked up human, his fiancee ghosted him three weeks before the wedding with no forwarding address. Over text.

She’ll have to laugh at that. It’s the goddamn joke of the century, and Juno’s the punchline.

He jumps violently when his phone starts ringing. “I know you can hear me, Steel,” Vespa sneers from her balcony.

Juno groans at the name lighting up his screen. He was wrong- he’s not the punchline. Fucking Mick Mercury is.

He almost sends it to voicemail, but at the last second he crosses to the balcony door, wrestles the screen closed as Vespa flips him off (“What, too busy getting wasted alone?”) and finally slides the door shut with a bang.

He leans against the wall by Smallfry’s cage.

“Whaddya want, Mick.” Juno’s brain struggles to keep up with the excited babble streaming out of the phone.

“Juno! That hit we got on your listing? The Peter guy? He messaged again!”

No one’s outright asked Juno, “Did your fiancee ghost you three weeks before your wedding over text?”, so he’s not lying to his friends, per se. He just isn’t ready for the inevitable string of I-told-you-so’s from Rita and Vespa, who have hated Diamond since the moment they waltzed into Juno’s life ten months ago and stomped all over his heart with their designer boots.

Mick, bless him, is blissfully ignorant of Juno’s recent string of unfortunate life events. He’s blissfully ignorant about most things, actually, but his unending stream of well-intentioned business ventures mean he knows how to advertise.

Juno isn’t sure who Craig is, or why he keeps lists of random shit online. All he knows is that he can't afford rent on his own, and Mick owed him a favor. A lot of favors.  

“Let me guess, he's found something better and he's not interested anymore.”

Fuck Diamond for putting him in this situation. Even if he deserves it. Even if he should’ve known better.  

“No, Juno! He says, and I quote,” he clears his throat and reads dramatically, “‘Juno, would it be possible to move our rendezvous sooner? Due to personal issues I find I’m in need of accommodations a bit sooner than expected, and your ad did say the room was available post haste.’” Mick drops his voice back to normal. “He wants to meet sooner!”

“Yeah, I got that Mick. ‘Post haste’?”

“I went for a 'trustworthy but not desperate' vibe, ya feel?” Juno is quickly wishing he read and approved the ad before Mick posted it across the internet in his name.

“All right Mick, whatever, sure, just let me know when you set it up for.” There’s a long, telling silence. “...Mick?”

“Okay so here’s the thing,” and with that, Juno knows the universe is screwing with him again, “I kinda already told him you could meet him tomorrow morning? At eight? And I gave him the address of the apartment?” His words get faster with each blow.

“You gave him the address? Goddamn it Mick, I thought we were meeting for coffee somewhere first so I could make sure he’s not some wackjob who wants to hack me to pieces and wear my skin as a suit!” Juno’s less worried about becoming a potential skin suit and more worried about waking up before noon with the spectacular hangover he’s got planned, but he’s not going to tell Mick that.

“Oh Juno, you’re so,” he chuckles, “you’re hilarious! Skin suit. Ha! You’ve been watching Law and Order with Rita again, haven’t you?” Juno resists the urge to slam his head into the wall and end it all.

“Anyways, get some sleep tonight and make a good impression on our friend tomorrow! I’ll pass him your number. And hey, maybe you could mention my new Hair-in-a-Can line? One good turn and all that. The recall went real smooth with the last one!”

“Mick, hang on, listen to me-” Juno’s cut off by a loud crash in the background.

“Sorry Juno, gotta go, the cans are a bit more,” a high-pitched scream, “uh, high-pressured than we expected, good luck pal, don’t be a stranger!”

The line goes dead. Perfect. Juno eyes Smallfry.

“Not like I have anything worth stealing, huh? Unless he deals in small, neurotic rabbits.” He restocks Smallfry’s hay before he’s too drunk to remember. Vespa's convinced that a hungry rabbit might be inclined to chew through the apartment wall and go on a carnivorous hunting spree.

“My last roommate had a rabbit. It got mad when their sister’s rabbit got a nicer cage, so it chewed straight through the bars and,” she snapped her fingers, “chomp chomp. Nothing left but rabbits feet.”

“Bullshit.”

“What are you Steel, the rabbit whisperer? Okay, maybe it was a gerbil! Whatever, same difference.”

Then he grabs an extra blanket from the hall closet (it really is starting to get cold), two bottles of liquor, and the TV remote and settles onto the couch for another long night.

***

The best mornings are the mornings Juno wakes up still drunk and pleasantly fuzzy. This is not one of those mornings.

His alarm is playing quite loudly, meaning it’s probably been going off for quite some time, and two things happen in quick succession as his brain painfully struggles towards consciousness.

He rolls over in bed to grab at his phone and realizes the bed is actually a narrow couch. He hits the floor with a heavy thump . He's blindly swiping at the floor trying to turn the damn thing off, ignoring the nagging anxiety that he’s forgotten something important... There!

Blearily, he reads the alarm label… “SOUR CREAM.” What?

There’s a sharp knock at his door. His tipsy brain stumbles around in tight circles. He set that alarm weeks ago while cooking… never bothered to re-label it.... that doesn’t explain…

A second set of knocking, more forceful this time, accompanied by a muffled voice.

It’s 7:50AM and he honestly can’t remember why he’s supposed to be waking up or who could possibly be at the door. No, wait… he vaguely remembers…

Mick. The phone call. The desperate roommate.

All at once, Juno’s certain that he doesn’t need a roommate. It’s only four months after all, and the idea of a complete stranger snooping around his stuff, asking questions about his life, getting tangled up with his job, makes Juno’s skin crawl. It’s not worth the money. He can figure that out… somehow.

It’s decided. He’ll ignore the knocking. This Peter guy will eventually give up, he’ll tell Mick to take down the advertisement, and he’ll figure something else out.

Then a noise outside the door makes his blood run cold. He knows that giggle.

“Sorry Mista Criminal, lemme just, ngh-hungh, try that key.” Rita, traitor secretary and ex-best friend, is using her spare key to let this man into Juno’s apartment. The stranger’s muffled voice leaks through the door. “Could you maybe...?”

There’s no time to think. Juno’s only on the second floor, there are bushes underneath the window. If he can get out quick enough, he might be able to avoid a meeting altogether-

“Thank you Rita, you are an absolute gem, and twice as beautiful if I might add...” the door clicks open.

Might’ve been able to. If he’d moved a little quicker.

“Hello! Juno, I presume?”

Fuck.

[ablogcalledrevenge]

Never Really Over

(a Gabriel O’Malley x Reader Insert Multichapter Fic, Rated M)

Chapter 3

The phone by your bed rings at 2:47 in the morning and you jolt awake out of a pleasant, if bizarre dream with your heart hammering inside your chest. Rolling over, you grab the receiver and focus on breathing.

“Hello, what?” You mumble, your cat’s eyes glowing yellow in the darkness from the foot of your bed. Getting a call this late at night, or perhaps this early in the morning, was never a good thing.

“Hey, I need your car. Can I borrow it?” The other voice says and there’s a pause where you try to figure out what the fuck is going on. 

“My car? Why do you need my- who is this? Gabe? No, you can not have my fucking car! It is 3 in the morning and I have work tomorrow. Go away!” You yell into the receiver. But before you can hang up the phone, he sighs.

“C’mon baby please. I’m doing this job and I gotta get this body outta the way. Please (Y/N), I’ll pay for the gas and everything.” He pleads into the phone. You rub at your temple and frown. 

“You are not putting a fucking body in my brand new Cadillac! Go ask Tony or David or somebody. This is your job, not mine. Zayde wouldn’t want me to get involved anyway.” You shoot back, wondering why you haven’t hung up on him.

“Tony’s busy and David’s car is in the shop. Besides, don’t you think I know that! I tried a bunch of other people before I called you. I promise I won’t get your car dirty, I won’t ask you to do anything but drive. C’mon baby I need your help please.” His voice has taken on a peculiar quality and your face floods with heat when you finally place it. He’s using his sex voice! He’s using his fucking sex voice to make you leave your house at 3 in the morning to drive him somewhere with a dead body. It was an underhanded move, he knew what that deep whisper did to you, and you clench your thighs together.

“Fine, fine! I’ll help you. But you can’t tell anyone and if you get so much as a scuff mark on my Cadillac, you’ll be joining that body.” You decide and Gabe cheers into the phone. He gives you the address and you figure you’ll be there in 15 minutes, although if you hit traffic you wouldn’t be surprised. But before you finally say goodbye, you lower your pitch as well to mimic his.

“Oh and Gabe? I’m not your baby.” The half groan, half laugh he responds with is worth the trouble.

The ride to the house where Gabe had prepared the body is pretty short, so you don’t feel too guilty about spending a good few minutes changing into a cute nightgown and brushing your hair. Gabe knows what you look like, but a little mascara never hurt anyone. Plus if you got arrested at least you’d look pretty for your mugshot.

You quietly pull up in your ‘76 Coupe DeVille, the street lamps bouncing off the red paint. Gabriel is waiting outside with a duffel, hiding in a shadow before hauling the large garbage bag over to your trunk. You join him at the rear of your car, helping him lift up the body and place it on the tarp inside. He slams the trunk closed and turns to you, long and lean.

“If that bag leaks, I’ll kill you.” You repeat, pointing your finger at him. He leans forward and playfully bites it. Scowling, you pull away and get back in the driver’s seat, glancing around the quiet neighborhood. 

“So where are we going? The river again?” You ask, adjusting your mirrors before getting on the road. Gabriel’s eyes travel up your bare leg to the hem of your nightgown but you ignore the leer.

“Santa Monica.” He finally says when you hit a red light. You’re glad the car has stopped, because you turn to gape at him.

“Santa Monica? Santa Monica! Are you out of your mind? That’s like a 45 minute drive from here! I’m not taking you to fucking Santa Monica. What’s wrong with the river?” You ask incredulously, getting on the highway regardless. He smirks but wisely doesn’t comment.

“The tide’s going out tonight, it’s perfect to dump the body. It’ll be out in the middle of the Pacific by the time anyone knows he’s gone. Besides, last time I used the river, I got sick.” He points out, turning on the radio. Dolly Parton sings about someone smiling that smile and there go all her defenses. You give the radio a glare because that’s a low blow.

“Yeah, I remember.” You murmur absently, merging into another lane. You remember everything and at least Gabriel has the kindness to look abashed. You ride in silence for the rest of the journey.

You make good time to the pier, everything dark and quiet above you as you walk under the wooden beams. The Ferris Wheel sits unmoving, all the bright lights are off and the only sounds around you are the waves lapping against the dirty sand. You take a deep breath in, always having loved the scent of the beach. Gabriel grabs the body from the trunk and you take some plastic bags out as well.

“Here, put these around your shoes so they don’t get wet. You’re not getting back into my car smelling all briney.” You explain, watching him drag the garbage bag down under the pier. 

“It’s fine, I brought a change of clothes. I’m gonna have to go in deep to make sure it doesn’t get stuck on the sand when the tide goes out. But hold this for me, will you?” He replies, whipping off his t-shirt and throwing it to you. Catching it with a smile, you sit on the hood of your car and watch Gabe disappear into the darkness.

You know that the body has been drained and chopped up to make it smaller, that there are weights in the bag to keep it underwater. By midmorning, that body will be in the middle of the ocean, halfway down among the fish. You didn’t know who the stiff was, but if Gabe had to deal with him, he probably deserved it.

Gabriel returns 10 minutes later, soaking wet and beautiful. The moonlight shines on his pale skin and the small ridges of muscle and bone are mesmerizing. He’s never been a wide sort of guy but there’s something so attractive about his body, in the subtleness of strength and the delicacy of his gait. He looks fucking good and you cross your arms for something to do. 

Grabbing his duffel from the backseat, he takes out a towel and wipes himself down. His gold cross shimmers in the early morning light and the car jostles as he joins you on the hood. The yellow light of dawn usually turns people’s faces sallow but Gabriel glows in his success. You turn your head and watch the waves instead. You should probably leave now before the surfers and dog walkers head over. You have to be at the bank in the morning but you’re tempted to call out. You haven’t done that in a long time and considering your uncle was the bank manager, it would probably be okay.

“All done. Give me a second and I’ll change my pants. Then we can go.” He says quietly, shaking out any remaining sand from the towel. He scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Thanks for helping me with this. You didn’t have to and I appreciate it. Thanks (Y/N).” Gabe adds, letting his hand rest next to yours, pinky fingers touching. You flush at the thanks and nod, content to watch the sunrise with someone you know.

Ten minutes later you’re fucking in the back seat of your Cadillac and you’d be pissed if you weren’t so satisfied. You almost kick a hole through the car roof, you forgot how good it could be. 

Once your breathing regulates and Gabe lights up a cigarette for each of you, do you actually say something other than expletives and his name.

“What was Claire like?” You ask, immediately hating yourself for bringing it up. Gabe was probably still mourning her and you didn’t want to know. Except you really did.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he looks over at you with a sad smile before turning his eyes back to the middle distance. You focus on the condensation left on the windows.

“She was great, she really was. She was tough; you know she was married to that guy for fucking years letting him hit her and curse her out. Never complained, never said a word against him. She stuck it out, she was resilient.” Gabe says and you can’t help but feel a little bad. No one deserved to be in an abusive marriage. In that way, you did feel for her.

“She was nice too, if you had a problem, she’d help you; no questions asked. She was one of those people that helped; a doer. That’s the resilience. She did what she had to do to stay alive. She was probably too nice for the shit she got mixed up in, but she wanted to be able to take care of herself. I could respect that.” He’s lost to his memories now and you bite your lip to keep from crying at your folly. You shouldn’t have asked.

“You know I showed her how to handle the bodies? She didn’t seem squeamish about any of that stuff, she wanted to learn everything about the business. It wasn’t darkness, not like you have, but it was a pragmatism. If she was going to be in charge, she didn’t want to be taken advantage of again.” The mention of you causes an intake of breath that he either doesn’t hear or pretends he doesn’t. You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or not. You’re also aware of the similarities between you and Claire and it makes you uncomfortable. At least if she had been your total opposite you could make peace with the fact that you would never be like her. But you two were so alike, which made your failure to measure up even more obvious.

“The sex wasn’t bad either”, he adds like one more nail in the coffin, “Yeah, she was really great.” And you’re underground with her, your bodies rotting with the worms. Gabriel O’Malley has killed you both. It’s amazing how he does it so effortlessly. Your thoughts drift to the body sinking down beneath the floam; how peaceful it must be to just lie back and let the sea take you.

You don’t cry, you just smoke your cigarette down to the filter and toss it out the window. He does the same. The sun rises higher in the sky and paints his skin golden.

“I’m sorry Gabe, I really am. I know you loved her, loved her a lot.” You finally choke out. You’re ready to go home now.

“I’m not finished (Y/N).” Gabe says, turning in the backseat to face you. He takes your hands and the tears start falling.

“Please I don’t want to hear anymore, I’m sorry I asked, I’m sorry I brought it up. You love her and you never loved me and it’s obvious now and I feel like an idiot and I just want to go home. I want you to leave me alone. Please leave me alone.” You cry, pulling your hands away but he keeps grabbing them and pulling them back. What the fuck does he want with you?

“I will if you let me explain something, something important!” He demands, his hands resting on your upper arms and shaking you once. You stop outright crying and nod.

“Claire was all those things. She was tough and hardworking and smart and so kind. But she was also a person with good and bad parts. Stuff that I needed to discover and accept about her. The thing is, I wasn’t treating her like a person, I was treating her like an ideal. I was comparing her, the real her, against the image I had created in my head. An image no real person could ever compete with. To be perfectly fucking frank, Claire was really boring.” Gabe confesses, looking tired. Your brain short circuits and you blink several times.

“Listen, I could’ve dated her and married her and had kids with her and I probably would’ve had a nice life. She would’ve been a great mom and a great wife and we would’ve been happy in the grand scheme of things. But she was just… outside of the business, we had nothing in common! We didn’t like the same music or movies, we didn’t like doing the same thing, we had nothing to talk about. The sex was good because that’s all we were doing, it passed the time. Although let me tell you, I forgot how repressed these Catholic girls are sometimes. It was a trial and a half to get her to let me fuck her from behind. It gutted me when she died, partially because it was my fault. Cathy wanted me to spare this kid, but he wasn’t a kid. He came back with a buddy and Claire got one but she didn’t know enough about this world to be prepared for the second guy. I should’ve told her, I should’ve protected her, but I didn’t. Turns out I was wrong about her, wrong about a lot of things. I realized while I was out there that the Claire I thought I wanted didn’t exist, she never existed, and it was wrong of me to compare her to the Claire I had, and to you. So yeah, I cared about her. I cared so much about her, I wanted her to be happy. But I didn’t love her, I couldn’t love her. Not the way she deserved, not in any real way.” 

There is silence in the car again, the sound of gulls starting to rise with the sun. Your tears have stopped and your breathing has too. You look at him, really look at him, and it’s like a bad picture trying to come through. His edges have gone blurry and the sound of your accelerating heartbeat is becoming the only thing you can hear. Your hands are shaking but you don’t know whether it’s from the comedown or your anger or something else entirely.

“Do you mean to tell me that this whole time I have been comparing myself to a person who does not exist? That I have been letting you compare me to a woman who is so perfect, she couldn’t even measure up to herself? You left me for something that was never going to work out? Is that what you’re telling me?” You confirm, your voice tight and deliberately slow. Gabe nods and swallows.

“Let’s get into the front seat and go home, huh?” You say after you watch him squirm for a moment. You pull your underwear back on and climb over the front seat while Gabe gets out and walks around to the passenger side door. You think very briefly about killing him, there’s a gun in your purse, but you decide against it. He was working for the Godfather now and you didn’t want to take away one of his guys.

Gabe pulls on the handle of the passenger side door but it doesn’t budge. You try and tame your hair in the rearview mirror, ignoring the sound of the door handle being pulled. 

“Unlock the door, let me in.” He says, the sun almost completely out on the beach. You give him a once over and start the car.

“Find your own way home asshole.” You say, before pulling out of the spot with a squeal and driving off. The last thing you do as you leave him in Santa Monica is snake your hand out through the open window, middle finger tall and straight.

Chapter Four Coming Soon....

Tagging: @babbushka​, @theold-ultraviolence​, @stylelovechild​, @niniita-ah

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

[scribbles97]

Left Behind - Part 3 - Chapter 22

Part 1 is about family, losing someone you love, and those who love you helping you finding your feet.

Part 2 is about hope, trust, and foiling The Hood plans.

Part 3 is about keeping strong in the face of adversity 

PART 1 / PART 2

Have some John and Ridley fluff before things get too serious...

Not many people knew it, but one of the things John Tracy adored most in life was the first few days back on earth after a long stint in space. Days made all the better when Ridley’s schedule matched up allowing her to be home on his return. 

Yes, there were the pressure headaches, the fight against earth’s gravity, and wobbly legs. It was those days though that it was just him and her, no younger brothers to pull faces, no older relatives to smile at them both in that weird way he didn’t like. Just him, her, and their little apartment near to the beach. 

“How’s the headache?” Ridley whispered as she sunk down into the beanbag he had dragged up onto the roof for her. 

“Fine,” He smiled, accepting the mug of tea and grimacing when he realised it was plastic. 

She grinned wickedly, clearly having seen his face, “I’m not losing any more crockery.” 

Her point was valid and he had to grin along with her as he wrapped his fingers around the warm plastic. He remembered his mother doing the same when Dad had first returned from space, a special set of plastic cups, plates and bowls always set aside just for the occasion. 

“Next time you’re away I’m swapping all of it for none breakable stuff,” He teased, “See how you like it when you get home.”

She gasped as she laughed, eyes lighting up as she watched him with a shake of her head, “You’ll be the one buying me new matching plates!”

He chuckled, allowing the conversation to fall away as he looked up to the stars. It was perhaps the greatest thing he missed about both space and the island, the views of the night sky in the city were nothing compared to those of the space station or Tracy island. Not that it meant he still couldn’t appreciate the view, or the company. 

Leaning across, he rested his head on Ridley’s shoulder, sighing softly in contentment as she leant her head down to rest on his. 

“Missed you.” He murmured. 

“Missed you too.” She sighed, “I’m glad you’re home.”

He could have sat there forever, watching the sky, listening to her soft breathing to block out the constant hum of traffic on the road below. Nobody to disturb them and plenty of warm tea to compensate for his poor circulation in his long fingers. 

Except, his comm. 

There was always his comm to disturb them.

His one direct link to home and the goings on of his family, the one reliable way for them to get hold of him. 

It was midnight though, making it somewhere around lunch time on the island. Everyone knew the time difference, and everyone knew he was fresh out of space, tired and headachy and still readjusting to what everyone else considered normal. 

So why the heck were they ringing him?

Ridley was frowning too as he reached across her for the holoprojector, shaking her head, “What do they want at this time of night?”

“No idea,” He murmured, “You don’t mind do you?”

She shook her head, reaching out to steady the projector as he lifted it towards him, “I don’t imagine they’d call unless it was important.”

“John!” Scott exclaimed as his hologram appeared between he and Ridley, “It’s Mom.”

The three words and Scott’s disheveled look was enough to have him immediately sitting upright. His older brother seemed anxious, wide eyes repeatedly darting to somewhere out of the scope of the hologram. He was still in uniform, the familiar blue and grey of his IR suit a cause for more concern. 

Logic told him to wait to hear the full story as his imagination jumped to several conclusions. 

“Look it’s a long story,” Scott sighed, shoulders bunched up to his ears as he shook his head, “She’s hurt though John, hurt real bad. Lee is on his way to LA with her now and we’re leaving the island ASAP.”

He shook his head, it didn’t matter if it was a long story, he needed to know the facts, “What happened?”

Scott sighed, eyes falling as he took a long slow breath in and glanced away again.

John had always known when Scott was stalling for whatever reason. 

“Report, now Scott.” He growled, “Everything.”

The demand was enough to harden his brothers eyes, and John could see the new set of his jaw even through the lost definition of the hologram. Matching the glare Scott was giving him was easy, keeping composed as his brother filled him in was harder. 

Gaat. A new Zero-X. A rescue that wasn’t real. All a simple distraction so the man that had killed their father could infiltrate their home.

And he had tried to kill their mother. 

“John,” Ridley murmured, squeezing his arm gently, “Breathe honey.”

“The bastard--” He choked out between gritted teeth, “Where is he now?”

Scott’s eyes fell again, widening once more in apology as he pursed his lips, “He got away. He didn’t get the suits though, Kayo made sure of that.”

He felt his own shoulders fall, Kay would be upset. The man was her uncle by blood, and she hated him with every fiber of her being. That he got away would only add fuel to the flames of her anger. 

“Is she with you?”

Scott nodded in confirmation, “Kyrano and Hugh Creighton-Ward were with mom at the time, we’re all going. I think Kayo has some questions.”

“I do too,” John sighed with a nod, “Mom’s going to be okay though, right?”

He wished that technology was as fragile as it once had been, perhaps then he could have blamed Scott’s frozen posture on a glitch rather than the fact that he really had gone so still on the spot.

“I--” Scott stumbled.

Scott never stumbled.

Scott was bold and brave and always knew what was going on. He was his big brother, he was meant to say that Mom would be fine with a few stitches and an overnight stay at the hospital. 

His voice wasn’t meant to sound soft and broken and full of fear as he shook his head and told him that he didn’t know.

“I think you guys should get over there,” He murmured, “The sooner the better.”

“We’ll be there as fast as we can, Scott.” Ridley cut in for him, “You guys fly safe.”

“F.A.B.” Scott replied, “Call us when you get there.”

There were more goodbyes that he didn’t really hear as his mind turned in on itself, focusing on the little he knew. The seed of fear that had always been in the back of his head was suddenly sprouting, as if the information he had was simply a growth serum allowing it to overgrow into something much larger than he wished it to be. 

“John?” Ridley prompted gently as she touched his arm, “Shall we get going, love?”

The sooner the better. Scott had said. Like there was some kind of time limit for how long they had to see Mom. 

He remembered that kind of time limit from years and years before. 

Why was the world so eager to take his mother from them?

“John, what is it?” Ridley asked him again, squeezing his arm that time to draw his attention, “Sweetheart, you’re crying.”

He hadn’t realised there were tears on his cheeks until he reached up to wipe them away, sniffing as he did so and shaking his head. 

“It’s like the world is out to get her.” He choked out, looking to her, remembering a snowy afternoon on a mountain somewhere he didn’t care to remember. All of them just kids, Gordon and Alan still babies. Each of them learning to ski under their parents and grand-parents guidance. 

“There was an avalanche,” He whispered, letting her guide his head back to her shoulder, “Gordon had wandered off, wanted to go on an adventure or something. It almost killed them both.”

It had killed both his maternal grandparents and left both their mother and Gordon in comas for a week. He remembered the doctors telling Dad to prepare for the worst, words that a teenager hadn’t been meant to hear but he couldn’t have helped listening to. 

Dad had taught him about the stars, but it was Mom that had taught him kindness and how to be himself. 

“Your Mom is strong John,” Ridley murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek, “Strong and as stubborn as any of you boys. She’s got a fighting chance, I promise you.”

Biting his lip, he shook his head, trying to blink away the fresh tears that were trying to fall. Ridley’s hand was light on his back as she rubbed gentle, soothing circles, waiting for what he had to say.

“I don’t know if-- Mom’s always been there Rids. If something happens to her we’ll be--” The lump in his throat cut him off as he shook his head again, not willing to face the possibility that maybe they had lost both Dad and Mom. 

“We don’t know that yet,” She told him, voice strong and solid and stern, “We don’t know anything until we get over to the hospital. All we can do is take everything one step at a time.”

It wasn’t her rescue voice, but there was something about the soft determination that forced further worry and questions to one side. She had a point, there was little to be gained from staying on the roof and drowning in fear of potential scenarios. Sitting thinking about what had happened in the past would change nothing, that was then, this was now. 

“We need to go,” He murmured, taking a long breath in, “I need to--” He broke off, all the things that he had to do coming to the fore. 

They needed a plane. He needed a bag. He needed to set up the irrigation system for his plants on the kitchen windowsill. 

“I’ll sort the plane,” Ridley assured him, “You go and sort your plants and then a bag for yourself.”

Standing, she leant down to kiss his hair, pausing there for a moment as he swiped at his cheeks again, “We’ll figure this out John. No matter what happens, we’ll figure things out.”

[amaikana]

another fluffy OT3 fic! (been a while since I write one :3) --- Rate: K+ Pairing: OT3/norrayemma Tag(s): Date Night, Fluff, Romance, Inspired by Honeyworks’ Song Note: the italic parts at the separations are me quoting the song’s lyrics :3 ---

 You received a voice message (18:06)

 “Hi, Emma. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can make it tonight. There are still quite a lot works that I need to get done here. I’m so sorry. Please tell Ray that I’m really sorry too.”

 ‘To repeat the message: press 1. To reply the message: press—’

Emma clenches her phone.

“…Stupid Norman.”

*

 Does being an adult means to be patient? All the incomparable things are being put on a scale

 But because we have ‘love,’ we can still be ourselves Yet we still get struck by the anxiety

* [Ne, Aitaiyo] ((Hey, I miss you))

*

Emma pouts silently as she gripped the mug in her hands which contains her already cold coffee. From the doorway, Ray—her other boyfriend who’s just gotten back from work and still clad in his formal suit—sighs and approaches her gently.

“Hey. C’mon, don’t keep pouting like that. It’ll make your face all wrinkly faster, you know?” her boyfriend tries to joke. “What’s gotten you so down, anyway? Aren’t you the one who’s most excited for tonight?”

“There’s no ‘tonight,’” Emma grumbles.

“Huh?”

“I said ‘there’s no tonight’! Norman can’t make it! He’s still at work. The plan’s cancelled!”

For a moment, Ray doesn’t say anything. Then, suddenly, Emma feels something landed on top of her head. Ray’s hand. A hand that ruffling her hair without a care in the world, as if she hadn’t just spent a full half-an-hour attempting to stylize it like one of those fancy hairstyles she often sees in magazines.

“Ugh! What are you doing, Raaay?! You just ruined my hair!”

Ray chuckles beside her. “Then just go style it again,” her boyfriend says easily.

“E-eh? Didn’t you hear what I just said? The plan’s canc—”

“Hurry,” Ray cuts her. “I think it’ll only take about forty minutes to drive to the office. The traffic is usually quite packed at this hour, though. So I probably should just use the train, it’ll be faster that way.”

“The…the office? Wait. You mean Norman’s office?!”

Ray doesn’t answer her. Instead, her boyfriend grabs two sets of coats and scarfs from the coat rack and starts dressing himself up. Before opening the door, her boyfriend turns back at her.

“Oh, by the way, can you head to the cinema ahead of us and buy the tickets? I think it’ll take too much time if we go together from here, so Norman and I will just meet you there.”

*

 Baby Girl, your eyes, and nose, and lips Hey, I wanna touch you

*

The office is almost empty the moment Ray steps into the building. Most of the employee already went home, only a few still choose to stay behind. He presses the elevator button to a floor he remembers well, a part of the office that he and Emma frequently visited.

“What are you doing, staying up ‘till this late?” he says as a greeting. Not surprisingly, Norman is the only one left on that floor.

His boyfriend jumps in surprise and turns at him with an annoyed expression.

“Don’t startle me like that!” Norman complaints. “What are you doing here, anyway? Wait. What time even is it? Shouldn’t you be at the movie with Emma?!”

Ray raises his eyebrows. “So, you’re saying we really should celebrate our anniversary with only the two of us?”

Norman averts his eyes, starting to look a bit guilty at the sarcastic retort. “It’s not that… I mean, it’s just—”

“Well, whatever. If that’s what you want, so be it. Emma and I can still have a good time with only the two of us.”

Ray dumps the plastic bag that he’s been carrying on top of his boyfriend’s desk carelessly. Norman stares at him questioningly.

“What is this?”

“That? Oh, nothing. Just a few cookies that Emma baked this afternoon. Figured you might want some snacks while pulling an all-nighter again.”

He turns around and begins leaving. But before Ray could even take a step away, a hand reaches out, stopping him.

“W-wait!”

*

 Baby Boy, your hands, and habits, and love Hey, I miss you

*

“W-wait!”

Norman doesn’t know what he was thinking. His hand just automatically reached out the moment Ray started leaving.

His boyfriend turns back around. “What?”

“U-um…”

Ray snorts. A beat later, Norman feels a hand landed on top of his head, ruffling his hair messily.

“Idiot.”

For a second, the thoughts about all the paperwork he wanted to re-read and revise for the nth time again entered his mind. For a second, he hesitates. But……

He shrugs, smiling up helplessly at his dark-haired lover. “…Thank you. Let’s go?”

*

 The more we think about each other, the more it feels our distance grow

*

The moment Emma arrives at the cinema, her heart drops a bit, realizing her two boyfriends haven’t arrived there yet. Though, taking a deep breath and a firm step, she puts on her best smile before she walks up to the cashier.

“Three tickets for this movie, please.”

The ticketing employee looking at her confusedly. “You’re alone, Miss? This one will start in a few minutes. If you’re waiting for some people, you might want a different schedule, or—”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. They’ll arrive soon.”

Still wearing her cheerful smile, she takes the tickets.

Best smile for best occasion. Also for the people she loves the most.

*

 Baby Girl, your eyes, and nose, and lips Hey, I wanna touch you

*

It took them about five minutes walk from the office to the station. From there, it should be around twenty minutes before they arrive at the nearest station to the cinema.

The whole way, Ray practically dragged Norman on his feet. Snapping at the sleepy man every few minutes and receiving weird stares from the strangers on the street.

Ray groans for the nth time. He knows that his boyfriend must be very tired from pulling all those late working hours this whole week. ‘The overworking idiot probably even did it without really realizing,’ Ray grumbles inwardly.

But…still! It shouldn’t be this bad, right? Right?!

Ray can feel some white hair strands start tickling his cheek again as the head on his shoulder lolls slightly from the train’s movement. He bites his tongue. Luckily, what would’ve probably been an embarrassing yelp didn’t manage to escape his lips.

 ‘Stupid! Idiot! Stupid Norman! Why at a time like this?! Why in a public place like this?! Ugh, wake up! Wake up, idiot! This is so embarrassing!’

That’s what he silently complaining, but…

Awkwardly, with his probably now very flushed face, Ray moves slightly and adjusts his sitting position so that his boyfriend can lean on him more comfortably.

He steals a glance at Norman’s fancy watch.

“Still about fifteen minutes until the station…” he mumbles.

Ray sighs, averting his eyes and silently tangling his fingers to his lover.

 ‘Better put up with this, then.’

*

 Baby Boy, your hands, and habits, and love Hey, I miss you

*

There’s patience. And there’s “how freaking long anymore do I need to wait for my two stupid boyfriends to arrive” patience. Besides…will they even able to make it here on time?!

Emma doesn’t care whether her probably annoying groaning would earn her another weird stares from the strangers around again. At this rate, she really will strangle them.

“Aaaaargh, stupid Ray! Stupid Norman!”

Just as she said that, her phone rings from a chat notification. She lits up as she reads the sender name.

 Ray (21:09) “Emma, I can’t get this idiot out of the taxi. Help.”

Emma frowns confusedly. “…Um, what?”

*

Swinging back and forth, I recalled it Back when we first gazed at each other’s eyes *

“Are you kidding me?!” Ray groans.

He has tried everything: from tickling, to pinching, to slapping his boyfriend’s face and practically shouting beside his ear. Still, Norman wouldn’t budge!

He has somehow managed to drag his boyfriend to get out of their train and get onto a taxi. But the moment they stepped inside the car stupid Norman immediately slumped onto him again. And now they have arrived, he can’t get his boyfriend’s head off of his lap!

Ray grimaces and glances at the taxi driver apologetically. It’s probably their luck that the dark-skinned woman driver only chuckles and waves him off from the front seat.

“Ahh, young love~ How sweet~”

Feeling desperate, Ray finally resorts to texting their girlfriend.

 Emma (21:10) “Eh? What happened?”

“Aaargh, stupid Emma! Just come here already!” he grumbles.

On his lap, Norman’s head lolls again, somehow facing his stomach now.

 ‘This is so awkward…’

*

 And I remember that moment, When I first touched you

*

Emma understands what happened the moment she finally sees her boyfriends—who are still adorably cuddling inside the taxi, she notes.

She chuckles. ‘How come Ray doesn’t realize it?’ she muses.

Emma shakes her head. “Norman~ C’mon, it’s wake up time, baby!”

Ray stares at her flatly. “I told you. He won’t budge even though I tried everything on him! How do you think he would wake up if you’re just calling him like th—”

Her boyfriend’s ranting got cut off by a sudden kiss to his cheek. The reaction is immediate: Ray flushes as bright as tomato and starts stammering.

“W-what– wh—”

Emma bursts out giggling. But even her giggles got cut off by another sudden unexpected peck to her cheek.

“This one’s for our best girl.” Norman grins at her before giving a small kiss on her nose.

“You– You were messing with me?!”

The still-red faced Ray starts pushing Norman unceremoniously out of the car. Her white haired boyfriend lands himself on his butt. He whines petulantly at her and Emma eventually can’t contain her laugh anymore—doesn’t mind that it makes her already re-stylized hair all messy again.

They’re basically making a ruckus at the parking lot now. And it takes Norman suddenly asking about what they’re actually supposed to be doing here for them to remember again that the movie they were planning to see together is about to start soon.

…Or rather, already started now.

“Why did you even buy this schedule?!” Ray complaints at her as they’re all running inside the cinema.

“W-well, the sooner the better right? Besides, it’s certainly better than having to wait another few hours for the next schedule, right? Right? Norman! Hey! Defend me!”

“Um, well…I was hoping I could go back home to change my suit first, though…”

“See?! That was an idiotic choice! Idiot!”

“Stop insulting me, stupid Ray! Are you actually my boyfriend or my bully?!”

Halfway through the cinema entrance, they all suddenly remember that they forgot to pay the taxi.

…Which sets another troublesome task, as they need to run back to the parking lot and run again to the cinema.

“Ah, young love~” the taxi driver woman shakes her head.

‘Yeah, it is,’ Emma silently agrees.

It really is.

*

 Hey, I fell in love with you Hey, let’s fall in love again

*

[a-day-at-once]

January entries #1 to #10

#1

January 1st, it seems.

There’s something rather archaic about writing in the first page of a journal while being bathed in nothing but the light of a candle. Normally I wouldn’t mind it much, it does set a mood, but as the lone flame flickers, so does my soul, out of the impaling feeling of pure, raw, suffocating boredom.

Archaic as it might be, Benjamin Franklin’s been dead for quite some time now and the current world revolves around the connection he found between lightning and tiny electric sparks, an energy that has been temporarily taken from us.

With the storm raging outside, there’s been a general blackout in this part of town. No internet, no television, no working electronic devices, just me and the apartment I’ve been neglecting to clean for way too long. I didn’t clean anything at all, mind you, I was just moving and kicking things around to ease my access to the ceiling fan with the chair I dragged behind me and the rope that I still have around my neck.

From a higher angle, my feet on the seat of the chair, a blur through the futile tears I blinked away; that’s how I spotted you, partially hidden under layers of discarded smelly clothing, inside a plastic storage box with the last remnants of proof that I’ve actually been to college at some point in this life of mine. A shame I didn’t graduate, but also not really? Art school can set you free as much as it can castrate your spirit.

But there you were, all faux leather cover, a gift cast aside at the time, but full of stories yet untold. Unwritten, rather. Am I talking to you or are you talking to me? Am I writing with the hopes of it being read, or so that I can figure out what I’m trying to tell myself?

I only noticed the passage of the year because the neighbors from downstairs helpfully screamed the countdown with an excitement I only wished I could share. I laid my shaky hands on you with seven seconds to go and made the decision to start writing at the exact moment they yelled “zero”.

Am I just lonely, diary? Simply sad? New Year is supposed to be about new beginnings, but in the darkness of a world that moves onto 2019 without light, your pages called for an entry. For what it’s worth…

You stopped me from ending right at the beginning.

I end this entry with the desk lamp flickering awake.

- @abyssiniana

#2

Hello Day 2.

Yesterday I didn’t think we’d meet, and now it seems so ordinary.

Went back to work today. Another thing I thought I was leaving behind. I was on shift with Susan again, and it seems like the holidays put her in a better mood. She had a lot to tell me about her boyfriend.

We had pretty heavy traffic. More than we expected. Some old man got kicked out for saying some seriously racist shit. Bless my manager. And fuck the elderly, I guess?

It was bright and cold on my way in. I walked along the canal. I watched someone try and fish their hat out with a stick for like 10 minutes (they did it!)

On the way home I got caught in the rain and got soaked.

Closing thoughts? This was sort of a shitty day, but hey, I’m still here. I changed into some dry clothes, I’ve got some music on and I’m snuggled up in a blanket.

I kept the rope. It’s in my desk drawer. Is that morbid? I think it’s to avoid denial. I’m also keeping the candles. The power’s on, but the candles are nice anyway.

See you soon, day 3.

- @mykumatt

#3

Day three. I wish I could say I was happy to see you.

I was off of work today. Most people hang out with friends, run errands, see a show, something else on their days off.

I usually sit and home and stare at blank canvasses and wonder what happened to me. I used to be good. I used to be something.

Am I really anything, anymore?

I eat. I sleep. I work.

Am I anything more than an automaton? Am I worth more than the money accrued with every beep of a barcode on a register?

Today, I couldn't sit inside and wonder if I'd ever become anything. Today, I went to ask the canal.

Cold and grey, it didn't have much to offer me that I didn't already know. I sat on a low wall beside the canal, almost a block from work.

The canal had my attention for all of moments. The surface was glassy, dark. Nothing swam within, nor did anything float on the surface.

I watched people instead.

One woman needed to get to the bank before it closed, I decided. She walked with purpose, long strides taking her quickly from my sight. A young man peered into the windows of a record store with his headphones on as he swayed to the beat. He was still home from college, looking for a last-minute gift for a roommate or a friend. An elderly couple toddled into a diner, the man holding his arm out for the woman, even though they both carried a cane. They've been married fifty years, kids long moved away. They eat breakfast together every morning.

Making up the story of someone else's life made mine seem more interesting. Sometimes, I wonder what people think when they see me on the streets. Am I still a student, in their eyes? Do I live with my parents? Do I have a family of my own? What if I'm a business owner, a chef, a politician, a poet?

Do they know that I'm nothing at all? When I looked back across the canal, I saw a man in nearly my mirrored position. He wore a black leather jacket and no hat or gloves. In one hand, he held a cigarette. In the other, a small, black book, much like you, dear diary.

He is a musician, I decided. His hands were lithe and his fingers slim, perfect for the piano or the guitar. In that notebook, he carried symphonies. He carried the next greatest rock album. He carried next week's one hit wonder.

Who knows?

Maybe he isn't anything. Just like me.

- hawkwarrd

#4

Day Four. Damn.

I didn’t really realize how boring my life has become until I started to do this. What do I even say? It wasn’t a bad day? I went to work, it was Friday, so it was busier than usual, but nothing truly awful.

Oh, and Susan told me today that the new person was hired yesterday while I was off. They start tomorrow, so that’s something exciting? Hopefully, we don’t get another Sean.

My Friday night was closing, and take out food at home. No plans with friends. No notifications on my phone. A single online order for falafel, and a cold dark walk back down the canal passing the glittering lights of restaurants and bars full of laughter and friends and dates.

I would feel ashamed to reach out to anyone at this point. I was the one that pushed them away, what right did I have to see my friends again, and pretend nothing is wrong? They didn’t do anything wrong, I ignored texts, I couldn’t go out places, I never reached out. The thing that was wrong was me.

Maybe I should get a cat.

Candles and canvases and white pages don’t talk back.

Neither do cats, but maybe I could actually feel like someone useful again. It’s a new year and just because the year feels impossibly long and lonely and scary—

Fuck. Fuck I hate that. While I want to get better, am I really committed enough to 2019? To taking care of something that long? I don’t even have a real plant in my apartment.

...Maybe a senior cat.

- @kearatheshadow

#5

Day 5.

I can't believe I actually managed to write here for five days in a row. Maybe I need to take it all out in writing, or maybe I just hope you'll be found one day, long after I'm gone, and that someone better than me will find you somehow interesting. I know I don't. I'm your writer after all, right?

I worked half day today. I didn't think I'd go to work, but I guess I needed an excuse to get up early. Last night I had some thoughts, some regrets. I thought about what I tried to do, and how I could feel that rope screaming at me from the drawer. Calling me a coward. Telling me that if I can't use it, I should at least do something with myself. Anything.

So I had to get out, you know? I couldn't hear it anymore.

Before work, I went to sit by the canal again with some coffee. I kinda like it.

It wasn't that bad today. Not too many customers. Most of the workers weren't in, so I had some peace and quiet. As much as most of them are pretty okay, I hate all of those rumors and gossips that always spread around. You can't say anything without everyone knowing about it 5 minutes later (especially Susan. She's nice but she's the most talkative person I've ever met. It's exhausting sometimes). That's why I don't talk much. Though to be fair, I don't talk much in general. The new guy was in today. He looked like he was nervous and shy, and mainly kept himself close to Greg, who was shift manager today. The poor guy had to hide his shaking hands behind him when he handled customers. Must be his first job, at least in this kind of job. But after some time, Greg told me to spend some time with him.

His name is Leo. And he's the most gentle person I've ever met. We didn't talk much, but I saw it right away. He saw me scribble on a random piece of paper and he really liked it. So I gave it to him, and he put it in his wallet.

I dunno why, but after I went back home, I wasn't so tired like I always am.

I didn't touch my sketchbook since dropping out of school. It's dusty, but somehow well kept.

Maybe I'll draw something later.

- @somegoodsheith

#6

I decided today would be a mental health day. Called Sylvia and the sweet old lady took my shift from me. I knew no matter what she would and take it because she’s so giving with everyone in the store. I feel like I manipulated her into taking it but goes to show I’m an awful person. Not like we didn’t know that already. Okay shit. We’re not doing this today. I’m treating myself well today, only good thoughts for now.

I took the bus into the city. I figured it was best not to lie in bed all day. I got onto the subway and yeah I sat there for a long time. Like a really long time. I tried to sketch a couple of people with the notepad I brought with me, but my mind was wandering too much so I threw it back into my bag. I rode the entire line to the original stop I started at.

I enjoyed it though. That feeling of just being. A city goer. Maybe someone who works nine to five. Someone who just. Lives their life without their minds chained to an abyss that’s barely trying to break free. They maybe worry about things like, paying bills on time and making it to their kids recital.

Just a regular cyclical life that doesn’t revolve around whether their brains decide to work or not.

I made it to an animal shelter and then got dinner and then went home. Kinda uneventful. I’m still thinking about a cat maybe. I don’t know. None of them particularly attracted me. Well I mean I did try and play with every single one of them. Just none that I felt I should take home. Because I don’t know maybe I don’t deserve it. I was surprised they had birds and turtles and fish there. Not as common as cat, dogs and rodents. But I don’t know my eyes were caught by this turquoise conure. She was very calm and interested in me and her eyes just had life as soon as walked in the room.

Birds are so beautiful and I love them so much. Just hard to keep. I would have to quit my job to even have time for a parrot. And I already spend so much time at home. I just couldn’t. I’m gonna keep looking around for cats though. I have the time and space and money.

I just. Need to stay alive somehow. Maybe a cat could do that. Just gotta find the one y’know

I think I might look at volunteering at the shelter some day. I don’t think that parrot is going anywhere anytime soon and I’d love to play with her and that way it would be easier for me to find a cat. Who knows.

- @technicolorfire

#7

Day 7 I’m feeling a bit better today. That mental health day truly helped out a lot! I’m thinking about treating Sylvia for lunch or something. I got to thank her somehow, but I’m still not 100% sure what to do. If I don’t do something, I’m going to feel the guilt anytime I look at her. Oh boy. At work today, Leo came up to me, nervously twiddling his thumbs. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper and pushed it into my hands before walking away. I opened it up and it was a drawing of me. Everything, from the hair to my eyes, was perfect. On the bottom it read, “You know, I used to draw back during my high school days. Your drawing really motivated me to try up that hobby again. I hope you and me can be friends. You might even be able to teach me something.” I don’t know what to say. I know dozens of people whose drawings are better than mine, so why is Leo paying any attention to mine? Whatever, I’ll take it. I’ll probably talk to him tomorrow, if he’s willing that is. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I did get a cat. A pure black female American Shorthair. I named her Ember, due to her fiery eyes. She’s a quiet one, mostly keeping to herself. Right now, she’s laying down on my bed, softly purring. I need to go to the pet store and buy her something before she rips the entire house apart. At least Ember lightens up the atmosphere. On my way out of the shelter, I grabbed a volunteer forum from one of the employees. In fact, it’s sitting next to Ember right now. At least now I can hope to make someone’s day better. New year, new me after all.

Well, until we meet again, diary.

-Tingle

#8

Do cats wear collars?

I ended up going to the mall before my shift to buy pet supplies and the thought entered my mind when I saw the aisle of shiny, multi-coloured pet collars in the store. The images of cats on the labels, ecstatic to receive the gift of Collar from Human, repeated across an entire wall of ApexCorp® Anti-Tick and Flea Cat Collars™ Dermatologist Approved.

Do cats have dermatologists.

I have never seen a cat wear a collar in my life. Not even on TV. Or maybe I have seen one before, on a cat food commercial? Who pays attention to those things anyway?

Do cats wear collars? The question, it haunts me.

I did not buy Ember a collar.

I stuffed the pet supplies onto my car's backseat (a secondhand Toyota Corolla my parents bought me for my 18th birthday - old but still trusty) — a litter box, two food bowls, a large pack of cat food to last at least a month or so, and a squeaky mouse toy. Not a collar in sight.

I returned to the mall, deciding to grab a bite to eat before I went to work in a few hours.  My shift today was supposed to be from 8 AM to 4 PM, but Sylvia (1-9 PM) asked us to switch since she had some errands later in the evening. Sure, fair enough. She did take my shift the other day, might as well return the favour. Not like I have much better to do in the evening.

I already spent most of my spare money on Ember's things, but a sandwich and maybe a milk tea won't hurt my wallet too bad. And it'll probably taste better than all the cup noodles and rice-plus-canned-something that had comprised my diet for the past several months. I deserve to treat myself every once in a while.

Right?

I strolled across the mall; when was the last time I actually went here? I didn't recognize most of the stalls anymore, and had forgotten where I used to eat all the time.

No point in thinking too deeply about it, I suppose. Thinking doesn't do me much good. I stopped by a café that only had three other customers and ordered a "House's Special" panini and, at the cashier's suggestion, an "Okinawa milk tea with tapioca, rock salt and cheese."

I have no idea what either of these are.

From across the café where I sat was International Bookstore. Oh, International Bookstore, with your overpriced erasers and purple pens that never seem to be in stock. The glass display presented a vast array of hardcover novels, alcohol markers and oil pastels, a medium I was never good at.

I stared at the art supplies, sipping my tea plaintively. I haven't made a serious artwork ever since I left school, my once diverse portfolio reduced to crude doodles at the back of receipts.

My impressive receipt collection was set to grow yet again as I scribbled behind the café bill with the half-empty pen I write grocery lists with.

I started with some abstract scribbles, trying to get a feel for the pen. The once black ink was nothing more than a faded gray now. I sketched out my lunch absent-mindedly, taking more time looking at the bread's dotted texture than my own work (Ah, food, the art student's favourite subject).

I continued eating (GOD this is good milk tea, thanks cashier person), stopping every few bites to draw again, the progression of my food as it was being consumed laid out on the paper until all that was left to draw were bread crumbs and an empty cup.

This could be symbolic for something, but I'm not really sure.

- cordaello

#9

I can’t believe it took me a full day to understand Leo’s joke when I asked him if he was planning to grow a beard. “Maybe. Who knows? I used to not like facial hair but it grew on me.” I just… thought he didn’t have a razor.

By the way, I forgot to write about my conversation with Leo yesterday (the first thing I thought of doing was sticking that receipt doodle on my diary and my mind threw any other detail that happened that day out of the window).

I’ll just quickly skim over what happened yesterday. He’s a quiet, shy guy who avoids talking to people if it’s unnecessary. He’d rather watch and observe. Didn’t get to chat with him until our break time since I didn’t really want to disturb him while we were working. Sheepishly, I started small talk between the two of us which somehow sidetracked into a long discussion about BBC’s hit detective rom-com show, Sureluck played by the loveable Bandersnatch Cucumber. There was something about the uncovering mysteries that fascinated both of us. Maybe it was the idea that there’s something more to the things that happen around us, a hidden explanation. That or it was just wishful thinking; we wanted to belong to a scheme bigger than all of us, to be worth more than what we think we are.

Or maybe it’s Bandersnatch’s sexy cheekbones. Maybe…

Honestly, Leo’s such a precious kid. He’s still pretty young, just turned 18 and recently moved from Michigan to this place where nothing extraordinary happens (unless you count the disc of lights that disappear after a few seconds above Dale University). He rents a small apartment a few blocks from the store.

I thought it’d be nice to show him around; after all, he’s new here. So after today’s shift I asked if he wanted to go to Ravensons Mall and grab something to eat, maybe sit on one of the benches at the nearby park for cats.

Do cats have parks. “Um, sure, I’d love to go,” he answered with a small smile. “It’s not like there are people waiting for me to get home.”

Beneath that smile I could hear a tinge of melancholy in his voice and I felt a little bad for him. This kid was me a couple of years ago. This kid is me now, scared and reluctant in this jungle of people bustling around minding their own businesses, and I alone.

Alone.

Maybe Leo didn’t have to feel the same way. Maybe I could be a friend to him. Maybe…

After the shift we got into my car and drove to Ravensons. WcDonalds was packed with people and Leo seemed agitated at the overwhelming business of the fast food chain so I ordered us each a burger and a cup of soda to go, and left the busy place.

Leo seemed to calm down when we got to the park. We watched as people walk by. We watched families that had small picnics on the grass under the shade of the big trees — the only trees you’d see in this place.

There were no signs of cats whatsoever.

Leo told me about Michigan and how he and his friends would have long road trips in and out of the state in his friend Brad’s pickup truck. There was something peaceful about driving across miles and miles of land, especially at night, and being alone in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe we should go out on a road trip someday. -realcakkuu

#10

Ember woke me up a little before my alarm went off. I suspect I will eventually transcend the need of setting up the alarm at all; for a cat without one of her front paws, she sure pounces hella hard on my stomach at six twenty in the morning exactly. I can’t decide if I prefer waking up to her demand of food or Gary Moore’s guitar solo.

The cat decided for me.

I fed her. She likes the extravagant salmon food I can barely afford, because of course she does; for an animal who was rescued from the streets, she sure was picky with her Purina Fancy Feast. After the bowl was empty she staggered towards me to rub herself on my leg in what I can guess is appreciation.

I very damn well hope it is appreciation.

Do cats have that sort of feelings towards inferior beings such as humans?

I petted her, though. Cute.

I made a good pot of coffee for myself, but then opened my fridge to realize I hadn’t bought milk in weeks. I burned my toast but ate it anyway; anything goes down my mouth with enough peanut butter. I may or may not have forgotten to pay the water bill, but I’m fairly certain I did (one day past the limit, is a fact). I think they just cut the hot water because they’re complete sadistic unforgiving assholes. I showered anyway. I masturbated. I couldn’t even tell how long it had been since I last did it but I can’t say it felt... particularly good. Mostly made me feel fourteen again, self-discovering without the concern of being caught by my brother in the upper bunk bed.

I uh. Shouldn’t have done that.

In the momentary bliss I forgot time was a constant moving variable and clocked in eleven minutes late at work. My boss hates me. The clients hate me because god forbid they have to form a line in the parking ten minutes before opening time.

Today was the day I decided I absolutely despise Thursdays.

I realize this every week. I do. But I hated today specially because Thursday is Leo’s day off. I don’t know what I was expecting, the kid deserves his days off as much as me or anyone else does. He didn’t miss out on anything too critical except the ridiculous amount of clients that seemed to be waiting for the final twenty minutes of my shift to grab every item from the nearest shelves and throw them on the absolute opposite end of the slooowwwlyyyy rooooolliiiiiinnnngggg conveyor belt, as if I have all the time in the world, and they THINK I want to argue about the promotion we had last week but don’t have this week but they WANT it this week too, but I have to explain that promotions are like every single fucking thing in life, fucking TEMPORARY, WOMAN, GET A MOVE ON AND PAY FULL PRICE FOR A BLOODY CAN OF SAUSAGES.

Ah, Thursdays are inventory day. I didn’t leave the goddamned supermarket before midnight, and I’m honestly cheating you, dear diary, because it’s the eleventh already and I only just managed to sit down and rage write today’s events.

Ah but… before going to bed, I should add something.

I found something in my locker when I went to pick up my jacket. I didn’t notice it upon arriving in the morning, nor when I went to grab some money for lunch, but this was right on the door, at the level of my eyes, a post it note with a little message. Was it put there yesterday night? Sometime during the day?

- @abyssiniana

[classic-rock-roller]

1. A magazine interviews your band members one at a time and then puts out articles that are like mini biographies of each of you. They’re all nothing but nice, raving about how good you guys all are until the guy gets to Bonham. Hers is very sarcastic and passive-aggressive, and it ends with, “If she’s taught us anything, it’s that you don’t have to be Southern to be a redneck and you don’t have to be poor to be white trash.” What do you, Bonham, and the boys say when the articles finally come out?

I’m pissed and so is Bonham and the rest of the band. We ask why he wrote hers like that and his answer is, “I just really don’t like her.” I complain to the magazine about his unprofessionalism and they come out to rewrite the article. 

2. You and the boys are working outside on a hot day, and Bonham picks up Taco Bell for lunch bc it’s cheap and it’s filling. You’re all quietly eating when Kevin says, “This is trash food you know.” Bonham counters with, “I don’t care if it’s trash food, it’s good.” How do you and Randy respond?

Me: Well taco bell usually makes my stomach hurt. But I’m really hungry so...

Randy: Then why are you eating it?  

3. The fact that she slept with Rudy on a mistake has been eating Bonham alive. She keeps saying, “I need to call Randy and tell him, I’m not being honest.” Every time she says this, Kevin tries to keep her from doing it. “I’m sure he won’t be mad at you, everybody makes mistakes.” After a while of this Bonham says, “Just because you used to be a cheating man slut and that didn’t bother you doesn’t mean it’s the same for me. I’m calling him.” As she’s dialing the phone, Kevin looks to you frantically and mouths, “What do we do?” What do you tell him, and do you let her finish the call?

I freeze up. I have no idea what to do and when she almost finishes dialing I dive for the phone and pull it out of the wall. “What the fuck are you doing, Babes?” “I...uh...um...Kevin.” 

4. Bonham eventually ends up calling Randy anyway, and when she gets off the phone she just slumps on the couch and buries her face in a pillow. She cries for a while. Eventually, Kevin asks, “So you found out he slept with someone else too, huh? What did I tell you, he wouldn’t be mad.” She snaps her head up and says, “No, that’s not what he said, he told me that he was disappointed that I broke out faith! My relationship is on the line, and I won’t have you stand there and lie to me! Wait, what? He slept with someone else? What’s going on? What do you know? Is he the one that’s lying?” Kevin fucked up and got busted. What does he say, what do you do, and how does Bonham respond?

Kevin: I...um...uh...

Me: Yes, he did. Or at least that’s what he told Kevin before telling him he couldn’t tell anyone. 

Bonham sits there for a moment before saying, “I’m going to kill him.” 

5. After Bonham stormed out on Randy for who knows what, you all sit down and have dinner. She’s always back within two hours of storming out, no matter what caused the problem. You all wait for her, but eventually, the hours begin to drag. It’s been 4 and she’s not back. You all assume she’ll be back by morning, so you go home and go to bed. The next morning, Kevin has a voicemail from Randy. “It’s currently 9 AM and she’s still not back here. I was wondering if she’s at your house. Call when you get this, bye.” She’s not at your house. What do you and Kevin do?

I’m freaking out. My mind always goes to the worst possible thing that could have happened. And Kevin calls the police to file a missing person’s report. 

6. Every time Bonham listens to mixes in the studio she bounces her hand around in a pattern (down, in, out, up). You don’t think anything of it, but one day when the boys are visiting, Kevin asks, “What’s she doing? She always does it. What is it? Is there like a pattern or what?” How do you respond?

“Oh, that’s a tick I guess. Kind of like how I always bounce my leg or knock on stuff when I’m nervous. Or she’s working on a beat.”

7. Kevin and Rudy got a new drummer and guitarist and finished up their first album since Randy’s passing. Bonham listened to it, and just before you’re about to hear it for the first time she comes busting into the room. “Kevin, you’re a bastard!” “What’d he do?” you ask. “Rudy was an equal partner on this song here, and Kevin completely stripped him of credit on the album! I will not stand for this crap!” How do you respond and what happens when she gets to Kevin?

“What? That asshole!” We both confront him about it and chew him out for being an ass. 

8. You and Bonham and the boys are going somewhere super fancy and so you’re all getting dressed up. You come down the stairs and ask, “What do you guys think?” Bonham whistles and says, “Gorgeous!” Randy says, “Very nice.” Kevin tries to say “You look so good you’ll cause a traffic accident,” but he butchers it and ends up saying, “You look like a traffic accident.” How do the three of you respond?

Me: Wow, I didn’t think I looked that bad. I’ll go change then. 

Randy: We don’t have time for you to change. 

Bonham: Ignore him, you look hot. 

Kevin: No! I didn’t mean it like that.

9. Mal is 5 years old and one day he comes running up to you. “Mommy mommy! Daddy did a bad thing!” “What’d he do, sport?” you ask. “I saw him kiss Auntie Bonham! That’s not supposed to happen!” You’re confused because you know that wouldn’t happen, but he seems pretty sure of himself. What do you do, and what do Kevin and Bonham say when you ask them?

I’m a little confused but I say, “I’ll talk to him ok? You go play with Eddie.” I know they tend to be really close so when I ask Bonham laughs and goes, “Oh we were playing with Mal and we kissed his cheeks and he insisted Kevin had to kiss mine and I had to kiss his. It was cute at the time.” I laugh a little because that is cute. 

10. Kevin’s been swearing profusely lately, and it’s bothering Bonham because of the excess. She’s taken to saying, “Watch your profanity.” in a high pitched voice every time he opens his mouth. Randy finds this extremely funny. What do you and Kevin think?

Kevin: Have you heard babes colorful language? She’s twice as bad as I am. She swears like an angry trucker and you don’t say anything to her. 

Me: Hey! 

11. You, Bonham and the boys are visiting the bar where Bonham got her start. While there, an older gentleman comes up to you and says, “Well whaddaya know, hey there Little Buddy.” Bonham turns around and says, “Oh no way! Hey Jake, it’s been forever!” and hugs him. Randy and Kevin look confused out of their wits. How do the three of you respond, and what does Bonham tell you?

We all kind of wait for her to introduce us, “This is Jake, he was one of the players in the band I was in.” We all shake his hand and say it’s nice to meet him. 

12. You and Bonham are at a restaurant one day when an older lady comes up to you. “I don’t know who you are but you look famous, sign this.” What do you two do?

Me: Sure lady. 

I sign the paper, “Go fuck yourself.” She takes it and glares at me before walking away. Bonham and I both burst into a fit of giggles. 

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

1) You, your singer, Randy, and Kevin are hanging out with one of your singer’s college friends. They’re playing pool and your singer’s friend is kicking her ass. Your singer and her friend swear back and forth at each other before her friend screams, “Son of a fuck!” Your singer leans on her pool stick and says, “Now that isn’t entirely possible is it?” Her friend looks at her and says, “Well, actually it is. We’re all pretty much “sons” of a good fucking.” How do you, your singer, Randy, and Kevin respond?

2) After you and your singer confront Kevin about not giving Rudy his credit. Your singer crosses her arms and says, “You are the absolute worse person ever.” Kevin looks at her and says, “And yet you love me.” How do you and your singer respond?

3) You and your singer have joined QR on your tour. The both of you are sober in order to keep the boys out of trouble. You are leading the four of them back to their hotel rooms and when you finally get Randy and Kevin back to your room and ready for bed, Kevin drunkenly says to your singer, “All these drugs but I wanna do you.” How do you, your singer, and Randy respond?

4) Your singer takes you and Kevin with her to the hospital to visit her aunt. While you there, she asks Kevin to help her readjust her aunt on the bed. The entire time Kevin is going, “Is this right? Am I hurting you? I don’t want to hurt you.” How do you, your singer, and her aunt respond?

5) Your singer is babysitting her three cousins and you, Kevin, and Randy stop by to visit her. Before you know it, two of her cousins have jumped onto Kevin and Randy’s backs and are trying to choke them. They are quite successful at it. Your singer comes over and plucks both of them off before going, “Sorry about that. They take jiu-jitsu and do that to everyone.” How do you, Randy, and Kevin respond?

6) You’re on tour with Crüe and in Louisiana. Nikki and Tommy ordered crawfish and once they show up, you can tell your singer is visibly grossed out. Nikki and Tommy use this and start shoving them in her face. The next thing you know, she’s covering her mouth and running for the bathroom. How do you, Tommy, Nikki, and Mick respond?

7) You’re visiting your singer’s aunt again and you and Kevin are sitting on the chairs waiting for her to finish helping her aunt. Kevin asks several times if she needs help and she goes, “No we’re fine.” She comes out with something wrapped in a plastic bag. You know what it is but Kevin has no idea. He’s about to ask your singer what it is but you shake your head no. What does he say to you and how do you respond? 

8) You and Randy are walking through your singer’s hometown for a night on the town. Your singer is with her aunt in the hospital and Kevin went to a gentlemen’s club (he asked your singer first to which she responded, “As long as you don’t get a lap dance or fuck anyone.”) He calls you on your phone and goes, “Oh my god, you won’t believe this. I’m at the gentlemen’s club--” “Let me stop you right there. I don’t want to hear.” “No, wait! I’m here and Corn is one of the strippers. What should I do? She shouldn’t be here. Something is going to happen.” How do you and Randy respond?   

9) Your singer took you, Kevin, and Randy to the little beach town she used to go to as a kid. She takes you about a half hour away to a larger beach and when you get there she says, “Wouldn’t it be awesome if we brought our instruments out here and just did an impromptu concert on the boardwalk?” How do you, Kevin, and Randy respond?

10) You, Randy, and Kevin come home from the store to find your singer sitting on the couch. She’s really quiet and in a ball, you can tell she’s been crying and she’s wiping her eyes. When you ask what’s wrong she goes, “I’m sorry I don’t mean to be crying. My aunt just got diagnosed with Cancer and she’s three states away. I want to be there but I can’t. We have the album and the tour and I just...” she bursts into tears. How do you, Randy, and Kevin respond? 

11) Your singer comes home from work and slams the door. So you know she’s in a bad mood. She comes up the steps drops her bag in the kitchen and grabs the bottle of vodka. She comes out to you and Kevin in the living room and goes while waving the bottle, “Can I fucking punch someone please?” How do you and Kevin respond?

@osbournebemydaddy   your move, Bons :)

[let-the-bands-take-c0ntrol]

High Rollers (Part 3)

Request: No

Rating: R; includes drugs, alcohol, sex, and violence

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: Okay so this chapter is just a filler one. I know I’ve neglected writing this over the past two months, but I really want to get this back up and running.

     Luke slowly drove to the gas station. One hand rested on the wheel as the other grabbed the cigarette hanging from his lips. His eyes squinted as he stared at the gas station and he blew the smoke out from his mouth. The air was crisp and all four of the boys were piled in his car dressed warm and in all black. Luke took another drag from the cigarette and then looked back at his friends. Each one of the shared a silent look “You took the licence plates off right?” Calum questioned, slipping on a ski mask.

“Yeah,” Luke muttered, blowing out some more smoke and flicking the bud of the cigarette out the window. He licked his lips then looked at his watch. “Alright i’m setting this for fifteen minutes,” Luke said, “You get the money and get out. Around ten minutes I’ll start the car up and drive back around.” Michael snickered at Luke’s words realizing now his friend watched too many spy movies. Each one of them were racing with adrenaline, veins buzzing with excitement at the event that was about to occur. The whole week the boys had been planning on robbing the gas station. Ever since Calum had pointed it out and deemed it a perfect start they had been scoping it out. 

What they found was that only two people worked the night shifts. Some teenagers who busied themselves by playing around till the shift was over. The place was an easy target. Finally after getting a plan together the boys were ready to rob the place. The tires of Luke’s car screeched and burned against the pavement as he rolled up to the front of the gas station. Ashton, Michael, and Calum piled out the car and raced into the gas station. As they ran inside Luke drove off to a safe distance away and counted the minutes. Michael was the first to enter the shop. His hands were sweaty as he pulled the empty gun out from his pocket. The gun was only for show, so there was no need for it to actually have bullets. There was only one person behind the counter and the three boys concluded the other employee must have been in the back. “GIVE US THE MONEY!” Ashton yelled, pointing his own gun at the employee behind the counter. Michael had stayed behind with Ashton as Calum went in search of the other person. “No funny business-hurry up!” Ashton sighed in annoyance. 

The kid rose his hands up in surrender, but the minute Ashton pointed the gun at him even more the began to fumble trying to get the register open. A scream could be heard from the back and Calum soon appeared with the other employee. “move it. Stay over there-” he pushed the girl into a corner near the freezer. 

“Please don’t kill me,” she cried, holding her hands up in defense. Calum rolled his eyes and kept his gun pointed at her. He glanced towards the other two and smirked. The guy behind the counter seemed to have slowed his movements, hands shaky as he pressed in the buttons to the register.

“P-Paper or p-p-plastic?” he stuttered, holding up the bags for the guys to choose. Michael had to hold his tongue to stop himself from laughing. Even in a situation like this the kid was still customer servicing. 

“It doesn’t matter. . .Nine minutes,” Michael stated, gun still poised at the employee. The kid began to fumble even more as he grabbed the cash from out the register and stuff it inside a plastic bag. Behind him a television with a camera perched on top recorded what was going on in the store. The camera capturing the whole event.

“Hey guys you want anything while I’m back here?” Calum questioned, grabbing a bag of chips from off the shelf. He opened the bag and began to munch on the snack. Calum looked over to his friends and gave them a sheepish smile at their reactions. “What? Might as well grab a snack while we’re robbing the place,” he reasoned, keeping a close eye on the second employee. “You want some?” he asked her, holding out the bag of chips in offering. She shook her head fast hands still raised in defense. Calum shrugged then began to dig the freezer for some ice cream. 

“Five minutes. He’s on his way,” Michael announced. For what seemed like forever the guy behind the counter handed over the bag. Once it was received Ashton nodded his head towards the door. 

“Let’s go!” he shouted, running towards the door. Calum managed to swipe some candy from the counter and followed his friends out the gas station. Luke was waiting for them outside, hand waving in a gesture for them to hurry up. When all three of them were in the car Luke speed off. Michael yelled in excitement as he pulled off the ski mask. He panted for just a second so that he could catch his breath.

“You feel that shit! I’m shaking!” Michael laughed resting back into his seat with a goofy grin on his face. Ashton and Calum nodded in agreement the two of them had taken off their masks too. When they were a safe distance away from the gas station, their worries slipped away. 

“How much money did we make?” Luke question, eyes darting over to Ashton then back to the road. Ashton had been sitting quietly in his spot, focused on the bag of cash rested in his lap. His hands dug into the bag and he began to count. After five minutes Ashton scoffed. He tossed the bag into the backseat with Michael and Calum and stared out into the distance with a scowl. 

“Less than a hundred,” he sighed, hand hitting against the dashboard in anger. “What the fuck are we going to do with less than a hundred dollars?” He was pissed at the outcome making the rest of the boys sink back in their seats in sorrow. 

“No one leaves this damn place and if they came to visit they’re in and out.” Luke commented, his hand came up to rub at his facial hair. 

“Luke’s right. Besides this was our first time we can’t expect to get a shit load of money on our first try,” Calum said, trying to brighten his best friend’s mood. He had moved on to eating the ice cream, sounds of him licking the milk treat came from the backseat and between his words. Silence overcame them and Luke made his way back to Freddy’s. It had somehow gotten colder now that it was reaching the hour of 11pm. Luke parked the car far in the back and they all exited the car. Hearing that they only made less than a hundred dollars put them boys into a somber mood. Their feet dragging against the ground as they entered the strip club. As usual loud music was blasting throughout the building and half drunk men sat around a stage ready for the next girl to come out. The boys weaved their way through the crowd and found themselves back inside the basement. 

The plopped down onto the worn out couch and sighed in exhaustion. “What do we do now?” Michael questioned, eyes landing on the cash Ashton had poured out onto the coffee table. They shrugged at his question and began to crack open cans of beer. 

‘Split the money up as equally as possible,” Luke muttered, lifting his dad hat and running his hand through his hair. The robbery, though a success, had also become a bust. Ashton was the most upset about the whole situation mainly because it was his idea to rob a bank in the first place. The other three boys could have just told him it was a dumb idea if they didn’t agree. But they had agreed. Being convinced enough that they needed to get more money. Now that they’ve tried their first gig and only made little money, Ashton was worried they’d want to back out. 

“Well we each get nineteen dollars and twenty cents,” Ashton said, dividing the money up. Small groans left the other boys lips. they had only made seventy-six dollars from the job. Their high spirits were now at a low. 

“You know what we could do?” Calum said, catching the guys attention. “Let’s go get something to eat and think about the next place we’re going to hit next. We’ll go over everything this time: how much foot traffic there is, the amount of money they get in. We study them. One more test run until we hit the bank,” 

“Haven’t you eaten enough tonight?” Michael joked making the other two boys laugh. Calum laughed along with them, and soon they became quiet. After a few seconds they all gave each other looks and silently nodded at the new plan.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 30

Long night, early morning

Character(s): dark!Bucky, dark!Steve, too

Masterlist

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

In this chapter: drunkenness, some morning sex.

Summary: The reader tries to cope with her new bonds.

Notes: Hey hey, already chapter 30! I hope you all enjoy this one. There is both a dash of plot and smut so hopefully it hits everything for you. I am so excited! Only three full chapters left and then an epilogue...we’re almost there, boo!

As usual, if you are so inclined, please reblog and or reply with your thoughts!! or even inbox me! I’m friendly. <3

I’ll see you in the next one. :)

The moving truck was a farce. Without your furniture, you really didn’t have much. No point in bringing dishes, Bucky had those. Linens; he had those too. Wall hangings and sentimental things, oh those would go to storage. You doubted you’d ever see those again. And your clothing fit nicely in a couple boxes, your laptop in its bag; one of the few possessions you were allowed to keep. He said everything else was easily replaceable. He didn’t realize that you had worked hard to collect this life as meagre as it was. As usual, he didn’t care.

You followed him in your car to his building and spent much of the night bringing up boxes before he left you to return the rental. When you were finally alone, you crossed your arms and looked around the immaculate condo. It must’ve had quite the hefty lease. You felt lost there. You didn’t belong there. He had taken from you the last vestige of your former life. The last sliver of independence. You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, your bag vibrating atop the small table just beside the elevator. You went to it and took out your phone, no messages. Your nerves piqued and you shoved your hand deeper inside, past the small hole in the lining and dug out the burner. You flipped it open; ‘Hello?’ The single text message blinked at you.

Your finger hovered over the keypad and you tried to think of what to text back. You couldn’t explain it all like this and you couldn’t chance Bucky surprising you and discovering your secret. You ran your thumb along the plastic edge and finally set to keying in your response; ‘I’m in trouble. I’ll message you when it’s bad. Can’t explain now. Be ready to leave. Love you.’ You hit send and waited for the answer; a single word: ‘Canary’. It was the safe word your mom had set when you were young to keep you from getting in cars with strangers. You sent back the arranged response; ‘Sparrow’. You waited and the phone buzzed again; ‘I love you, Y/N. Be safe.’

A tear rose and your nose tingled, you couldn’t cry. Not here. You turned the phone to silent and hid it in your purse once more. It would be foolish to chance Bucky hearing it and searching it out. You knew him; there were no boundaries, especially in his territory. You hung your purse on one of the hooks on the other side of the elevator and slipped out of your heels. They had done a number on your arches during the move. You walked tenderly to the bar and opened the mini-fridge hidden behind it. You made yourself a gin and soda, watching the bubbles rise as you rounded to the other side of the bar.

You sat down on the sofa which faced the windows, staring out at the car lights and haze of apartments along the skyline. You swigged from the gin, the cityscape blurring before you. You rose to mix another drink, reclining on the chaise as the distant noise of traffic lulled your senses. A third followed, mostly gin as you emptied the can of soda. You dozed off with the empty glass on the floor beside the couch, draped over the cushions as your mind floated over the city.

You stirred at the whoosh of elevator doors, followed by quiet footsteps. A shadow appeared before you, your eyes opening only a slit in your daze. The world was spinning and it felt rather cozy. You were lifted, resting against a broad figure as you were sat up on the sofa. You recognized Bucky’s voice before his person, your vision finally clearing enough to see. You hiccuped as you leaned heavily against him. 

“You should go to bed,” He said.

“I’ll sleep here,” You slurred, trying to wriggle away from him.

“No,” He tightened his arm around your waist and lifted you to your feet. You swayed and he sighed with irritation. “I see you found the bar alright.” You giggled and he shook his head. “Maybe you should start taking it easy on the alcohol.”

“Maybe you should fuck yourself,” You uttered, the fear smothered by gin. “I don’t wanna sleep in your bed.” You tried to pull away from him but he merely forced your feet across the hardwood. “I don’t wanna be here.”

He growled but said nothing, guiding you away from the window and into the hallway. You reached out and grabbed a frame from the wall, throwing it clumsily against the other. Glass shattered as a dent was left in the drywall. “Fuck your painting.” You made to reach for another and he caught your arm. He pushed you against the wall, his hot breath seared you as he glared down at you.

“Let’s go,” He relented and dragged you to the bedroom. He sat you on the bed and started unbuttoning your blouse. You swatted him away and laid back, rolling over so that your back was to him. He huffed again but left you as you were. 

“Have fun at work tomorrow,” He said dryly, “Early morning’s going to fun, isn’t it?”

“Whatever,” You grumbled into the pillow, smushing your face against it as the drowsiness returned to you. You heard his footsteps fade away from you and sunk into the mattress, reaching out to the solace of sleep. It was the only respite you had left to you.

You woke in the morning, your head heavy and a weight over your middle. You opened your eyes and reached down to move Bucky’s metal arm. Your alarm had yet to sound but you guessed it was almost due. His metal fingers flexed and he grumbled, shifting closer to you so that he was nuzzling your cheek. Your heart sank. How many mornings would you spend like this? Trapped. How many nights would you allow yourself to be debase?

Your stomach gurgled and you groaned. You felt awful. That gin had seemed a good idea at the time but now it was another regret. You had grown resilient. If anything, Bucky had given you that. You had learned to bear a lot, to carry on despite the worst. You felt a tickle along your neck, movement from your side as Bucky dragged his lips along your skin. He was kissing you again. It sparked in you a warmth, a longing for tenderness, and yet it turned your flesh to ice. You wouldn’t let him have all of you; you couldn’t.

You pushed on his arm and grumbled. “I gotta get ready for work,” Your tongue was thick and awkward. The plates of his arm tensed but released you as he fell back with a sigh. You rolled to the edge of the bed, anxious to get away before he changed his mind. As you stood your head spun and you glanced over your shoulder at him. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling as if he meant to go back to sleep. Better for you that he did.

You felt awful. Your stomach roiled from your lack of an evening meal and overindulgence in alcohol. Among the boxes stacked beside the elevator, you found your kit of toiletries and an outfit for the day. You crept back to the washroom, peering in the bedroom as you passed to find Bucky much the same you had left him. You entered the washroom and approached the long counter, the wall it stood against was entirely mirrors. You wondered how many angles Bucky really needed for his morning routine. Perhaps his hair was carefully set as he worked tediously for just the right brooding look. You rolled your eyes and scoffed, placing your clothing on the closed toilet lid and your zip-up bag on the counter.

You paused and looked longingly to the shower. You didn’t have enough time. You removed your blouse and skirt, hanging them over the towel bar and began your usual wake-up ritual. You brushed your teeth, washed your face, moisturized, but today you only sprayed dry shampoo in your hair and ran your fingers through it before pulling it back to hide its oiliness. You were presentable at least. You unclasped your bra and hung it with the rest of your wrinkled clothing and leaned on the counter to untangle yourself from your panties, still unsteady from your hangover.

You focused on your task, head bent and managed to unloop the lace from your ankle but quickly dropped them as you stood and found another looking back at you in the mirror. You hadn’t heard Bucky enter. He pressed himself to your back, completely naked himself, and you felt his arousal against you as his hands settled on your hips. You blanched and gripped the lip of the counter. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Shhh,” He bent and buried his nose in your neck, his metal hand remaining on your hip as his other trailed up to your breast and toyed with your nipple. “I’m leaving today. Solo mission.” He spoke into your skin, “I’ll be lonely.”

You failed to feel any sympathy for him and held back the twinkling of delight in your chest. That meant time to yourself. Away from him. Sure, you’d still be trapped in his place but it was a degree of freedom rare in your new life. His metal hand strayed down, heading for your tender spot. You tried to stop him but he waved away your fingers easily. 

“Don’t be bad, now.” He warned and swallowed back a protest. Better to let him get to it so you weren’t late for work.

His other hand moved from your chest, fingers tickling your spine and pressing on your lower back so that you bent forward, your back arched as you clung to the counter. He found your clit and began to work in swirl around the sensitive bud and you closed your eyes as you tried to suppress your unbidden moans. Your body reacted quickly and you felt yourself growing slick as he explored further, cupping your sex as he pressed the head of his cock around your entrance. You bent more to accommodate him, ashamed of the instinctual motion.

He eased himself inside just an inch at a time, a long groan escaping from him until he reached his hilt. He rolled his hips, his thick cock poking at your cervix. Your legs shook as he stayed there, enjoying the warmth of your walls as they settled around him. He pulled back, keeping only his head inside of you as you opened your eyes. He was watching you in the mirror, you blinked at him as the heat spread across your face and he slammed into you. You braced the counter to keep yourself from falling forward and he thrust again, his flesh clapping loudly against you. He grabbed your elbows and drew you back so that only your hips were against the marble, holding you flush against him as your back arched painfully.

He continued to fuck you and you closed your eyes as his never left your reflection. “Look at me,” He ordered and you eyes snapped open, “Good girl.” He was breathing heavily as he pounded in and out of you. “Fuck, you’re so wet. I can feel it.” You bit your cheeks as you struggled to keep looking at him, the familiar waves rising up your thighs. You bared your teeth as you tried to hold back your orgasm and he smirked. “Go on,” He urged, “Say my name when you cum.” You shook your head and he released an arm to tangle his hand in your hair, holding your head in place, “Say it.”

Your nerves shattered and your climax burst, you cried out, your lips weakly curving in the syllables of his name. He only fucked you harder, ramming your hips painfully into the counter. “Again.” He commanded and you repeated his name. “Again.” You recited it once more, “Keep going.” He prodded and he rescinded his fingers from your hair and searched out your clit again, rubbing you as he stoked another orgasm.

You were gibbering his name as the rapture rained down on you and he grunted loudly. He hissed as you felt hot ribbons exploding inside of you, seeping out around his cock as he rode out his peak. Your chest was heaving as he let you fall forward and you caught yourself on the counter. He pulled out carefully and his come trickled down your leg. You could see his cock in the mirror as it glistened and you covered your face with your hand.

“Be good when I’m gone,” He smacked your ass, “Steve will be checking in on you.”

You swallowed, your throat tightened as he grabbed a towel and wiped away the remains of your lurid activity before retreating into the hall. You exhaled deeply and stared at yourself in the mirror, cheeks rosy, bruises forming on your hips from crashing against the marble countertop. You dreaded having Steve as your keeper but maybe you could use his desire against him.

tags: @they-call-me-le @holylulusworld  @petit-funsize @ladyofmyst @kellyn1604 @thelostallycat @grayxswan @collette04 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @buckycaptspideypool @blackpantherimagines @lilithhellfire @captainfreecandyvan @spaghettirogers @phoenix21love @sathlens @iheartsebastianstan @bethanyzed @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @momc95 @luvmeijii @biasedtittes @thosecikinnn @justballoonfishthings @thepettyavenger @tuyetnhivo 

[antics-pedantic]

RALLY CO. #3: THE RACKETEER PART 3

          Rib-Eye Renzo was valuable. That’s why Don Malvoli holed him up in a hotel whose owner was on their take. Cozy little spot, though hardly luxurious. So he tried to sneak out as often as he could to go shopping for things to help stave off the frustration of being stuck here until the job was done. Malvoli’s thugs were his security, but Renzo knew ways to convince them into relaxing their guard.

          “Mister Renzo! Whatcha getting’ us today?”

          The neighborhood kids were set to heckle him again. But Renzo didn’t mind: For a little pocket change he’d buy them some candy or a small toy. He couldn’t spend too much all at once, but it felt nice to at least do something until this business working for Don Malvoli was squared away. The nearest grocer or butcher shop would provide him with ribeye steaks, the fresher the better. And then he could resume his divining for the gang.

          Just as he was carrying his paper bags of personal things like toilet paper and deodorant—and a lone plastic bag, tied to secure the ribeye steaks within, he bumped into someone who had stopped by to purchase the latest newspaper from a corner stand run by a teenager.

          “Oh! Dreadfully sorry, my man. Allow me to help you.” said the fellow Renzo bumped into.

          “Aw! I’m sorry, I shoulda been payin’ attention. Real lousy and lout-like I was—what.”

          Renzo perked up when he recognized the famous occult detective, Solomon Callahan! Did that mean that Callahan was onto him? And that Rally Co. bunch that had come back—he’d heard of them! And how they fought ferociously against fiends, despite being new to the adventuring scene.

          “Something the matter, my friend?” said Solomon. The older man couldn’t place what it was, but he tried to maintain a calm appearance. Solomon had no intention of frightening Renzo. In fact, the occult detective wasn’t even looking for him.

          “Here, you dropped your ribeye steaks! Fresh looking cuts, you’re a lucky—”

          But mid-speech, Renzo had just stood up and started jogging away, terrified. Solomon took up the groceries and hurried after, confused but determined to ask what was bothering the poor man.

X

          “Ya told me you wasn’t followed!” exclaimed a woman in a fancy vest, and shirt with folded up sleeves. One of Don Malvoli’s captains: Menace Melanie, as she was called.

          “Get off my back, Mel!” sputtered another gangster, who had tied a bandanna around his mouth. “It was a whole blasted chase! And look!”

          The lowly gangster gestured to his car: Three other enforcers, all knocked out.

          “If I hadn’t taken the wheel and covered my mouth… You shoulda caught a whiff of that juice! They had these fancy pellet-capsule things filled with the crap. Each shot enough to lay out my boys. I ways swayin’ through traffic just catching the secondhand… gas!”

          “Well whaddya waiting for?!” bellowed Melanie, before waving to a few other goons to grab their weapons. “They’re gonna crash this joint real soon! So we gotta nix ‘em before all our product and operations in this neighborhood get busted!”

          “No, I mean—there it is now!”

          Melanie turned to see some of the pellet-capsule things colliding with the wall: She’d just lost a couple more guys to these things, as Felix and Tycho came charging in.

          “Prepare ta be blasted!” bellowed Tycho, letting loose with a barrage of impellets. The remaining gangsters let loose with their own weapons, as impellets and bullets flew every which way.

          “I’ll do the blasting, pintsworth!”

          Ez wasn’t far off, flicking the cap off of a test tube and lobbing it forward to create a small explosion.

          “They missed us! We’ve got ‘em!” cried a gangster.

          “You idiot!” screeched Melanie. “It’s a smoke bomb!”

          Melanie stumbled through the smoke, trying to get away when she caught a glimpse of Felix trailing after her. Ez snuck up on a gangster from behind and poured a handful of impellets into their back, forcing them forward and falling into an open crate. Tycho found a ladder propped up against a stack of crates, and began to climb it, before dropping onto a gangster with a body slam.

          “Your number’s up, Mel!” exclaimed Felix, between coughs as the criminal captain struggled to open a backdoor that would have led into the alleyways.

          “I ain’t done yet, you goody two-shoes!”

          Menace Melanie drew a switchblade and thrusted it forward at Felix, who took up her jutte with her free hand and used it to redirect the blade in a circular motion. The lightning fast motion twisted Melanie’s arm and forced her to let go.

          “We want to know about the rising star.” said Felix sternly. “Don Malvoli. Last I heard, the old bosses weren’t stirring up such trouble.”

          “You’re right about that—guy’s a pain in the ass. He had a lot of grief with all the other syndicates. Our old lead, Gramps Toretti took him in on account of the fact Malvoli wouldn’t have made it on the streets on his own as a youngster. But too much pity went around for that little bastard. He had free rein to live comfy. Took some of our… less disciplined people and they all put together a plan. Took out Toretti together.”

          “And now you’re just following him? Isn’t anyone going to stand up?”

          “You don’t get it: He made friends with all the meanest legbreakers, and the saps who run the numbers, balance our business books. All the guys we used to keep in check before he talked Toretti into letting ‘em roll with him. An idiot like Malvoli needs people stronger and smarter than him to buy into his schemes. And if nothing else, Malvoli could sell a sob story. Made all of the slimeballs—even among mobsters, see themselves in him.”

          Felix scowled at the thought. Malvoli might have had a rough life, but that was no excuse for his actions now. The only one he aimed to help now that he had the power to do so, was himself! All others would be his pawns. Loyal to him, but never the reverse.

          “I’ll tell you where he is, if you think you’re tough enough to stick it to him.” said Melanie. “But be warned: He’s turned to some mumbo jumbo and monsters. Another reason why we couldn’t jump him ourselves. But I hear you Rally Co. people got some tricks of your own in the weirdo department.”

          “Quite a way to phrase it, but yes.”

          Felix dragged Melanie back over with her fellows, and the lot of them were bound to a pole with chains found by Tycho. Once Felix had the information she wanted, she nudged the shorter adventurer.

          “I’m going to call Solomon to inform him of our findings. I thought I’d let you know there’d be a cryptid involved.”

          “Any idea what kind?” said Tycho.

          “Hopefully nothing large. I could do without a big monster for a while… That and I doubt its size because I’d have caught wind about the gangs carrying something like that, or using it against enemies.”

          Meanwhile, from a nearby van parked on the curb, a couple of jumpsuit-clad working men were staking out the scene: And In the back, one more of their number keeping a caged beast at bay.

          “They’re boutta go.” said a gangster, adjusting their jumpsuit and cap repairman disguise. “Let that thing out already before they get away.”

          “Youse got it.”

          The third gangster opened the rear doors, and turned the cage to open it: As Felix had suspected, it wasn’t a terribly large cage. But it was spacious enough the nimble cryptid within could move around. Agility was the ally of this one.

          “Hey, is it out yet?!”

          “Don’t scream at it, Agata—”

          But it was too late. The nimble little cryptid reached out a limb and latched onto Agata’s face, becoming a flurry of pain for the two gangsters up front. At least, until one of them could roll down the window in time to allow the cryptid to escape. But by the time they did, their faces looked as if they’d been belted one too many times by a handful of stones and a nightstick.

          “If I was one of them gangsters, Felix,” started Tycho, as the two headed back for the car. “I’d get one of the biggest, meanest jerks I could. And tough luck if they’re too chicken to get a real beasty! In fact, I’ll bet they just up and got an oversized chicken to come after us.”

          But before Felix could respond, the two perked up at a sound: Something hopping along the roofs of the parked cars. Felix would reach into her jacket for a weapon, but by the time she’d fired off a couple of impellets, the approaching aggressor had seemingly vanished. When she turned, she spotted Tycho wresting with something, as the two fell into the shadows of an alleyway.

          “Tycho?!”

          Tycho was swinging his fists, trying to find his opponent, but something caused him to bash his fists into the nearby brick wall. He would have cried out, but the cryptid had its tail around his mouth. It had meant to ensnare his throat, but the stout cryptozoologist was not easily taken.

          “I can’t get a clear shot!” exclaimed Felix. She tried to move in to pry the thing off of Tycho, but he gestured for her to stay back. As Tycho teetered back into the light, she could see just what it was: Some sort of monkey, but the tail seemed to have a stony layer, rendering it a deadly weapon.

          “Mmmph!” Tycho sounded off. Just as Felix watched, Katrina and Ez had wheeled up in the car. Katrina of course, was quick to try and use her telekinesis to tr and remove the cryptid. But as its legs were forced off, it simply latched on with its arms, while its stony tail whacked Tycho over the head repeatedly.

          “Eep!” cried Katrina. She pulled at the arms now. It latched on again with the legs, that club-like tail battering Tycho some more until finally, Katrina got the idea to levitate it by its tail.

          “Tycho! Oh, I am so sorry dear.” said Katrina. “Are you well?”

          But the Irishman was dizzy from the assault. And all he could blurt out was:

          “Slàinte!”

          “I’m almost glad for Malvoli’s rotten luck…” sighed Ez. “Felix being able to intercept Dr. Leistung’s creation, and now Katrina capturing this little nuisance? Otherwise Don Malvoli might have actually had a hypercompetent fighting force.”

        �� “Issa Granite-tailed Howler.” puffed Tycho, holding his head in his hands as he recovered. “They’re not as bad in the wild if ye leave ‘em alone. But this one was steamin’ mad.”

          “Ah, that’s always how it is with distant relatives, you foolhardy orangutan!” said Ez, getting some things from her bag. “Come here, Tycho. Let me see how badly that thing hurt you.”

X

          The next morning, Don Malvoli was at a golf course upstate, outside of the city of Arcadia. But despite his best efforts, he never could seem to get a hole in one… or anything resembling getting his golf ball into the hole. And his instructor had long since been threatened into near silence. Rib-Eye Renzo was driving a golf cart over to Malvoli’s spot, with the third gangster from the night prior—who had disguised themselves as a repairman or some such.

          “Renzo! What gives?! I thought I told youse to stay put!”

          “That’s just it, boss!” cried Renzo. “I ran into Solomon Callahan on the way to getting more divining steaks. And this goomba here says they not only busted Menace Melanie, they caught your cryptid!”

          “What?! But I ordered a big monster!” spat Malvoli, moving for the repairman-gangster with an impotent thirst for blood in his eyes. But Renzo had stepped in.

          “Wouldn’t you eh… rather have me peer into the future? I only got one steak left and it’s been goin’ bad fast!”

          “What? Oh, aw right, Renzo. Keep me updated… They mighta found youse, but I guess you technically ain’t failed me yet.”

           Renzo nodded meekly and took out a plastic bag he’d filled with ice. There was a ribeye steak starting to lose its crimson shade. But he held it up to his eye, as it peered through the round bone, and into the future.

          “Well?” said Malvoli.

          “I see… I see…!” chanted Renzo. Malvoli just stared for a while, before Renzo slapped the steak a bit before putting it back up to his eye. Malvoli himself proceeded to slap Renzo about the face.

          “Whaddya see, wiseguy?!”

          “Gah! Alright, alright! I see lotsa guns firing. Rally Co., and a spectacular ambush!”

          “Is it ours or theirs?!”

          “I can’t see so good no more. This steak’s bit the dust.”

          Malvoli’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head at Renzo’s inability to clarify. But then he just started laughing.

          “That’s good, that’s good! I’m gonna set up an ambush of my own… That way, Rally Co. ain’t gonna get the jump on us! Cause see, we’ll get the jump on them!”

          “Wow. Real swell plan, boss.”

          “Damn right. Now get outta my sight. Get yourself some new steaks!”

          Renzo nodded and scurried back to the cart. But before the gangster-repairman could join him, Malvoli beckoned for him to turn around. And then with a swing, Malvoli walloped the nine-iron against the repairman-gangster’s rump, an anguished cry ensuing as Malvoli forked over some extra money for his golf instructor to help him beat the underling up.

          Renzo had caught a ride back to the city. Took a walk for a while to clear his head, but that did little good for the stress. So it was back to his safehouse to try and relax. He’d go in thirty minutes to get a fresh steak. Working for Don Malvoli was such pressing work—in the past he’d just been counted upon to help win at gambling. Horse races and blackjack at the underground casinos and backroom card games. Still criminal, but Gramps Toretti kept him away from any drugs or death-dealing actions. Easy enough since Toretti put the organized in organized crime. Settled things with conferences between the local syndicate leads before coming to blows. Now, it was like Don Malvoli used him for every little thing. Regardless whether there was blood to be had or not.

And under Malvoli, they went from fencing goods, gambling and embezzlement to plans for heavier drug trafficking, protection and loan sharks, arms dealing, and controlling prostitution with an iron grip. And with that the rival syndicates would step up to try and match Malvoli’s high stakes operations. Renzo felt a little guilty at first—Toretti’s jobs weren’t exactly noble. But now they were taking more money from the neighborhoods and less from the banks or the suits uptown.

          There was a knock at Renzo’s door. One of the thugs guarding Renzo had drawn a pistol, and gone to check: It was some of the kids from down the block. The ones he’d bought candy for whenever he was out.

          “Mister Renzo, you can’t do this!”

          “What?! What’d I do?!” cried Renzo. One of the kids had lunged at Renzo, battering him with their fists to a little over minimal effect.

          “Papa’s store! Your bums wrecked Papa’s store! He never snitched on your gang, and this is how you pay him back?!”

          Renzo shouldn’t have been shocked. But Leonardi’s shop was around as long as Renzo could remember. Renzo himself used to go in there to bring the best ingredients home to cook. And now here was Leonardi’s kid, blind in his desire for bloody vengeance.

          “That’s enough, peanut.” said the guard, ushering the children away. “Get lost before you get hurt.”

          Renzo sat there a while. This had to end. He was privy on Don Malvoli’s schemes. Heck, even out of his good graces he could combine his knowledge of the mob with his divining power. Put an end to this all! But how could he? The police would never trust him. And Rally Co. was crashing as many operations in town as they could, weren’t they?

          “Hey, yer steaks are here. I didn’t know they delivered.”

          “Huh?”

          “Yeah! All classy-like with that suit. At least ya don’t have to worry about going out in public no more for a while.”

          Renzo looked up to see Solomon Callahan as the door closed. He held in his hands a small crystal, of which Renzo caught a glow. It was the sort of arcane stone that alerted one to other mystical powers in the area, the glow stronger the closer the source was. And once the door shut and Renzo had a chance to test one of the steaks, Solomon was certain he’d found the place: The crystal grew even more brilliantly.

          “Mr. Callahan?”

          It was Felix. She had helped Solomon stake the street, and follow Renzo around the area unseen.

          “That fellow you said you needed help shadowing. Is he?...”

          “Not so loud, my young friend. But yes, you were right.”

          Solomon gestured for Felix to follow him outside. They could not linger here, but they also did not depart from this street right away. The more experienced occult detective between the pair of investigators pressed his index and middle fingers to the temple of his skull, and he glanced back up.

          “Do not make a sound. Your bodyguard needn’t know of this commune.”

          “It really was you!” thought Renzo, responding to Solomon’s telepathy. “I’ll come quietly. I’ll confess to everything, but you’ve got to get your Rally Co. bunch to lay off! I want to help bring in Don Malvoli!”

          “Perhaps. But for the time being we need you to stay in his good graces. Can we count on you, Renzo?”

          “Yeah! Youse ain’t gonna regret this none, Callahan. But I should warn ya: After some fortune telling, Malvoli’s settin’ up an ambush of his own.”

          “Where?”

          “Dunno yet. He’s been private with that info. You’ll have to be careful wherever youse guys track him!”

          Solomon looked over to Felix.

          “Felix. Inform the others: Rib-Eye Renzo is with us. But Don Malvoli has prepared an ambush at an unknown time and location.”

          Felix’s eyes widened with astonishment at Renzo’s change of heart. But nodded.

          “I’ll do you one better, sir: I’ll snoop around and find out just what… then we’ll mount our own counter-attack!”

[takanos-love-butt]

World’s Greatest ‘Mary - Sue’

Chapter 1: Case of Curious Kitty Onodera

((Read First:  Prologue))

The next few weeks passed without much incident. Sapphire's editor in chief still hasn't gotten around to even talking with Meiri or Takano like they had suspected...but that could be due to the fact that the cycle was now just starting to 'ripen'. And NO ONE wanted to be around the Emerald department near the end of their cycle.

"Gah...no wonder you guys start to look like crap at the end of every cycle...these authors are terrible!" Meiri said; terrible meaning they're awful with keeping deadlines and drag the editors every which way. Something in which she and other manga departments hardly ever had to face. Partially why people seemed to avoid the Emerald department around this time every month. "Are all shoujo mangaka this bad?" she continued to gripe. Meiri's appearance actually looked better than the boys'...though not by much. Her eyes looked strained and hair starting to look like she hadn't brushed it for a couple of days. She felt disgusting that she had to pile on deodorant and light body spray to cover the fact that she hadn't had time to bathe. Though...judging by the sad state of her other coworkers, neither did they... "I'm even having to sleep in the study...I can't go to bed with my husband like this," comical tears ran down her face. An equally comical vision came to mind as well: It would be of Meiri's husband with tears running down his own face trying to sleep in an empty marital bed while Meiri quarantined herself in the study. "It feels like I'm punishing him,"

"I'm sure he understands though, right?" Onodera consoled. He himself looking tired as fuck.

"I told him what I've heard, though I didn't think it would be this bad. I have to push him away when he wants to greet me with a kiss because I don't want him to smell me. But yes he understands. He made it through me being an author after all...though I was never THIS complacent..." she ground her teeth.

"How I would've loved to be your editor..." Hatori said slamming his laptop shut and shoving it into his bag. "You'd be far easier to work with than this lazy deadline breaking buffoon I have to watch over...Sorry..but I need to see to an urgent matter regarding said buffoon..."

"Take care," Takano called as he usually does when Hatori must storm away to attend to his troublesome author. "I need a smoke," he said getting up and heading to the smoker's break room. Seemed his intake of nicotine went up toward the end of cycles; though it was completely understandable for someone that took on a lot of stress despite it being sorely unhealthy. Takano made sure to ruffle Onodera's hair as he left, causing the newbie coordinator to snap back at him. Not that the editor in chief cared at all and continued on his way.

Meiri blinked at the small display before her. Onodera made it sound like he hated things like that, but the blush and somber look he had after fussing about it told her otherwise. Oh my... the yaoi mangaka smiled to herself. Perhaps working with the Emerald department might be a little more fun than she thought.

/(^x^)\

The past few days have been a little rough on Ritsu. His curiosity got the better of him and he managed to pick up the first 3 books of Meiri's most recent series. Going to Books Marimo to purchase them was even more nerve wracking. He felt far too awkward to ask for it from Marukawa's archive for very good reasons. Thankfully Yukina didn't judge or make a comment on Onodera's choices, though he'd really only met Yukina maybe once in passing.

He did find that Kisa was hanging around there a lot. Dawdling outside as if waiting for someone.

He was still there when Onodera left and even had a small chat. It turned out that he really was waiting for someone but didn't know who. Only when the conversation seemed to stall did Onodera take his leave. Still curious as to who exactly Kisa was waiting for, but since he wanted to hurry home anyway it wasn't the best time to find out.

Onodera really didn't to even sample a bit of his purchase even after he left the bookshop. Mainly because of what he heard of the content. It's not something you should be reading in public and he still had a train ride and short walk to go. He just thanked his lucky stars that Takano didn't have the pleasure of accompanying him home tonight. Being neighbors, going a night without the two of them walking home together was uncommon, but there was times like tonight when Takano would dismiss him early while he attended last minute meetings.

His curiosity nagged him the entire trip home though. Have I ever been so anxious to try a book out like this before? He pondered to himself. The feeling was similar to someone who'd bought a racy book or magazine and tried to hide that fact from his parents or roommates. Even though at 25, this feeling would be pointless, he still couldn't shake the feeling he was about to engage in something naughty. He ran his hand through his mouse brown hair and took his shoes off at the genkan. Normally he'd be found flat on his face about this time here. But for some reason tonight he was oddly full of energy.

He proceeded to take out a bag of cookies and pour himself a glass of milk. Seems this was dinner tonight. Sitting down on his sofa (after clearing them of his clean clothes), he took out the Books Marimo plastic bag with his new prize inside. Title was: Never Getting Older Vol. 1 with his new coworker's name, Uehara Meiri, adorning the front cover at the bottom. This ran for 3 years with it's last volume released just a few weeks ago. There were even some stickers pasted on the cover boasting Yaoi/BL of the year, Editor's choice, etc. He could understand how Meiri would be nervous about being able to put out another story that could top this one with all its notoriety.

Removing the obi, he began to read it. The tale was about two young men going to an all boys academy. Seemed rather cliché at first. Both boys had come from well-to-do families and such. The supposed seme was more a class clown that loved to pick on who appeared was going to be the uke. Going a little further realized the more feminine character was actually in love with his bully. He quirked a brow at the situation he was reading before him, Who'd fall in love with that jerk?

The next chapter would reveal why he's falling in love with him. Seems seme didn't always used to be like that. Also seemed this 'bully' really only gave so much attention to him because he was trying to deny his feelings for the uke, which led to his lashing out at him. But the uke saw right through him. Now it seemed they were in the library where all the barriers were finally broken; the uke, being pent up with such emotion, blurted out that he loved him trying to get the seme to acknowledge his feelings as well.

Wait a minute...Why do I get a sudden sense of deja vu? Onodera had this sinking feeling in his stomach. But decided to press on anyway. The last chapter of Vol. 1 was the one that made him light up like a red traffic light. Th...they're gonna...do it in the library? This was bringing back some rather daunting memories that settled in the far recesses of his mind until now. IS THIS A THING FOR STUDENTS TO DO?! LIKE A FANTASY OF SOME SORT?!

Of course referring to his own encounter in the library all those years ago. The parallels were uncanny. But now Onodera was getting a sense of what the other was thinking when they decided to consummate in the library. A feeling like, they couldn't hold their raw passion in anymore and he desperately needed the uke's comfort right then and there.

"She writes a desire that builds up to such a hot intimacy that means everything and not just lust...Sex that speaks of love, longing, and trust as if it were the greatest blessing between a couple," Kisa's words from the beginning of the month came back to him then.

"Could...could that have been...what Takano-san was thinking back then?" No...this was just in manga...right?

His heart then began to pound. It pumped so hard he could hear it in his ears. It was his own misunderstanding of Takano's true feelings that broke them apart ten years ago. He honestly didn't know how Takano felt, but now by just reading his coworker's most honored work, he sees into what Takano must've really been feeling back then. Granted their situations were much different, but it still drove the point all the way home.

He continued reading through this sex scene. A scene so full of passion through which it was brilliantly...drawn. Onodera could feel heat rising to his face and lightning surge down to his hips. He saw the seme pleasure his uke in such a manner that his own body began to burn. He reached a scene where the seme tweaked uke's nipples and Onodera could vividly picture the many times Takano did the very same for him. The places Takano touched him burned with even MORE fervor now. Seeing it clearly illustrated and spelled out for him like this made him resonate with the uke. Even down to the blush and losing all senses including common. Almost as if he could literally see himself in that manga.

Uh oh...this is bad... Onodera's heart couldn't stop its racing and pounding. It wasn't long before he realized just how excited he was. The vivid images were stained in his head and they began to go wild. "...I ...I should stop now," he said as he closed the book marking his place with a book marker. He was actually almost done with the first volume anyway. He couldn't understand it, but raw feelings were bubbling up in him after being dormant for a long time and this little first time manga editor was getting more than he bargained for. "Gah, enough...I'm going to bed..." he tried to shove everything back into the recesses of his brain.

It was only when he stood up did he remember there was a part of his body that was craving attention at the moment. "Great...," Onodera said bringing his hand down, shifting to make it more comfortable. A cold shower seemed far too painful to bear at this point. He then blushed at the only other option.

Onodera could hear his heart more clearly as he went to his bedroom drawer to acquire a bottle of lube. He'd never admit in a million years that he kept it there in the case that Takano decided to force his way into his home again. Peeling off his shirt and pants, his mind raced as he was reminded that it's been such a long time since he's done this by himself. His member sprang forth eagerly as he released it from its cotton confines. Taking the lube and warming it in his hands, he began to set to work rubbing out his little 'problem'.

The vivid imagery crowded his mind again. His head started to feel fuzzy. He was even being stubborn in trying NOT to think of Takano...but who else was he going to think about? It just wouldn't work any other way! It wasn't long before he gave up trying to fight it and Onodera's bedroom was now being filled with his sounds of ecstasy as he pumped. Small moans escaped him as now he couldn't do anything but think strictly of Takano and their time in the library. Then the image would shift to a memory of ten years later being sucked off in his own genkan...then making love in Takano's car. All these memories he tried to shove away as being bad and trying to forget them. But it felt too good to ever forget them right now. Not that he'd ever admit that of course.

"A-ah...Takano-san! Nnn!" he cried as he released.

/(^x^)\

Takano sighed heavily as he finally made it to the final steps leading to his apartment. He stepped into his door and put down his bag. He actually had something he had to tell his neighbor...even though said news could wait til morning. But this was Takano and he liked to have any excuse to bug Onodera. I'll just ring his bell once just to see if he's still awake, if he doesn't answer I'll leave him be...

With that he strolled down the hall to 1202. Before even touching the doorbell, he heard a yell come from within. "Onodera?" this made his heart jump and he hit the doorbell actually starting to gain concern. He then heard movement in the form of rushing about. "?"

When Onodera answered his door, he seemed out of breath. "I...I was just seeing if you were still awake," Takano clamored for his loss of words. "Are you okay?"

"Oh...um yes..." Onodera responded with what looked like a nervous look on his face.

"Are you sure? Your shirt is inside out...as well as backwards," come to think of it. It looked like he'd hastily thrown some clothes on from Takano's point of view. His pants were even undone.

"Eh? ...Ah!" Onodera shot as he looked down. "I...I was in the bath!"

"Liar, your hair is still oily. And you're not exactly wet..."

"Erm..um.." normally Onodera could respond with a snarky remark and try to tell him off. But he...just couldn't find it in him at the moment. Instead he gave a look that was reminiscent of the young, nervous, kawaii little bean that Takano once knew.

"Are you sure you're okay? I thought I heard you yelling..." Takano asked a bit more perturbed at this point. Why does he look so nervous? He's only talking to me... It was then all pieces were coming together. Unbuttoned pants, clothes look thrown on, face flushed, and that all knowing expression that exposed his true feelings for him. Takano closed the space between them putting an arm over Onodera's head against the wall.

"Oi, what were you doing without me?" Takano said in a sultry voice bringing Onodera's hand up to his nose as if to kiss it. This allowed him to catch a whiff of Onodera's essence and lube still lingering on his hand. "Mmm you were thinking of me, weren't you?" Takano said feeling the fire in his own loins.

Onodera had lost the will to fight him back in his own bedroom. He was swept away by his own damning thoughts of Takano. Before he knew it, Onodera was in Takano's bed having his body tenderly lavished by the man in his fantasies.

"Hm? Ah...hhhh…" What did that manga do to me?! I can't fight him! Not that he ever could fight him. The only difference was he had a head start this time.

"I should've gotten off early with you. If only I knew you needed me this badly," Takano's baritone voice purred into his uke's neck helping him back out of his clothes. Kisses going to suckling and back making Onodera tremble with pleasure.

Onodera may have had a head start, but just picturing his little subordinate pleasuring himself was sending Takano to meet him halfway. "You'd have to let me watch one of these days…"

"Sh….shut up…" was all the little blushing tsundere could muster up.

Author Remarks

I think I might be having too much fun here XDD Poor Ricchan! Though I've always wondered what would've happened if they all actually tried a Yaoi just like Nakamura-sensei's herself, don't you? But I suppose that'd be too easy and would probably cause an early end to the story ^^;; Next target might just be Takano! Let's see how many curious kitties I could make out of them! Stay tuned!