#it's so much extra money to have to sink into a car that's almost twenty years old and not that good

[magicdyke]

does anyone wanna get me a new car pls

[flowerwrites06]

break my mind’s eye V — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Parts: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Special 

Word Count: 9k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation 

The new routine of embedding her older brother into their lives again became somewhat casual in a fortnight. Though the presence of their ‘guest’ now created a significant rift between the new couple especially when it came to certain less than elegant activities. Not that they did not try of course.

One week into the modified living condition, Jungkook and Belle had been chatting at the bar which now mysteriously had an abnormally good stock of fruit juice compared to actual alcohol. A few instances where the drug lord would pull out a glass of cloudy apple juice creating some suspicious looks from his clients. Apparently Master Jeon was now going on a cleanse from alcohol for a while to prolong his rule over the empire.

The innocent conversation turned to absentminded touches, fingers intertwining and standing dangerously close together so Jungkook could smell her coconut shampoo. One peck turned to a deeper kiss and completely by mistake, Belle jumped on the counter with her now slightly favourite crime lord between her legs, his rough hand sneaking underneath her skirt and his lips nibbling on her neck.

Of course this was the perfect time for Taehyung to decide for a walk finding a criminal fooling around with his little sister while she giggled.

Belle practically flew off the counter almost twisting Jungkooks’ hand and simply put, the two decided to keep it more on the down low next time.

Another week passed and the cartel had been going through some brewing tension with the authorities after a new mayor was elected. Which meant Jungkook barely showed up in the bedroom to sleep and when he did come to the bedroom, it was to work more at the study table.

Belle on the other hand now sat in the designing level of Madame Saito with her large glasses, a red sweater dress to match the confusing mixture of cool and warm. Long hair tied up in a loose bun that lobbed to the side a little when she lowered her head to focus on the little details of the blue hydrangea pattern across white silk.

She approved Seokjins’ offer of becoming his designer for the Sangria House so they could conjoin the Spring Line with the angels’ attire. As much as it ignited a tiny hint of suspicion on the owners’ intentions, Saito advised that it was a powerful business decision. Being a designer of one of the biggest establishments in the city could boost her reputation as a sole businesswoman. Instead of just being Jeon Jungkooks’ fiancée or Saitos’ protégé.

Most of the Spring Line designs were already displayed on mannequins behind her, few of them approved for the runway while others still needed more detailing.

Her thumb already pricked a few times but she grew a good resistance for it at this point carefully creating gradients on the embroidered flowers. Belle quickly learned the importance of clothes in the Sangria House. Even though it was kind of ironic considering the type of establishment.

Angels wearing white fabric were meant to be the ones still in ‘training’, red meant available for entertainment both casual or carnal, lavender represented angels who were trained in more daring acts for entertainment especially ones that were erotic. Then there were the gold angels; extremely qualified in all kinds of entertainment but were already ‘taken’. They were married to someone but still had to entertain customers for a living income. If a customer wanted to spend more intimate time with this angel, it would take the price of a mansion which only one or two clients have ever really paid.

After hearing all this, Belle felt a little silly just calling it a brothel considering how much detail went into orchestrating the whole system down to their clothes.

“Belle!”

Her hand immediately stilled staring up at the figure in a vibrant yellow pantsuit walking towards the working table.

Saitos’ eyes flickered down to the sewing pattern, a smile creeping on her red lips. “I thought you said you weren’t good at embroidery.”

The younger female chuckled nervously poking the needle into the fabric. “Not as good as how you do it.”

“I was forced to sew since I was seven.” She laughed. “Don’t let my younger self being oppressed by toxic femininity stop you from believing you can’t do it now.” She joked, patting her shoulder lightly with her gaze focused on the pattern. “All you need to do is just cut out little loose threads.” Finger gently pointed towards the little threads poking out of the design. “Always make sure it’s smooth. Sometimes when a few parts are imperfect, you can add little extra pieces over top that match the shade of the embroidery design.”

Belle nodded, eyes following wherever Saitos’ finger moved.

Then the senior designer stopped herself. “Oh! Mrs. Jeon is waiting downstairs, she has some news about your engagement.” She straightened up, fixing her blazer before gesturing over to the stairs.

Her words took a moment to sink into her mind before she pulled the hair band out of her bun and tried to make it look presentable again. Glasses placed carefully on the table while the work in progress now supervised by Saito.

Almost rushing down the stairs, Belle came face to face with the woman who wore a body hugging lavender midi skirt and a matching blazer. A smile quickly stretched across her red lips as Boyoung held onto her hands excitedly.

“I’m sorry to disturb you during work but I got too excited.” She giggled, holding up her left hand to admire the ring wrapped around it as if she had never seen it before. “It’s about the wedding.”

Heart raced against her ribcages but Belle tried to keep her expressions calm. “What—what about the wedding?”

“The date, of course!” Boyoung laughed, swinging their arms again. “See we have been saving for Jungkooks’ wedding since his nineteenth birthday. Twenty one is the traditional age to marry in our family.”

Explained the constant suitors Jungkook had to tolerate. Something Belle could relate to. Her parents had been talking about her marriage since she was thirteen because it was a good way for them to gain money. Or to get rid of her. Either way she found herself having one big thing in common with the man. “That’s very nice of you.” Nice was not the proper word Belle wanted to use but Boyoung had proved to the nicest person she met in this new world. She was not going to ruin that safety.

She nodded in acknowledgement. “Since we have more than enough money saved up for the event. I wanted to tell you that we could have the wedding in a month.”

Blood chilled in her whole body struggling to keep her smile up to such a point where it was just her lips curled up while her eyes widened a little. “A month?” She chuckled nervously.

“I know it seems a little quick…” Boyoung admitted while lowering her head for a split second.

Quick was one way to describe a thousand crates dropping right on top of you while you were just working on a pretty dress.

“But it’s good to keep up with tradition.” She nodded mostly to herself, quickly giving her a bright smile like she forced it out of her after a mental pep talk. “And you two already love for each other so it shouldn’t be too hard to fathom.”

Love.

That fucking word again. Everything just came crashing back to her as the ring felt like it was suffocating her finger until it fell off. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t real… those three words swirled around in her mind as she watched the joyful smile adorn Jungkooks’ aunt. It was a game…a deal to protect her family and her own life.

Strange how the two were thinking about the same thing but one had a grey cloud and the other had sunshine.

“Of course.” Belle smiled again a little weakly but the older females’ excitement seemed to mask any suspicion. Admittedly, sparks of interest did fly between the fresh new pair but truthfully it never moved deeper than a sexual attraction. They stopped being rude to each other and grew quite successful in pretending to be a happy engaged couple. Behind closed doors, there were smiles, maybe a little flutter in her belly whenever she saw him but—love?

No.

Love was sacrificing her entire chance at a proper relationship with a happy marriage and children so she could protect Taehyung. What Belle and Jungkook had was not love itself but a consequence of loving someone far too much to lose them.

With that thought, her pounding heart hardened. This was all for the best. The deal is simple. Marry Jungkook and be the perfect wife while Taehyung is given all the resources to recover back to a better version of himself again. What was the point of worrying so much about marriage anyway? Her career showed so much potential, Belle probably would have ended up a single business woman like Saito.

To put it more accurately, this deal was perfect. No one pressured her about marriage, Taehyung was healing and her career moved smoothly.

“So we’ll do it at my mansion then, yes?”

Boyoungs’ voice breaking into the barrier of her thoughts pulled Belle back into reality and she instinctively gave the older another grin. “Yes…your mansion is beautiful, Mrs. Jeon.” She nodded. “It’s the—perfect place for a wedding.” Perfection seemed to be all she could gain at this point.

“You’ve made a desperate aunt very happy.” She joked, patting her cheek. “Now I’ve kept you away from work long enough, we’ll talk soon.”

Belle led the woman across the boutique to the exit where her car awaited, allowing the cool air to ease some of her slightly heated anxiety.

She stood politely in front of the vehicle watching Boyoung climb inside before the driver closed it gently. Though her attention flickered over to something moving on the other side of the street where the park was. Usually filled with children running around, people jogging but her focus directed more towards the bushes fencing the area.

For a quick moment a more sensible side assumed it may have been an animal of some sort merely rustling between the branches.

Though the side that was fully aware of the new gaze on her after the engagement knew better. Animals did not wear black coats neither did they hold cameras pointing right in her direction while trying to look inconspicuous in nature.

At some point Belle suspected the photographer saw her looking into the camera because she saw the figure rush to keep themselves hidden again.

Sighing, the girl gave one quick smile to Boyoung before the car drove away and she tried to fix her attention on her work again.

-

Coffee stained papers flipped and dropped either on the other side of the crowded table or on the floor. Phone rung at some corner constantly while not a single employee had a minute without running around somewhere leaving Namjoon s’ head spinning. On his right were a pile of cases he should be doing according to the captain who insisted that vandals and petty theft was more his specialty. Granted the man could not blame her considering his biggest undercover case went downhill with no leads whatsoever leaving him to be the runt of his precinct for the past year.

He kept a decent aura of respect however, no one really wanted to piss off someone who had been personally trained to cut off important parts in a body.

Taking a sip of his possible fifth cup of coffee, his pile of useless cases forgotten on the side while he stared at the recent pictures sent to him. A few years had already passed with this growing ambition towards finding out how to expose the mystery that was the Jeon Cartel. Apparently each associate took some kind of tight fucking oath which prevented anyone from uttering a single secret about them.

The infamous Jeon Jungkook was a master of words. The golden elite of their city. Contributed to around half of the buildings in the city and factories overseas. Donated near millions of dollars to medical and disaster care.

Namjoon had to admit he was good at what he did. That is until the first drug scandal. One of the factories that Jungkook owned was caught manufacturing cocaine and distributing it to Osaka and Hong Kong. Though quickly swept under the rug when the man had two hospitals built under the guise that it was Jungkooks’ personal apology to the city. His undercover mission which he worked on for months destroyed in two days.

Now the man was left with looking at any recent changes. Anything that so much as leaned the slightest towards suspicion caused his ears to prick up and his eyes peeled.

“You know Pornhub exists, right?” Yoongi spoke in his usual gruff tone, sipping on his espresso while watching over Namjoon s’ shoulder at the pictures he was looking at.

The younger male rolled his eyes continuing to observe the photos taken three days ago. A woman wearing a striking red dress conversing and smiling with the second most powerful lady in the city. “It’s Kim Belle.” Namjoon remembered the name on the newspaper article in front of him. “Seems Jeon Jungkook is getting engaged.” He sighed, brows furrowing slightly.

“Okay…” He nodded walking over to his desk right in front of Namjoon s’ desk. “And that’s our problem because…”

“Well it doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s marriage, it almost never makes sense.” Yoongi leaned back on his chair.

Namjoon moved in to try and keep his voice down since anyone who so much as heard him talk about Jungkook started writing out complaints to the captain. “But why now? He’s been an eligible bachelor for years and all of a sudden, an engagement?”

The older male tried to suppress rolling his eyes. “Probably an arranged marriage then.” He shrugged.

“To a fashion designer?” He winced. “What the hell is he going to gain by marrying a fashion designer?”

“Free suits for a life time?” Yoongi smirked but immediately sighed seeing the warning look on Namjoon s’ face. The man had clearly dedicated his entire livelihood to exposing Jungkook which was something he could never understand. He spent most of his days going undercover and being damn good at it too, exposing all kinds of rings. The Jeon Cartel, on the other hand was a hard ice wall to crack. “Look…you’ve been at this for a long time. At this point if you so much as mention Jungkook, the captains’ just going to let you go on the grounds of insanity.”

“But something isn’t right.” Namjoon emphasized desperately wanting anyone to see under that perfect young man façade Jungkook harbored. “You don’t just get engaged to some random girl, that’s social suicide.”

“Social suicide? This isn’t fucking high school.”

“You know what I mean.”

The two men stayed silent letting the ambient noise plunge through their personal atmosphere.

Yoongi mulled over his thoughts for a moment, watching Namjoon look down at the pictures with a defeated sigh. He understood the passion behind exposing someone who was doing a harmful thing under the guise of righteousness. So many powerful heads still needed to be exposed, unfortunately Jungkook was only a newer one. “Let me see the file.” He curled his fingers in and took the thick file onto his own desk when Namjoon handed it to him.

His gaze fixated on the picture of the woman, who looked around about Jungkooks’ age except with a softness to her as opposed to the other mans’ mischief. There were a couple of news articles that Namjoon collected with that same face plastered all over. A couple of them were positive while others were out to scandalize one way or another no matter how stupid it sounded. “So you’ve never seen her with him before?”

Namjoon shook his head. “Not until a little too recently. It’s like she just appeared out of thin air.”

Flipping through the photos, Yoongi came across one where she wore a brown-ish bodycon dress walking into an establishment. “This is a rehabilitation clinic.” His brows furrowed, interest now piqued a little too much for his own liking.

“You think she’s an addict?”

“Hard to tell. Could be anything.” He muttered, eyes on the picture as he took a sip of his now cooled down espresso. “Maybe she’s visiting.”

“There has to be something weird about this, right?” Namjoon gestured towards the file.

Crime lords taking in beautiful, young wives for no reason was not an uncommon trait but usually those leaders would have a reputation of that sort. Jungkook had been a bachelor from what they knew and rarely found himself in any kind of sex or romantic scandal. Something was going on but much like everything else with this man, it was hard to tell what exactly. “Okay don’t tell anyone I said this.” Yoongi almost whispered now leaning in. “But we have a possible drug bust…thanks to our new mayor, we’ve been getting orders left and right to fish out dens.” He stopped himself for a moment letting a trainee walk past them before speaking again. “The one we’re looking at tonight—few of us suspect that it could belong to Jeon.”

Namjoon shifted in his seat as his heart leaped right up to his throat. Finally those words were coming out of someone else’s mouth instead him saying the same thing like a broken record. More people were seeing the truth. “Where is it?”

Yoongi gave him a warning look now. “Joon…”

“Come on, I’m not gonna follow you.”

“Yeah but this is still a secret bust, alright? Even some of the seniors don’t know about it.” His eyes flickered over to the sides where the older officers were sipping coffee at their desks looking at their computer. About two of them actually reading cases while others watching porn. “The mayor wants a full clean-up.” Yoongi whispered again. “And I mean—full.”

“Meaning…” He pointed to his desk but referred to the whole precinct and Yoongi nodded.

“All our jobs are on the line.” He muttered. “Even the captain…but—this could help us be on the mayor’s good side since they’re trusting us already.”

A light hint of excitement tingled down his spine knowing there was a lead now. While Namjoon would have wanted to accompany the team, the older male had the right idea. The captain did not trust him in this mission. He needed to be subtle if he was ever going to feel the satisfaction of seeing Jeon Jungkook behind bars.

-

Golden rays peeked through the curtains as Belle walked to the vanity with nothing but a crème silk slip and a white robe over top.

The couple along with Taehyung were invited to the Sangria House to celebrate their new business partnership. Apparently the best angels would be readied for their entertainment in the night. Something Belle was not sure she was going to enjoy.

Either way it was always good to look as presentable as possible. The dress code stated that white, red, lavender or gold were not allowed in the establishment for obvious reasons Belle understood now. So with the thought in mind she opted for a deep green velvet dress, a slit for one of her thighs to peek through and one loose strap sleeve that hung off her shoulder smoothly.

The gorgeous dress lay neatly on the large ottoman in the center of the walk-in wardrobe while the woman curled a few undone pieces of her hair.

Deep peach lips and a simple terracotta shaded eye look, Belle briskly made her way downstairs to see how Taehyung was doing with getting ready.

Her older brother had been extremely reluctant in coming to the event but she suggested it would be good to do something other than sitting around. Maybe getting his mind off of any messiness even for a few hours. Still hesitant he silently agreed but Belle had a nagging feeling he was still napping.

Down the stairs as her curls bounced a little in the process, Nana smiled and rushed over to her.

“He’s fine, mistress.” She quickly reassured as they both stopped near the entrance archway.

Belle let out light sigh before chuckling, head lowered for a moment. “Is the suit okay?”

“Very handsome.” She nodded in acknowledgement. “You should be dressed too.”

The younger female hummed before hearing a few voices back and forth as if in argument. Brows furrowed, Belle walked to the other side of the mansion where the second living room was while Nana continued on with her work.

The area was empty but she still heard angered voices coming from the left room. The second living room led two areas. It had a similar design to the first one except instead of a bar, there was another fireplace. Past the couches in the center led to an open archway towards the kitchen on the right while the left was closed; Jungkooks’ home office.

Curiosity and slight concern seeping through her entire body, Belle walked towards the door which in mere minutes opened harshly. A clear air of smoke flowed out into the second living room touching her nostrils and making her wince.

The once angry looking men immediately stopped in their tracks for a moment before waving off the smoke and bowing. “Excuse us, mistress.” One of the older ones acknowledged as they took turns walking past her to the exit. Jongho and another guard led them properly to the door but the womans’ gaze was more on the figure sitting at the chair, rubbing his face.

Entering the office, she closed the door behind her.

His slightly reddened eyes flickered to meet her gaze before lowering his head. “Belle—” Jungkook sniffled, fingers running through messy hair. White shirt a little crumpled, almost half unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It became a usual sight for the man ever since this new election. “Sorry…I don’t usually yell.” He sighed attempting to messily fix up the papers.

Staying silent, feet padded closer to the table and gently took the paperwork in her hands, stacking them neatly with a tap on the edge before placing them back on the surface. “I know. You haven’t slept.”

“Park Chul clearly isn’t planning on sleeping.” Jungkook almost seethed just mentioning the mayors’ name.

Belle moved to stand behind him, hands on his shoulders lightly squeezed the knotted muscles. “That doesn’t mean you stop taking care of yourself.”

He let out a drawling hum, throwing his head back. “You can take care of me.” A soft smile tugged at his lips as her vanilla scented perfume graced his nostrils. For hours Jungkook had been forced to tolerate the tobacco, weed and alcohol, it felt nice to have someone pleasant around him again.

“What if I’m not here?” Another million dollar question that silenced them both for a few minutes. Even the woman grew uncomfortable at how heavy those words were. Their deal was perfect. But what about twenty years from now? Fifty years? What if Jungkook being married didn’t matter anymore?

“You’ll always be here…won’t you?” He stared up at her.

Belle stopped massaging him at this point, mind crowding with unwanted thoughts and unanswered questions. Too much to think about in such little time. “I made a promise.” She smiled. “I’m gonna keep it.” Seemed the best reply in the pile of things she truly wanted to say to him except there was no time to worry themselves over delicate details.

Jungkook chuckled a little under his breath as the vanilla scented goddess now moved to sit on the table in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be dressed by now?”

“I could ask you the same question, Mr. Jeon.” Her eyes flickered up and down his body.

Fingers accidentally pushed her robe aside to let those soft thighs peek out in display, the feeling of it under his pads allowed for a sense of relief to wash any stress down. All she had to do was sit here and Jungkook felt instantly revived. Even the scent of alcohol and tobacco faded away with her presence bringing him nothing but light bliss. “I like this outfit.” He smirked, hand tracing down her leg so it sat on the arm rest, slightly caging him in much to his pleasure.

Belle smiled placing her other leg on the left arm rest giving him a small peek of her satin black panties. “Do you want me to wear this outfit?” She purposely softened her voice.

The sweet sound tingled down his spine, head turning to kiss the inside of her thigh.

Eyes closed feeling each kiss lurking closer to the thin barrier hiding the womans’ core. Leaning back a little, she buried her fingers gently in his thick hair. Grip tightened when Jungkooks’ lips finally pressed against her panties. “We don’t have time for that.” She spoke breathlessly.

“We’ll make time.” His voice rasped.

She felt her panties being pushed to the side, exposing her core to his hot breath before his tongue licked a stripe up from her slit to her little nub. Legs jerked a little almost locking her thighs together but one of his hands kept one of them still. Tongue lapped on her throbbing clit making it hard to keep herself steady without knocking over the desktop computer behind her; light moans melted out of her like a long unsung melody. A little hesitant but she had to sing it regardless. “Dai—”

Her voice made his heart flutter immediately concealed with a light groan that vibrated against her core. Lips wrapped around the sweet bundle of sensitivity and suckled, relishing in the feeling her plump thighs pressing against his ears.

Belle almost lost her balance as she pushed the keyboard away to the side. The familiar warmth constricted around her lower belly now welcomed itself, moans fading into desperate whimpers to reach her orgasm.

Feeling her hips jerk against his mouth, Jungkook breathed out through his nose not leaving a single break as he pushed her to her release. Clit throbbing between his lips, he shook his head.

The rough pressure torturing her bud as she drowned in the warm explosion seeping through every vein, body trembled in bliss. When Belle felt his tongue still moving causing her to jump a little from the sensivity as she pushed his face away softly. “No more.” She giggled, still trying to catch her breath.

Jungkook kissed it once more with a cheeky smile before standing up.

She wiped off the glisten on his chin with the fabric of her robe and pressed a light kiss on his lips. “What about you?” Her hands pulling at his belt but he held onto them.

“It’s okay.” He whispered, giving her a reassuring smile. “I just needed a little treat.”

Belle slapped his chest softly not able to get rid of the blissful smile gracing her features. “We should get dressed now.” She muttered even though their hands were still slowly caressing each other.

“We should.” Jungkook pushed away the loose curl over her eye.

Whether it was the ecstasy still flowing through her or a genuine feeling from within, the woman found herself in complete comfort under his touch. Maybe something more than just sexual attraction. Not that it could ever be anyway, there was no real use in true feelings for something false. Despite the thought in mind Belle smiled up at her clever captor turned fiancée and felt tingles run down her spine at a mere kiss on her cheek.

-

Sangria House reeked of luxury from its royal purple and gold tapestries, crystal lamps with warm lighting, scent of wine mixed into vanilla while the inside adorned with colorful angels entertaining their patrons. Since the house colors were not allowed to be worn by visitors, many of them opted for the classic black which made Belles’ deep green velvet dress stand out a lot more than she expected.

Arm hooked onto Jungkooks’ while Taehyung walked with them on her left, the three were welcomed by an angel with white attire. She bowed, smile gracing her features before leading them past the main lobby of entertainment where a few angels in white played instruments on the small stage.

Upon observing, a lot of the members in the lobby only wore white while some red ones sat in a few corners.

Belle assumed the higher ranking ones would have more private sessions or maybe there were certain times where each angel arrived. So many things still left unanswered for the workings of the Sangria House but it did not change the fact, it was a quick profit hungry establishment exploiting vulnerable young people who were desperate for a living.

The young angel slid open a door to an empty private room. Table full of light snacks and three cushions for them to sit on. “Mistress Angel and Master Jimin will see you shortly.” She bowed again until her knees touched the floor waiting for them to enter the room so she could leave respectfully.

Jungkook sat in the middle while Belle and Taehyung took each side waiting patiently in a small period of silence.

“Was bringing me to a brothel really necessary?” He glared more at Jungkook even though Belle was the one who received the invitation and accepted it for the business deal.

“If it were the brothel, I would’ve been groped at least a good three times by now.” The woman replied simply knowing this establishment in particular had extremely strict rules and a different crowd of clients.

The comment silenced her brother almost instantly.

Mere minutes passed and the door slid open again bursting with bright colors. A woman with long brown hair wearing a gold georgette dress with a matching overcoat giving her the look of royalty. In a similar fashion, a grey haired male stood beside her wearing a similar design except silk lavender. Walking closer to the table, they both bowed down to their patrons adorning those award winning smiles.

Taehyung felt like something clipped his tongue when saw the angels. The ones in white were pretty but this house owner had some real gems hidden under his sleeve. Especially the lady in gold who perched herself next to him, smiling like a princess from a fairytale that the man seemed rude smile a little back.

“Welcome to the Sangria House. On behalf of Mr. Kim, we’d like to thank you for accepting this momentous partnership, Madame Belle.” She smiled at her and gave a little bow of acknowledgement. “Jimin and I will be your hosts for this evening.”

Jungkook smiled kindly and the chatting began quite smoothly since the angels were extremely talented in holding an air of entertainment. Especially these ones. Getting a lavender and a gold coated angel were not regular feats and only done if the patron was an important one to impress. The last time he saw two of these angels together in one room was when he was first anointed leader of the Cartel but it was all paid by his father and mother. Belle checked that box without any aid. He would be jealous but a jolt of pride burst through him without knowing.

“Your name is Angel?” Taehyung asked, expression softened so much he could resemble a cloud.

Angel giggled under her breath while serving his tea. “It’s a little strange.” She placed the teapot down glancing over at Jimin who was chatting along with Belle while Jungkook listened to her. “We were called faeries before but—Mr. Kim changed it after I was given the gold coat.” She gestured to her outfit.

Taehyungs’ brows furrowed looking down at her dress hoping the princess would explain why the change in her outfit was so important. Instead the criminal sitting in the middle began speaking.

“When an angel is given the gold coat, it signifies that she’s take—” Jungkook cleared his throat. “Apologies…she’s married.”

The princess nodded with a reassuring smile.

“Married.” Taehyung breathed out, feeling like a grey cloud engulfed him into a cold hug. Of all the things…of all the angels he had to melt in front of the one who was married.

Belles’ smile disappeared hearing Jungkooks’ correction. The smallest tiniest detail managed to snap a nerve that had been long hidden with her own pride and stubborn strength. He was wrong. Angel was taken. No real, true spouse would continue to let their wife be used as a sensual commodity for extra cash and this gold angel definitely brought in a lot from what she learnt. No real, true husband would manipulate someone and threaten her family just to keep up a good appearance as a married elite. This was far from being married. Marriage was something else entirely and these suited pigs would not ever understand the meaning. It was a business transaction. Her body deflated a little feeling that nudge of anxiety once again bubbling up but she quickly gave Jimin a kind smile.

Jimin knew fake smiles from a mile away but it did not take an expert to realize Mr. Jeons’ comment changed something in the gorgeous designer. Though he had to admit, she was good at holding one like she had been giving conveniently fake smiles for a while. He did not know if he should be impressed or terrified. Either way it seemed the perfect to initiate the next stage of the evening that Seokjin planned out for them. He gently touched Angels’ arm to give her the signal before speaking once everything was quiet. “Mr. Kim has private sessions booked for each of you. I will be taking Madame Belle to another room and Mr. Jeon is expected in a meeting with Mr. Kim.”

It might have sounded like Jungkook was forced to work while relaxing but he never really delved into the antics of the Sangria House. When he was a bit younger and curious, he did book a red angel occasionally but now nothing really compared to what he already had. Though something he did not like was Jimin offering his hand to Belle. “You don’t have to do that.” He muttered to the woman.

“It’s okay.” Belle spoke a little coldly, accepting Jimins’ hand as they walked out of the room.

Another angel wearing white walked into the room to escort Jungkook to wherever he needed to go but Taehyung did not really care where. All he could focus on was the fact he could now be alone with the gold princess. “Can I ask who you’re…married to?”

Angel smiled. “No one really asks. They like keeping my truth as far away from the confines of this room to make their evening more enjoyable.”

“What if I don’t want to do that?”

“Then you’d be the first.” She took a polite sip of her tea. “Is there something in particular you wanted me to do?”

“No!” Taehyung cleared his throat, cheeks heating up. “Uh—no, I—Talking is fine. I haven’t…spoken to anyone new in a long time.” He chuckled mostly to himself. Most of the friends he had left him in the dust the more he found his comfort in other things. He talked to Hoseok a lot but only when a transaction was involved, the nurses were anything but just highly paid nannies and Belle had a life of her own to lead. Sitting in this room now with the soft-spoken princess, he quickly felt how lonely he truly was.

“Am I doing a good job?” She giggled seeing the little sags under his eyes that resembled she saw in the mirror this morning.

He nodded without hesitation. Her mere presence seemed to bring a warmth in his belly, reassuring him that he was not lonely. That everything was okay even just for a moment.

-

The room Belle was escorted into had a similar structure to the previous one except instead of plain walls, there were cherry blossom designs giving the area a subtle pinkish hue. She walked inside and sat down on the cushion this time sitting in the middle while Jimin perched himself on the other side so they faced each other. “So…why the private session?”

Jimins’ eyes flickered up to the female while he served the tea before smiling. “Mr. Kim wanted each of you to fully enjoy the services we can provide.”

Her heart bounced a little at his words. “Ser—Services?” She breathed out a small chuckle. “What kind of services?”

The lavender adorned male could not help but giggle at her adorable reaction. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything unless you ask me to.”

“What if you don’t want to do what I ask?” Belle tilted her head. Not on her life would she ask Jimin or anyone to do anything disgusting for her own benefit but she was curious just how put together this establishment actually was.

He smiled. “It is my job to make you happy, Madame Belle.”

Clearly not that put together. “It would make me happy if you just called me Belle. ‘Madame’ is only used for senior designers.”

Jimin bowed. “Apologies—Belle. I looked at the designs you sent in for the House…you could be a senior designer if you wanted.”

Belle giggled lightly trying not to look too proud of herself since as Jimin said, it was his job to make her happy. “Thank you. Let me know if you want me to change anything.”

“That’s not really my decision but I think it’s perfect just the way it is.” He shrugged. A small moment of comfortable silence passed through them before Jimin spoke again with a careful thought. “Forgive me for asking, Belle…but–I saw you were very upset hearing Mr. Jeons’ comment.” Every word sounded so carefully calculated Belle wished she could speak like that in front of strangers. “Part of the responsibilities in Sangria House is to detect signs of…domestic disturbances. Our patrons tend be loose tongued which helps us find out if there is anyone who needs help getting away from something like that.”

“Oh—” She tried her best to hide how much her heart almost cracked her ribcages when it leaped in both fear and a strange excitement. “You don’t have to worry about all that.” Belle shook her head with a smile. Though a small lump still grew in her throat at how Jimin spoke his concerns despite barely knowing her. “Sangria House tracks domestic disturbances?”

Jimin nodded, smile softly adorning his ethereal features. “Most of our angels are from toxic environments.” He took a breath to say something as he glanced behind him. Then he leaned in with a smaller voice. “Angel…the golden lady used to be the mistress of a powerful club owner. I—I was the one who found the signs after a private session.”

Belle swallowed down the painful lump. “Who did she marry then?”

He sighed. “Since the man was so influential, he wouldn’t just let anyone marry her.” Jimin shook his head. “So—Mr. Kim offered his hand. Well…Angel trained five times as intense compared to the other angels so her status as a gold member would be valid.”

What little hope Belle had of the Sangria House being somewhere of help quickly dwindled down back to her original opinion. Angel moved from one controlling person to another. Maybe Seokjin was not an abuser of any sort but it did not change the fact she became a commodity just so she could be free from abuse. A ‘better’ life but did that make it a good life?

Though Jimin looked quite convinced that this was a righteous path for the House.

He could not exactly be miserable about it like she was since he had to actually live through all these routines and schemes.

Same way Belle couldn’t be upset about her deal with Jungkook otherwise it could make her insane with misery. Every time the small hint of reality hit her, she felt like her whole body was drowning in it all. Something so wrong damaged the entire structure of her future. If soulmates existed Belles’ would be left waiting or they would run to someone else they were not truly meant for.

“I’m sorry…I was supposed to entertain you, not make you feel awful.” Jimin chuckled nervously, shifting in his seat.

“No, no—” She shook her head smiling at him more genuinely this time. Her hand unintentionally slid closer to his as a way to comfort the angel. “Please, I—like talking about these things sometimes. It feels—real.” Her genuine smile faded into something a little sad but it still rang with truth. “I need a lot of real in my life right now.”

Jimin hummed in acknowledgement, one of his fingers lightly tapping against her hand. “Well if you ever want to visit again this House will always be open to you.”

Regardless of what she thought about this place, that was the first time anyone ever gave her words of comfort since the ‘engagement’. “Thank you, Jimin.”

-

“We’ve been in casual dealings for a long time now, Mr. Jeon.” Seokjin walked towards his desk after bringing out a wooden box from his shelf and placing it on the dark wooden surface. The lighting in the office had been a lot more dim with rarely any heavy decorations save for a few plants. This place clearly was only meant for business. “But I feel this new project may be able to solidify a stronger partnership between the two of our entities.” He tapped the closed box.

Jungkook sat on the chair in front of the desk, eyes fixated on the box before flickering up to the older male. “We don’t—share the same supplies, I’m afraid, Mr. Kim.” He shook his head a smirk lightly playing on his lips.

Seokjin chuckled settling down on the chair. He flicked the gold latches on the box and pushed the lid open before sliding it towards the young lord. “I believe you do share a similar interest for this kind of product.”

Giving the house owner a look of apprehension, he slowly leaned in and peeked into the box where he saw an indigo shaded stick almost resembling a cinnamon stick. On the left was a small bag of the same colored powder and then a liquid version in a vial. “What is this supposed to be?”

“There isn’t a name for it yet.” He shrugged. “But from I’ve asked a few of my white coats to try this product out and see the effects.”

Jungkook picked up the liquified version to examine it closer, little pink glitters seemed to shine through in the light making it look like some potion from the ancient times. “And? What were the results?”

“At first the usual, loss of inhibition maybe a little sense—then…we have increased sex drive, high performance and concentration ability, pain relief and for some people, a serious case of the giggles.” Seokjin rested his elbows on the table with his fingers intertwined with one another.

“Side effects?” He met the older males’ gaze, placing the vial back in the box.

“Didn’t think you were kind of man to worry about that.” He smirked.

“I didn’t get this kind of success by selling bad drugs, Seokjin.” Jungkook smiled with a slight bitter hint.

Seokjin sighed before nodding. “Of course—unfortunately, this drug is new and not exactly made by creators of your Cartels’ stature. Side effects included heavy addiction, loss of coordination, extreme mood swings, excessive coughing with blood traces, insomnia, sensitivity to light and cold and nightmares.”

“So nothing then?” He joked, raising a brow. “It’s going to take work to ensure at least lessening those side effects by half.”

“I take it that’s a yes on the partnership.” The corner of his lip twitched up a little.

Many club owners usually turned to him and his manufacturers for new and improved drugs that surpassed the traditional ones. Though in Jungkooks’ opinion, the originals always sold the most because they were effective for years. Except brothel or teahouse owners never really dabbled into the interest of his line of work. “Why the interest in this new field?”

Seokjin smiled leaning back on his chair. “I’m a businessman, Jungkook. There’s no field I don’t want to get into. It has been an interest of mine for years since many herbs and substances have yet to be discovered. Don’t you ever wonder if there was something out there in the world that could bring you more profit…more glory than your predecessor?”

Jungkook sat silent as the question lingered in the air for a few moments. Being so young and handed the cartel without his fathers’ death caused a disagreement amongst many associates. Despite the fear harbored by whoever crossed his path, the young man was always on the path to better himself in proving that he was the most capable and most influential. There was no room to be soft or complacent in this business.

“Also the lack of knowledge for this product may prevent any…mishaps from our new beloved mayor.”

Those clever words made his ears prick up quicker than he liked. A substance with similar effects to the originals but the look of none of them. If they succeed in perfecting it then maybe it would make being discreet that much easier. “I’ll talk about it with my manufacturers.” He spoke trying to be as emotionless as possible. But the prospect of his vulnerable mess of a cartel getting some security was soothing.

-

The sessions and a productive meeting flowed through deep into the dark night until the three were escorted back to their car.

Belle kept her eyes out on the window feeling a light emptiness gut after an angel walked into the room and told their session came to an end. Perhaps it was Jimins’ immense talent in luring his patrons. Whatever it was she had no interest in talking to the men in the car. She felt like her whole being was ripped apart, now she needed a few moments of deep silence to stitch herself back up.

Truthfully the girl did not say anything too detailed to the lavender angel but she never needed to. Somehow he had the talent of seeing her story with a few hints. That alone made her even more reluctant to uttering a single word to her brother or her makeshift fiancée.

Jungkook peeked from the rearview mirror at the woman looking out the window wondering what happened in the private session. Even as they met again in the lobby, Belle had a cold sheet over her to a point where he could feel the chill.

-

When they arrived to the mansion, Taehyung shyly suggested that they should visit the house more often which Belle agreed to with a slightly exhausted smile.

“You looked beautiful tonight.” Jungkook commented watching Belle take off her earrings and necklace, placing them in a black box.

“Thank you.” She replied under her breath, unpinning some parts of her hair relieving the light headache that ensued. Stop acting miserable, Belle told herself. It would only make it worse—her chest could not clench all her life. Her gaze still focused on the vanity, she pushed all her curls over her shoulder. “Could you unzip me?” Belle asked coyly. The woman had all capabilities of unzipping her own dress.

Shrugging the soft shirt off his shoulders, Jungkook padded towards the beauty and stood behind her. Eyes flickered to her reflection in the mirror watching her glow in the golden lights of the vanity. Hands carefully held onto the zip and pulled down tantalizing slow, wanting to stand this close to her as long as possible. The scent of her perfume blessed his nostrils, he had to lean down and nudge his nose against her hair.

Belle couldn’t help but close her eyes, chest rising and falling. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Why did something fake feel so good then? His slightly rough fingers sneaking through the slit of her unzipped dress tracing up her back making her shiver a little. She shrugged off the one sleeve keeping her clothing hanging, nipples now peeking out from the green velvet.

Jungkook kept his gaze on the reflection as his hand reached out to push down the fabric so her gorgeous breasts could be full display. Fingers brushed up her chest before wrapping around her neck and turning her head up, lips devouring hers. Tongue pushed through her teeth not wasting any time exploring every corner of her mouth.

She sneaked through the slit of her dress and rolled her panties down to her thighs. Sneaking her hand behind her, Belle palmed the tightening bulge in his pants feeling him groan into her mouth which only made her moan back. Nothing fake should ever feel this good.

Losing all his sense and patience, he pulled her dress to see her beautiful ass in bare display as she bent over slightly on the table. Jungkook unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down watching Belle cheekily sway that gorgeous peach. No one should be this irresistible. One little tiny move from the woman had his head floating in the clouds. Nails dug into her skin, fingers wrapping around his cock before teasing her slit.

As much as Belle loved his tongue, feeling his hardened tip had her body tingling for more. Heated arousal leaked out of her awaiting core while she pressed her ass against his member silently asking to hurry.

“Did Jimin see this?” He slapped his cock against one ass cheek making the woman hum.

She shook her head looking at him through the mirror. “Only you.” Voice came in a whisper that leaked of a little desperation.

“Only me.” Jungkook muttered, giving her an almost borderline sinister smirk. Hands grabbed at her hips as he stuffed his cock into her pussy without a single warning.

Belle lightly groaned under her breath, nails scratching against the surface of the table. Her wet core swallowed his entire member with a light ache but it quickly faded into a warm filling that she craved for too long.

“Say it again.” He demanded.

She glanced over her shoulder for a second trying to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “Only you.” A harsh thrust from behind had Belle’s body trembling in the best way possible.

“Again.” His voice grew breathless, each thrust snapping with rough need.

“Only you.” Belle moaned out feeling the tip of his cock rubbing against the sweet spot. Arms around her body, chest pressing against her back making his shaft hit deeper and slower pushing through his deprived orgasm. “Only—” She gasped when she felt her sensitive spot get tortured, her legs momentarily losing balance from the sensation.

“Fuck, baby—” He cursed in a breathy mumble, face buried in her hair as his orgasm raced closer.

“Master Jeon!” A yell echoed upstairs but Jungkook merely groaned at the horrible timing.

Pushing Belle down further, he rammed into her like an animal. All the makeup and skincare products stumbled and fell over the shaking table.

“Master Jeon!”

Each time the yell echoed, his thrusts grew more vicious. Her skin burned from the friction against the table surface while her limbs lost all ability to have any control of their own. Belle still could not control the small smile on her face. The feeling of her body completely submitting to the beast fucking her from behind brought a new rush of adrenaline.

Jungkook grabbed onto a chunk of her hair relishing in her little moans being drowned out by the impact against the contents of the table.

Loud knocking on their bedroom door interrupted their heated air for a second.

“Baby, don’t stop please…” Belle whimpered feeling her release reach tipping point.

That nickname again made his thrusts sloppy as the warm heaviness in his lower belly reached its uncontrollable, quickly pulling out of her. Juice spluttered all over her ass and back making her look like a sinful piece of art.

Her legs felt like pure jelly as the jolt of overwhelming pleasure clouded every other thought ever constructed in her mind. When she almost stumbled, Jungkook held her gently.

“Master Jeon! It’s an emergency!”

Jungkook groaned under her breath.

“It’s okay, go.” She whispered patting his arm.

Reluctantly letting go of the beauty and zipping himself back up, he stomped towards the door and almost pulled it off its hinges. Much to his increased frustration one of his sweaty associates stood on the other side of the door. “What could possibly be so important that you had to disturb my private time?” He glanced back at the walk-in wardrobe to see Belle completely getting rid of her clothing.

“S-sir the—” He stammered giving Jungkook the urge to strangle him right there and then.

“Speak or I cut your throat.”

“The den, sir.” He shivered. “One of our dens...police did a raid, we lost of our twenty percent supplies…sir.”

Jungkook narrowed his gaze at the older male feeling the deep warm bliss now cut through by his harsh reality. They actually fucking did it. Ever since that scandal, not a single soul in the police force dared to take them down but now suddenly someone decided to play hero in front of this new mayor. “You’re the one who supposed to keep the den under guard.”

The male gulped down hard. “I—I had to get out of there.”

“You should’ve died with it.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry…” God he fucking hated that word. What did it ever solve? Jungkook nodded, rubbing the back of his neck walking over to the study table. Pulling out his gun he pointed it at the mans’ left leg and took a shot. Then another on his right leg.

He limped down screaming in agony while the drug lord merely stared him down in disgust.

“Jungkook!” Belle called out, heart jumping to her throat at the sound of gunshots. Her body now adorned a thick robe which she hugged close to herself. He looked back over his shoulder to meet her gaze, eyes reddened once again with anger and maybe a hint of distress. “Don’t…”

His entire body wanted to melt into hers for the rest of the night. Maybe it would make him forget all his problems for a while but he couldn’t. The mayor worked day and night trying to get one step ahead of him and now they were. Jungkook couldn’t let this happen. He had to send a message. A damn good one. “Go to sleep, okay? Close your ears if you have to.” He whispered.

Belle took a breath to say something but nothing came out so she sucked in her bottom lip, watching him close the door so all she could do was hear it all. The man screamed, sounds something crashing and choking. Feet backed away until her body plopped down sitting on the edge of the bed. This was his job, she knew that. But it all went back to what Jungkook was truly capable of. Why taking his deals were so important. Every sound reminded Belle of how it could be Taehyung going through the same fate. Maybe one day when the drug-lord grew tired of the same face, she would be on her knees allowing him to seal her fate just as he took control of it.

So she took his advice and pressed her hands against her ears tightly hoping to block the reality she was trying so hard to suppress.

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[felix21im]

"Ice Cold", a Leon Kennedy x reader fanfiction

As an Art and Design student all you want to do is just knuckle down and finish that one goddamn piece you've been working on for months. Too bad your time is constantly stolen by your Waiter job with minimal pay, but hey, at least the tips are good if you unbutton your shirt that one more time.

Masterlist

Chapter 6: The Bar

“You have to be kidding me right now!” You couldn't believe what you were hearing. “It was the first time I haven’t shown up to work, I always did my job exactly how you wanted me to and this is your thanks? I told you what happened and you don't even care at all! I was literally unconscious and in shock after what occurred that day.” You exclaimed and shook your head, not believing what you were hearing.

“I'm truly sorry, but you know how we handle things here. I'm sure a young and outgoing person like you will find a new job without any problems. We will send you the money for the last days you were working. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve got a restaurant to take care of.” Your boss, well ex-boss, went through the door and left you standing in his office in disbelief. You picked up all your personal items before then heading to the front door. You looked around once more, thinking about all the years you were working here. You said one last goodbye to your coworkers before heading out the door, leaving this part of your life behind.

You went to your own car - finally having a driver's license after Leon made sure you got your private lessons - ready to drive home. But as you were sitting down you realized that that wasn't what you really wanted. The best thing to do now was to see Leon, so that's exactly where you were going.

You pulled into Leon’s driveway and parked in front of the front door. “I didn’t know you were going to be here today.” Angel greeted you as you stepped out of the car.

“Neither did I.” You answered and walked to the door, letting yourself in. You found Leon in the kitchen and he was leaning over a bottle of whiskey. “Leon?” You raised an eyebrow, thinking it was kind of early to drink but didn't say anything to him.

You must have scared him as he shot up to look at you. He looked rough, his hair was a mess and his grey clothes were stained. “Buttercup!” He smiled as he walked over to you. “I didn’t know you were coming over today, I thought you were at work.” He planted a kiss on your forehead and rubbed your arms.

“I got fired.” You simply blurted out, rather than trying to avoid it. “Since I didn’t go to work that one day last week my boss seriously wasn’t happy.” You lightly waved Leon off of you and sat down at the kitchen counter. “I’ve never missed a day for like three years but one day! One day! Is enough to get me fired.” You placed your head in your hands and groaned.

“Well fuck that guy.” He pulled a cereal box out of a cupboard under the kitchen island and placed it into a bowl.

“Fuck that guy…” You replied. “Now I need to waste the next week of my life trying to find a new job.

Leon finally put some milk into the bowl too. “You’re a college student, you don’t need a full time job.” He placed the bowl in front of you as you looked up at him. “Eat up, Buttercup.”

You looked down at the cereal and you pushed it around with your spoon. “I’m not really hungry, Leon.” You pushed the bowl back towards him and you brushed your hair with your hand. “It’s not that I need a job, I just like having one, it keeps me busy and the extra money never hurts.”

“But wasn’t the pay terrible?” He raised his eyebrow as he began to eat your food. “And super sexual? Your co-worker Mimi told me about how you would unbutton your shirt and wear super tight pants so that the customers would tip you more…”

“True.” You admitted. “So I’ll look for something different. Maybe I can be a personal assistant like Angel and Daisy.”

“They’re more than just assistants y’know.” Leon continued to eat. “Those two have joined me on a job, saved my life once or twice.”

“It’s four in the afternoon, why are you eating cereal?” You eventually asked.

“We don’t have any food, Angel wasn’t able to go shopping this morning.” He said as he placed his empty bowl in the sink. “How about an office job?”

“That’s a bit boring, dontcha think?”

“Umm. How about that internship you were going for?”

“I still have three months left of college, once I'm done with that and I have the grades for it, I can apply.” You admitted as you got off the bar stool, not having eaten any of the food Leon gave you. Leon watched you while you were filling your glass with water and some ice to cool down. You drank it and watched Leon do the same, just with his glass of whiskey. “Isn't it a little too early to drink?” The words left your mouth before you were even thinking about it. Now it was Leon's turn to raise an eyebrow at your comment.

“Are you my mom or what now? I think I know when or when I cannot have a drink.” He snapped at you, which really surprised you.

"Obviously I am not. But that's not really responsible of you, is it? I just don't get it, why you're drinking at this time and so often in general the past weeks." You thought about what you were saying, realizing his drinking behavior dates back to the first time you even met. "I get that your job isn't easy and stuff but day drinking? Really? Seems kind of low to me, Leon."

Leon let out a laugh and shook his head. "If all you want to do now is complain you can leave. That's not what I wanted you here for."

You looked at him again with big eyes. "So you don't wanna talk? I don't know what it is that’s between us, but it can't always be good and fun. I'm literally just worried about your health!"

"Worried? I think I know what's good for me much better than you do, I'm not the child here." He spat at you as he drank from his glass.

"So if you’re not ‘the child’ does that mean that I am?” You looked at him speechless. “That's how you see me? I understand that I'm a lot younger than you but I'm not a child! And just because I'm trying to talk about something serious? What is going on with you Leon?" He didn't even look at you. Instead he poured himself another drink and took a sip. You shook your head and let out a scoff. You then grabbed your jacket and went to the door. Before leaving you looked back to Leon, hoping he would apologize or stop you from leaving, instead you got nothing. You slammed the door behind you shut and you heard something break. “A fucking mansion and his front door cant even handle a slam..” You muttered to yourself as you went over to your car. Angrily you left his driveway and drove in the direction of home.

Your roommate was home for the holidays, leaving you in your apartment alone. Rather than sitting on the couch feeling sorry for yourself you tried to get some work done.

Looking for jobs was much harder than you remember. “Host. Nope. Grocery store worker. Eh, I guess that could work. Stripper?! Hm, if I'm desperate enough, maybe…” You spent hours looking and applying to jobs, most of them being just over minimum wage but any money is better than none.

Eventually you gave up and just began to watch TV on your laptop, endlessly flicking through the channels available to you. Since none of it looked interesting you put on something random and picked up your sketchbook. As the noise played in the background and your pencil ran across the paper your eyelids became heavier and heavier, those combined with the fact that it was now eleven at night.

The sound of your phone vibrating on your wooden desk ripped you from your sleep. At first you ignored it, being far too tired to want to actually open your eyes. It started to vibrate again. You rubbed your eyes, trying to see clearly in the dark and waking yourself up. You looked at your phone confused, wondering who wanted you so late at night. You unlocked it and looked at the time first. “Almost two in the morning... damn”, you muttered to yourself. After that you checked your notification and let out a sigh. Multiple messages from Leon just in the past few hours you were asleep. You didn't even bother looking at them, knowing that he was drunk. Most of the messages didn't even make sense and there was no way to read or understand them. Before locking the phone again, an unknown number called you. Unsure about who it could be, you waited for the call to end. But soon after the same number called again. You let out a sigh, answering the call. "Hello? Can I help you?" You asked tiredly. You didn't recognize the voice talking to you, but you could hear Leon mumbling in the background. The person told you something about Leon being totally wasted and that he requested for you to come and pick him up. Unsure about what to do, especially after the argument you had earlier, you still agreed to picking him up. You ended the call and put your phone away. Putting your head in your hands, you let out another sigh and shook your head. You quickly went to your kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, needing caffeine otherwise you would fall asleep before you even got to Leon.

As you grabbed your jacket, phone and coffee you looked at your car keys and shoved them into your pocket. You knew you couldn’t take your car as you didn’t want to leave it at the bar considering it was twenty miles from home. “Why couldn’t he have gone to a local bar?”

You waited outside in the rain for a taxi to come and pick you up. You’d be sure to charge this cost on Leon’s credit card.

Faint music was in the background as you walked through the door to ‘Billy’s Bar’ and it only took you a second to find Leon. “Buttercup!” He waved and blew a kiss at you the second he spotted you.

“Hey Leon.” You somewhat smiled as you sat down next to him at the bar. “What mess have you gotten yourself into?” You muttered as you waved over the bartender, them giving you the bill. “How can you rack up eighty dollars in one night?”

You searched Leon’s pockets for his wallet but came up empty. “Woah there Buttercup, let’s go home first before you start to pull my pants off.” You simply rolled your eyes at his drunk comment.

You groaned as you gave up the search for his wallet and eventually you just placed your own stack of cash on the bar, giving a little extra for the bartender as a tip. “Come on.” You got off the stool. “Let’s get you home.” Leon got off his stool and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, giving you a kiss on your forehead. “Jesus Leon, don’t do that…” You wiped the kiss off of you and shook your head as the two of you left the bar and into the pouring rain. “Keys?” You held out your hand and he placed his keys in your palm. The keys to one of his fancy cars that you don't even know the name of but you were pretty sure that it was an Audi of some sort. It had four doors and four wheels, good enough.

“I can drive Butterc- cup.” He hiccuped as he talked, proving just how much he shouldn’t drive.

“I’ll be fine…” You clicked the keys and the lights on the car flashed. You took Leon to the passenger side of the car and forced him off of you as you opened the door for him. He leant on the roof to help himself into his seat and you then closed the door behind him. “Alright, it’s just like my car… just a lot quicker and a lot more expensive…” You mumbled to yourself as you hopped in the driver’s seat and started the engine. The loud roar was enough to make you almost pee yourself due to your nerves.

You gripped your hands on the steering wheel and put the car into drive. The car immediately shot forward and you instantly slammed on the breaks, causing Leon to bash his face on the dashboard. “Oh fuck!” You put the car into park and looked at Leon’s nose. “I’m so sorry.” You carefully brushed your hand on his nose and luckily it didn’t feel as if it was broken.

“I’m fine…” Leon’s eyes rolled back in his head and he leant back in his seat. You simply huffed at him and leant over him, grabbing his seatbelt. As you went back to your seat you sighed at him as you looked at him sleeping.

You buckled your own seatbelt and started the car again, now more carefully. You checked all the buttons and hoped for the best as you left the parking spot slowly. Before you stepped on the gas once more to drive onto the street you looked over to Leon, who was now half asleep. Just sometimes he looked up again or out the window without saying anything. Which was probably better because he wouldn't say anything useful anyway in his state. You drove on the main street and gripped the wheel, concentrating on the dark and rainy road before you. You tried putting on some music but soon shut it off again because it just irritated you. So you just drove around silently trying to find a way to Leon's house. Every now and then Leon muttered something, more to himself than to you. You shook your head blaming yourself for his behavior. Letting out a sigh you concentrated on the road again and silently went on.

You drove for around five minutes before Leon began to get bored. “Buttercup?”

“Hey Leon…” You replied to him, keeping your eyes on the road because you didn’t want to swerve into a ditch.

“You’re the best.” You could see him smile at you in the corner of your eye. He held out his hand and you simply ignored it. “Please?” He wiggled his fingers, wanting you to hold his hand. You scoffed as you dropped your right hand from the wheel, placing your hand in his. “I love you, Buttercup.” He smiled at you again but you simply ignored it.

“You’re drunk, Leon.” You took your hand back from him, in annoyance.

You wanted him to say that he loved you, but not like this, not in a drunk slur. “I’m serious.”

"Yea, sure you are." You rolled your eyes and looked straight to the street, not giving him anymore attention.

"You're so mean, Buttercup." He began whining like a little child which made you laugh sarcastically.

"You’re behaving like a child now, Leon. I told you earlier today that it doesn't have anything to do with ages." You shook your head, thinking about the argument from earlier.

"I'm sorryyy..for snapping at you like that earlier.. do you forgive me? Pleaseeee Buttercup.." You raised your eyebrow at his apology, not thinking much of it.

"I can't forgive you when all you do is lie when you’re drunk. Say sorry again when you're sober and we'll see." You felt him moving in his seat, now directly facing you. You gave him a short look and tried pushing him back into his seat. "Leon, please sit down correctly. I can't concentrate like this."

He had a smug smile on his face now. "Am I all you can concentrate on now?" Leon came closer to you and you backed up, now shoving him away with your right hand. The road in front of you was still slippery and dark and you couldn't drive like this. In a short motion you stepped on the brakes and stopped at the side of the street. Now facing Leon as well you tried pushing him back into his own seat, hoping he would leave you alone now. He still resisted and even though he was totally drunk he still was stronger than you. He grabbed your wrists and came closer to you, almost sitting on your lap now. You were able to keep some distance with your legs but it wasn't an easy task. "Buttercuuup.." He began again as he started playing with your fingers. "I'm serious.. I loveee you, since the first time I met you." You looked at him, searching his face. People always say that drunk people speak the truth but a part in you didn't want to believe it. Not because you didn't have feelings for Leon, but this whole situation seemed wrong to you. You realized it wouldn't get you far when arguing in this state so you just let him talk, not giving it much thought. Leon continued talking but he soon noticed you didn't even listen anymore. As soon as he came closer to you again you snapped back to reality.

You unfastened your seatbelt and got out of the car. You walked through the rain to Leon's side of the car and also opened his door. He looked at you confused but didn't say anything. You loosened his seatbelt and almost threw him out of his seat and out the car. He just about caught his balance, looking at you perplexed. You tried finding the right words but didn't even know what you were doing here. Leon leaned on the side of the car, already totally soaking wet. "Leon, I don't know what's going on with you but I can't continue driving when you keep on annoying me like that! So please just shut up or we're gonna stay out here until you're sober again, I don't care!" You shouted towards him, hoping he would even hear you through the loud and heavy rain. You came closer to him again, waiting for an answer. It seemed like hours passed, but Leon didn't say a thing. You groaned and opened the back door. You grabbed Leon's arm and pushed him inside. Overwhelmed by the sudden force, he fell into the backseat taking you with him. So now you lay on top of Leon, both of you totally wet. You felt Leon's warm breath and also the smell of alcohol. You suddenly felt hot and everything around you seemed to stop, all you saw was Leon. He looked you deep in the eyes and you into his. Without even thinking about it, you felt Leon's big hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer to his face. And the next thing you felt were his lips on yours. For a split second you leaned into the kiss, before realizing what was happening. In an instant you shot up and pushed yourself away from Leon. He looked at you, confused and heartbroken. "Leon. Let's just get you home now." You helped him put on a seatbelt without speaking another word and then went back to the driver's seat. The rest of the drive home neither of you spoke a word but every now and then you felt Leon staring at you from the back.

Finally you arrived at his home. Even though it was raining you could still make out the driveway and main door. You didn't bother parking the car in his garage, so you stopped in front of the door. You took the keys and before leaving the car you looked back at Leon. He wasn't asleep. He looked out the window, like most of the time during the ride. It reminded you of a child that wanted to stop at the local McDonald's but his parents didn't want to. You shook your head and tried hiding your smile. After that you left the car and also helped Leon out. Both of you didn't say a word as you walked to the door. Leon's arm was around your back for balance but you didn't mind it. It was better than letting him walk alone and him ending up injuring himself. You opened the front door, which was unlocked to your surprise. Apparently no one in this house thinks it could be possible that a thief would come here to say hello. You took off your own jacket which was totally drenched and hung it up. You then did the same for Leon, without any words exchanging either.

"I should probably get you something dry to wear. You're gonna get sick otherwise." You said more to yourself than to Leon but he still heard you and agreed.

"Let's.. just go upstairs and change there. It doesn't matter if the house gets dirty." Leon already started walking towards the stairs but you soon followed after noticing how he couldn't even walk straight. You then helped him upstairs and you went into the bathroom.

"I'll get you something to sleep in, just.. sit here and don't move. Can you do that for me?" He nodded silently and you left the room. You went into his bedroom and got some pajamas for him and also something for you to wear. As you entered the bathroom you found Leon sitting in the bathtub, naked. Even though you've seen him half naked before this wasn't what you wanted to see. Covering your eyes you threw his pajamas over. Obviously he didn't catch them so now they were lying next to him. "Jesus, Leon. What are you doing? I asked one thing of you and-"

"Sorry, Buttercup.. I just didn't want to freeze." He put his legs closer to him and rested his head on top of them. You shook your head and even though you didn't want to, you had to agree with him. You were also cold and wearing wet clothes didn't help. You sighed and looked at him. "Are you gonna shower by yourself or do you need help?" You felt like his caretaker right now but you also couldn't leave him hanging now. He looked at you with big eyes, which basically begged for you to help him. You sighed once again before walking over to him. You started the shower making sure it was warm enough. It was just a quick way of warming him up, not wanting to spend any more time with a naked and drunk Leon. After you were done you helped him out of the bathtub and put him into a towel. After drying him a little bit you helped him get into his pajamas and walked him into his bedroom. You watched him get into bed and before taking a shower yourself you saw him drifting off into a deep sleep. Closing the door behind you silently you went back into the bathroom and took a shower and changed into some of Leon's clothing. Nothing too special but at least it would keep you warm. After you put all the wet clothes away you went downstairs to try to get some sleep as well. You entered the living room and lay down on the big couch. Just a few minutes later you felt sleep take over and take you into a world of dreams.

You woke up the next morning to Angel's voice. "Hey there. Sorry to wake you up, I just wanted to see you before heading out again." You sat up and stretched, looking at Angel. "Thank you for bringing Leon home. I wasn't home yesterday and.. I'm sorry you had to see him like that." You shook your head, putting a hand on Angel's shoulder.

"Don't apologize for that. It's no big deal.. I think. Does this happen often? He was so.. weird yesterday." You looked down, feeling guilty for snapping at Leon like that yesterday, maybe being the reason for him ending up drunk.

"It's, well, it happened before. He always likes to drink but I'm not sure what's going on to be honest. But don't worry, okay? It has nothing to do with you or anything. Chances are high he's just fed up with work, I don't blame him." You nodded, smiling at Angel now. She then stood up and gave you a small smile before turning to leave. Before leaving though she turned back to you. "I prepared some coffee for you and Leon. Maybe try waking him up. And.. try not to be too mad at him, would you?" She waved to you one more time before leaving the room and soon the house.

You got your two mugs of coffee and you went up the stairs to wake up Leon. As you put your hand on the doorknob you could already hear his snoring so you made sure to be quiet. He laid face up on the bed and his hair was extremely messy, so rather than waking him up like you originally planned you just sat on the chair by the window and drank your coffee. The rain from last night was still just as terrible, if not worse to the point where you couldn't even look out the window, you needed some other source of entertainment. You picked up one of the books that Angel had placed in there as decor and began to read it. It was only a small book, something about a knight in shining armor there to save the princess, just like all the other fairy tales. As you were reaching the end of the book you could hear Leon beginning to stir, his breathing had become a lot lighter and his snoring had stopped, meaning he was pretty much awake now. You took another sip from your coffee and you could see Leon sitting up in bed. He had his hand on his head and you could tell that it was pounding. “Good morning, Sleepyhead.” You gave him a faint smile as you tapped the table, another mug of coffee waiting for Leon.

He groaned as he waved his arm at you, wanting you to bring the coffee to him. At first you just shook your head at him and clicked your tongue but he wouldn't give up, you were too tired to argue about it so you just sat on the side of the bed, your back facing him. “You’re mad."

“You think?” You snapped at him, still looking forward, at the blank wall in front of you.

“I’m sorry, Buttercup.” He sat up properly and shuffled towards you, being careful not to spill his cold coffee. “I was being stupid. I had a bad morning and I just wanted to chill out for the rest of the day, have a nice drink and just relax by the pool or something.”

“Oh so me arriving for a surprise visit, that's what derailed your day?” You turned to face him and you could tell that the two cogs in his brain were working overtime.

“What? No!” He shook his head as he tried to get a grasp on the situation. “I overreacted to you asking about my drinking problem-”

“Oh so now you admit that it's a problem?” You interrupted him, by now your body was fully turnt to him, just by your body language he knew that you were more than just pissed at him.

“It’s always been a problem.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I can try and explain it.” You simply huffed at him, wanting to hear his excuse but still wanting him to know that you're angry. “After Raccoon City I began to get pretty bad nightmares. Like really, really bad nightmares. You can guess why.” You simply nodded at it, feeling guilty now that you got him to explain. “I couldn’t sleep for weeks at a time, so I tried my best to just keep myself busy. Hobbies, people, anything. I would sometimes go out to bars and whatnot and I figured out that after a few drinks I would usually sleep better that night.” He adjusted himself in bed so that he was fully sitting upright, his full attention on you as he talked. “I’ve been doing it for years, Buttercup. It’s just a hobby I guess.”

You didn’t really know what to say. Sure you lived with college kids so you were around drinking fanatics 24/7 but an actual alcoholic? You didn’t have much experience.

“Buttercup, I’ve tried everything.” He leant forward and grabbed your hand, rather than you recoiling like the night before you accepted it and you shuffled yourself closer to him, sitting cross legged next to him on the bed. You hesitated before leaning your head on his shoulder and also grabbing his hand.

"I don't know how I can help, Leon. But you can't continue like this. I.. I didn't recognize you yesterday, you were so different. I don't want to worry about you, when you're out for a drink. I just-" You looked up to him with big eyes, some tears forming inside them. You felt so helpless and even bad for not noticing anything earlier. Leon squeezed your hand.

"Shh.. it's okay, Buttercup. After I met you, I tried to stop drinking, you can even ask Angel. But the nightmares never end. The only time I was able to sleep through the night was.. when you were here and slept next to me. Knowing I wasn't alone, feeling you next to me, it helped me." You blushed and gave him a small smile, but deep down you knew this wouldn't help long-term.

"Even if I stay here to sleep in your bed, you will always want to drink. And I can't be here with you all the time. You need.. we need something else to fix this problem." You took a deep breath. "Leon, I think you need professional help. Like, I don't know, medication to help you sleep?" You looked at him unsure of what you could do to help.

"I tried that before, Buttercup. I swear I tried it many times before but I also fell back into this habit. I can't change it anymore." You shook your head.

"No Leon, stop saying stuff like this. You may have tried before but.. now I'm here. I'll help you. I promise I will not leave your side, we will do this together. We can work in small steps, you hear me? Like.. you always drink your whiskey with ice, right? What about you trying to put in less alcohol and more ice? Step by step? It's worth a shot and this way it isn't cold withdrawal. What do you say?" You looked at him with big eyes, kind of proud of your idea. A small smile rested on Leon's face as he looked at you.

"It's worth a shot. But don't get your hopes up too high. This won't be easy and.. if things don't work out, I don't know who I'll be then."

"Leon. I am not leaving you alone now. We will do this together and no matter what happens, I'll be here. I believe in you." You lay your arms around him and hugged him. You felt his arms around your body and smiled. After a short while you let go of him. Both of you took a sip of your stone cold coffee and sat there in silence, the only sound being the rain outside the house.

You saw Leon fidgeting around and looked at him questioningly. Before you could ask what he was thinking about he began speaking. "You know, uhm, what I said yesterday. I meant it. Sure, I was drunk and all but…", he turned to you. "I love you. I have for a long time now but I didn't know how to say it. But I really do." You looked at Leon with big eyes, shocked that he would bring this topic up again. Unsure of what to say you stood up and walked around the room. Leon's gaze followed you and you felt bad for not saying anything. After walking up and down you finally sat back next to him again. "Leon, I.. I don't know what to say. I mean.. I. God. Leon. I love you. I really do." You let out a small laugh. This whole situation felt so bizarre to you. You saw a big smile growing on Leon's face and you had to return it. He grabbed you by your arm and pulled you to him. You looked each other in the eyes, knowing what both of you needed now. Leon closed the gap between you two and after so long you kissed him. Without being drunk. Just a real and honest kiss, both of you wanting it and knowing it was the right thing. “So what was the bad news that you got yesterday morning?” You asked him as you pulled away.

“I have to go to Italy for a job.” He smirked. “But I think I might drag you along with me, we can have some time together once I'm done with work.” You thought about the offer for a split second before agreeing.

"At least I don't have a job where I have to ask for permission anymore." You jokingly said, trying to make the best of the situation.

"Well then we have a plan. Sooo, you better get home and pack your things. We should be at the airport early tomorrow morning. I'll text you the time and pick you up. Sounds good?" You nodded before going for another kiss. You stayed at Leon's house for a while longer before eventually going home and packing your stuff. You were excited to be by his side at a job and couldn't wait for it anymore. God knows what you've gotten yourself into...

----

Taglist: @trinswhimsys @dixanadu @oppsie--channie

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (iii)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential percy jackson & the olympians spoilers, alcohol consumption, motion sickness and vomiting

series masterpost: here

a/n: this took me a hot sec to finish but here it is! there's a dumb little latin joke in here but that's just because i'm a nerd lmao

Ryan is certainly giving Bette a run for her money in the best friend department.

Magdalene has no intentions of usurping her best friend, but Ryan is quickly becoming the person she talks to most frequently. It started on social media but quickly moved to regular texting, both of them being twenty-five and capable of communicating through more normal channels. The text thread between them isn’t indicative of their newfound friendship – it looks like they’ve been friends since high school. At any given moment at least three conversations are going on, and Magdalene regularly sends him random updates throughout the day. Ryan likes hearing about any interesting artefacts she encounters at work so she keeps mental notes to tell him during their frequent phone calls.

Despite talking to him almost constantly, Magdalene hasn’t seen Ryan since they grabbed lunch at Barn Owl nearly two weeks ago. The lake house trip is a couple days out, and she’s been busy trying to get all her ducks in a row. At work, the current project is coming to an end and Magdalene will be sad to see it go – it’s the first thing she’s been on from start to finish. She’s got a neighbour coming to spend time with Caligula while she’s away so he doesn’t get too upset. Though the days are passing by in a haze as she tries to get ready, Magdalene is excited to get away for a little bit. It’s been a few years since she’s left Denver for more than a night, electing to skip on Bette’s previous vacation invites, and it will be nice to slow down. Life is moving at a comfortable pace, but having some time to pause and breathe will keep Magdalene from feeling too overwhelmed.

Halfway through her last day of work, Magdalene gets a text from Ryan that makes her nearly double over in laughter.

Julius Caesar walks into a bar and says to the bartender “I’ll have a Martinus please!” The bartender replies “Don’t you mean a Martini?” Caesar shakes his head and says “If I wanted double I would have said so.”

It takes her a minute to catch her breath, which piques June’s curiosity. Magdalene recites the joke and her boss rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but does let out a chuckle.

June didn’t think it was funny, but I did. Thank you for making today infinitely better. You riding with us tomorrow?

Magdalene tucks her phone back into her purse, determined to remain focused for the last few hours, and misses the reply telling her that Ryan won’t be riding with Bette, Tyson, and herself, but rather with Cale and his girlfriend to leave enough space for all the gear getting brought. She doesn’t see it until she’s walking across the parking lot to her car and it fills her with a sadness that doesn’t make much sense. He’ll be there for the entire week, so does it matter that he’ll be in a different car for the four hour drive? Magdalene has a sinking suspicion about why she’s upset, but she pushes it down. There’s no space in your life for a relationship right now, she reminds herself as she unlocks the door to her apartment. Caligula is waiting patiently at the door and distracts her thoughts from the handsome man with the kind smile that’s been all she can think about recently.

The cat is incredibly perceptive and knows the regular routine is going to change, making him particularly clingy. He follows Magdalene as she finishes packing, meowing and begging for pets, and she considers bailing on her friends. Caligula has mild separation anxiety and Magdalene doesn’t go away often partly because of it – though another reason is her homebody nature. Only the thought of seeing Ryan keeps her from hanging all her clothes back up.

“Don’t worry little boots,” she coos, “I won’t be gone long. Maria is going to check on you while I’m away, and I’ll be home before you know it.”

It seems ridiculous to speak to her pet as though it’s a child, but Magdalene knows Caligula comprehends what she’s saying. He’s always been smart, and the two of them share a bond that’s hard to explain. She picks him up, puts him in the pocket of her hoodie, and they spend the rest of the night packing and dancing along to the radio.

☼☼☼☼

Bette forgot to mention that the road to the lake house is winding, and Magdalene spends the entire ride with her head between her knees. Motion sickness is something that unfortunately plagues her during journeys longer than a couple of hours and she wishes she would have thought to take anti-nausea medication before leaving the house. Tyson tries to crack a joke about her being a bad passenger, but his girlfriend swats his arm and passes her friend a water bottle with a concerned smile. The two of them speak in hushed tones, almost certainly for Magdalene's benefit, and she does her best not to throw up on the floor of Tyson’s car. After what feels like two decades the vehicle rolls to a stop at the end of a gravel path.

“Mags, we’re here,” Bette says softly, praying that her friend will begin to feel better after stretching her legs and feeling firm ground underneath her.

There’s an unintelligible groan from Magdalene, but she rises out of the car and stumbles into the house. Tyson and Bette insist that she rest and they’ll handle the unloading of the car, so she crawls into one of the empty beds and falls asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow. It’s a dreamless slumber, one fuelled by the pure exhaustion of battling illness while travelling, and when she awakes hours later Magdalene feels oddly refreshed. Her energy level is still relatively low, but she knows that intaking food won’t be an issue.

Padding down the stairs as quiet as possible in an effort to not break the peaceful atmosphere, Magdalene is met with a quiet house. She’s utterly confused – she didn’t sleep long enough to miss dinner and judging by the way the sun is low in the final car full of people should be arriving any minute. For a moment she thinks the group left her in the mountains alone, but then the sound of a trunk closing breaks the silence.

“I fucking told you bro, you should have let me drive!”

Ryan’s voice echoes in Magdalene's ears and her heart skips a beat. She didn’t realize how much she had missed him or how excited she is to see him. Despite everything inside of her saying she should run into his arms Magdalene stays put in the kitchen, running the tap to get a glass of water. She focuses on the mountain on the other end of the lake, framing the setting sun and creating a postcard ready photo. The camera app on her phone is open and angles for the best shot are found. Ryan tumbles through the door a second later, arms filled to the brim with luggage and bags of food.

He drops them the second he sees her, running up behind her and lifting her off the ground. “Mags! Cale almost hit a deer!”

The shock of Ryan’s onslaught of affection catches her off guard, and Magdalene shakes her hand, forcing the picture to turn out as nothing but a blur.

“No hello?” She laughs as Ryan lets her feet touch down on the wooden floor. “It’s the least you could give me after destroying my chance of getting a National Geographic worthy picture.”

He smiles but doesn’t let his hands drop from their perch on her waist. “There’s six more days for you to nail it. I’ll even help if you ask.”

Other bodies enter the house then, causing Magdalene to slink away from Ryan’s touch even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. They’re simply friends, and she doesn’t want Bette to get any ideas. The last thing Magdalene needs on her plate right now is her best friend forcing her to paint a custom denim jacket with Ryan’s number across the back. “I can’t believe you almost hit a deer,” Tyson sighs in disbelief.

“It wasn’t even close,” Cale grumbles, picking up his bags and stomping off to find a place to claim as his own the next couple of days. A petite redhead follows after him, giving a small wave to those in the kitchen before scurrying away. When she asks, Ryan tells Magdalene the girl’s name is Livy, and that she’s Cale’s girlfriend from back home.

Everyone shrugs at his moodiness and disperses. Bette and Tyson stay in the kitchen to make dinner, Ryan goes to claim the final room, and Magdalene slips outside to sit on the patio furniture. The sun has dropped drastically in the past five minutes, causing the air to chill. She wraps her arms tighter around her legs and watches a pair of birds fly over the lake below. It’s so peaceful, a complete one-eighty from the insanity of her life in Denver, and Magdalene thinks about never leaving. She knows it’s impossible, but as she closes her eyes and listens to the quiet laughter of her friends inside the idea seems like a pretty good one.

The sliding door creaks open and Ryan goes through as quietly as possible. He tosses a sweater in Magdalene’s direction as he walks over, plopping down beside her on the small couch.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, slipping the fabric over her head. “I didn’t realize how cold it had actually gotten.”

He smiles in response and shuffles his body a little closer to create extra warmth. Magdalene leans into him, trying to appear casual even though her heart is beating rapidly, and pulls on the strings of the sweater Ryan gave her.

“So, are you excited for this week?”

It’s more awkward than she thought it would be – seeing him in person again, especially since they’ve been texting almost constantly, and the words kind of stick in her throat.

“Honestly? Now that I’m here I am, but I was a little leery about taking time off,” Ryan explains, detailing how he’s trying to improve some aspects of his two-way play and is worried his progress will plateau. Magdalene understands and shares her own worries about taking time off work even if her boss encouraged it.

After catching up quickly and running out of things to say, the pair of them sit in silence watching the sun set until they’re called inside for dinner. It’s nice to just exist, especially with Ryan beside her, and Magdalene feels her heart sink as they separate and he goes to make sure Cale isn’t actually mad at him.

☼☼☼☼

It storms the first two days at the lake house, forcing everyone to stay inside. Tyson complains about how he has less time to drive the boat that came with the property but the others take it in stride. Magdalene spends most of the time reading for pleasure, something she hasn’t been able to do much of the past few years, and Ryan joins her for large chunks of the time. It turns out that he too is an avid reader, and the two of them discuss their favourite novels and series while the other four play board games.

“So you’re telling me you wish Annabeth would have joined the Hunters of Artemis?” Magdalene shrieks in shock, almost knocking the wine out of her glass as her arms flail in disbelief.

“I think it made sense for her to,” Ryan defends.

“But she’s perfect for Percy!”

He sticks to his guns. “I’m not saying she isn’t. I just think that at the time the offer was presented it was the most logical choice. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about what would have happened if she did.”

She ducks her head in defeat because she had imagined it, on many occasions in fact. When reading the series for the first time in middle school Magdalene had desperately hoped Annabeth would choose the Hunters over Camp Half-Blood, gaining the family she herself never was privy to. They return to reading quietly beside each other, occasionally knocking elbows when trying to turn a page.

Tuesday brings sunshine and clear skies, which means Tyson is trying to corral everyone into the boat as soon as they’re up. Magdalene tries her hardest to get out of it but her pleas fall on deaf ears.

“You’ll be fine, stop being such a wimp,” Cale jests. She knows that he’s just anxious to soak up some sun, but the words hurt more than Magdalene would have liked them to.

Livy swats her boyfriend across the chest. “Enough! If she doesn’t want to come she doesn’t have to.” The smaller girl sends her a kind smile before speaking low enough that only Magdalene can hear her. “I know your book is just getting good and you look like the kind of person who needs alone time to function properly. Enjoy yourself.”

Seemingly excused from the day’s festivities, Magdalene gives a sheepish wave before climbing the small hill to the house. Ryan meets her halfway and is appalled when he hears of her plans.

“Nope, I don’t think so. You’re not leaving me alone to be the ultimate third wheel!”

He has her off the ground and over his shoulder in a millisecond, jogging lightly to catch up with the rest of the group. Magdalene’s laugh bounces off the tree lined shore, and she’s too busy having fun shrieking at Ryan to complain about being forced to spend all day on a boat away from her book. Tyson peels away from the dock before she can regret tagging along, and Bette tugs Magdalene to the bow.

The two girls chat quietly, giggling and sipping on the mimosas they made earlier. Magdalene isn’t a huge day drinker, but Bette makes sure there’s more orange juice than champagne to make her feel less guilty. Livy joins them a while later after becoming sick of the boys and their shenanigans. It’s nice to hang out with a group of girls that aren’t competing for the top spot in a class, Magdalene decides, and she revels in the stories they tell of going to hockey games and babysitting the children of players so they can catch a break. Twinges of jealousy creep up at the wonderful family dynamic the Avalanche seem to have, but she stomachs them. She reminds herself that other people deserve to have support systems and excuses herself from the conversation.

Magdalene slides into the free space beside Ryan, and without thinking he wraps an arm around her shoulder. It feels so natural that she wonders if it’s how he greets all his friends, but the looks of shock and Tyson and Cale’s faces say otherwise. After a bit more cruising they find a small bay to anchor in for a while. The sun had climbed to the middle of the sky and is unbearably warm, leaving everyone no choice but to jump into the water to cool off. Magdalene does her best to float peacefully a short distance away from the group but is somehow brought into a splashing war because the teams aren’t equal.

Eventually the constant barrage of water chills her to the bone, and Magdalene swims back to the boat. She watches from the sidelines and cheers for her old teammates with a towel wrapped snugly around her. Ryan breaks from the group too, insisting it isn’t fair to have teams on unequal strength. Once dry, he picks up the baseball cap he brought and places it delicately on Magdalene’s head.

“Your cheeks are starting to go pink and I don’t want you to burn,” he explains, passing her a bottle of sunscreen as well.

“Thanks Ry.”

They muse about the idyllic beauty of the scene in front of them until everyone rejoins them. For reasons unbeknownst to Magdalene Tyson is in a rush to get back to the house, which leads to him driving very fast and a little erratically. The contents of her stomach threaten to come up but she holds them down, tightening her grip on the leather seat. A wave crests and Tyson hits it head on, causing the boat to lurch and rock. Magdalene knows it’s going to happen before it does and leans over the side to save a mess from being created. All the alcohol and food she’d consumed throughout the day is no longer in her body, and heat creeps up the back of her neck. She’s embarrassed – what twenty-five year old gets sea sick?

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

She tries to smile but it comes out more like a grimace. “I just, uh, get motion sick really easily.” Bette passes her a water bottle and she drinks it quickly, eager to get the taste out of her mouth.

Ryan lets Magdalene curl into his side the rest of the way home, and rubs comforting circles on her back to ease her discomfort, doing his best to ignore the stares from his friends.

☼☼☼☼

The trip comes to an end much more quickly than Magdalene would have liked. Tomorrow morning they’ll pack up and drive back to Denver, returning to their normal hectic schedules. Cale and Livy are heading back to Alberta for the rest of the summer, and Bette and Tyson will be going for a visit as well. She’s heard Ryan mention going home in passing, which most likely means he doesn’t have plans to stay. Magdalene will be all alone in Colorado, but she’s used to it. The only issue being friends with professional athletes is that they leave. She’s been dealing with the loss since Bette and Tyson got together years ago – having them around as her support system most of the year and then them disappearing for a couple of months.

Not wanting to think about how soon she’ll be alone, Magdalene heads outside and starts a campfire. It’s a skill she picked up as a kid and it has come in handy over the years. The newspaper crinkles under the flame from the lighter, and soon the kindling is burning well. Everyone else is still inside, cleaning up from dinner and preparing for one last night in paradise. She places a few blocks of wood in the fire pit once there’s a good enough flame and curls up in a chair, lost in thought about what comes next. There’s rustling from somewhere behind her but she pays it no mind, assuming it’s a small animal wandering through the forest.

“Can I offer you some company?” a voice says softly, waiting for a response. The movement wasn’t a raccoon but in fact Ryan, and Magdalene gestures at the chair beside her with a smile.

He passes her a glass of white wine, which she takes with an appreciative hum. They sit in silence for a moment, admiring the beauty of the setting sun. “I’m going to miss it,” Ryan sighs, leaning back in his chair and extending his legs.

She nods. “Me too. It’s so quiet up here. Denver gets too loud sometimes.”

“Tell me about it. I’m not just going to miss the lake though, it’s also lounging around and not having to worry about hockey. And you.”

The ending comes out rushed, and Magdalene isn’t sure she heard him correctly. “Me?”

Ryan looks at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes you. Why wouldn’t I? You’re funny, smart, and catch all of my West Wing references. There’s no one who gets me quite like you, even back home.”

It takes her by surprise. They’ve only known each other for a few months, and only really started associating after the party at Bette and Tyson’s. There has to be somebody who knows him better than she does. When she voices her opinion Ryan just scoffs, saying that people treat him as one-dimensional because he plays hockey. Somehow the conversation shifts to Magdalene, and when she lets it slip she gets lonely in Denver without her friends, Ryan asks the question she’s been dreading.

“So why don’t you get a boyfriend?”

“I can’t just get a boyfriend because my friends are gone,” she laughs, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s unsure of where this will go and how to question the follow ups.

He rolls his eyes. “I know that, but like, I don’t know, wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone all the time?”

It would be, Magdalene thinks, but she just shrugs. “I guess I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I just finished school and for the first time in a long time I can focus on myself.” She leaves out the part where Ryan gives her butterflies and that if he asked she’d probably jump headfirst into a relationship with him.

The topic is dropped then because Tyson comes out of the house screaming about the night is going to be wild because it’s their last together for a while. Magdalene and Ryan share a look of mild panic, but both of them are itching to have fun with friends so they raise their glasses in salute before finishing them in one gulp.

Magdalene drinks more than she should and wakes in the morning with a killer hangover. It seems that no one else is better off though, all stumbling around looking for Advil and coffee like it’s going to be their last meal. Packing up takes a bit longer than expected, but they’re still out before the official checkout time. There’s a bit of discourse on who Magdalene will travel home with. Bette wants her in Tyson’s car, no doubt to talk about how close her and Ryan seem to be, but Cale offers to bring her with them. His reasoning is that Ryan is driving him and Livy directly to the airport, and having the front seat could be good for her motion sickness. It’s ultimately Magdalene’s choice and the idea of having more time with Ryan before he leaves is too enticing to pass up. She bids her other friends goodbye, promising to come over for dinner before they fly out, and climbs into the cab of Cale’s truck.

Once again she’s a less than ideal passenger, but this time it’s because she sleeps the entire way back to Denver. The drinking took it out of her and coupled with the queasiness in her stomach from the winding roads sleep is the only thing that makes sense. So much for extra time with Ryan she thinks as she wakes up in the airport parking lot.

“Sleeping beauty has risen!” Ryan chuckles, “Why don’t you get out and stretch your legs for a sec? We have the parking spot for another fifteen minutes.”

Magdalene does as suggested because truthfully her joints are a little stiff, and finds Cale and Livy grabbing their bags from the back. She hugs them goodbye and wishes them safe travels, which Cale returns with a warning not to get into too much trouble before heading for the entrance. Once both of them are safely inside the confines of the airport, Ryan and Magdalene get back in the vehicle and finish the last leg of the trip.

She directs Ryan to her apartment complex, and he mentions that he’s never been in this area of the city. “That’s because you have no need to be around a bunch of university kids,” she laughs. Once they pull into the parking lot, he offers to help her take up her bag. It’s only a small suitcase Magdalene could definitely handle herself, but she wants him to come up, to prolong her time with him.

Magdalene’s keys jingle in the lock as the door opens. Ryan follows her in and shuts the door carefully, not wanting to disrupt the aura of peace that permeates the space. From what he can tell, the average size apartment is the perfect reflection of Magdalene – packed full of books and plants and feels very put together despite the owner being only twenty-five. After their shoes find a home on the boot rack and the coats they brought for the drive home are hung in the closet she leads Ryan into the living room. There’s a soft purring by his feet, and Ryan looks down to see an animal. He never pegged Magdalene as someone to keep pets.

“Who’s this?” he asks, bending down to pet the small white cat.

“That’s Caligula.”

A puzzled look graces Ryan’s features. “Who?”

“Caligula,” Madalene giggles. “You can call him little boots if you’d like. He’ll respond.” She picks up the animal when it comes to her and scratches gently behind its ear.

“Why would you name your cat something dumb like Caligula, and why does it respond to little boots?”

It’s then the woman realizes that not everyone understands the reference. “Caligula was the third emperor of Rome,” she explains, “But his real name was Gaius. He gained the nickname Caligula as a child and it just stuck. It translates to little boots in Latin.”

Ryan is in awe of Magdalene for what feels like the millionth time. Of course someone as smart as her would have a crazy name for a pet and have the knowledge to back it up. He feels his chest tighten with affection but he wills it away. She isn’t looking for anything right now, he reminds himself. Magdalene’s self-professed inability to reciprocate his feelings is frustrating, but Ryan knows he’d wait forever for her.

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: catch some extra content here!

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @ricohenrique @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlbluesbrat21 (add yourself to the taglist!)

[cheeriecherry]

Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi] [1/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 1/8

Warnings: None, like 2 swears

You stare out the window of the plane, past your own reflection. In the darkness below, you can see the runway lights approaching fast, bright beacons in the shadow of night. You can hardly believe you’re about to land back in Japan.

It’s been years since you’ve set foot in the country, two and a half, to be specific, and to say you’re nervous is an understatement. You wonder if they’ll be there, your old friends, waiting for you. You’d called them earlier in the week, only ever reaching their voicemails, but you’d left them messages saying when you’d arrive…and that you’d explain everything.

When you left so long ago, it had been without a word. One day you were living your life, the next you were being shipped off to the United States, to work undercover. You hadn’t been allowed to tell anyone where you were going, or for how long. You’d just…left.

You hoped that they’d both be there. God, did you hope.

Not that they owed you anything, but the logical side of your mind told you they’d be likely to give you the benefit of the doubt, and hear what you had to say. At least, Hizashi probably would.

You’d known the blond since you were small children, having lived in the same neighborhood and gone to the same elementary school. You hadn’t met Shouta until years later, when you started high school.

The two of you hadn’t hit it off immediately. In fact. you’d found him to be aloof beyond measure, uninterested, and stubborn…but Hizashi really seemed to like him. So you’d made a point to try and get along, and it had eventually proved fruitful.

He had been difficult to get to know, but once you learned a little more about each other you’d found you had a lot in common. He was funny, in his own way, kind, and cared deeply about others, even if he didn’t show it on the surface.

And Hizashi seemed pretty pleased that you two had finally made nice with one another.

Your thoughts drift further along as you think more about the friends you left behind, the shaky beginnings of friendship, the stressful mayhem of your budding hero careers. You smile to yourself, recalling the shitty one bedroom apartment the three of you had crammed into in your early twenties, none of you being able to afford much more.

It had been nonstop work, back then. Double shifts for weeks in a row, extra patrols, second (and third) jobs on the side, all to earn enough cash to make your own way in the world. You’d been so grateful to have them back then. They made the hassle of it all worthwhile.

You’d come to the conclusion pretty early on that your feelings for them weren’t totally platonic, but you’d never had the desire to act on it. You were comfortable with where your life had been, and maybe fear had held you back, but you hadn’t wanted to risk messing anything up.

Besides, the two of them always seemed to pay more attention to each other than to you.

“Pardon me, Miss.”

You snap out of your thoughts when a gentle hand rests on your shoulder. You look up at the smiling flight attendant with wide eyes, electricity buzzing through your body where she touched you.

She lets you know the plane has landed and that the rest of the passengers have exited the deck (a quick glance around proves this), and that if you need help carrying anything to let her know. You thank her quietly, apologize for holding everyone up, and make your way into the airport.

—-

You squint as you walk into the building, which -even at such a late hour- is busy with people. The fluorescent lights almost burn your eyes, and the din around you is loud enough that you almost miss the sound of your name being called.

Thankfully, you manage to hear the quick footsteps behind you, before you’re scooped up like a doll and squished in a hug.

“Y/N! We missed you!”

You squirm a little in Hizashi’s arms, trying to regain your balance, but he only spins you in a circle and hugs you harder. You find yourself smiling, despite your earlier unease. He was here. He’d heard you. He’d come for you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Shouta meandering towards you, hands shoved in his pockets and donning his usual expression. You smile at him, too, and offer him a hug after you’re finally set down.

He’s softer and significantly more calm about it, but his grip on you is tight and warm. You sigh and lean into him, resisting the urge to stay like that for longer than necessary.

“I have a lot of explaining to do, huh?” you say, keeping your tone light. A fresh wave of guilt washes over you when you remember everything that’s happened, and everything you did. They were here now, but you could only guess what they were thinking and feeling; disappointment, shock, anger…

The three of you wander over to the baggage claim area, and stand in a small huddle while you wait for your things.

“Your voicemail said you were undercover,” Hizashi says, and you nod.

“Yeah, for two and a half years.” Shouta grumbles, low enough that you almost miss it. You fiddle with the sleeves of your shirt, avoiding their gazes.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is small, “Truly. If I could have told you about anything, I would have. The commission estimated the mission would only last a couple weeks, but…”

“Two and a half years.”

You droop. “It was supposed to be a small takedown, for some small-time ringleader in the states. Get in, get out, don’t get caught.”

Shouta watches a luggage bag pass by, carefully disinterested. “So what went wrong?”

You shrug. “Local lowlife ended up being part of an international smuggling ring. We could have taken the guy out, but then we would’ve lost the only source we had to something bigger. So we stayed, and we spied, and we put a lot of people in prison.”

Hizashi pulls a bag off the conveyor. “And you got yourself on someone’s shit list.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” you laugh, but neither of them do.

You reach for the handle of your bag, but Hizashi swings it away before you even get close. You roll your eyes and complain, but let him carry it anyways, the three of you lulling into silence on the way out.

Only when you’re outside do either of them speak again.

“You kept saying ‘we’, back there,” Shouta says, and Hizashi tacks on, “Did you have a partner?”

You’re quiet for a moment, pensive. Sad. Guilty.

“Yeah,” you try to keep your voice even, “I did.”

My fault.

You shake the thought away and pretend to miss the glance that the two of them share with each other, walking a few steps ahead of them. It’s obvious that it’s not something you’re willing to talk about right now, even if you weren’t exhausted from the flight and lack of sleep.

You reach the car before them, recognizing the old vehicle as the one Hizashi owned before you’d left.

“We’re glad you’re back, in any case,” he says, unlocking the side door for you to slip in. “It hasn’t been the same without you around.”

You smile at that, but you’re certain it doesn’t reach your eyes. Your mind is elsewhere, now, lost in old thoughts. 

Shouta slides into the front passenger seat, peering back at you in the mirror. “We’ll be home soon. Try not to fall asleep back there, you know you get motion sick.”

You snort, but you can feel your eyelids falling. “I won’t fall asleep, I’m stronger than-” You break off into a yawn. “…Maybe not. Just drop me off at a hotel, okay? I don’t mind staying there for a while-”

“You’re kidding, right?” Hizashi plops into the driver’s seat, and starts the car. “You seriously think we’d just toss you out like that? No ma’am, you can crash on our couch!”

“It’s gonna be a couple weeks until I can find a place,” you explain, tiredness beginning to seep into your voice, “and I really don’t wanna take up space-”

Shouta reaches back without looking and pinches your leg. “Your money is better spent on new living arrangements,” he says, and you swat at him, “Don’t blow it on some shit hotel when you have people who want to house you.”

You grumble a little, but relent, knowing he’s right.

“So, you two are still living together, huh?” you ask, trying to change the conversation to something more comfortable. “I would’ve sworn you guys would have enough saved up to get your own places by now.”

“We’re engaged, so it makes sense.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at this, surprise evident in your expression. Engaged? Your stomach does little flips, and for a moment you’re not sure if they’re good or bad. On one hand, you’re glad they’re happy and together. On the other hand…seeing them after so long has definitely begun to resurface some old feelings.

You smile, masking the sadness. “I really missed a lot, huh? I didn’t even know you guys liked each other.”

Hizashi grins in the rear view mirror. “Some things came to light after you…left. We admitted some feelings, tried a few things out, and the rest is history.”

Your stomach sinks, all the butterflies you’d had instantly dying. “I’m glad you guys had each other. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Shouta reaches back again, but you manage to dodge his pinching attack this time. You slap at each other for a couple seconds, before you’re scolded for roughhousing in the car.

“You don’t need to keep apologizing,” he says, “we get why you had to leave, now. Besides, you’re back. We can pick up where we all left off.”

Where you left off, huh? Where you’d left off, you’d been overworked and pining hard for two of the dumbest smart people you’d ever known. Were you doomed to that fate again?

Still, you tell them, “That sounds perfect.”

[squirmymochi]

Hello again! This story was commissioned by a lovely repeat customer and I got permission to post it for y’all to enjoy. Hope you like it!

***

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Connor chants along with the other boys as Jack downs the rest of his beer, his throat working up and down as he drinks. His sweat glistens slightly against his skin, catching the mid-morning light as he tips his head back to finish the last few drops before gasping in a breath of air and crushing the empty can in his hands.

“Yeah!” Will cheers from the passenger’s seat, laughing goofily. “Didn’t think you could actually do it!”

“Did he finish?” Henry asks, taking his eyes off the road for a couple of seconds to glance backwards at Jack. Connor doesn’t really mind--they haven’t seen another car in at least five minutes, and the expanse of road ahead of them is as straight as an arrow and smooth like glass.

The four of them are on a road trip, having finished their third year of college together a couple of short weeks ago, and in order to save money on gas they’d decided to pile into Henry’s old four-person car instead of taking two separate vehicles. It’s a little bit cramped, and very hot with their combined body temperatures warming up the small space, but luckily enough, Jack had the foresight to fill one of their mini coolers with sodas and beer, squeezing it between his and Connor’s feet in the backseat.

Connor’s pretty sure he’d have already died of heatstroke if it weren’t for Jack’s smart thinking. His smarts are one of the few things Connor admires about him--As the brain of the group, Jack always has the solution for any problem, and he’s kind enough not to judge, either. Before Connor came out to Henry and Will, the two of them had found a gay porn magazine stashed beneath his dorm room bed, and all it had taken was a panicked look towards Jack for his friend to jump to his defense with an excuse about art majors and the human figure.

Connor is pretty sure that’s the moment he fell for Jack. (Fell hard.)

Unfortunately, his crush (which has since spiraled into something much more) is just about the one problem Jack can’t fix for him. Connor’s three closest friends may know that he plays for the other team now, but that doesn’t mean they share the sentiment at all. He’s spent a lot of time trying to convince himself otherwise, but he always circles back around to Jack being straight.

That doesn’t mean he can’t admire his friend from afar, though, and admire he does. Like now, for instance, as Jack lets out a long sigh and wipes the sweat from his brow with the hand still holding his beer can, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Damn, that was good,” he says, his voice low and smooth, turning to glance at Connor. “You’d better catch up, man. That was my second.”

“I’m almost done,” Connor retorts, lifting his own can to his lips. “Not everyone can swallow the whole can in one go.”

Jack lets out a huff of a laugh as Connor takes a few gulps of his second beer of the day, enjoying the crisp coldness of the drink as it trickles down his throat. “Weak,” Will jeers with a snort, turning back around in his seat to watch the open road. Connor narrows his eyes playfully at him, continuing to enjoy his beer.

“Hey, pass me a soda, would you?” Henry asks, taking one hand off the wheel and waving it in the direction of the cooler. “I don’t care what kind.”

“I got it,” Jack says, flipping the lid of the cooler and fishing out a can of ginger ale. “Must suck to have to stay sober this whole drive.”

“Whatever,” Will scoffs. “At least we won’t have to piss an hour more into the drive.”

“Caffeine is a diuretic, too, idiot,” Henry laughs, reaching back to take the offered can of soda. “But it doesn’t matter. We’ve got all the time in the world to get to the site. As long as we check in before dark, we can stop as many times as we want.”

Connor quietly takes another sip of his beer, sinking down in his seat an inch. He’s gotten pretty good at casually talking about needing to piss with his friends--they are boys in their early twenties, after all, it’s bound to come up occasionally--but it’s still weird for him to do knowing that he enjoys it more than the rest of them do. Having a piss holding fetish is probably his closest kept secret now that he’s out, and he’s sworn to himself that he’ll never tell another soul as long as he lives, but he still gets a little extra sweaty and nervous when one of his friends brings up their need.

Still, he can’t help but let his mind wander, watching as Jack fishes out another can of cheap, cold beer, leaving it unopened in his fist. How many beers is Jack going to have before he calls it done? How long will the other two wait before pulling off to a rest stop? The image of Jack squirming from side to side, shifting his hips and grinding down against the seat below him desperately, brings a whole new flush to Connor’s face, and he snaps his eyes forward automatically, as if he’s been caught.

“Better get drinking, Conn,” Will says with a grin, nodding towards Connor’s unfinished second beer. “Looks like Jack’s getting ready to down another one.”

“Since when is this a competition?” Connor retorts, though he automatically raises his can to his lips anyway. “Last I checked we were on our way to a campsite, not to die of alcohol poisoning.”

“Three or four beers won’t hurt you, anway,” Jack replies with a shrug, reaching up to press the still unopened can to his cheek. His skin squishes against it, and Connor can’t help but replace the can with a pillow, the sunlight from the window becoming early morning light in his imagination. God, he thinks, I need to get this whole crush situation under control.

“Ugh, my legs are totally numb,” Will complains, thunking his fist against his right leg for emphasis. “Henry, your car was not designed for people my size.”

“Jack is taller than you, and he’s not complaining,” Connor replies, almost too quickly. Jack flashes him a small smile, his face pink from the cold of his beer.

“Do you want to pull over for a little bit?” Henry asks. “I can keep an eye out for exits if you want to walk around for a little bit.”

“Ah, maybe in a few,” Will says. “We’re barely even halfway there, and it feels like we’ve been driving forever. Might as well tough it out for a little bit longer.”

“Might as well,” Jack agrees, stretching his long legs apart in the confined space of the backseat. His left leg rubs up against the cooler, pushing it into Connor’s leg.

“Hey, Connor, would you grab me a coke?” Will asks, reaching back blindly. “It’s too fucking hot out today.”

“Sure,” Connor agrees as he pulls the shiny red can out of the cooler. The ice water on his hand sends a shiver down his spine, but it isn’t unwelcome at all.

“Will, why don’t you put on some music?” Henry suggests as Will accepts the coke. “I bet everyone’s tired of hearing you talk, anyway.”

“Shut up, man, people love my voice!” Will replies with a laugh, smacking Henry’s arm with the back of his hand before reaching for the aux cord and plugging it into his phone.

Connor settles back with his beer, taking a couple of long swigs as the sound of Will’s music hums through the rest of the car. He can’t help but glance over at Jack, finding his friend once again staring out the window, golden light filtering through his hair and sparkling off his skin.

Jack turns, catching Connor in the act, and raises a brow at him questioningly. “You need something?” he asks, not in an unkind way.

“Ah, I was just…” Connor struggles to come up with an excuse, eyes darting around the car and landing on the unopened can of beer in Jack’s hand. “I was just wondering if you were gonna drink that,” he finishes weakly, eyes darting back up to Jack’s face.

“Hm? Oh.” Jack reaches down to crank the tab on the can, lifting it halfway to his lips. “I spaced out there for a second, totally forgot about it. But hey, wouldn’t want it to get all warm, right?”

“Right,” Connor agrees with a weak chuckle. Jack smiles warmly at him before lifting the can to his mouth, taking a few long pulls as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

Connor tears his eyes away, forcing himself to look out his own window at the flat expanse of land that passes by. No more staring for the rest of the trip, he decides, frowning at himself in the reflection of the glass. You’re giving too much away already. Just… be cool, alright?

You can definitely do that.

***

“Connor, you’re falling behind,” Jack says in between sips of his fourth (yes, fourth) beer. “You barely started your third, and I’m already almost done with this one!”

“You’re a lot bigger of a person than I am, jerk,” Connor retorts, taking in another mouthful of beer and swallowing it automatically. He’s not even thirsty anymore, but the alcohol seems to have done its job in loosening him up--he keeps laughing at nothing, and he’s somehow caught the competitive spirit that Will and Jack had slipped into since they started drinking.

“Excuses, excuses,” Jack chuckles, shaking his head with a smile. “Come on, I bet you can finish it all at once if you try hard enough.”

“I wouldn’t say try hard is in Connor’s vocabulary,” Will snorts.

“Hey!” Connor protests, moving his free hand to smack the back of Will’s car seat, giggling when Will throws a fake glare back at him. “I’ll finish it right now, just watch.”

“Before you do, is it alright if we pull over here?” Henry asks. “I gotta take a leak, and I don’t want you spilling all over my car when I’m driving. You’re loose enough already.”

Jack snorts, covering his hand with his mouth to hide his laughter, so Connor reaches out again to smack his arm away. “If you’re gonna laugh at me, at least do it where I can see it,” he says with a grin.

“Okay, we’re pulling over,” Henry decides as he changes lanes, drifting towards a small rest station off the side of the road. “I really don’t want to wait anymore, and my legs feel like shit, too.”

“Same here,” Will agrees, stretching his arms over his head. “How many hours we got left, anyway?”

“Three or four,” Henry says. “I’m glad we got the site so cheap, but couldn’t it have been closer to campus?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Jack replies with a shrug. Henry maneuvers the car down the narrow entrance road, scanning the area until he finds a free parking spot.

“Ah, finally!” Will sighs, hand on the door handle before Henry can even finish pulling in. “I feel like we’ve been in here forever. I should not have drank that much soda.”

“Are you two coming?” Henry asks, turning around in his seat. “Like I said, we’ve still got a while to go before we get there.”

Connor looks over at Jack uncertainly, then down at his own beer. He hasn’t been to the bathroom since he woke up this morning, and he does feel a bit of a need to go if he’s being honest. He likes holding, but he’s not sure if he would enjoy it around his three closest friends, even if they don’t know about his piss kink.

Before he can answer, Jack chooses for him. “I’ll stay here,” he decides, holding up his beer. “I wanna finish this one before you guys get back, and I have to see Connor chug that entire can. That is, if he can.”

“Of course I can!” Connor says automatically, lifting the almost full container in the air for emphasis. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“You two are crazy if you plan on going the whole ride without pissing,” Will says with a laugh. “But it’s your funeral.”

“We’ll be quick,” Henry promises, pulling himself out of the car and closing the door, leaving Connor alone with Jack.

“Well?” Jack prompts, tapping his beer against Connor’s where it hangs midair. “Bottom’s up! First to finish gets to pick the music for the next hour.”

“You’re on!” Connor laughs, lifting his can to his mouth and tipping his head back. The beer is cold and fresh on his tongue, and it pools in his mouth almost too fast for him to swallow. He drinks as fast as he can, ignoring the telling signals from his bladder and throwing his common sense out the window. He’s gotten pretty good at holding ever since he started exploring his kink, and he’s sure he’ll be able to last until the next rest stop, especially since Jack drank a whole can more than he did in the same amount of time. Surely it won’t be long until they pull off the highway once again.

And until they do, he gets to imagine Jack squirming around in his seat, trying to contain four cans of beer as subtly as he can, his face growing red from effort and embarrassment. And if that isn’t a good reason to pass up a bathroom break himself, he doesn’t know what is.

***

An hour later finds Connor shifting his weight from side to side in his seat, his hands pressed to the seat cushion on either side of his legs, trying as hard as he can to think about something other than the pressure between his hips. He knows from nights of careful research that it should take about two hours for a drink to go through him, which means everything after the second can of beer hasn’t even hit him yet, and it’s that thought that both scares him and turns him on a little.

He’s never held around his friends before, and he’s only ever held in public when he had sure access to a bathroom. It’s weird, knowing how bad he has to pee--maybe a six out of ten and quickly approaching an eight--and not knowing when he’ll be able to let it go.

On the other hand, he’s pretty sure that Jack is getting desperate too, and it’s honestly even hotter than he ever imagined it would be. Jack’s legs are spread open a little bit, completely still, and he’s slouching down in his seat, one hand tensed on his thigh, the other alternating between playing with his hair and drumming against the car door. He’s quiet--they all are at this point in the drive, letting the music Connor had selected earlier fill the empty space, but Jack is the kind of quiet that means he’s concentrating really hard on something.

Connor would bet good money that the thing he’s concentrating on is his full bladder.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure that Jack hasn’t gone to the bathroom since they all woke up this morning, either. The four of them made their way down from the house they’d stayed over at together after getting ready for the day and eating a quick meal, and then they’d hit the road shortly after that. That means that Jack must be feeling as full as Connor is, if not more so.

He side-eyes his friend as Jack shifts in his seat, squirming ever so slightly, his hips lifting off the seat for just a second before landing again. He’s clearly trying to be subtle about it, but he’s not doing a very good job, at least from Connor’s perspective. He watches with interest as Jack continues to move around, first hooking one ankle under the other, then sitting straight up and shifting his weight to his right side, leaning heavily against the car door. At least he seems too distracted with his need to notice Connor watching him.

Surely he’ll ask to pull over at a rest stop soon, Connor thinks, glancing away from the show for a second to check for road signs. It’s been a while since the last rest stop was advertised, and they’d passed that one almost fifteen minutes ago, so there must be another one coming up soon.

He’s distracted by a soft grunt from his right--his eyes snap back to Jack, whose face is scrunched up in a grimace. His legs move to squeeze against one another as he hunches over slightly, the hand on his thigh twitching towards his crotch for just a second before settling back once again. He must be pretty full, Connor thinks, if he’s wanting to grab his dick already.

Once again, the thought of Jack squirming around with his hands clutching his penis makes its way into Connor’s head. He feels his face turn red and whips his head forward too quickly to escape notice, but he doesn’t dare turn back around. What would Jack say if he knew what Connor was thinking?

He keeps his eyes trained on the back of Henry’s seat, willing the blush off of his face, but when he feels a buzz in his pocket he has to clamp his legs together to avoid a leak. His bladder throbs inside of him, all but forgotten, and now it’s his turn to grimace as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Strangely enough, it’s a text from Jack of all people. Connor recognizes the little profile picture he’d drawn for Jack--the one his friend had insisted on using--before he even reads the name. Nervously, he glances up at Jack and finds him gazing back already, eyes flickering down to the screen meaningfully.

Connor looks back down, taking a moment to un-glue his legs from each other before he opens the text. A simple U ok? stares back at him. Confused, he looks back up at Jack; his friend motions to his face in a general wave, then makes a “spooked” motion with his hands.

I’m good, Connor replies, then quickly types out the first excuse that comes to mind. Just kind of have to pee is all.

When he gets the courage to look up, Jack is already typing out an answer, and a few seconds later his phone vibrates again.

Dude, me too. I’ve had to go for ages

Why haven’t you said anything? Connor writes back. I’m sure they would have stopped for you.

Don’t say anything! Jack answers. We can’t let them know we have to piss. They’ll make so much fun of us for skipping the last break

Connor’s eyes go wide, and he almost answers out loud from surprise. What are we supposed to do, then? he asks, immediately looking over at Jack. His crush grimaces once again, hunching over in his seat and re-crossing his ankles.

We’ve just got to hold it until one of them decides to pull over on their own, he says, and Connor feels his heart stop in his chest. The others only went to the bathroom an hour ago, and they’ve still got two or three more to go until they make it to the campsite. Is Jack planning on holding it the whole time? He’s already moving around quite a bit, knocking his knees together and constantly changing positions, and his forehead is shiny with sweat that Connor’s sure isn’t just from the heat.

Are you sure you can wait that long? he asks, throwing caution to the wind. He can always play his own interest off for sympathy, and besides, Jack seems pretty open to talking about it.

Of course I can! Jack replies seconds later. Obviously I’d go if I could, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold it.

Connor bites his lip, typing out the next message on his phone. You don’t seem so sure about that, he ends up saying, looking up just in time to catch Jack pressing the heel of his hand into his crotch. It’s not the frantic grabbing and squirming that Connor always ends up imagining, but it’s still beyond hot and it has him once again following his reckless side.

I’m 22, not some kid, Jack writes, throwing a hand out to lightly punch Connor in the side. I bet you’re just trying to get ME to ask them to pull over for you.

No way! Connor replies, forcing his legs apart further as if to prove his point. His bladder gives off a dull throb in protest, reminding him that now is no time to let pride get in the way, but the kinkier side of his brain has fully taken over at this point and there’s no stopping it now. I could hold it the whole way there if I needed to. Besides, you’re the one squirming around here!

The last part earns him another gentle jab in the side, but Connor still tenses as the flesh near his bladder is squished. Despite what he’d said, he isn’t completely sure that he’d be able to last all the way to the campsite. His six out of ten is quickly becoming a seven, and the third beer still hasn’t hit him. He’s glad for all those late-night holds when his roommates were out, but he knows no amount of practice can keep him from wetting himself ever again. Still, there’s no way he’ll be the one to cave in and ask for a bathroom, not when he can distract himself from his own desperation with Jack’s the whole way there.

His phone vibrates in his hand once again, and he draws his attention from his bladder to focus on the conversation instead. Jack has written I bet you wish you were squirming like me with a “;)” at the end of the sentence--the last part makes his mouth dry, which in turn gives him an idea.

I bet you can’t fit another drop in you, you’re so full, he writes, sending it before he even realizes how kinky it sounds. When he looks up to check, he’s met with an inquisitive stare, a raised eyebrow.

What are you getting at? Jack sends back a moment later. Connor tries not to grin as he gestures towards the cooler meaningfully, then makes a drinking motion with his hand. He tries not to get too excited at the momentary flicker of doubt in Jack’s eyes--maybe he really is too full to drink--but it’s gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Fine,” Jack mouths at him, his eyebrows drawing together as he flips the lid of the cooler, much to Connor’s surprise. He lets out a quiet hiss as his hand meets the frigid water and half-melted ice, but after a few seconds of fishing he manages to pull out a can of cola. Connor watches with delight as his friend cracks the top of the can and takes a few long drinks, shivering in between gulps of soda, his other hand clenched into a fist at his side.

Jack finishes drinking with a soft, heavy sigh, then turns his gaze to Connor, holding the cola can out to him. Connor frowns, confused, until Jack leans forward even more, swishing the remaining soda around inside the can. His eyebrows are raised once again, challenging Connor to say no.

Connor pretends to glare back, acting like this little dare of theirs isn’t one of the most exciting things that’s happened to him all week. He accepts the can, shivering both from the leftover droplets of ice water and from Jack’s hand brushing against his, lifting it to his lips and chugging the rest of the soda as quickly as he can. It feels like a little over half the can, but he doesn’t really mind--after all, Jack had drank an entire beer more than he had at first, and it can’t be that hard to convince him to down another.

He grits his teeth together as he drinks, pressing his thighs together and shifting around in his seat as the cold soda makes its way down his throat. Only two or three more hours, he reminds himself, and then I can pee. Maybe I’ll even be lucky enough to go right next to Jack. Wouldn’t that be a dream come true?

He looks back down at his phone, where a new text waits on the homescreen. Good luck, tough guy! it reads, followed by You’ll need it >:)

Connor’s pretty sure he’s already maxed out on luck today, but he keeps that thought to himself.

***

“Hey, look at that!” Henry says, waving his phone in the general direction of the backseat. “We’re ahead of schedule. Should be there in an hour if we don’t hit traffic and don’t make any more stops.”

“G-Great,” Connor grits out, barely even glancing at the phone screen. He’s much too focused on his bladder, which has been screaming at him to empty it for the past forty-five minutes. He knows he’s held more for longer many times before, but for some reason it feels like he’s the fullest he can possibly get. Every few seconds his bladder throbs under his seatbelt, hours worth of piss begging to be let out. He wouldn’t have ever dared getting this desperate in a public place before, and if it were just him who needed to go he would have swallowed his pride and asked for a rest stop ages ago.

But one look at Jack has him clenching his muscles and steeling his resolve. Jack, whose face is currently stained bright red, who can’t keep still for five seconds without breathing so heavily it sounds like he’d just run a mile. Right now he’s got his hips lifted as far away from the seat as his seatbelt will let him, his hands in fists braced on either side of his body. He’s so clearly desperate for the bathroom, and yet both of their states seem to have gone unnoticed by both Henry and Will.

He watches as Jack changes positions once again, letting his ass fall back down to the seat below him and bringing his knees close together, shimmying back and forth as he bites at his lip like he’s just walked out of a PornHub video. All of a sudden he gasps, his hands flying to his crotch and pressing down, one knee hooking over the other one. Connor feels his own face heat up as he tries to keep his libido in check, though the image does end up stiffening his dick enough to stave off the next wave of his own desperation.

He figures that he can get away with pretty much anything so long as the boys in the front seats don’t notice, so he takes the opportunity to pinch the tip of his half-hard cock, sighing in relief as he does. God, he’s really desperate--the pressure in his bladder is now one of the only things on his mind. He can barely even tell which song is playing through the car’s speakers now; only that its gentle vibrations are not making his situation any easier.

Maybe he should have thought ahead, been smart about it instead of taking Jack’s soda challenge. Maybe the whole “alcohol is a diuretic” thing does hold more truth to it than he’d thought. Either way, the only thing keeping him from beginning to leak is his semi and the thought that Jack is even more frantic than he is.

He hears a quiet “Oh, oh God,” from his right and glances over, surprised to see that he can see the faint outline of Jack’s penis where he’s gripping it through his pants. There’s no wet spot yet, but it looks like it won’t be long now before he begins to leak in earnest.

A wicked idea enters Connor’s head, one that he can’t resist even though his logical side tells him it’s an absolutely horrible idea. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and types out a quick text, chewing on his lip for a couple of seconds before he decides fuck it and hits send.

C: You ready to give up and ask for a stop yet or what?

His eyes flicker over to Jack, waiting for the far-away cell towers to deliver his message. Seconds later, Jack lets out a high, soft moan, hunching over and shifting his hips from side to side as he squeezes at his cock. It’s probably both the hottest thing Connor has ever seen and heard.

Jack glances over at him, reaching for his phone when he notices the one in Connor’s hand. He doesn’t seem very ashamed of holding himself, which only adds fuel to the fire that is Connor’s terrible idea.

It takes a minute for Jack to type out his response with one hand, his other glued to his groin with no sign of moving any time soon.

J: Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m about to pop

J: But there’s no way in hell I’m asking them to pull over for me!

Connor fights the grin that wants to pop up on his face, though it quickly turns strained as a wave of need hits him. He presses his thighs together and points his toes as he types as quickly as he can, then drops a hand down to hold himself. At least his desperation will serve as a good distraction if his plan goes awry.

C: Are you sure about that?

C: You’re holding your dick so much I’m tempted to offer to help you with it

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Jack reads the text. His friend’s eyes go wide for a split second, but as soon as it’s there it’s gone, and he’s typing away once again.

J: At least buy a guy dinner first, jeez

Connor feels his heartbeat stutter as he reads the response, his mouth dropping open a bit as he white-knuckles his phone, both from shock and the need to squeeze something to make the pressure inside him go away. Before he can even begin to think of what to respond, a huge wave of desperation overtakes him and he lets the phone slip out of his grip, gasping as his hands fly to his crotch to stop the impending flood. He’s at a nine out of ten now, easy--he can feel the piss at the tip of his cock, fighting as hard as it can to escape.

He risks opening one eye and glancing to his right, wondering how Jack will react to his desperation. Will he be grossed out if he notices that Connor is half hard still? Will he kindly pretend not to notice at all?

He’s surprised when his eyes focus enough to notice the expression on Jack’s face. He looks flushed, almost flustered… And more than anything, he looks intrigued.

“Wow,” Jack mouths at him, somewhere between impressed and teasing. Connor shoots a weak smile at him as he circles the base of his dick with his hands, squeezing with all his might. Luckily neither of the boys in the front has noticed anything yet, but it’s still both terrifying and exciting to be this desperate in their presence.

Connor winces as he lets go with one hand, reaching down to grab his phone. He’s definitely pushing his luck, but that look that Jack had given him… It’s not the kind of look that passes between friends. It’s his turn to type with one hand, and he’s shaking ever so slightly on top of that, but at last he manages to type out another text and hit send.

C: Enjoying the show?

Seconds later, he received a reply:

J: I’d give it a perfect review if I could let go of my dick long enough to type it out

J: Are you regretting that last soda btw?

C: Nah, I could hold for longer if I wanted to

C: Not that I have a choice

J: You’re lying, I can tell!

J: I’m bigger than you and even I feel like I’m gonna wet myself any second now

C: That sounds like a you problem

J: I bet you have to go just as bad as me

C: Is it the desperation talking or were you always this delusional?

J: Oh shut up

J: If you don’t have to go, I bet you won’t mind grabbing another soda, right?

C: What if I say I’m not thirsty anymore?

J: Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to drink it

J: I just wanna see the look on your face when your hand hits that ice cold cooler water

Connor stares down at his phone, a slow smile spreading over his face. Intentionally or not, Jack is playing right into the almost exhibisionistic fantasy he’s had for a while, both of his friend teasing him while he’s full of piss and of him torturing a desperate Jack right back. As carefully as he can, he sets his phone on the middle seat and reaches over to flip the lid of the cooler, staring into the slightly sloshing water with a mixture of dread and excitement. He can feel Jack’s eyes on him as he reaches in slowly, his fingers barely brushing the surface of the water.

Better to get it over with, Connor figures, and with that he dives in, submerging his whole hand in the ice water. He lets out a choked-off moan as his bladder convulses, trying in anguish to expel the hours and hours worth of urine. He grabs the first thing he can feel--a can of off-brand lemon lime soda nobody had bothered to drink yet--and yanks his hand out, dropping the can onto the floor of the car and shoving his hand back down onto his crotch.

It’s a bad idea all around. The water that had clung to his hand soaks into his jeans and through his underwear, brushing cool moisture across his sensitive penis as he clutches himself. “Ah, oh,” he hisses, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he moves his hips wildly back and forth, trying to keep the ocean of piss inside of him. It takes almost thirty seconds for the effect of the water to wear off on him, and it’s the closest he’s come to leaking since he’d last wet himself.

At the very least, he notes once he has himself back under control, Jack doesn’t seem to be faring much better. He’s constantly squirming, grinding his hips down into the car seat and letting out short, airy pants as he grabs at his dick, switching from hand to hand and occasionally using both. Every time he has to stifle a moan or a sigh, Connor’s cock gets a little bit harder, which in turn helps him hold it.

Jack doesn’t reach for his phone to text anymore, but he does glance over at Connor every few seconds, like he’s checking to make sure Connor isn’t watching. (Or like he’s making sure Connor is watching--it’s such unfamiliar territory that Connor can’t tell in the slightest.) It doesn’t matter, because either way Connor can’t bear to take his eyes off the show before him. It’s like every one of his fantasies of Jack wriggling around, drops of yellow staining the plush white bed under him, only this is even better because it’s real.

Jack is actually desperate in front of him, and better yet he’s flirting with him over it.

Connor’s thoughts are interrupted by a loud sigh from the front seat. He immediately pulls his hands out of his crotch, cringing at the lack of pressure and squeezing his thighs together to make up for it. He glances up in the direction of the sigh, which sounded like it came from Will’s part of the car.

“Something wrong?” Henry asks from the driver’s seat, reaching to lower the music.

“I’ve gotta piss again,” Will explains, crossing his arms over his head. “Guess I shouldn’t have had that last soda.”

“You want to pull over somewhere?” Henry offers, waving with one hand at the side of the road. “If it’s an emergency we can stop here, and if not we can always keep an eye out for a real rest stop.”

Connor’s eyes go wide, and he side-glances at Jack, who seems to have the same thought as him.

If Will asks to stop at a restroom, the game will be over.

Connor tries not to let the disappointment show on his face, though he knows the cons outweigh the pros for him. Sure, he’d get to pee at last and he wouldn’t be in danger of wetting himself around his best friends anymore, but he’d also lose the opportunity to see Jack slowly lose control, spurting hot leaks of piss into his jeans as he moans and squirms like crazy, trying his best to hold it in… In Connor’s mind, that image is priceless, worth more than any shred of dignity he might have left.

“Nah, it’s alright,” Will says with a wave of his hand, and Connor barely stops himself from breathing a massive sigh of relief. (Not relief relief, but still.) Unless Jack decides to speak up, it looks like his fantasy come true is back on track.

“What about you two?” Henry asks, his eyes flickering to the rear-view mirror, and Connor thanks the stars that he’s been able to keep his hand away from his groin for so long. “You haven’t gone since we got on the road, right? Do you want to pull over somewhere?”

“God, I totally forgot!” Will exclaims. “You guys must be pissing your pants back there.”

“Haha…” Connor trails off awkwardly, shifting his weight to his other side and pressing his knees into each other. “I mean, not yet.”

“What about you, Jack?” Will asks almost tauntingly. “You ready to admit you were an idiot for not going before?”

“I’m not admitting anything,” Jack says with a strained laugh, finding the strength somewhere to kick the back of Will’s seat.

“Oh, come on! You must be bursting back there!”

“Well, yeah…” Jack and Connor glance at each other at the same time, and something like mischief catches in Jack’s eye as they do. “I kinda feel like I’m about to explode,” he admits slyly, never breaking eye contact.

“Ha! I knew it!”

“Maybe it was all those beers… How many did I drink, four?”

“And half a soda,” Connor grits out, his dick throbbing both from arousal and desperation. He checks the rear view mirror and slowly slips a hand into his crotch once he’s sure Henry’s not looking. “You must be really full, huh?”

“Of course,” Jack agrees. “Although you can’t be much better off. You had almost as much to drink as I did, and it’s been hours since you last let go, hasn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah,” Connor manages to reply, heat flaring up in his cheeks. His dick feels rock hard under his hand, but he can’t stop kneading at it, both from his intense desperation and his need for friction. “Oh,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut for a second as the mix of arousal and need sends his brain into overdrive.

“I really don’t mind pulling over if it’s that bad,” Henry offers, but Jack answers for him.

“We’re f-fine, Henry,” he says in a less-than-convincing voice. “Don’t worry about us, just get to the c-campsite.”

“You gonna last the next twenty minutes, Connor?” Henry asks, glancing back in the rear view mirror again. This time Connor doesn’t bother taking his hands away from his crotch, hoping that his friend isn’t able to see how erect he is from the front seat.

“I’ll, mmh, be fine,” he says breathily, eyes practically rolling back in his head. His dick is so incredibly sensitive to every brush of his hand, to the point where he doesn’t know if he’d rather piss or jack off more. He looks over to see that Jack is doubled over once, again, one leg crossed over the other with his hands trapped in between them, putting as much pressure on his dick as he possibly can. His face is just as flushed (bad, bad choice of words) as Connor knows his is, and when he opens his eyes to meet Connor’s, his pupils are blown wide.

“If you say so,” Henry says with a shrug, speeding up as he passes the first car in minutes. “I’ll be honest, I was kind of hoping you’d ask to pull over. All this talk about pissing is making me need to go, too.”

“If those two can hold it for six and a half hours, I’m sure you and I can make it the rest of the trip without a bathroom break,” Will reasons. Connor’s eyes widen as he hears the number--six and a half hours?! No, it’s been more than that--it’s closer to seven or eight hours, considering neither of them peed after that first trip to the bathroom in the morning.

“Still, it’s not like it’s comfortable,” Henry says with a sigh.

“Oh, I know,” Jack says, his voice carrying an undertone of… mischief? Excitement? “I’m… not comfortable either.”

Through his haze of need, Connor notices that Jack isn’t just grabbing himself anymore, but moving his hand in small, open-palmed circles. Is he hard? he wonders, mouth dropping open a bit. Is Jack… getting off on this, too?

“Hey, try not to think about waterfalls,” Will pipes up, gleeful. “Or rainstorms, or whitewater rafting…”

Connor shudders, the very mention of all that gushing, gurgling, free-flowing water sending unwelcome images of toilets and showers to his brain. “God,” he hisses, knocking his knees together and bucking his hips in the air. Once again, he feels someone’s gaze locked onto him, and he doesn’t even need to check to know that it’s Jack who’s looking.

“Knock it off,” Henry cuts in, though there’s no bite behind his words. “The last thing I need is those two causing a flood of their own in the back of my car. I just had this thing cleaned a couple of months ago!”

“Oh, did you?” Will teases. “I couldn’t tell.”

A flood, huh? Connor thinks to himself, staring down at where the band of his jeans cuts into his bloated, distended bladder. I bet together the two of us could cover the whole floor of the car in piss, and then some. Jesus Christ, I have to go!

“Ten minutes,” Henry tells them as he pulls off the main road, onto an unfortunately bumpy dirt path.

Connor swears he can feel each tiny bit of gravel that they drive over, the bumps echoing throughout his bladder as he holds on for dear life. He hears Jack panting from his right and opens one eye to see that his friend is folded in half, both hands buried deep between his legs as he lets his hair fall into his face, chewing on his lip. He must be close to bursting, he realizes, noting the couple of beads of sweat dripping down his face.

As much as he’d love to watch Jack lose control and wet himself, soaking his jeans and the seat below him with hot urine, he’s pretty sure pissing himself in front of his friends isn’t something that Jack would be into, even if he is having fun holding. And it looks like they’ve only got a couple of minutes until one of them starts to leak, or even lets go completely.

“H-Hey, Henry,” he stammers, letting go of his penis with one hand to tap Henry on the shoulder. “We’re not, ah, um, we’re not so far away from the campsite, right?”

“Um, I guess so,” Henry says, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s like a seven minute drive, maybe a fifteen minute walk?”

“Could you let me and Ja-ack out here?” Connor asks, hoping the excitement doesn’t come through in his voice. “I d-don’t know about him, but I feel like I’m gonna pop, mmh! Any second now.”

“Please,” Jack gasps, lifting his head for just long enough for Connor to catch a hint of panic on his face. “I can’t hold it all the way to the, hahh, to the campsite!”

“Yeah, sure!” Henry slows the car to a stop, and Jack is out the door before Connor has even unfastened his seatbelt. “Just follow the trail to Campsite L, and  text me if you get lost, okay?”

“We will!” Connor promises, pushing the door open and setting his foot on the dirt path. Immediately gravity increases on his bladder and he lets out a loud, strangled moan as he dances in place, trying to keep himself dry. “Bye!” he yells, hobbling off to the side of the road after Jack, who’s already a good few feet ahead, still holding onto his cock for dear life.

Every step he takes is absolute torture--the pressure inside of him is enough to drive him crazy, and yet he’s still horny as hell despite the circumstances. “J-Jack, ahh, wait up!” he calls as he hears the car start behind him. “Jack!”

“Hurry up!” Jack calls without looking back, stomping his feet in place. “I seriously feel like I’m about to piss myself, Connor, it’s so bad. Ohh, I need to go!”

The two boys stumble through the forest, going as fast as they can without losing control completely, though it isn’t long before they start to leak. Connor makes it maybe fifteen steps from where he’d left the car before his bladder decides it’s had enough and contracts harshly, trying to override his control. He gasps in shock as a stream of piss jets out of his dick, wetting his pants from the crotch to the inside of the knee within three seconds, before he finally manages to cut off the flow.

Jack seems to be at the same stage in his desperation, because seconds later Connor hears a loud “Oh my God!” followed by the telltale splatter of urine against the ground. The sound is torturous to Connor’s ears, though he decides it’s worth it when he looks up and sees Jack bent over with his hands jammed between his legs, piss dripping out from between his fingers.

“How f-far do we have to go?” he asks from his hunched-over place a couple of feet ahead.

“We’ve gotta, haah, get away from the road,” Connor grits out, his bladder pounding inside of him, demanding he give it back the release he’d stolen from it. “C-Can’t have any cars seeing us when we… go…”

“Fine,” Jack agrees, reaching out to push himself forward on one of the nearer trees and stumbling a little as he goes. “You know,” he continues, looking back over his shoulder at Connor, “under different circumstances I don’t t-think I’d mind as much.”

“Ah… Yeah?” Connor adjusts the hand on his stiff, saturated dick and moans lightly as the fabric of his jeans rubs him just right. “What do you--mmm--what do you mean?”

“I think, oh, that you know what I mean,” Jack pants, breaking eye contact to squeeze his eyes shut against another flood of desperation. “God, I think my bladder’s in danger of p-popping right now.”

“Me too,” Connor agrees, glancing down at himself. Wow. His bladder isn’t the only bulge that’s noticeable--he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been this hard in years, and that’s including the few boyfriends he’d had in the past. He wonders if he would have already wet himself without the help of his boner, or if it’s his years of holding that are keeping the entirety of the Caspian Sea inside of him.

It feels like hours pass as the two of them stumble deeper into the forest, trying their best to contain the beer and soda inside of them for just a little bit longer. And yet when Connor works up the nerve to look over his shoulder (and the self restraint to look away from Jack, who’s currently hopping in place with one leg hooked over the other) he can still see the road through the bushes.

“I t-think this is it for me,” Jack moans, his breath fluttering. “I’ve, ah, never had to go this bad before!”

“Wait!” Connor pants, lifting one hand from his crotch to hold out towards Jack. “Over th-there!”

He moves his arm to point towards a deep seclusion in the woods, just out of sight of the road. “Just hold on, nngh, a little longer!”

“I… I don’t know if I can,” Jack admits, looking back at Connor with red cheeks and watery eyes. Connor can’t help but stare at him for a few seconds, taking in his messy hair and parted lips, his legs that are pressed so tightly together, and his hands, which are gripping the base of an obviously erect penis…

Oh.

So Connor was right before, and it hadn’t just been wishful thinking. Jack is getting some pleasure from holding it in, whether he meant to or not. And now here they are, together alone in the middle of a forest, both desperate to pee and totally aroused at the same time...

“Come on…” Connor says, drawing his eyes back up to meet Jack’s. “I- I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jack’s eyes widen once again, and he glances down at Connor’s crotch, where his piss-stained jeans are clearly tented in the front. Connor’s face heats up, but he doesn’t move to hide it at all. There’s no way he’s misread the situation--the evidence is right there in front of him, after all. And all those looks they’d given each other on the ride over, the flirty texts they’d sent each other… It can’t just be a coincidence, or a misunderstanding.

“O… Okay,” Jack says, his eyes wide as he turns to hobble towards the secluded area. Every few steps a couple of drops of urine make their way through his fingers, leaving tiny circles in the ground below him, but Connor knows that those tiny little leaks aren’t giving him any relief at all. His underwear rubs against him as he moves, and he shudders at the soft friction and the wetness of it all.

“Ah… O-Oh…” Jack sighs, pausing at the entrance to the clearing to dance in place. “Thank God we’re finally h-here…”

Before Connor knows what’s going on or has a chance to look away, Jack is scrambling at his zipper and pulling it down, reaching into his underwear to pull out his dick and leaking the tiniest bit along the way.

Wow, Connor thinks, his eyes going wide as he takes in his friend’s length. He can’t say he hasn’t fantasized about that kind of stuff before, but he’d never imagined Jack’s cock to look as insanely appealing as it does. It’s still stiff, too, and a little red, and for some reason Jack hasn’t actually started pissing yet…

Before he can stop himself, Connor takes a step forward, his own dick hard and straining against the confines of his jeans. Jack looks up, still not peeing, an almost hopeful expression on his face.

“C-Can I…” Connor stops mid-sentence to shift his weight to his other side, shimmying his thighs together as his bladder throbs inside of him. He’s never needed to pee so explosively bad before, and yet his need is the last thing on his mind at a time like this.

“Yeah,” Jack breathes, turning his whole body to face Connor. Hesitantly, Connor reaches out, brushing his fingers along the side of Jack’s dick and inhaling sharply as it twitches in interest. Jack makes a nngh sound, his breath stuttering as Connor continues to lightly touch him.

“I’ve never done this before,” he breathes, looking up at Connor unsurely. “What am I supposed to…”

“Do you want to try?” Connor asks, taking his free hand away to gesture at his lower half. Jack hesitates a second longer, then nods, watching hungrily as Connor lets go of his aching dick to unzip his fly. He considers pulling himself out, but instead goes for Jack’s hand, guiding it to the front of his jeans and letting Jack maneuver his way inside. His knuckles brush against the very bottom of Connor’s bladder and he shudders, eyes fluttering shut as Jack finally reaches deep enough and pulls his penis out.

“Oh…” he moans as Jack strokes him once, unsurely, then again with a bit more pressure. “That’s good…”

He forces his eyes open and reaches out once again, taking Jack’s leaking cock in his hand and twisting his wrist as he strokes, over and over again. Jack is making tiny little sounds, breathing shallowly and whining every time a bit of urine gushes out of him. Some of it splashes onto Connor’s lower leg, but he could care less at this point.

Jack may not have much experience jacking other guys off, but he’s sure as hell not doing a bad job of it. Maybe he mastrubates a lot, Connor thinks, the idea making him even harder as it enters his mind. Only it’s different now--he doesn’t have to fantasize, with the real deal right in front of him, on him. Every inch of his skin is so, so sensitive thanks to the overfilled capacity of his bladder, and Jack’s hand on him is practically sending him into overdrive.

“Ah, ah!” he exclaims as his bladder pangs harshly, forcing a short jet of piss to spurt out of his dick. He glances down, noticing that it had shot straight onto the leg of Jack’s pants and is dripping onto his hiking boots.

“Good?” Jack asks, pausing his ministrations, and Connor can’t help but thrust into his hand to get more friction.

“Don’t stop now,” he urges, taking a step closer until he can feel Jack’s labored breath on his cheek.

“Oh God,” Jack hisses as Connor speeds up his strokes, pausing briefly to drag his thumb over the tip, his fingers stroking the underside. “Oh God, Connor!”

His name sounds so delicious coming from Jack’s mouth that he practically comes right there and then. But right before he loses himself completely, his bladder contracts harshly, and he has to press his thighs together and shift his hips from side to side to keep from losing it all.

“Ah… haah… I still have to go so bad,” he whispers as a few stray drops fall from his cock, teasing him with the thought of release.

“Me too,” Jack agrees, his hand shaking as it pumps up and down on Connor’s dick. “But… I think it m-makes it better, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Connor groans. His legs feel weak under him, and he swears he can feel every cell in his body.

The sound of hushed moans and cries fills the seclusion, occasionally broken by a gush of hot piss hitting the forest floor. Connor knows he’s leaked enough to fill a whole can of soda on his own, and yet he still feels as desperate as ever--but at this point he’s too hard to lose control completely. Still, each stroke of Jack’s hand on his rock hard dick brings him closer to orgasm, and by the looks of things Jack feels the same. His penis is dribbling piss and precome, warm and sticky in Connor’s hand.

Time to bring him over the edge, Connor thinks, increasing his hand’s speed and making sure to pay attention to the tip every couple of seconds, smearing the leaked liquid around like some kind of lube. “Come on, Jack,” he huffs, eyes flickering between Jack’s dick and his face. “Come for me.”

That’s all it takes to send Jack to orgasm--his friend lets out a cry of pleasure as sticky white come squirts out of him, landing just to the left of Connor’s shoe. The ejaculate is immediately followed by an uncontrolled spurt of piss, followed by another, and suddenly Jack is gushing onto the ground with force, hours and hours worth of liquid finally exiting his body.

It’s that sight alone that sends Connor over the edge--he comes harder than he ever thinks he has before, his vision blurring and whiting out as Jack’s hand slips off his penis. He feels almost dizzy as his orgasm racks through him, shaking his body from fingertip to fingertip. His come lands in the rapidly growing puddle at Jack’s feet, sinking to the bottom of the urine like a feather in the air.

“Jesus,” Connor breathes, taking a deep breath in, but his bladder squeezes in protest, reminding him that he’s still far from empty. He makes a quick grab for his penis, but he’s too slow to prevent the line of urine from marking itself along the thighs of Jack’s pants in a splatter pattern.

He barely has time to notice before he’s pissing full force onto the ground, his urine mixing with Jack’s and creating a puddle beneath their shoes. And God, if that orgasm hit him hard, then finally being able to release all that liquid, those cans of beer and soda and water from the morning… It’s almost better. His stream is so powerful, thundering against the ground with force, and he can’t help but moan as his bladder finally deflates, letting go of the ocean inside of it.

The two of them piss in silence for almost a minute and a half, the sound of splattering echoing in Connor’s ears even as his stream tapers off. He doesn’t even bother tucking himself away, taking a few seconds to catch his breath and regain his bearings. His head is spinning from the events of the day, and he feels bone tired and jelly-like at the same time, but realistically he knows that they have to get back to the campsite before their friends come looking for them.

He opens his eyes, surveying the damage. Both his and Jack’s pants are soaked in several places, and he can already smell the piss drying on their hands and clothes. “Jack,” he says, tapping Jack on the shoulder several times. “We can’t go back like this?”

“Huh?” Jack opens his eyes, looking down at himself until he snaps out of his haze. “Oh, shit! What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know… Did you bring a jacket with you or anything?”

“I was kind of preoccupied,” Jack laughs nervously. “Hey, didn’t Henry say we were gonna be camping near a lake?”

Connor squints, wracking his brain for memories from earlier in the day. “Yeah, he did. Do you think we should-”

“Have a little swim before we get back and help the others unpack?” Jack finishes for him. “It couldn’t hurt to be a little late, right?”

“Right…” Connor trails off, picking at a wet spot on his jeans. “Hey, Jack… You aren’t weirded out or anything, are you? I didn’t do anything too far, right?”

“What? Oh, no!” Jack reaches out to touch Connor’s arm, meeting his gaze with a small smile. “It was great, Connor. What are you worrying about?”

“I just… I didn’t know you liked guys,” Connor admits, somewhat embarrassed. “If I’d known, I…”

“I didn’t know either,” Jack tells him, rubbing his arm gently. “But… I liked it. I liked today, even if it wasn’t the most conventional.”

“I liked today, too,” Connor says, his face heating up as Jack moves his hand into Connor’s own. Jack smiles at him kindly, squeezing once.

“Come on, then,” he says, tugging Connor towards the road. “Let’s go get cleaned up, before the others wonder where we’re at.”

“...Alright,” Connor agrees, smiling back softly. “Let’s go.”

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Thank you kindly, sir part 2 (Keanu x (f)Reader)

Summary: AU. After your failed audition, you head to Keanu’s auto shop so he can fulfill his promise.

A/N: This a follow up to this work and since I’m drawing blanks on new titles, I’m keeping the same. LOL. Also, I decided to write with a plus size, latina reader in mind because I don’t think I ever read a story with that combo and my brain decided that was the way to go!

Wordcount: 1,8k

Warnings: smut (rough, unprotected sex; degradation kink; spanking and choking)

You weren’t even that surprised at how much of a mess the audition ended being. You had barely any time to prepare and you knew the second you stepped inside the room that the director didn’t like what he saw. Maybe it was the fact that you were a Latina woman with actual curves, unlike all the other candidates who were paler than glowsticks and just as thin.

Whatever it was, you could see in his eyes that he wasn’t pleased and it was enough to make you self-conscious and caught up in your head. You stumbled over the text twice and before you could even have a chance to apologize and ask for another try, he was cutting you off with a thank you and a promise of a call you knew it would never come.

With a sigh, you rolled up your script and stepped out of the room, dejected and depressed, wanting nothing more than to gorge yourself and a greasy burger and enough milkshake drown sorrows.

Instead, you chew on the protein bar you kept on your glove compartment and that tasted like cardboard since you couldn’t exactly afford to spend too much money. Not when you have to gave have your piece of shit car fixed. So while you chewed on the tasteless snack, you googled the address for Keanu’s auto shop. If you couldn’t eat away your sadness, maybe he could fuck it out of you.

The place was unlike any auto shop you had ever seen. All glass walls and sleek metal countertops, very modern. The cars waiting for service were all Porsches and Audis, expensive and high end, unlike your battered old Chevy from twenty years ago.

The clientele also was a distant cry from you. Men and women on their fifties, dressed to the nines, sipping water or coffee from elegant glasses and cups. They all eyed you with mistrust with your tight jeans shorts, oversized buttondown, and dirty converse.

“Hi, I’m looking for Keanu,” you asked the women in the front desk, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other as she eyed you from the top of your head to the tip of your sneakers.

“Do you have an appointment?” She asked her nose so high in the air you wondered if she could see anything at all.

“Not really,” you shrugged. “He just said I should stop by and he would take a look at my car.” You glanced behind yourself at the parking lot and she followed your gaze, snorting at the sight of your Chevy.

“We don’t really work with that kind of... vehicle.”

“Can you just call him, please?” You asked losing your patience with this bitch.

With a grimace of disdain, she followed your instructions, her little smirk turning into a pale, terrified look that filled your heart with satisfaction.

“Mr. Reeves said you can leave your keys with me and the boys will bring your car inside. You can go ahead and meet him in his office.”

“Thank you,” you flashed her a victorious smirk, setting your car keys on her waiting hand before sauntering to the stairs, putting and extra sway in your hips, and knowing all eyes were on your ass. It was a very nice ass after all!

It took you only a couple minutes to find Keanu’s office, his name etched with dark red paint on the dark wood. You knocked once, before stepping inside and he looked up at you with a small smile, phone glued to his ear as he spoke to someone in Italian, if you weren’t mistaken.

You took the time to look around at the elegant looking office, dark wood furniture and black leather couch and chair; metal and glass desk, walls adorned with pictures of sports motorcycles much like the one you saw Keanu riding last night.

“Sorry about that,” he said finally setting down his phone and standing up, he was dressed in a light blue button-down and tan slacks. “It was a supplier.”

“No problem,” you turned to face him, eyebrow cocked. “I thought you said you were a mechanic.”

“I am,” he replied with a smirk, leaning again his desk. “At heart, at least.”

“Right,” you chuckled, checking him out. Under the bright light of his office, he looked even more handsome.

“How was the audition?” He asked, taking his phone again and dialing a number. “Barbara, hold all my calls for now, please. Thanks.”

“It was pure crap,” you huffed walking over to him, and even though he was slouching slightly, you still needed to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes. “So I hope this visit can save the day for me.”

“You’re talking about your car or...?”

“That too.” You smiled, resting your hands on his strong chest. “But I seem to remember someone promising to fuck my pretty little pussy so...”

“That can be arranged,” Keanu smirked, large palms warm against your waist as he tugged you gently until you were standing between his legs and he could catch your lips in a kiss.

At first, it was so soft, his tongue coaxing yours into a slow, sensuous dance, while his fingers explored your heated skin beneath your shirt. And as nice as it felt, it wasn’t what you wanted or needed.

You pressed closer, your tongue tangling with his, searching for more. Your fingers nimbly undoing his buttons, as you swung a leg over his strong thigh, straddling it and rocking against the hard muscle.

“You’re not very good at foreplay, huh?” He teased, nipping at your lower lip but catching on with the program and undoing your shirt until your black bra was in display.

“I’m a straight to the main event kinda gal,” you smirked at him, bending down to press kisses to the exposed skin of his chest, while he cupped and kneaded your breasts, making tendrils of pleasure swirl in your center. Unfortunately, it was just too little to do anything for you. “I’m not made of glass, Keanu. You can be rougher.”

“How much rougher?” He asked interest peaked if the bulge in his pants was any evidence.

“Shove me down on your desk and fuck me until I can’t stand straight. Make me your little whore.”

“Jesus!” He hissed, his eyes darkening as he looked at you.

“Choke me and slap my ass. Leave bruises all over my body.”

His kiss this time was hungry and desperate, almost bruising and you loved it, your nails sinking on his shoulder as you rocked against his thigh, your cunt throbbing with the friction but it wasn’t enough.

You palmed his erection, feeling the thick length of his cock pulsing against your hand as Keanu shoved the lace of your bra down and exposed your nipples to the unnaturally cold air of his office, making them perk up. You groaned when he pinched and pulled at them and this time the bolts of pleasure gathering in your center were sharp and intense, making that knot of arousal grow.

One of his hands fell to your ass, guiding your movements, making your ride his thigh faster, harder and you keened in his mouth, feeling your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Not yet, pet,” Keanu said, forcing you to stop. “You don’t cum without me.”

The harsh edge of command made you cunt throb and you nodded obediently, letting Keanu manhandle you until you were face-first on his desk, ass in the air and you flinched at the first sharp slap on your cheek, the fabric of your shorts doing very little to soothe the sting.

He reached around you, to undo your buttons before shoving them and your panties down your legs, hands cupping your ass as he hummed appreciatively before Keanu slapped you again making you whine and buck.

“Is that how you wanted?” Keanu asked against your ear and you could feel his erection rubbing against your drenched cunt, teasing you with temptation. You didn’t even notice him taking off his pants.

“Yes,” you gasped, pushing your ass back against him. “Exactly like that.”

Keanu just hummed, rubbing his head against your folds and you moaned, needing him inside your right the fuck now.

“I’m waiting, pet.” There were amusement and expectation in his tone and suddenly you knew what he was waiting for.

“Please, Keanu, fuck me. Fill my pussy. Make me your slut.”

“Oh baby,” he chuckled against your ear, hand coming to your throat and squeezing just the perfect amount to make you gasp and your sight blur. “You already are.”

He thrust in with one swift motion, making your cry out at being filled so wide and fast. Your entire body shook with the effort of staying still; of keeping any modicum of self-control but your higher brain function had shut down, leaving only the primal need of being taken and used. Soon enough you were rocking against him, grinding your hips to elicit those familiar bolts of pleasure, that sweet tension of desire in your core. It was enough for Keanu to take the hint and start to thrust, slow and steady and so not enough.

“Harder, please. I need it.”

He complied, using his hold on your throat as leverage to start snapping his hips so hard you heard the table groan and squeak beneath you. Now you had it. The delicious pulsing of your walls trying to pull his cock deeper inside you, his tip hitting that blessed spot with forceful thrust and you had never seen stars quite like that but when your orgasm overtook you, your sight blacked out suddenly leaving only all-consuming pleasure as your quaked and writhed and moaned beneath him.

You heard Keanu curse and hiss above you, his pace losing its coordination, becoming sloppier, even harder and you could feel your walls clenching tight around him, trying to keep him deep inside you.

“Come on baby,” you encouraged, breathlessly. “Cum inside me. I wanna feel you slicking up my thighs all the way to San Francisco.”

Keanu grunted and tugged you up until your back was pressed against his chest and he could grind into you, his hot breath against your ear.

“You have such a dirty mouth, pet. Beg.”

“Please, please, cum inside me,” you sighed, feeling the heat in your cunt start up again just as Keanu stilled. You felt his warm cum coating your walls as he groaned against your ear.

You two stayed together, catching your breath until Keanu pulled out and you felt the mess of fluids start to trickle down but you just pulled your shorts up, flashing him a dirty smirk.

“So was it worth the visit?” Keanu asked with a smirk of his own.

“Definitely.”

—

If you enjoyed this drabble, please consider reblogging and/or commenting please. Feedback gives life to us writers!

[nomazee]

Designated Driver

one-sided akaashi x reader; slight bokuto x reader 

word count: 2800+

content: college!au, parties, mentions of alcohol/intoxication, mentions of walking home alone (reader is alone on a dark night for about fifteen minutes), unrequited crush, light arguing

cross-posted on my ao3

PART TWO

(i’m back! again! with more writing that i just word-vomited out in a crazy short amount of time! it’s a little bit messy and akaashi is sort of OOC but regardless, i hope you enjoy it. this might turn into a multi-part fic but i’m not sure yet--i’ll have to see if i can find a way to extend the plot enough to write another chapter or two.

happy reading!)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

You were starting to regret going to this party. 

With a sigh and a once-over of the room, you caught a glance of Akaashi’s figure near an unfamiliar girl’s as they chatted happily. You only agreed to come to this stupid party because he was dragged along by Bokuto and asked you to come and accompany him so he wasn’t awkwardly standing in the noisy, crowded apartment. The roles had suddenly reversed twenty minutes in, though, and now a group of girls chatted with him happily while you stood against the wall, phone in one hand and trademark red plastic cup in the other as you longingly watched the scene before you. 

Akaashi had told you to tell him when you wanted to leave so you both had an excuse for your “escape.” Looks like that deal was out of the question. He seemed to be enjoying himself. 

Truth be told, you’d taken a liking to the guy for a while now. Your feelings toward him had started way back when in junior high--but at that point you had bigger things to worry about so you didn’t act on or really care about your feelings at all. It’s funny how now, in college, with frantic classes and exams and extra-curriculars, your feelings decided to flow uncomfortably yet consistently through your system every time you even caught a glance at the blue-eyed boy.

It hurt a little to watch the way he chatted so amicably with some random girls he’d met. He was an introvert at heart--not to say he was completely inept in social situations, but you knew he definitely preferred to stick with those close to him. You supposed tonight was an exception, along with the group of four-- no, five girls laughing at whatever charming remark he’d made this time. 

Honestly, the pain thrumming through your veins wasn’t primarily caused by his uncharacteristically flirty personality tonight. It was mainly because of the fact that he pretty much retracted the wordless pack you’d made to stick together at the party. Now you had virtually no one to walk you back home--safely. You either had to suck it up and approach him first or deal with walking back to your apartment. Alone. At night. On the way back from a college party, while buzzed. 

Logically, you picked the former. Temporary embarrassment was much more worth it than the potential consequences of the latter option. 

You took a deep breath, checked the time on your phone (half past midnight--much later than when you originally intended to leave), and pushed yourself off the wall with cold, shaky legs and approached the harem surrounding your friend. 

You tapped on his shoulder lightly, and his head swiveled around to face you. His lightened expression dropped the slightest bit at your familiar figure and you couldn’t help the turn of your heart at that. 

“Um…” Hyper-aware of the attention you’d garnered from the people he was talking to, you avoided making eye-contact with any of them and Akaashi. “It’s getting a bit late--” very late, actually, “--is it okay if we go home now?” 

Akaashi’s eyebrows furrowed, as if disbelieving of the very simple request you made. “What? Why?” 

Did you not just tell him exactly why? Refraining from sighing out loud, you repeated your request. 

“You said you’d walk me home when I wanted to leave. And it’s… almost one. So I figured we could get going now.” 

His smile returned, and for a second you hoped he’d come to his senses and leave the overwhelming environment with you, but those thoughts were quickly shot down with his next statement. 

“Oh, you can get going! Don’t worry about me, I’ll find my way back to my apartment.” 

Oh. Okay. That was great. Good to know. 

You simply gave him a shaky smile, too tired and exhausted and overwhelmed by all the sensory stimulus of the party to even try to clarify anything with him. The silent, judging gazes of the girls pricked your skin and made you flustered. You swiveled on your heel and walked into the kitchen, where you dumped your drink into the sink and made your way to the front door. 

It was whatever, you thought. You’d be fine. You had your pepper spray in the back pocket of your jeans (which you took out and clamped tightly in your hand), a working phone, and you were sober enough to navigate your way through the dark streets without stumbling or forgetting the way back to your building. 

All of these affirmations still were not enough to quell the quickening beat of your heart and the sweat lining your palms and forehead despite the cold of the night. Your senses were on overdrive, flinching at every rustle of the wind and distant footsteps on the other side of the street. 

The streets weren’t completely empty--cars passed by occasionally and there weer a few people walking on the sidewalk, too. That was enough to calm you down the slightest bit as you traversed your way through the more urban area of the town. 

Your thoughts were loud, though, the contemplation of how Akaashi even thought of you anymore flooding your previously composed thoughts and becoming a bit too much for you as you slipped into a small grocery store to take a break from walking and maybe get a snack, or gatorade, or advil. 

Your breaths were shaky and the backs of your eyes pricked slightly with oncoming tears. Willing yourself to calm down, you buried yourself in an empty snack aisle and gazed emptily at the vibrant chip bags, trying to be the slightest bit optimistic about the situation. 

I should be happy for Akaashi, you thought. He’s not the most social person, so obviously he saw something in them that led him to actually keep talking with them. Maybe he’ll get a date with one of them. That’d be cool. That’d be new. That would… kind of hurt. But I should be happy! I am happy! I promise! It’s great that he’s stepping out of his comfort zone, and--

“Hey, [Name]!” 

You flinched at the call of your name and nearly pressed on the nozzle of the pepper spray hidden in your palm. You turned to your left to find someone you weren’t expecting to see. 

“Bokuto…?” 

Said male gave a bright smile, walking closer to you and glancing over the options in the aisle. 

“I saw that you left the party, but Akaashi was still there, so I was wondering where you went. I was walking back to your apartment to check on you and made sure you got back safely, but then I caught you walking in here so I followed you.” A pause, and then his eyes widened as he processed what he said. 

“I mean--! I didn’t, like, follow you, I just-- I was going to your house and found you here--! That sounds bad too! I promise I wasn’t being creepy, I just--” 

“Bokuto,” you cut into his frantic rambling, “it’s fine. I would’ve rather had it be you than anyone else.” 

Your friend’s face flushed momentarily before his bushy eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. “Wait, what about ‘Kaashi? I thought he was supposed to walk you home?” 

You appreciated his genuine tone, but couldn’t help but feel your mood damper at the mention of the dark-haired man. “Yeah, but… he was kind of busy. So I just went home alone.” 

It was quiet, and Bokuto was about to say something before you cut in to clarify. “But it’s fine! I told him I was leaving, and I was okay with going alone. I can handle myself. I promise.” 

That did nothing to change the worried expression on Bokuto’s face. His eyebrows remained furrowed as his irises flitted from your face down to your hand. Slowly, so as to give you a chance to pull away, his hand reached for your own and you let his fingers lace with yours. 

“Hey,” his tone was soft, now, a contrast from his exuberant mood before. “Are you okay?” 

The question was vague--but you knew what he meant. Bokuto was not dumb, no matter how many people thought otherwise. You figured he knew about your feelings for Akaashi despite you trying to keep it under wraps. He noticed the small glances you sent in the direction of your best friend, the soft expression that came over your features whenever he talked to you, and the stories about him that you’d absentmindedly tell in the middle of a conversation. 

You didn’t want to look Bokuto in the eyes, afraid that if you did, you’d end up a sobbing mess in the middle the Target snack aisle. That’d be humiliating. Even more so than it was to be abandoned by your ‘best friend’ at a party and left to fend for yourself. (That was harsh. But you did have a right to be a little bit bitter.) 

“I’m fine.” You responded. “Just a little tired.” 

He gave you a soft and comforting smile, and you reciprocated the gentle squeeze of your hand that he gave you. “Let’s get some snacks, and then we can go to my apartment and hang out. Or yours. Or we don’t have to hang out, at all. It’s up to you!” 

Ah. There he was again. Considerate and caring as always. Your dampened mood softened a little bit and you mustered up the strength to direct a smile and nod in his direction. 

True to his word, he let you pick out whatever snacks and drinks you wanted (though you picked a few of his favorites out of guilt, which he definitely noticed and gave a sardonic chuckle at). He paid for them, which you objected to very strongly and paid him back through Venmo (leading to a back-and-forth transfer of money before you got paranoid that your accounts would be suspended for suspicious activity) before making your way back to your apartment. 

You always had a stack of his and Akaashi’s clothes at your house for nights like these where you all went out, got tired, and had to crash at one of your places. Passing his clothes to him, you let him take the bathroom and shower while you set up an array of snacks on your living room table and set your phone up to charge behind the couch. 

An hour into a rewatch of your favorite comfort series, Bokuto’s phone buzzed rhythmically in his pocket, signaling an incoming call. He looked at the contact name and his eyebrow creased momentarily. “It’s Akaashi.” Your curiosity peaked at the name as he answered the phone, volume set loud enough that you could catch whatever the opposite end was saying. 

“Hello?” 

“Bokuto,” Akaashi’s voice was almost frantic on the other line, and concern immediately flashed through both yours and Bokuto’s features. “Do you know where [Name] went?” 

Seriously? Was he joking? It’d been nearly two hours since you told him you were leaving. You were half asleep, and he was wondering where you were? 

“She’s with me,” Boktuo responded. “Why? What’s wrong?” 

“She disappeared,” Akaashi responded, voice a little relieved at the new awareness of your whereabouts. “I tried finding her so we could walk home but she wasn’t there and no one saw her. And I texted her a bunch of times and called her, and she didn't respond, and I was getting really worried that something happened.” 

Texting? Calling? At first you were confused and doubtful of his words, but then remembered that your phone wasn’t near you right now and you’d set it on silent to charge. Bokuto’s expression mirrored the mild annoyance he felt at Akaashi’s obliviousness to the situation. “Her phone’s on silent and charging right now. But, dude, she left two hours ago. She said she asked you to leave and you were busy. She was going to walk alone but I left with her so that nothing happened. Do you seriously not remember her asking you?” 

Akaashi exhaled after a pause in the conversation, and your stomach turned in anxiety. “Well, yeah, I remember. But I thought she was going to wait for me to leave so that we’d still walk back together.” 

You felt the need to explain the situation personally to the black-haired male before any further confusion resulted in the three of you. Mouthing “speaker” to Bokuto, the man obliged to your request and set the call up so you could hear Akaashi clearer and speak to him, too. 

“Akaashi,” you started. “I asked if we could leave and you misunderstood and said that you’d be fine going home alone. You looked busy with the girls so I didn’t want to bother you anymore. I left alone.” 

The line was quiet before Akaashi’s voice spoke up, beginning to sound a bit shaky from both the confusion and the alcohol. “[Name], I didn’t… I didn't mean to leave you alone. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry, that was stupid.” 

Your heart swelled at his apology, as much as you tried to fight the simmering feelings beneath your skin. Though, you still couldn’t help but feel annoyed at how he’d let you leave alone only to claim he misunderstood your words (even though you were sure you were clear enough) and give you an apology over the phone. 

“It’s okay, but… it’s just that you promised to stick together but you almost immediately split up with me the minute we walked through the door. I would’ve been fine with that as long as you at least told me you were leaving me or that I should find someone else to take me home. I could’ve done that with a decent time of notice, you know?” Feelings and words rushed out in the haze of your tipsy exhaustion, and from your peripheral vision you caught Bokuto’s concerned gaze as your words trailed off. 

“I know, I know and I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.” Akaashi said, genuine guilt threaded through his words. “Can I come over? That way we can-- we can still spend time together for tonight. And I can sleep over and make you breakfast in the morning--those crepes you really like.” His words were frantic, and you really did feel bad for being frustrated with him in the first place. Maybe it was the haze of the alcohol that made him so dismissive of you in the first place--or that could be what caused his sudden guilt for his actions. Regardless, you thought that keeping him at your place wasn’t the smartest idea, especially with how late it was becoming. 

Bokuto seemed to have taken your silence as hesitation, and was about to respond for you before you spoke up again. 

“Thanks, Akaashi. But I don’t think that’s the best idea right now. It’s late, and you should get home soon. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.” Before he could interrupt with another plead, you let the pad of your finger press firmly against the red button on Bokuto’s phone screen, ending the call and leaving you in the silent living room, the fuzzy drone of the television remaining in the background. 

“Are you okay?” Bokuto seemed to be checking up on you quite a lot tonight. As much as you appreciated it, you really were not in the best state of mind to have a heartfelt conversation about your unrequited feelings for Akaashi Keiji. It was nearing three in the morning, and you wanted nothing more than to pass out on the couch and leave your responsibilities for past daybreak. 

“I’m really tired, Bo.” Your exhausted really did show in your voice. ���I think I’m going to bed.” 

He gave a gentle smile, letting you stand up from the couch and brush down your clothes. “Okay. I’ll stay on the couch, but, uh, do you have a blanket I can borrow for the night?” His smile turned sheepish at the request but you just shook your head and softened your expression. 

“It’s fine, my bed is big enough for both of us. You can just sleep there with me.” It’s not like you hadn’t done it before. There were even times where all three of you--Bokuto, Akaashi and you--shared your decently-sized bed for the night and there were little to no qualms with it. Bokuto was hesitant at first, but accepted your offer and followed you to your bedroom where you both huddle under the covers and faced each other on your sides. 

Bokuto smiled at you yet again--something he’d been doing a lot that evening as a comforting gesture, and the sight reminded you just how lucky you were to have a friend like him. Thoughts of Akaashi lingered in your mind but were less persistent than before, and as you drifted off to sleep you felt a soft pressure on your forehead and the distant mumble of a goodnight.

[sebspocketsquare]

Quarantine: 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (online)

A/N: Heya guys! Here’s part 4! Its extra long like i promised. Let me know what you think! part 5 is in the works :) -T

Warnings: Flirting, language, quarantine, fear, crying, feels, mentions of a breakin

It’s pouring rain.

You’re in shock.

Frozen in place.

You’re not even sure what to think as you stare at your front door.

You’d locked it, right? You’d remembered to do that?

Searching your memories, you find that yes, you did lock it… which could only mean one thing.

Mind racing, the bags you’d toted home from the grocery store fall from your grasp to the cold concrete below, and you don’t even flinch at the sound that was surely your eggs cracking.

“But..” The word comes out as more of a breath, and that’s when you notice that tears are already stinging the ridges of your eyes.

It takes another few minutes of ragged breathing before you come to your senses and shakily fish your phone out of your pocket, dialing 911.

They answer on the second ring, and the dispatch operator sounds as stressed as you feel.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You suddenly find yourself questioning if this really is an emergency, but right yourself almost immediately. Someone just broke into your apartment. A stranger. A criminal.

Yes, it was an emergency.

“I, um.. I just got home from the store, and my-my apartment door is open, I.. I think someone broke in while i was gone.”

You hear her typing before she responds to you, “Okay ma’am, I’m going to ask you not to enter the residence and stay away from the front door in case someone is still inside. Can you give me your address? I’ll have an officer with you in less than ten minutes.”

You exchange the information she needs with a trembling voice, and she asks if you’d like to stay on the line with her until the authorities arrive.

You’ve never agreed to anything so fast. Even if you didn’t speak, at least she’d be there if something else were to happen.

She tells you that there have been five other break ins in your area in the last two weeks, and that she’s sorry it’s happening to you, too.

You’re too numb to murmur anything other than a “thank you.”

It takes approximately 8 minutes for a patrol car to arrive with two officers inside.

They have you wait outside as they enter your apartment, and the next fifteen minutes of their searching seems as if it goes on forever.

As you’re waiting, your phone chirps.

A new IM from J.

[Sarge:] Getting worried over here, doll.. You home safe and sound yet?

Just reading the message has more tears welling in your eyes.

[clairv0yant:] Not exactly…

The moment you press send, both of the officers come out onto your porch with looks that can only be described as sympathy.

“Miss? We’d like you to come inside, please.. The coast is clear, but we need you to file a full report on what’s been taken.”

His words open a gaping hole in your stomach and you suddenly feel nauseated.

What’s been taken?

You don’t notice how your phone vibrates repeatedly in your pocket, desperate messages trying to reach you.

It takes 45 minutes to file the report with the police, to account for everything that’s missing.

They took the tower to your computer, the screen, the mouse and the keyboard. Your TV is missing, along with the bottles of vodka you’d kept in your freezer. The jar that contained your ‘vacation’ savings had been taken from your bedroom, along with your tablet and phone charger. They’d even gone as far as to steal the two packs of toilet paper and cleaners from under your bathroom sink. They broke every dish in your cupboard, glass was scattered on every bit of your floor, but they managed to completely overlook the small stash of twenties you kept in your underwear drawer.

The officers reiterate what the dispatch lady had told you: you weren’t the only one this had happened to recently, and they were sorry this had happened to you. They’d check in on you for the next couple days, and let you know if they find the people responsible.

There wasn’t much more that could be done.

Once they leave you lock the door, though that doesn’t make you feel safe anymore. 

That hadn’t been enough before, what would stop them from doing it again?

You lean your back against it, before letting out a sob and falling to the floor.

Your fingers tangle in the roots of your hair and you tug in frustration as you cry. 

Why you? Why now?

You weren’t working, the little bit of savings you did have had to be used to pay bills and buy groceries. You had no idea when you’d be allowed back to your job, and you had no one to rely on to help you.

What were you supposed to do now?

Your phone chirps from your pocket again, and when you bring it to eye level, you notice you have 18 missed messages.

[Sarge:] What do you mean?

[Sarge:] Doll, please answer me.

[Sarge:] Clair, you’re scaring me…

[Sarge:] At least let me know you’re okay.

[Sarge:] Clair, please?

[Sarge:] Say something, anything..

[Sarge:] Fuck..

[Sarge:] I’m such an idiot for letting you go out without getting your phone number or address

[Sarge:] Please let me know you’re fine

[Sarge:] Tell me I’m overreacting

[Sarge:] Clair..?

[Sarge:] I’m freaking out over here

[Sarge:] Baby, you’re scaring me..

[Sarge:] Answer me

[Sarge:] I’m begging you

[Sarge:] Just send me a fucking smiley face, anything

[Sarge:] just let me know you’re alive

[Sarge:] Just.. call me, please..

The last message included a phone number.

Your thumb hovers over the assortment of digits as you take in a shuddering breath. You didn’t want to call and have him hear you like this. You’d always imagined the first time you spoke on the phone would be full of awkward giggles and flirty compliments given back and forth.

Not you on the verge of breaking.

Your thumb finally presses the numbers, and as if to question your choices, a message pops up on your screen: ‘Calling.. Are you sure you want to do this?’

You hit yes without a second thought.

The line rings once before the person at the other end answers.

“Clair?”

You’re too emotionally devastated to appreciate the timbre of his voice, the concern laced in the first word you’ve ever physically heard him say.

“Please, say something..”

He’s begging at this point, and there’s a quake in his words that weighs down your already heavy heart.

“I-It’s me.” 

The whisper has him letting out a sigh of relief before he speaks again.

“What’s going on? Talk to me.”

That’s when you break.

You tell him everything through hiccups and sobs.

When you’ve finished with your story, he releases another sigh before speaking again.

“Baby, you gotta breathe. I know it’s hard, but take a couple deep breaths for me okay? Can you do that?”

You follow his instruction, taking a few deep breaths in, and releasing them just as slow.

“There you go.. I’m gonna take care of this, okay? I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t worry about a thing.”

You’re so entranced in your breathing that you almost agree to his words blindly. Luckily, you catch yourself.

“What.. What do you mean, J?”

“Let me help you, Clair, I.. please.”

You sit in silence for a moment or two before he speaks again.

“I know you well enough by this point to know you’re too stubborn to let me send you money, but.. Let me replace your things. Let me send you some groceries. Let me pay for a goddamn security system… Please.”

You knew he was kind. That was one of the first things he’d let you see of himself.. But this? This was different. Nobody just offers to do this for someone they haven’t even met.

“J, I.. I can’t.. That’s too much.. You don’t even know me..”

He sighs yet again, but you can tell this one is out of frustration. 

“Clair, please. I am literally begging you to let me help you, I.. I’m doing this because I care about you..”

Contemplating in silence, your eyes begin to water again. 

What choice did you have?

You didn’t have the money to replace your things.

You’d barely have enough to replace the groceries you’d just ruined in the rain, and you certainly couldn’t afford a security system.

“J, I.. I can’t pay you back..”

“That is literally the least of my worries. I just want you safe. Please. I can have someone at your place tomorrow morning to install the system. The replacement for your computer might take a little longer, but I’ll get it to you as soon as i can, just.. Let me do this. I want to.”

Before you know what’s happened, you hear yourself agreeing to his wishes and giving him your address.

“You live in the city?” There’s surprise in his voice that you don’t miss.

“You’re closer than I expected..”

Before you can ask him what he means, he’s speaking again.

“I have a friend, I’ll text him now and see the earliest he can come by tomorrow, okay? You can trust him, he’s a good guy. Do you have a spare phone charger for the night?”

You inform him of the one you always carry in your purse and that seems to ease the tension in his voice.

“Clair?”

“Yeah, J..?”

“I’m sorry this is how our first phone conversation had to go, I.. I pictured it differently in my head..”

You let out a sad laugh, “I know what you mean.. I’m sorry too.”

“But..” another sigh, “I’m not sorry I finally got to hear your voice.”

“I’m not sorry either..”

 You swear you hear him lick his lips, just before he speaks again, “Doll, my friend is calling me.. can I call you back?”

You take a look at the mess around your apartment before thinking that it might actually be for the best if you get off the phone.

“I should probably get off here and clean up all this glass anyway..”

He hums softly, “Call me when you’ve finished? I.. I just wanna know you’re safe.”

It was endearing how worried he was about you.

You also knew it was with good reason.

“Of course. I’ll call you back in a little bit. Bye, J.. and.. thank you.”

“Anything for you, Doll.. I’ll talk to you soon.”

HIM

The moment she ends the call, I slam my fist down on my desk. She was so close, so fucking close, and yet so far.

I couldn’t just show up, hold her and comfort her and protect her. It was too soon for that, plus with the required social distancing.. I don’t even think she’d trust me. 

Sam’s voice breaks my train of thought.

“What’s up man, I just got your text?” 

He’s standing in the doorway of my bedroom, still dressed in his sweats from the day before. 

I scoff at the sight, “One, you need to shower and change, dude. Two… I need you to do me a favor..”

He snickers and smirks, “This have anything to do with this girl you’ve been texting? Need me to track down some selfies for you to stare at?”

Had it been any other night, I might’ve entertained the idea of that, but instead I let out a quiet groan, “No, I… her apartment got ransacked today.. I need you to go over and install a security system for her.”

The smile falls from his face and his eyebrows raise. “Wait, what? She lives close? Why don’t you go?”

I shake my head, eyes falling to my left hand. The vibranium appendage almost glitters under the light of my computer screen, and when he follows my gaze he understands. “She doesn’t know yet.. who you are.”

I shake my head, and it’s his turn to sigh. “Yeah, man.. I can do that for you. Is she.. is she okay?”

I shrug, staring at my phone screen and willing her to call me back, “I.. I have no idea, man.. hearing her cry just now..” I have to pause and clear the emotion from my throat. 

“This quarantine is killing me.. all I wanted to do was go to her, hold her, and I—“ I pause again, cheeks flooding with warmth as I realize how vulnerable I just sounded.

“You’ve got it bad, don’t you?” He wonders, cocking his head to the side with a small smile.

The heat in my cheeks burns hotter as I nod slightly. 

“Just give me the address. I’ll make sure she’s got a system as good as ours.”

Just hearing him say that puts me at ease. I’d know her comings and goings, where she was in the apartment and if anyone was even close to entering. 

Stalkerish? Maybe a little, but.. 

If I couldn’t be there in person to protect her, this would be the next best thing.

HER

Aside from the missing appliances, you can barely tell what took place in your apartment today.

You’d swept every room, scrubbed every surface.

It might even be the cleanest the apartment had been since you moved in. 

J texted you earlier, asking for a list of your missing belongings and an idea for groceries.. you were a bit reluctant at first, but eventually gave in and handed over the information. 

You pushed your couch behind your front door out of paranoia before taking a shower, and now you sat on the edge of your bed in silence. 

It was hard not to let your mind wander to a dark place, to think of what you must’ve done to deserve this. 

Tears are starting to return to your eyes, just as your phone begins to ring again.

It’s J, of course.

“Hello?”

“Hey, doll.. how are you feeling?”

You’re calmed down enough to appreciate his voice now. The slight drawl to it, the sound of your nickname leaving his lips. It’s deep and warm and, god, you just wanted to wrap yourself in it and stay there forever.

“I.. I’m okay I guess.. it’s weird, y’know?”

“I’m sure.. I’m sorry you had to go through this.. I wish..” He pauses and you find yourself rather curious as to what he was going to say.

“You wish what, J?”

He hums before he finishes his thought, “I wish I could hold you, Clair.. Make you feel safe. Protect you.”

He’s making you blush, and it’s different than all the other times he’s done so through text. 

Actually hearing him say it brought it to a whole other level.

“Would that be alright?”

You can tell he’s second guessing his confession, and his timid behavior makes you smile.

“I would love that.. If only that was allowed right now..”

This quarantine was really messing things up for you. In more ways than one.

“I’d break the law for you, just say the word.”

You laugh at the thought, but you know he’s at least a little serious. 

“Have you um.. ever really thought about it?”

He hums again, and you find you’re addicted to the sound. “It’s embarrassing how much I’ve thought about it.. how about you, sweetheart? You ever think about me holdin’ you?”

The heat is back in your cheeks and you bite your lip to hold back the grin that’s taken over your entire face. “I.. yes. I have. I’m thinking about it right now, actually..”

Laying back on your bed, you pull a spare pillow to your chest and hug it tightly.

“What are you doin’ over there? Laying in bed? Do me a favor…”

It’s your turn to hum, and he chuckles.

“You got any extra pillows? Hug one of ‘em close, and close your eyes.. Just imagine it’s me, holding you to my chest… if you concentrate hard enough, maybe you can hear my heartbeat.. I’m sure it’d be goin’ crazy from being so close to you..”

You do as he asks, sighing happily into the phone. “Mine would be too.. it already is.”

You hear soft rustling from his end of the call, and you’re sure he’s settling in for the night too.

“Just wanna hold you.. kiss your forehead, ‘cause I remember you saying how much you like that.. Tell you how special you are to me..”

He’s making your heart beat wildly in your ribcage, and for some reason, tears trickle from the corner of your eye.

“You okay over there, baby?”

His new name for you was quickly becoming a new favorite.

“Yeah, it’s just.. you’re too good to me, you know that?”

“I’m the perfect amount of good to you, doll.. you deserve the whole world, and I’ll do my best to give that to ya.”

He’s making you forget the events of the day with each moment that passes, replacing them with sweet memories instead.

“J.. I adore you.”

“Not as much as I adore you, Clair.”

That night, you’re lulled to sleep by the sound of his breathing.

TAGS: (I wasnt sure who to tag, so if you dont want to be, I’m sorry!! Just trying to get this out there. ALSO if you wanna be tagged INBOX ME! I tend to miss people in the tags :( also some tags don’t work, so i’ve removed them if they dont. Sorry about that!  ).  

@mindingmyownbusiness@plumfondler@buckybarnesappreciationsociety@loricameback@tinaferraldo@geminimoonbeamx@preserumsteverogers@moderapoppins@lowkeysebby@buckyshattergirl@jayattemptstoruletheworld@the-observant-fangirl@moondancewrites@moonbeambucky@trinityjadec@stevieang@bionic-buckyb@eyecandybarnes@propertyofpoeandbucky@promarvelfangirl@ballyhoobarnes@bucky-plums-barnes@cate-lynne​@witchymarvelspacecase@imaginingbucky@theimpossibleg1rl​ @wonderlandmind4​@buckysthing@formulafun@curvybihufflepuff@fanficsformarvelkillme@shadyskit@lostinthoughtsandfeelings@reading--mermaid​@fuckmestan@siliverin@verygraphicink@sallyp-53​@thatsbucknasty@steadyphantomcat@booktease21​@drayshadow@theperditioncrasher@mmyepic@feelmyroarrrr@alien-beans@heartsaved@sideeffectsofyou@dreamingofonceuponatime@just-a-littlebit-of-everything@bluerorjhan@tarynsnotokay@jamdropx35​@pinknerdpanda @starkrobb @marvelgirl7 @unscriptedtimetraveler @fangeekkk @wonderlandmind4 @pinkisokay @mrsdaamneron @rynabarnesrogers @wish-i-had-something-better @stanning-seb-stan

[starrybbarnes]

brewing romance | [b.b]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: bucky sucks at flirting, and Steve is trying to give pointers on how to hang out with you. and idea brews, quite literally, and bucky takes the chance

Word Count: 3.1k+ (it’s long as hell)

Author’s note: this has been in a draft for so long. but inspiration struck, and i was able to finish it. this one story is inspired by the song love potion no 9, so you’ll see some allusions to it. of course, i hope you guys enjoy the story, and please leave any feedback ! 

Warnings: lots of hollering, steve making a fool of himself, sam making a fool of himself. you’ll see. 

“Man, you gotta stop staring, your drool is gonna ruin the table!”

“Your face is ruining the table.”

“Just ask the girl already, Buck, you aren’t helping anyone here.”

Steve had a point. Ever since you joined the team, Bucky was left in awe. By your looks, your generosity, your compassion. He was absolutely in love with you. 

But Bucky has made several attempts to capture your attention. And every time he does, he either freezes or there’s an externality that throws him off. 

Whether it be untied shoelaces, a criminal on the loose, or Peter begging you to be his karaoke buddy, something was always in Bucky’s way. 

And if he did get a chance to capture your attention, he would always freeze. Everyone thought T’Challa was bad when it came to freezing up, but Bucky easily beats him 3 times over. 

“I can’t, Steve,” Bucky sighed, setting his mug on the kitchen island, “I just don’t have that charm anymore.” 

“What are you talking about, you always find a way to charm those waitresses or receptionists whenever we go out,” Steve interjected. 

“Yeah, well, that’s because I don’t know them,” Bucky explained, “I don’t really put myself on the line with those dames.” 

Steve hummed in response. He wanted to help out his buddy, and he knows how much Bucky cares for you. 

“I know this might sound crazy man, but I think you should get a potion to make you suaver,” Steve suggested. 

“What are you even talking about,” Bucky responded.

“You know, those love potions like in the old days!” Steve explained, “we’ll just grab a recipe from online and brew something up.”

“This is probably one of the dumbest ideas you’ve ever concocted,” Bucky jokes, earning a snort from Steve, “but I’m open to the idea.”

“You guys really have no perception of potions, do you?” 

Suddenly, Wanda walked into the kitchen, eyebrows raised and with a slightly amused look. 

“And what would you know about love, Wanda?” Steve inquired.

“... you do realize who you’re talking to.” Wanda said with certainty, “I may not know about love, but I do know someone who can manifest charm.” 

Steve and Bucky looked at each other, and then back at Wanda. It is an offer that no one can give up, and if it happens to be true, then the Winter Soldier might be in luck. 

“Who is this ‘person of manifestation,’ and how can we trust them?” Bucky asked with concern.

“Lucky for you, this ‘person’ happens to be my great cousin, Phoebe!” Wanda exclaimed, “she’s an absolute whiz at this stuff.”

Bucky sighed, “I don’t know, Wanda, is it really the real deal?” 

“Trust me, Buck, she has the experience and is trusted by all her clients,” Wanda reassured.

“Where is it located anyway?” Steve chimed in, “do we have to go halfway around the world to book an appointment with her?

Wanda chuckled, “Nope, but we do have to go to Lower Manhattan.”

。。

The trio stood in front of a brick building with grey columns as a facade, and it looked quaint. Bucky was at an unease at the building’s exterior, a sign with The Cauldron in bold black letters being the only things decorating the outside.

“I think this is a mistake,” Bucky spoke up as he turned on his heel to get back into the car.

“Oh no you don’t,” Wanda replied, grabbing Bucky by the forearm and dragging him to the entrance.

“You sure we’re at the right place, Wanda”  Steve asked, “‘cause this place is lookin’ real suspicious if you asked me.”

“Relax, boys,” Wanda announced, “we’re in good hands.”

The door opened to a little bell chiming against the handle. From ceiling to floor, the place was filled with plants, books, and bottles coming in every color imaginable. 

In the center, there was an island table, with a sink and a couple of books splayed open. A soft scent of rose and jasmine permeated the building. A cat and a dog were napping besides in the far right corner, without a care in the world.

Bucky began getting cold feet at the thought of the potion. Would this really help win over your heart? Would he change at all if he went on with it? And more importantly, would Sam keep giving him shit for having a crush on you?

As more thoughts began to flood Bucky’s mind, a bright and chipper voice greeted the trio. A young woman, no taller than 5’5”, came out from the back, wearing some plaid pants and a denim jacket. The simplest outfit a witch could wear. 

From the look of Bucky’s face, Phoebe could tell he seemed confused. “Not your typical witch, eh?” 

“Those storybooks tell me otherwise,” Bucky jokes, earning laughs from everyone. He then introduced himself to Phoebe, who only would reciprocate in charm.

The trio sat on the big table, with Phoebe center stage. She brought out a handful of beakers and flasks and placed them on the table.

“So, how can I be of service?” 

“Well... “ Steve started, “a good old friend can’t seem to charm the ladies...” 

“Oh brother...” Wanda sighed. 

Phoebe tried suppressing a smile, “ah, someone’s got cold feet, I see?”

Bucky could not be more embarrassed. It’s hard to adjust when you’re a centurion. A centurion with a crush, more specifically. He had a huge crush on you and, well, he sucks at flirting. 

He explained his plight with Phoebe, and she intently listened. After assessing what Bucky said, Phoebe asked him to extend his palms out.

“What you need is love potion number nine,” Phoebe answered as she made magic signs against Bucky’s palms, “don’t worry, it’s very effective and not that hard to make.” 

Phoebe turned to face her cupboard and brought out a dark liquid and some herbs. As she opened the dark liquid, the room began to smell very strongly of floor cleaner, and Bucky looked terrified.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Bucky huffed, as Steve was dramatically coughing at the smell.

Phoebe grabs the liquid and pours some into the mini cauldron on the table. She then puts the rose, the rosemary, and some lemon into the vile concoction. Little spurts of gas rose from the cauldron, and Bucky swore he heard some cackling coming from it.

Phoebe once again waved her arms and made some hand motions, and a flash blinded the team momentarily. The gas subsided, and Phoebe took out a ladle from her drawers.

She pours the dark liquid into a small clear glass, and by the looks of it, it’s as dark as the night sky. She hands Bucky the glass, and tells him to quickly drink it. 

Bucky stares down the glass for what seemed like an eternity. “This stuff can wear off, right?”

Phoebe reassured him that he’ll be alright, “should anything go awry, I’m just a phone call away.” 

The concoction was taunting him, some grime started floating to the top of the glass, and almost started making a face at him. For love, you’ll do anything, Bucky thought to himself… right?

Steve sensed his friend’s concern, and offered to take a sip with him. Phoebe served him up a glass as well, and the boys looked at each other.

“How ‘bout it, Buck?” Steve encouraged, “To romance!”

Bucky sighed as he brought his glass up to Steve’s, “one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and here we go…” 

The two boys drank the elixir, and Wanda looked on with nervousness. Phoebe seemed like she was having a good time, and congratulated the boys for tag-teaming it. She offered them water to get rid of the aftertaste, and Bucky could not be more grateful.

“Now, for some, it’ll start working in about twenty minutes,” Phoebe started as she started putting the leftovers, save for one small bottle for the guys to take home. “Don’t freak out if it doesn’t start working right away, you’ll know when it’ll start.”

“If you guys really want a speedier reaction time, I’m giving you two extra doses: one for each other. But take heed: it’ll really hit with just once. Wands, I suggest just takin’ ‘em home right now, just to avoid any trouble.”

Wanda nodded approvingly, “boys: let’s go. Who knows what's in store.”

As the trio gets up to leave, Bucky is frantically trying to pull out his wallet, dumping out any cash that he has on hand. He has about 32 dollars and a punch card for his favorite burger place.

“There’s no need for that Buck,” Phoebe argued, giving his money back, “A friend of my cousin is always welcomed here! If you insist, put it in that jar over there where I collect tips for charities.”

Bucky smiled as the trio walked away, “Thanks, Phoebe! We’ll update you if anything happens.”

Phoebe waved back, “if you happen to get married to this young lady, please invite me to the wedding! I’ll take any credit where it’s due.”

And with that, Bucky and Steve roared with laughter as Wanda closed the door behind them.

。。

The trip back to the tower was uneventful, as the only thing Bucky did was to stop and admire a candy shop that was by the tower. Other than that, no effects so far. 

The elevator opened to reveal the next of the team lounging around. Some were eating, others were chatting. Bucky’s eyes trailed over to you, where you were seated on the living room floor, writing stuff down on a notebook on the coffee table.

Before Bucky could walk towards you, Steve called out for Natasha. Natasha responds, asking what’s up. 

“I don’t know, just wanted to say you look nice today,” Steve said nonchalantly, then added, “by the way, great job on today’s presentation. Very solid work.”

“Alright old man, cough it up,” Nat countered, “what are you scheming this time around?”

Steve puts his arms up in defense, “I just want to compliment my friends on all their hard work that they’ve been doing. In fact, I’m going to go around the room and personally compliment everyone.” 

Bucky watches the scene unfold: one by one, Steve walks up to every Avenger and gives them two compliments, whether it be on looks or anything Steve deems “honorable.” When Steve walks up to you he exclaims: “Oh, y/n! What a wonderful young woman. You are so smart and intelligent, you’re gonna far, that I know of.”

You couldn’t stop laughing at this newfound side of Steve. He must’ve gotten back from a date, because it has been a while since he’s been this giddy. Everyone’s confused at what’s happening, but are appreciative of Steve’s kind words.

Once again, you and Bucky lock eyes and you start smiling. Bucky gave himself a little pep talk before he cooly walked towards you. Bucky leaves the little bottle of the love potion on the kitchen island and then proceeds to walk. 

You scooted over to make room for Bucky on the floor, and he brushed his hand against yours while he got himself situated. Intentional or not, but it did make your cheeks flare-up. 

“So what brings you over here?” you asked, as you continued to work on your notebook.

“Nothing really,” Bucky replied with all honesty, “I just wanted to see you working, it’s soothing, if I’m being frank.”

Bucky flashed a small smile and you reciprocated. “It’s nothing too crazy, Buck. But I’m glad you enjoy my company. In fact, I too also enjoy your company. How about that?

Bucky was really happy at how things were going between the two of you, that he outwardly forgot about the potion he drank. He didn’t feel any change, except for the fact that he wanted to hang out with you.  He just feels… a little bit more confident. 

An hour had passed, and in that time you and Bucky had resorted to playing tic-tac-toe, hangman, and even teach Bucky some calligraphy. This couldn’t be classified as a date, but Bucky is enjoying the moment anyway. You and Bucky had decided to move to the kitchen island, where you had made him a cup of tea. 

Then, in comes Sam bursting into the large room, with Steve slowly tagging behind. They must’ve gone to play basketball outside, as they were heaving and glistening with sweat. Sam was creating a loud ruckus, talking about how Steve cheated, and there should be a rematch.

Bucky started to zone out Sam’s blabbering and gave his attention to you. Right now, you were trying to draw Bucky, to no avail. It looked like a chunky stick figure with outlandish hair. Bucky complimented you on how the sketch should go to the Met, earning a laugh from you.

Suddenly, Sam eyes the glass bottle on the island. “Oh sweet! Beet juice: a nice refresher after working out.”

Bucky hummed in response, eyes glued on the paper that you had. It wasn’t until Sam made a loud aahh sound, and then proceeded to say, “that juice must've expired, ‘cause it smelled like floor cleaner.”

Steve and Bucky whipped their heads to each other, eyes wide in surprise. Oh no, Sam drank the concoction. You saw the look of concern on both the super-soldiers’ faces, and you’re trying to think of any possible outcome. 

Steve scrambles to Wanda, and tells her what happens. She shoots up from her seat and goes over to where you and Bucky are seated. She orders Steve to keep an eye on Sam while dialing Phoebe. 

“Is everything okay, Buck?” you asked with such innocence. You really don’t know what’s going on, and a part of you doesn’t want to know.

Bucky reassures you that everything is going to be okay… probably. Truthfully, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to frighten you.

Steve comes running back into the kitchen and pants out, “it’s bad… he’s talking to all the ladies… couldn’t catch up… but Thor is after him…” 

Wanda yelled at Steve for leaving behind Sam, and then her attention went to the phone. It was Phoebe, and she was on speakerphone:

Wanda, you didn’t tell me that I was dealing with super-soldiers! I gave them both regular-sized doses, and that’s why they didn’t feel anything…. And you’re telling me Sam chugged the bottle?! Jesus, what are we gonna do. I’m on my way! I’m gonna be using magic to get there, so don’t get alarmed. And whatever you do: don’t leave Sam out of sight.

As Wanda and Phoebe kept raising their voices at each other through the phone, your head was spinning as to why there was mention of doses and potions. You turned to Bucky, who still looked mortified at the situation at hand. 

“Mind telling me what’s all the hubbub, James?” you proposed. 

“It was Steve’s idea!” Bucky retorted. It was time to come clean, and start the healing process, stat. “Steve told me I should do something about my crush on you. But I was too scared to initiate anything because you’re so pretty and amazing… And then Wanda’s cousin Phoebe gave us a love potion but it didn’t work on us. It did make Steve super complimentary to everyone, and I just got super nervous,  but that’s it. But it did work on Sam.”

You blinked at what Bucky just said. It was… a lot. You didn’t know where to start when it came to this newfound news. Then you started to laugh.

“Oh, James,” you sighed, earning another blush from Bucky, “I’m glad you tried to take some type of initiative to talk to me, but I didn’t know you had a little pick-me-up. But since you said it didn’t work on you and hardly on Steve… then how did you muster up the courage to talk to me?”

You got Bucky there. He was stumped, and started pondering. “I guess by my own accord? If a potion wasn’t gonna work, then I guess it was time for me to make a move. Hopefully, it worked?”

Your smile towards Bucky says it all. You nodded and then went up to his cheek and planted a kiss. “Next time, just strike up a conversation, Buck. I mean, look at what we accomplished today.”

Bucky nodded in agreement, and as soon as he was going to go in for another kiss, Wanda burst in.

“You gotta come check this out, quick!” 

Sure enough, you and Bucky raced to the lobby, and basked in the sight in front of them. 

There was Sam, chatting up every girl he sees. He was kissing everything in sight and was endlessly flirting. Sam made eye contact with you and quickly ran up to you and planted the wettest kiss you’ve had in a very long time. “When you’re no longer busy with Tin Man tonight, give me a call, sugar.”

You couldn’t stop cracking up at Sam’s antics. The whole team was stunned at what Sam was doing, all while Phoebe was trying to cast a spell to stop the chaos. Phoebe was fast, but Sam drunk on a love potion was much, much faster.

“Guess I saved myself on that one, eh Doll,” Bucky offered, earning a snicker out of you.

“You may be right, but I would’ve given you a big wet kiss if you asked,” you responded while cackling. Bucky joined in the laughter, happy that he was still able to have that spark with his girl, potion or not. 

As you leaned closer to Bucky, you saw Sam run up to a cop outside the building and saw him give him a full kiss on the lips. The cop got enraged and called his other buddy and started handcuffing Sam. At that moment, Phoebe used a spell to wear off the potion, and sure enough, Sam slowly started to calm down.

At his new state, Sam’s eyes widen. “Steve! Barnes! What the hell did you do to me! What the fuck was in that beet juice!”

Bucky cackled, “oh you know, a love potion. Nothing too crazy.”

Sam started shouting obscenities at the boys, while he was being escorted back up the tower, presumably now under house arrest.

“When I get outta house arrest, I’m  gonna put that potion where your mouth is!” 

“Have fun with that, lover boy!” Bucky called out, as you couldn’t control your laughter. “Now, where were we?”

“Staring into each other’s eyes, I assume,” you answered, as Bucky grabbed a hold of your hand.

Bucky smiled at your response, “that sounds like a wonderful activity to resume, y/n. Ah, but don’t worry, there is no potion in my system anymore.”

“I hope so,” you warned, “otherwise you’re gonna get an earful again.”

You and Bucky shared a laugh, the first of many while observing Sam’s chaotic energy.

[hateswifi]

Rising from the Ashes: Of Revelations and Mistakes

So this is Part Eight here is to my Master List and Part Seven.

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

She got up the next day and went to work for the half-day of work. Diana only opens the boutique from seven to one. Marinette also asked her to stay after the store's closing to work on some design because she needs to borrow the sewing machine. She drew an off the shoulder ribbed sky blue long sleeve shirt, she sewed high waisted ripped black jeans. Diana had stayed back to check out her work and close up after she was done. She loved the outfit it was simple but nice. Luka's solo had inspired her to make the outfit and she couldn't wait to show him.

When she finished cleaning up and showing off her outfit it was three-thirty. She headed to the grocery store to pick up stuff to make Chicken Cordon Bleu Skillet. She needs to buy penne, butter, garlic, heavy cream, ham, parmesan, and chicken. Her mama used to make it for her when she was young and she hasn't had it in forever.

After she was almost done cooking, she heard a knock at the door. She answered it and saw her prince. She smiles while saying. "Hello, Prince, come on in, foods almost finished baking, only five minutes left."

"Hey, Angel," he said, kissing her cheek. "I love your outfit. Is it new?"

"Yes, I made it after work. Would you be able to set the table?" Marinette asked, holding out two plates with forks on top.

"It would be my pleasure," Damian said taking the plates then placed them. "So what inspired you to make the outfit, was it Nightwing?"

"No, it wasn't Nightwing. I watched Luka play yesterday, he won the best guitar solo," Marinette called over her shoulder as she opened the oven, taking out the skillet.

"Luka is the bluenette, a bit older than the rest of your friends, and is in a band, right?" Damian asked, looking for cups in her cabinet.

"Yes. I'm surprised you remember that" she said, putting the skillet on the table. "He played at Uncle Jagged's competition with his band and by himself yesterday. He won the best guitar solo."

"That's great," Damian said, pulling out her seat.

"Thank you, such a gentleman, prince," Marinette said, serving both of them. "Bon Appetit."

"This is delicious. Where'd you learn how to cook?" Damian asks taking another bite.

"This is the meal my mother made me when I was young. I haven't had it in forever and I wanted to give you a taste from something of my childhood," Marinette explained. They chat as they eat. When they're done eating they clean-up which ends up in a water fight after Marinette flicked water onto him as he was drying dishes.

Damian won the water battle or so he thought. He had caught her in between the sink and himself. She leaned up and kissed him, he thought he had the victory in the bag until she broke the kiss with a splash and a giggle.

"I win," She says, bopping his nose. She then walks into the living area and sits down on the couch saying. "Want to watch a movie?"

"What do you have?" Damian asked, sitting down beside her.

"My friend gave me Tangled before I left, would you like to watch it?" Marinette said, snuggling into his embrace.

"I've never seen it before," Damian said.

"Well we were making jokes about Rapunzel being Adrien due to his blonde hair and being held practically as a prisoner in his house by Gabe," Marinette said, turning on the movie.

Halfway through the movie, they both fell asleep on the couch. Marinette's alarm went off the next morning, but she didn't hear it. She didn't wake up till twenty minutes later when Damian's alarm went off. They woke up in a confused blushing mess.

"I guess we fell asleep," Damian yawned, stretching.

Marinette checked the time cursing. "Crap, I'm almost late for work."

"Would you like me to drive you?" Damian said standing up and grabbing his keys.

"That would be wonderful. I just have to get change real quick," Marinette said, walking down the hall. She throws on one of her older Jagged Stone shirts, which was worn by Uncle Jagged, ripped jeans and converse. She put her hair up in two small buns on her head.

She runs downstairs and jumps into Damian's waiting cars. Marinette smiles. "Thank you so much for the ride."

"Thank you so much for dinner last night," Damian said, driving the car. When they got there Damian got out of the car quickly and opened the door for her. She then opened the boutique door for her.

"Hi, Diana, sorry I'm late. I woke up late because we fell asleep watching a movie," Marinette said, walking to the back to put her stuff down.

"Hi Diana, it's been a while. How have you been?" Damian asks.

"Pretty good. Life has been easier since my little spot has entered my life," Diana said, sweeping the floor.

"Life has been brighter since my Angel has entered my life. Thank you for sending her to do my measurement," Damian said, with a smitten smile.

"What do you need me to do?" Marinette asked, emerging from the back.

"Well, the suits you took measurements for are done, why don't you go with Damian to tailor them?" Diana asks.

"I have a class right now and my brothers have work. Marinette, can I pick you up after work so you can tailor the suits?" Damian asks.

"That would be more efficient anyway. We have a couple of clients coming in today to get measurements and maybe an original design," Diana said, checking her agenda.

"Ok, Prince, I'll see you after work," Marinette said, going on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"Bye, Angel," Damian said, leaving the boutique.

"So what happened to being no one's girlfriend?" Diana teased with a smirk.

"Well Damian is just so sweet and he asked me out on Friday," Marinette recalled with a smile and butterflies in her stomach.

"You got one of the coldest people in the city to be your boyfriend and you've only been here for a week," Diana said, picking up the dust in a dustpan. "I like your shirt, but I don't recognize the artist."

"My Uncle Jagged, well-adopted uncle, he is popular in France and Western America. He gave this to me because he wanted me to fix a hole. I left it in Chloe's room for when he would be back in Paris but he didn't come back in time. I did design some of his merchandise, including this one."

"Well, that is lovely. Oh! I almost forgot to tell a customer came early this morning, she had seen you leaving in your outfit and she asked where she could find the outfit. I told her to come back later to talk to you," Diana said, excitedly.

"That's awesome!" Marinette said, folding a shirt. They work on little things until a woman walks in. "Hello welcome to Lucky Spot, I'm Marinette, how can I help?"

"Were you the one wearing that beautiful blue off the shoulder shirt yesterday?" the small redhead asked, looking Marinette up and down.

"Yes, I made it before I left the store. My friend, Luka, inspired me. So what's up?" Marinette said, stepping out from the counter.

"Could you design an outfit for my bridal shower?" she asks.

"Come to the back and I'll take your measurements and you can tell me what you're looking for," Marinette says, beckoning the woman to follow her to the back. They talk and the red-head woman, who was named Scarlette, told Marinette a blue shirt and white skirt. Marinette finished taking the measurements, she started drawing out the design.

"I'll this done at the end of the week and I'll text you the price tomorrow," Marinette said, leading Scarlette from the back. "Have a good day, I'll keep you updated."

"Thank you, Nette, have a good day," Scarlette said, leaving the shop.

"So, it sounds like that went well," Diana said, waving goodbye to a customer.

"It went so well! I want to talk to you about the money. I'll give you a cut of it," Marinette said. "I'll pay you for the material and a bit extra."

"That sounds great. So for this upcoming week, we are closed for the day before Christmas Eve, Christmas Eve, and Christmas," Diana said, closing her agenda. "Also I just bought a new sewing machine. I want you to take the sewing machine from the back as a Christmas gift."

"Seriously! Thank you so much!" Marinette exclaimed, hugging Diana. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything."

"Don't worry about it you're starting your new life here in America," Diana said, breaking the hug.

The rest of the day was uneventful. At the end of the day, Marinette packed up the sewing machine and grabbed the completed suits she needs to tailor. When she was done taking the needed materials for Scarlette's outfit, a car was waiting outside, presumably to take her to the manor. Damian got out of the back and opened the door.

"Hey, Angel, I'll grab this if you open the trunk," Damian said, taking the stuff. She opened the trunk and then got in the back of the car.

"Hey, Alfred, how have you been?" Marinette asked, buckling her seat belt. Damian slid in the seat next to her, closed the door, and buckled.

"Pretty good, Miss Marinette. I'm going to make dinner when we arrive at the manor, so we can all eat when the suits are finished," Alfred explained, pulling out into the street and traffic.

"How was your day, Angel," Damian said, holding her hand.

"It was good, someone saw my outfit yesterday and commissioned me to make her a bridal shower outfit," Marinette said with a smile.

"I'm so proud of you," Damian said, kissing her head.

"Thank you, Prince," Marinette said, hugging him.

"Angel, would you join us for Christmas?" Damian asked, kissing her hand.

"I... I would love that. I thought I was going to be alone," Marinette said, tears forming in her eyes.

"Yes, Angel I would love to spend Christmas with you. Please never cry again," he said, wiping her tears.

"Thank you so much. You are a prince," Marinette said, hiding into his shoulder.

"We've arrived Master Damian, Miss Marinette," Alfred said, pressing the button to open the gate. When they park Damian opens the car door and the manor door for her.

"Sunshine! I didn't know you were coming today," Dick screamed, looking down on them from the stairs.

"I was asked to tailor the suits to make sure they fit fine. What are you guys wearing these for?" Marinette asked, holding them up.

"I'll go get the rest of the young masters," Alfred said, walking down the hall.

"Can I go first?" Dick asks, running downstairs three stairs at a time.

"I guess," Marinette said, turning to Damian. "Prince, you coming?"

"I'll join you in a minute. I'm going to wait for my brothers," Damian said, kissing her hand.

"Ooooh! Prince! I prefer Demon Spawn," Dick teases as Marinette blushes. She slaps his arm and starts to walk down the hall. "Wait, you don't know where you're going!" he called after her."

"Then show me. I have to get these done," Marinette says, pausing her walking.

"Follow me. Damian we're going to be in the parlor," Dick called back over his shoulder. "So you're dating the Ice Prince."

"I don't know how he got that name, but he isn't as mean as people said. He's so sweet, kind, and such a gentleman," Marinette said, reminiscing of their time together, a smitten smile spreading across her face.

"Awww! You like him a lot!" Dick cooed, opening the door to the parlor.

"He is my boyfriend. Would you get changed quickly so I can tailor your suit," Marinette said, handing him his suit. He left to get changed.

"Did I hear that right?" Jason exclaimed, bursting through the door. He hugged her and spun her in a circle. "You, an actual angel, is dating Demon Spawn?"

"Put me down," She giggles. Once she was safely on the ground, she confirmed what he had said.

"I'm happy for you guys," Tim said. sitting down on the couch.

"That is quite exciting," Bruce says, opening the door.

"Father, this is my girlfriend, Marinette," Damian said, introducing them. "Marinette this is my father, Bruce."

"Hell, Mr. Wayne, it's a pleasure to meet you," Marinette said, sticking out a hand.

"Hello, Marinette, please just call me Bruce," He responded, shaking her hand.

"Ok, I'm ready," Dick says, entering the room again. "Hey, Bruce. Can you believe that Demon Spawn got a girlfriend."

"I had faith in him," Bruce said, he then left the room.

"Ok, Dick stand over there and the person going next please go get changed. Dick, is there any place that is to lose?"

"Could you make the biceps a bit tighter along with the ankles," Dick asks, holding out his arms.

She starts working immediately and she finishes what he asks quickly and precisely. Jason goes next, he asked for the shoulder to be a bit tighter, which she completed. Half-way through Tim's fitting, a bang from the door interrupted her.

"Oh my gosh! Jason wasn't lying!" a boy with black hair, and blue eyes burst in. He was wearing a red hoodie, ripped blue jeans, and red converse. He also was wearing black glasses. "I'm Jon Kent!"

"Who?" Marinette asked, standing up.

"I'm Jon Kent, Damian's best friend, and I'm disappointed he didn't bother to tell me he got a girlfriend," Jon said, plopping down on the couch next to Damian.

"My friends are in a different country and I already told them! Do best friends have different traditions in America?" Marinette asked, sitting down on the other side of Damian.

"No," Damian said, pinching his nose. "It's just I knew he would pester me."

"Aww, I knew you loved me!" Jon said.

"Well, I have to get back to tailoring. Damian, please go get in your suit," Marinette said, sewing the last bit of Tim's sleeve. When she was done with Tim's fitting, Damian walked in his suit. She blushes seeing him all dressed up.

"Angel, like what you see?" Damian smirks, looking at the flustered girl.

"J..Just get over her... here," Marinette stammers. "Where does it need to be tighter?"

"Just the biceps and shoulders," he said.

She starts working quickly. Her fingers dance across his arms as she sews them a bit tighter as he asked. When she was standing in front of him to sew the last part of the sleeve he leaned down and kissed her head, which made her smile.

"All done, Prince," She says smiling up at her boyfriend. She then hugs him. Little do they know Jon took a picture of that moment and sent it to Jason.

Jason immediately posted this tweet with the picture Jon took.

@realJaSonToDd

'Look at it! They're official thanks @JonKent2015. They're adorable together. Love the Sunshine that stumbled into our lives! <3 #Daminette #DemonSpaw'sgirlfriend'

"Thank you, Angel. I'm going to get changed, Alfred will be here in a couple of minutes to show you to the dining room," Damian said, leaving the room. The rest of the boys, except Jon, had left to do other things before dinner.

"So how'd you meet the Ice Prince, "Jon asked, turning towards her.

"Titus tackled me when I first moved here. He then bought me breakfast to say sorry. Diana, my boss, sent me here to do Damian's measurements. Then he took me out to this small cafe the next day. Then he asked me to be his girlfriend," Marinette smiles, thinking about her boyfriend.

"You love him don't you," Jon says, looking her in the eyes.

"I only met him a little more than a week ago, but I really like him," Marinette said not meeting his eyes a blush spreading across her cheeks. A knock came, she and Jon stood up to follow Alfred.

"I already knew Master Jon, was coming. I could feel it," Alfred said, opening the door to the dining room. Most of the family was already sitting down. Damian walked in behind them.

"Sit here, Angel," He said, pulling out a seat.

"Wait that's not fair I want to sit next to her too!" Dick said, shoving Jon out of the way. "Sorry, Jon, but I want to sit next to this Sunshine.

"I get it," Jon shrugs sitting on the other side of Dick. "She's nice and pretty sweet."

Dick takes out his phone to take a selfie with her. "Smile!"

"Make sure you don't post that please," Marinette said after the selfie was taken.

They ate dinner together in a surprisingly happy chatter. The dinner seemed so homey. "I haven't eaten a family dinner in forever. It's so nice to see you guys so close and together," She smiles, collecting plates to bring to the kitchen.

"You don't have to clean up Angel, you're our guest," Damian says, taking the stack of dirty plates from her hands.

"But I want to help," she says, collecting the silverware she also took the stack of plates before he could object.

"Damian, I need to talk to you," Jon said, pulling him aside before he could follow her into the kitchen.

"What?" He groaned as he was dragged into the hall.

"There's something wrong about her," Jon started, Damian stiffened. "She is very injured. I saw it when she was tailoring your suit, with my x-ray vision."

"What do you mean?" Damian asked his voice stern.

"She has recent burns, which is normal if they were on her hands, but the scar tissue was all over her back. She has remnants of a stab wound in her side. She also has multiple broken bones that looked healed ridiculously fast," Jon explained. "I want my dad to take a look at it."

"You will do no such thing. Here's the thing about her, she is a hero of Paris. There is only one problem there's something called Miraculous cure that heals everything. Maybe it doesn't heal everything," Damian said.

"How'd you know?" Marinette said closing the door behind her she opened her purse. "Ya know what, I gotta get going. No one was supposed to know. Tikki, Spots on." After a flash of pink light, they heard footsteps and they look just in time to see her jumping out the closest window.

"Marinette!" Damian screams, running toward the window she had jumped out of. "What have you done!?"

"I was trying to help! I was worried about her well being," Jon exclaimed backing up.

"We heard screams, what happened? Where's Marinette, she was coming out to ask if you guys wanted dessert," Jason asked bursting through the doors.

"She's gone! Jon made her leave," Damian screamed, shoving Jon.

"It's not my fault I was worried. She looked broken," Jon said, shoving him back.

"I can't lose her over this! I... I really really like her. I invited her to Christmas dinner and everything," Damian said, falling to the ground. "I didn't even say good-bye. I swear, Jon if I don't see her again, you'll be answering to me."

"I was worried about her well being--" he started.

"But you wanted to call Clark, just freak her out more, why don't you?" Damian said, slamming the door shut

"Damian, she told me herself she really likes you! Her face was so pink when she was talking about how much she liked you! Dude, I don't think she will leave you over this," Jon said, following him.

"You don't know that though! I can't lose her, she makes my life brighter," Damian said through his bedroom door. He was sitting on the ground looking on his phone. He screamed Twitter was blowing up again.

"Jon! You sent a picture of Marinette and me to Jason!" He exclaimed, slamming open the door.

"Ya, why? I couldn't believe that you were being kind and I wanted to show Jason and how'd you know?" Jon asked, backing up.

"He posted that picture! The hashtags DemonSpawn'sgirlfriend and Daminette are trending!" he said.

"Her face isn't in the picture," Jon reasons.

"It doesn't matter look it!" Damian said, holding out his phone with Twitter opened.

@GotahmOfficialNews

'It only makes sense that Sunshine as @realJaSonToDd put it would melt the heart of Damian Wayne a.k.a. Ice Prince and only blood heir to Bruce Wayne. Who is she? How did they meet? Does she have a cute nickname for him? These are things we need to know!'

"I didn't realize he was going to post it! I just wanted to show him how sweet you were being with her!" Jon reasoned. Damian slammed the door again and started punching his punching bag that his Father had added in when he turned thirteen and had to replace it when he was fifteen.

Marinette arrived home at eight in the night crying, knowing that she would have to leave. No one was supposed to know about her being Ladybug because it endangers them. She decides to put on the Notebook at least they had a happy ending. It hadn't been this hard getting over Adrien, why does it hurt so much right now? 'Because you stupidly fell in love,' her mind supplied.

After she finished watching the Notebook, she transforms and flies across the cold winter night. She lands on a building that isn't Wayne Enterprises and faces away from it. She sits out in the cold for a while thinking about where she could go. She was sad because she had already started building a life here and she already had to throw it away not even two weeks into it. Her thoughts were brought back to the present by the sound of feet crunching the snow behind her.

Big oof of a cliff hanger. Haven’t done one like these before, enjoy.

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

Tag list (Open):

@northernbluetongue @melhuney @ladysblackcat @sturchling @otaku4312 @g-arya @smolplantmum @bluefyoto94 @echpr @moonlightstar64 @thesunanditsangel @cutechip @heaven428 @elmokingkong @kass-is-weird @niza13149 @urbanpineapplefarmer @ginamarie1512 @chocolatecatstheron @iggy-of-fans @crazylittlemunchkin @komatsuna-yuki @weird-pale-blonde-person @ellerahs @sinnamonroill @daminett4life @queenmj10 @indecisive-mess-named-me

[callboxkat]

Second Chances part 6: Run Away

Author’s note: I decided to fill some prompts and got carried away. Anon(s), I would just like to remind you that you asked for this. Sort of. Also, believe it or not, this is the less angsty version of what could have been. 

Warnings:  homelessness, stealing, food mention, violence, humiliation, hunger, cold, hypothermia/frostbite mention, censored swearing, homophobic slurs, death threats, non-descriptive vomiting, injuries, blood, knife. It’s possible I missed something because this is a doozy, but those are the major ones.

Word count: 7165

Second Chances Masterpost!

Prompts (that middle one made me laugh, thank you):

...

The outdoor market was bustling with life, crowds of people heading this way and that, different vendors selling clothing, jewelry, baked goods, handmade soaps and candles, paintings, and whatever else you could think of to buy spilling out of neat rows of colorful tents. The sounds of laughter, conversation, music, and the popping of kettle corn filled the air along with an array of pleasant aromas. It looked like a very nice place to spend a few hours, whether or not you planned to buy anything.

Roman wished he could be a part of it. Instead, he walked around the edges of the market, never venturing within, looking for a good place to sit. He wanted to find somewhere where he would be out of the way, but near one of the most travelled walkways. He felt very out of place among the marketgoers, clutching a ratty cardboard sign and dressed in dirty, mismatched clothes, shuffling along on limbs stiff with cold and sore from night after night of sleeping on barely-cushioned concrete.

Yes, it was true. He, Roman Prince, was looking for a place to sit and beg. The very idea felt unthinkably demeaning, but the young man had been homeless for three months now, and his situation didn’t seem to be about to improve any time soon. He had perhaps not been the most frugal with his money, so he had run out some time ago. Things were… not good. He hadn’t eaten anything in two days now, the weather was getting colder every day, and he was growing desperate. So, he’d gotten his hands on some cardboard; and he’d borrowed a marker to make his sign. And now here he was, getting ready to beg for pocket change.

Eventually he found what he deemed a fairly decent spot, and he sat down against the wall of the building, propping the sign up against his legs. He took a small, beat up plastic cup out of his pocket and set it down in front of himself, dropping a small rock inside to weigh it down. Here, he was in a slight alcove, more sheltered from the wind, but still visible, and not in anyone’s way.

Plenty of people passed by, on their way to and from the rows of tents across the street. Music drifted his way, along with the tantalizing, heavenly smell of food, a smorgasbord of temptations vying for his attention. It felt rather torturous, to be sitting so close and to be unable to buy any of it, but Roman hoped that perhaps people would feel generous. At the very least, maybe they’d be willing to part with the coins that they received as change from their purchases. No one liked to carry around a purse full of heavy coins, right? At least, that was his hope.

...

Roman had been sitting in his spot on the sidewalk for more than three hours, and the market would be closing down soon.

In Roman’s cup sat a handful of change, pennies and nickels and dimes, along with a crumpled $1 bill. Not a great haul, but he knew it could have been much worse.

Would this be enough to buy something? Roman peered down at the cup. Probably not at the market, unfortunately; but there was a McDonald’s a few blocks away. He could go there. Their dollar menu had been a blessing these past few months, and sitting in the restaurant meant he would get to be inside for a little while. He could even pick up some ketchup and salt and pepper packets while he was there. It wasn’t the most glamorous thing, but he could use them and some water to make a sort of tomato soup. It was a tip he’d been given by another homeless man he sometimes bumped into around the city, a man named Juan. And the workers never cared enough to say anything about it, as long as he bought something. Sometimes they even heated up his cup of water for him.

Decision made, Roman started getting ready to leave.

He had just started packing up his things, putting the change in his pocket, when he noticed it: a fairly full shopping bag, just sitting there about five feet away, perched on the edge between the sidewalk and a patch of weed-filled dirt that could be perhaps be called a flowerbed once spring arrived. It was clearly from the market based on the cheery design, and a few languorous curls of steam rose from within.

Roman’s mouth started watering at the sight. He looked around for the bag’s owner. There were a few people here and there, but no one was looking at the bag. Was it possible that it had been forgotten?

He waited a moment, watching, biting his lip uncertainly; but the temptation proved to be too much. He hurriedly folded up his cardboard sign, stuffed that in his coat with a plastic bag of his other belongings, and snatched the shopping bag.

“HEY!”

Oh, sh*t.

Roman took off. He didn’t think. He just ran, dodging people and cars and tents, focusing only on getting way. He sprinted through the crowd, barely avoiding smacking into a burly man holding a tiny girl with braids; and something fell out of the bag he’d just pilfered. He didn’t look back to see what it was, let alone try to retrieve it.

“Get back here, you—!” Whatever the man said next was interrupted by the sound of a car horn, but Roman could guess that whatever it was wasn’t exactly friendly.

Roman made it away from the market, nearly getting hit by a car in the process, and ducked down an alley. He slowed down only somewhat, hoping to be less conspicuous, and continued on foot for several blocks. His breath billowed out behind him, creating clouds of steam in the cool air. The shopping bag clutched tightly in his fist felt like it weighed an extra twenty pounds, thumping against his leg with every step.

Half convinced he was still being chased, Roman didn’t stop moving until he came to a small pocket park a good distance away from the scene of the crime. He found some overgrown bushes there and ducked down to hide.

Ten minutes went by. Roman’s feet started to go numb from how he was crouching, the pebbles and twigs digging into his knees. Finally, not hearing any sign of pursuers, he slowly sat up. He peeked through the foliage, then cautiously emerged when he saw no one. He sat on a bench, nearly invisible to the road thanks to the bushes and a pair of well placed trees, and opened up his prize, swallowing his guilt and telling himself that it would be worth his efforts.

Or at least, that was what he thought until he saw what was inside.

Whatever had been creating the small cloud of steam, the food he’d been after in the first place, was gone. It must have fallen out back in the market.

What was in the bag were some simple white boxes, carefully packed in with tissue paper, and a small box of gourmet chocolate truffles. Not a complete waste, then, at least.

Roman pulled out the truffles and set them in his lap, already salivating at the thought of them, and then opened the first of the white boxes to see if it was something he could use.

Inside the box sat a very, very expensive-looking watch.

Roman’s eyes widened, and he nearly dropped it. His mouth gaped like a fish.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whispered, staring at it. He slowly set the watch down. This was a lot more serious than stealing a few baked goods. This was bad. Probably the worst thing he had ever done, at least from a legal standpoint.

Roman simply sat there for a while, letting the reality of what he had just done sink in.

Of course, guilt wasn’t very filling, and after a few minutes, Roman’s stomach growled. Barely taking his eyes off of the watch, he slowly picked up the box of truffles. He figured he might as well have them—the mistake was already made, after all. He peeled off one glove, barely feeling the cold, and tore open the package. He barely tasted the sweets as he stuffed them into his mouth, one after the other. Roman’s mind was elsewhere.

If this watch was in one of the boxes, he thought, then the other boxes probably contained items just as expensive, if not more so.

Roman had just wanted some food, not this. He would be well and truly screwed if he was caught.

That was when he caught a glimpse of the actual price tag on the watch box, a small sticker in the corner with numbers printed in a neat black font. He momentarily forgot to breathe.

This watch had cost somebody nearly four hundred dollars. And it was on sale.

Suddenly Roman knew that he absolutely could not be caught with this. He had to get rid of it. He impulsively shoved the box back in the bag, rolled up the top of it, and shoved the whole thing into the bushes he’d been hiding in earlier. He got to his feet, stuffed the empty chocolate box in a trash can, and quickly walked away, sweating despite the cold.

…

A couple of hours later, sitting in the enclosed space under a bridge that currently served as his “home”, the truffles were not sitting well in Roman’s stomach. It felt like they were trying to claw their way back out. He shifted uncomfortably, the paper shopping bags layered underneath his blanket crinkling in complaint.

The bags were meant to help keep out the chill from the concrete slab beneath him, but it was debatable how much of a difference they actually made. Sometimes it felt as if they did nothing at all, given that the air was almost if not just as cold as the concrete. Still, Roman kept them, since they created a (perhaps pathetic) cushion between his body and the hard ground. Truthfully, they probably were helping to insulate him a little, even if he still wasn’t exactly staying in a five star hotel.

Sitting atop those paper bags, Roman glanced over towards where a couple of figures stood talking. It was dark, and Roman had a feeling that they were probably not supposed to be doing whatever they were doing, but it wasn’t any of Roman’s business. People like that showed up sometimes in this part of the city, but they seemed to know that Roman wasn’t going to bother them, so they usually ignored him, too. He was just another random homeless man, after all. Who cared about him?

Except now, after what had happened earlier that day, Roman found himself more paranoid than usual. He watched the two figures out of the corner of his eye until they were done with whatever they were doing and started walking away in different directions. Neither moved towards him, thankfully. Roman released his breath. He leaned his head back and looked up at the bridge overhead. A car passed by, rumbling over the bridge. Its headlights cast a faint glow in the air until it disappeared.

Roman adjusted one of the napkins he had shoved in his gloves, one of which had been poking him and making his wrist itch. Then he pulled the blankets tighter around himself and lay down on his crinkly bed. He hid his face under the blanket, putting his nose in the crook of one elbow to try to keep it warm. It took him a while to fall asleep, more due to nervousness than the cold or the uncomfortable position he lay in; but, eventually, he managed to drift off into a fitful sleep. His dreams, as always, were filled with visions of the life he could have, should have had.

And as always, he woke up to his own harsh reality.

Roman sighed as he opened his eyes. A bit of frost had formed in his hair overnight, which crackled as he uncurled his stiff limbs from the awkward position he’d slept in.

It was still fairly early, watery gray light leaking over the horizon; but the occasional car ambled down the street. There weren’t many people venturing outside on that crisp Sunday morning, and Roman wasn’t too worried about being bothered. Most people usually chose to ignore Roman, if not outright avoid him.

As if to confirm this, a man and a woman, some of the few daring to walk to work in these temperatures, chose that moment to pass by. As they did, they actually stepped into the street to avoid being too close, as if Roman were going to give them the plague. As if homelessness were contagious.

Rude, but understandable, he supposed.

Roman lay back down for a while and contemplated going back to sleep. But he really had to pee, and his stomach felt like it was trying to gnaw its way out of his abdomen; so, eventually, he reluctantly pushed his blanket to the side and sat up. He pulled a comb through his hair, arranging the greasy locks as neatly as he could. He double checked that he still had the money he’d gotten the day before (several times before, he’d woken up to find some of his things missing, especially in the beginning before he’d learned to keep them better protected). Then he pulled a blanket around his shoulders and got to his feet. He grabbed the plastic bag that held most of his possessions, anything that anyone might want to steal, and set off.

He lumbered down the sidewalk, one untied shoelace skittering across the pavement with each step, the blanket wrapped tightly around himself. The morning was quiet and still, almost pleasantly so, if only it weren’t so cold. Roman missed summer.

He sighed in relief when he made it to the McDonald’s. He ducked inside, nodded awkwardly to one of the cashiers, and made his way over to the restrooms. He did his business, even taking the time to wash his face and hair in the sink. By the time he reemerged, the breakfast menu had been changed to the lunch menu, which was fine by Roman.

Roman ordered a cheeseburger and somewhat sheepishly asked for a cup of hot water to go with it.

While he waited, Roman set down his things at a table and sat down, drumming his fingers absently on the tabletop.

His number was called, and he picked up the bag and the cup with a small, grateful smile. He grabbed far too many packets of ketchup, some salt and pepper, and a straw, and sat back down. He opened up the bag, and swallowed against a lump in his throat when he saw a small order of fries inside along with his cheeseburger.

He decided not to draw any attention to it, not wanting to get anyone in trouble, or worse, risk someone taking the extra food away. Instead, he just ate his cheeseburger and fries, and then made his makeshift tomato soup, stirring the ketchup, pepper, and salt together in the hot water with the straw. He put the rest of the condiments that he hadn’t used in the bag with his other belongings.

He took his time drinking that concoction, not eager to go back outside, but eventually he couldn’t stall any longer. It was approaching midday, the restaurant was growing more crowded, and he figured it was only a matter of time before someone started objecting to his presence. So Roman gathered up his things and took his leave.

…

Roman spent most of the day wandering the city. He didn’t have much else to do, and sitting under a bridge like some kind of troll grew old pretty fast. He avoided the part of the city where the market was set up, just in case the person whose belongings he had stolen returned to try to find him. Under different circumstances, he might have been able to convince himself that he was just being paranoid, but the price tag on the watch kept flashing in his mind’s eye. No, he was going to avoid that area for a while.

Finally, the sun was going down, and Roman made his way back to the bridge.

Other than about thirty cents left over from the day before, Roman only had a dime that he’d found in the street during his wandering. He certainly didn’t have enough money to buy anything for dinner. It seemed he’d have to make do with the ketchup he had left over from his earlier meal. Not exactly a meal fit for a prince, but it was better than nothing, if not by much. He probably should have gone and tried to beg again, but staying in one spot with the same sign as the day before only seemed like a more sure-fire way of being recognized. And if the owner of the watch had gone to the police, they were probably on the lookout for him.

Roman tugged on the collar of his shirt—a Saint Gabriel Academy of Fine Arts shirt, turned inside out—and winced. Just look at what his life had come to. He was supposed to be away at college, right now, pursuing his dreams of becoming an actor. Instead, he was homeless, jobless, penniless, and now, a thief. No better than his brother, after all.

Juan was sitting at the opposite end of the bridge when Roman returned, on the other side of the road. Roman nodded vaguely in his direction, too tired to give more of a greeting. The other homeless man didn’t acknowledge him, busy methodically stacking a pile of plastic bottle caps in different arrangements.

He sat down amongst his paper bags and dirty blankets, and he set down the plastic bag of his belongings. He was hunched over, digging through it for the ketchup packets, when he heard someone’s shoe scrape on the sidewalk. Roman paused, glancing up towards a small group of men, one of whom had just pulled to a sudden stop. He glanced away again just as quickly, not looking to draw unwanted attention.

Too late.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Roman’s blood ran cold. He knew that voice.

“Hey! Get back here!”

“What, you know this ugly f*cker?” one of the other men laughed, coming up to stand next to the first. His dark hair was wild, his eyes glittering.

“Oh, hell no, I don’t. This dirty piece of crap just owes me some money is all.” The man crouched, sneering at Roman, his ice blue eyes piercing right through him. “Ain’t that right?”

Roman scooted back, eyes widening, searching for a way out. Adrenaline hummed in his veins, and yet he felt frozen to the ground. They’d found him. Of course, they’d found him. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, words failing him in his sudden panic.

“This the guy who stole your stuff?” A third man asked, going to stand in front of his other friends, casually blocking Roman’s only escape route.

“This pathetic f*ggot? Really?” said the second. “Man, Mikey, you’re getting robbed by bums now?”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Shut it,” he growled. Almost immediately, he looked back to Roman with a crocodile grin, crouching down to stare directly into his eyes. “Now, how about it? We don’t want any trouble. So why don’t you just give me back what you took, and we can all go on our merry way?”

Roman’s breath left him in a wheeze. He didn’t have what they wanted. Not anymore. But he knew they wouldn’t believe that. He practically pressed himself against the concrete wall at his back, as if with enough effort he’d be able to pass through the barrier that kept him trapped here with these men.

Mikey’s eyes hardened at Roman’s lack of a response. “Come on, I’m trying to be reasonable here.”

A fourth man, who hadn’t spoken until then, said, “Guys, maybe we should just call the cops, let them take care of this.”

“I bet you sold ’em already, right? What, traded ’em for some drugs or sh*t like that?” The second man, standing at Mikey’s side, sneered.

“You some kind of mute?” the third asked at the same time. They were all clearly growing impatient. Roman had to say something.

“I—I don’t….” Roman stammered, fishing for the right words, for anything that could help get him out of this situation. He looked desperately around them, towards the other side of the street, but Juan had conveniently disappeared, and no one else was around. He wasn’t getting any help. He was alone.

“Ah, he speaks!”

“I paid good money for that stuff,” Mikey said. He squared his shoulders and stepped closer. “So you’re going to tell me… what you did with it. NOW!”

Roman got to his feet and scrambled away so fast that he nearly fell over, tripping on the blankets in his haste. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking—Agh!”

He was cut off as a fist sank into his gut, forcing him to bend over at the waist. Tears stung his eyes and he gagged, bile dripping down his chin.

Mikey took him by the shoulders roughly. “Now, lets try that again,” he whispered in Roman’s ear, too loud.

“Mike, I don’t think—”

“Shut up,” Mikey said, still right next to Roman’s head. “Go home if you don’t want to be a part of this.”

A second passed. Roman’s harsh breathing grated on his eardrums. One set of footsteps retreated. Roman choked, still struggling to pull air back into his lungs and straighten back up.

“Third time’s the charm,” the second man suggested, sounding all too happy to join his friend. His breath smelled strongly of menthol. “Where’s my buddy’s sh*t? You see, he paid a lot for it, and it sure would be a shame if he didn’t get it back, wouldn’t it?”

“Might make him angry,” added the third voice, now much closer than before. He shoved Roman, and his back hit the concrete wall, making him cry out.

“I don’t have it,” Roman said desperately, knowing they wouldn’t believe him. He was still looking around, desperate for an escape. But the street was deserted.

Hands appeared on Roman’s back and shoved him forward, sending him sprawling to the ground. Roman’s head smacked the concrete, and he tasted the iron tang of blood as he bit his tongue. His hands felt scraped raw, even inside his gloves, and a painful pins and needles sensation ran through one of his knees. His rib cage felt like it had been hit by a bowling ball.

Roman groaned. A pair of shoes stepped into his field of vision.

“What’s this you’ve got here?”

“Noth—nothing,” Roman offered weakly, not even sure what they were talking about. He was definitely going to have some impressive bruises come morning. If he lived that long. “Just… trash.”

“Hm, then you won’t mind if I have a look, would you?” Roman heard the rustle of plastic as someone, probably Mikey, dug around in the bag he kept his things in. Apparently, the contents—specifically, their lack of any of the items Roman had stolen—didn’t please him. He kicked it to the side. Roman heard some of the items roll into the gutter.

Mikey’s friends dragged Roman to his feet and pinned him against the wall. Roman put up a struggle, but it was almost obligatory. There were three of them, and only one of him. He couldn’t fight them all off if he tried. And if he called for help, would anyone even hear? Would they come, if they did? Or would he just make things worse?

“Where is it?” Mikey snapped, impatient.

Roman was very aware that the odds of him keeping all of his teeth were getting slimmer by the second. “It’s—they’re… they’re in the park. This park, like five blocks from here, I swear. I left them in a bush, you can go right now—”

Smack!

Roman’s head jerked to the side, and he whined despite himself as blood began to drip from his nose, closing his eyes tight. He’d been trying to answer them! This wasn’t fair!

Menthol Breath put his hand on Roman’s neck, his fingers digging in painfully. The smell of menthol was dizzying. Or maybe that was the head wound.

He heard a loud crunching noise, and opened his eyes to see that Mikey was stomping on Roman’s bag of belongings as hard as he could, clearly trying to break them. He picked it up and smacked it repeatedly against the edge of the sidewalk to do even more damage. Bits and pieces of the contents flew out, rips appearing in the plastic.

The two men pinning Roman to the wall laughed at the sight.

“Aw, hell, Mike, you’re gonna make ’im cry,” Menthol Breath cackled. “Little f*ggot gonna cry?”

“’Nooo, please, not my garbage!’” the other mocked in a rude, falsetto voice.

“Now, I know you didn’t just throw my sh*t in a bush,” Mikey said, emphasizing his point by stomping on the bag again. “So you best tell the truth. Right now.”

One of the men, the one who didn’t smell like menthol, let go of Roman and started tearing through his setup, upending his blankets and the paper bags that made up his “bed”. Roman would have taken this opportunity to run, but Menthol Breath was still on him, grinning like the Cheshire cat, and Mikey blocked the way out.

Of course, the man came up empty. Because Roman didn’t have their stuff anymore.

Mikey stomped on the bag again, angry, then started cursing. “God f*cking d*mn it, what the hell? What is this?”

Roman’s eyes drifted down to Mikey’s legs, one of which was splattered with a messy arc of red. He must have stomped on one of the ketchup packets.

“You good, M?”

“Urgh, disgusting.”

Mikey ignored his friends, stalking forward to stand in front of Roman.

“Answer me, now!” Mikey snarled. He reared back and kicked Roman in the stomach, making it rather difficult for him to do as the other man asked. Dark spots swam in his vision as he gagged once again.

Roman was heaved back upright, a dribble of bloody bile dripping from his chin onto his shirt. “I panicked,” he offered weakly, gasping for breath. “I didn’t… I just… wanted food… I didn’t know… the other stuff was in there… swear.”

“Right, right,” said Mikey. He put his foot on top of Roman’s and slowly leaned all of his weight on it, crushing his toes, his face barely an inch away from Roman’s. Roman resisted the urge to spit in it, his eyes watering.

“You believe this guy?” asked the other man. A distant part of Roman, either left over from his theater days or hysterical from fear and pain, decided to dub him Henchman Number Three.

Mikey stared at Roman for a moment longer, eyes narrowed. “You know, he’s just pathetic enough that I actually kind of do,” he said. He stepped back, and Roman gasped slightly as the weight was lifted from his poor toes. “So… here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me where this park of yours is. My buddies and I are going to go there. And you, you are going to hope and pray to God that my stuff is still there. And if it isn’t, I think you know what’s gonna happen.”

Roman swallowed. Or tried to, at least. “It’s—it’s the pocket p-park, the one on Lincoln,” he quickly stammered. “It’s g-g-got those bushes, by the bench. It’s right there, I swear, you can j-just go there, and find them.”

Mikey looked at him appraisingly for a few seconds.

“Drop him.”

Roman was tossed to the ground for a second time, and he barely avoided receiving a second bump on his head to complement the first. He tried to push himself back up, but didn’t make it very far before collapsing back down.

“You sure about this?” Menthol Breath asked skeptically. Roman could feel his eyes on him. “He’s seen our faces.”

Mikey scoffed. “Come on, like he’s gonna go to the cops. He ain’t that dumb.”

Henchman Number Three snorted.

Menthol Breath hummed. “Still,” he said, kneeling next to Roman, “why take that chance?” Roman tried not to choke, barely able to breathe with that overwhelming smell so close to his face. “Who’s going to miss a dirty homeless thief? We’d be doing the world a favor.”

There was a thoughtful sound. “You know… you do make a good point.”

Roman tried to squirm away, eyes wide, but a foot pressed down on his back, pinning him down. He kept struggling, gasping, trying to get up, begging for them to just let him go, but the weight on his back only increased. And then something cold and sharp pressed against Roman’s face, and he immediately went still and silent. The blade slowly traced a line of ice across his cheekbone and down to his neck, settling just under the jawbone.

Roman’s heart felt like it just might explode.

Menthol Breath exhaled right in his face. The blade nicked his skin.

“Oh, f*ck, he’s pissed himself!” someone shouted. Chaos erupted, cackling and various sounds of disgust echoing around him as the men scrambled away from him. The knife disappeared from his neck.

Three sets of footsteps pounded down the street, leaving Roman a battered, shivering heap on the sidewalk.

…

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, sprawled on the concrete, trembling and bleeding. But eventually, he dragged himself over to what was left of his belongings.

Inside, along with the remains of pretty much everything else he owned, was Roman’s cell phone. It had been off ever since he realized that it could be used to track him; but he’d kept it because… well, he wasn’t quite sure why. As a reminder? A comfort item? Perhaps for situations like this, just in case?

Did Roman want to call the cops? An ambulance? Hell, his parents?

He reached into the bag and pulled out the device that had somehow gone unnoticed by his attackers. He wiped off the disgusting mixture of ketchup, toothpaste, and dirt with one of the paper bags, then simply stared at it.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the phone screen, chunks of glass falling out or missing at the edges. The case had broken under the onslaught, hanging off in two pieces. One corner of the phone had bent harshly, and the metal was scraped

For a long moment he just lay there, taking it in. Then, he reached up one hand and pressed the power button, holding it down. He didn’t know why he bothered. He wasn’t even sure if the thing was still charged after so long.

The screen flickered. Random colors spasmed across it, purple and green and blue, odd lines and shapes that followed the cracks like contours on a topographic map.

And then, without any fanfare, it died.

Roman bit back a sob, shoving the useless phone away from him. He didn’t know why he was so upset. Who would he have called, anyway? Who would have answered?

Roman rolled onto his side and struggled to sit up, grimacing as he took in the dark stain on his pants.

How brave he was.

…

After a few hours, Roman found the strength to get to his feet and limp over to the closest open building that he knew had a public restroom. The smell was, admittedly, a strong motivator, as were the sticky feeling of blood and bile on his face and chest and the stiff, cold feeling of his trousers.

He gathered up all of his things—what was worth taking, anyway—and set off. He didn’t plan on returning to the bridge.

Feeling more humiliated than he ever had in his life, Roman shuffled inside the gas station, not making eye contact with the cashier, and made a beeline for the restroom. Thankfully, it was empty, and he locked himself inside.

Roman leaned his head against the closed door and let out a shaky breath, then turned to the sink.

One small miracle was that some of Roman’s clothes hadn’t been in the plastic bag, so he had something to change into that wasn’t covered in ketchup, toothpaste, and bits of broken glass. He set these on the sink and then turned on the faucet, washing his hands and then his face. He rinsed out his mouth, cupping his hands together and spitting out bloody water. He didn’t dare look in the mirror until he was done, afraid of what he would see.

A friend of his in high school who had gotten his front teeth knocked out in a fight had once said that he hadn’t felt any pain. In fact, the guy hadn’t even known that they were gone until he looked in a mirror. At the time, Roman had found the idea surprising, almost laughable in how strange that was, to not even feel your own teeth being knocked out; but now he just felt afraid. Roman knew that he hadn’t lost his own front teeth—he’d actually checked, probing at them with his painful tongue on the walk over—but that didn’t mean another surprise wasn’t waiting for him.

Finally, when the water in the sink ran clear, Roman slowly lifted his head to see the damage.

His right eye and cheekbone were swollen and red, obviously bruised. He would have an impressive black eye in the coming days. A thin red line ran along the opposite cheekbone, down his cheek, and ended in a shallow, inch-long cut just under his jaw. That side of his face was also tinged pink and felt hot to the touch, swollen from the blow he’d received. His nose, meanwhile, had stopped bleeding a while ago, but one nostril still felt clogged. Roman didn’t dare try to clear it, afraid that it would start bleeding again. At least his nose didn’t seem to be broken, even if it was quite tender.

Next, he slowly opened his mouth, taking in his poor bitten tongue with a wince, and gently pulled back his split lip to inspect his teeth. All appeared intact and still in his mouth, where they belonged. He sighed in relief.

After that, Roman moved on to getting out of his disgusting clothes—the pants and underwear went straight in the trash, even though he knew he should try to clean them. At the time, he just wanted them gone. He did, however, do his best to clean the shirt in the sink. He didn’t want to lose that—he knew that his future at Saint Gabriel was as unsalvageable as his shattered phone, but he wasn’t ready to let go of this last relic of that alternate timeline quite yet. While that soaked, he got some damp paper towels and cleaned himself up, wincing whenever his hand passed over the scrapes and bruises.

Occasionally, there was a knock on the door, but Roman just called back “occupied!” in a hoarse voice, and he was left alone.

When he finally emerged, still feeling like garbage but at least relatively clean, there was a worker standing just outside the bathroom. They peered past him, clearly expecting the bathroom to be trashed or something. They turned back towards Roman, probably about to demand why he had been in there so long; but at the sight of Roman’s face, they came up short, their mouth simply hanging open.

Roman looked away and made his way outside without a word.

He left the gas station almost feeling a bit better—almost—and headed straight to the train station.

Obviously, Roman did not plan to stick around. Not with Mikey and company still out there. He didn’t think they would go to the police, not after what they’d done to him in retaliation for his theft, but that wasn’t what Roman was worried about. What if they didn’t find their stuff in the park? What if they did, and they still decided Roman couldn’t keep his mouth shut? What if Menthol Breath just wanted to have some fun?

No, it was better to leave while he still could.

Not that he had a ticket, or the money to get one. But he had to try.

Ideally, he would head somewhere south. Somewhere warmer, where he wouldn’t have to worry about frostbite and hypothermia as the weather got colder. But, truthfully, he would be willing to go anywhere. Even just the next town over, if it meant putting more distance between himself and his problems.

Sometimes it seemed Roman would never stop running from his past.

…

Roman set up shop on one of the benches at the station. His cardboard sign now had a reverse side, which read, “Need Ticket To Anywhere. Anything Helps. God Bless.”

By mid morning, with a grand total of about five dollars and a stick of gum, Roman was starting to nod off. The waiting area of the train station was heated, and the sounds of people walking to and fro, and even the trains when they arrived, settled into a rhythm that felt unexpectedly soothing. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, which only made the temptation harder to resist.

As he drifted in and out of a doze with only a minimal amount of his own input, Roman began to grow paranoid that someone would try to steal his earnings, so he reached forward and took the money out of the cup, sticking it in his pocket instead. He left only the stick of gum and a pebble behind. A little more at ease, Roman leaned against a nearby pillar, closing his eyes and going back to listening to the background noise around him.

Another train or two came and went, and Roman was eyeing the vending machines despite himself. He was starving, but he really needed this money for a ticket. He needed at least twenty dollars, or he wasn’t going anywhere.

A few coins clinked as they were dropped in his cup.

“Thank you,” Roman murmured, unsure at that point of who had even given them to him.

Only fourteen and a half dollars to go, and he was out of there.

…

”…this?” a voice asked.

Roman forced his eyes open, blinking, to see a small hand stuck out in front of him, holding a granola bar. He stared uncomprehendingly.

“Do you want this?” the voice repeated more insistently.

Roman looked up. A kid stood there, certainly no older than 10 and probably younger. Her parents stood behind her, looking a mixture of impatient, exasperated, and wary.

“Yes, please,” Roman croaked.

The girl set the granola bar in Roman’s cup with a small, satisfied nod. Then she looked back up at him. “What happened to your face?” she asked.

The girl’s mom shifted, glancing up from her phone. “Ella, you shouldn’t ask people things like that.”

“It’s okay,” Roman said, straightening slightly. He looked back to Ella. “I had a battle,” he told her after a few seconds, “with a mean old dragon witch.”

“A dragon witch?” the girl repeated, tilting her head.

Roman nodded sagely.

“You’re messing with me.”

“No, no, they’re real,” Roman assured her. “They’re not very nice, though. I had to fight one off.”

“Did it take your ticket?” she asked, frowning.

Roman hesitated. “No,” he decided. “I just need to go someplace else is all. I think the dragon witch might come back, you see.”

“Ella, we need to go,” her mom said. She kept eyeing Roman, probably wondering if he was crazy.

“Okaaay, mom,” she sighed. She turned back to Roman even as her parents pulled her away. “Bye. I hope you beat the dragon witch.”

“Bye, Ella. I hope so, too.”

…

Roman spent several days in that train station, begging during daylight hours and sleeping uneasily on the benches at night, never straying far while he healed from his ordeal and attempted to collect the money for his fare. The setup was, he found, much nicer there than it had been under that bridge. It seemed that the owners of the station didn’t bother turning off the heaters after hours, so Roman (and several stray cats) had a warm place to stay at night.

At one point, he briefly considered going out into the city to find Juan and tell him about it, knowing the other homeless man would probably appreciate a heated place to sleep. And then he remembered how Juan had abandoned him, had left him to be beaten into the ground by Mikey and his friends.

He couldn’t exactly blame the guy. They weren’t exactly close, and what could Juan have done, really? Even if he had helped, it would still have been two against three—four, counting the man Juan had had no way of knowing would back off—and Menthol Breath had had a knife. Juan had been right to run when he did.

Still, the thought of facing him again made Roman’s blood boil and his stomach twist in knots. So he didn’t. Maybe he should have felt bad about that, but he didn’t at the time.

Regardless of any of that, as nice as the train station was in comparison to his previous setup, it was not somewhere that Roman wanted to stay for much longer. He didn’t feel safe there, knowing that Mikey and company could show up at any time. That fact made it all the more stressful each time he had to use some of the money he had collected to buy some food from the vending machines, since it meant he had to stay even longer.

On the morning of the fifth day, when those final quarters were dropped into his cup, Roman almost cried.

Clutching the money, he hesitantly entered the main building, where the tickets were sold. He waited in line, practically shaking with apprehension. But before he knew it, he had his ticket, and he was standing in the crowd of people waiting to get on the train. Maybe most of them avoided standing too close to him, whether due to his obvious homelessness or his still battered appearance, but Roman found that he didn’t mind it that day.

He got onto the train, settling into a seat with all of his possessions piled into the one beside him. He stared out the window, feeling a sort of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time as the train began to move. The landscape slid by as the train picked up speed, taking him to a new city, and, he hoped, something better.

[letsyesnomaybe]

Never Gonna Wanna Let Me Go | Part 5

Zayn Malik is one of the highest paid escorts in London. He’s good at his job, he knows this. But it’s not his chosen field, it’s easy money so he can have a chance to pursue his chosen field without becoming homeless. His employer Caroline has many rules to keep him safe but Zayn only has one ‘Don’t Get Attached’. Of course, there was always going to be one, the guy who would come in to the picture and make Zayn’s easy job almost impossible.

Liam Payne. Twenty Six. Made his money by inheriting his father’s music business after he passed away. Quite well known so expect publicity. Wants a pretty face on his arm to cover the events he has to attend while in town on business. Make sure he knows if he wants extra he has to pay. You’ve got your usual expenses on your card, don’t go overboard like last time. I mean it, Malik! Your share for the weekend will go in your account on Monday when you’ve done your job.

Love you babes, stay safe, C x

Part 1, 2 ,3 & 4  (also on ao3)

Liam’s father’s cabin is a literal cabin, which Zayn wasn’t expecting. He also wasn’t expecting it to be in the middle of nowhere, they have to take a plane, helicopter and car to get there. He actually starts to worry a bit as the driver pulls away from them that he’s suddenly trapped in a remote part of Scotland with a guy he’s only known for three days. 

But then Liam announces he wants to fuck on the deck out back and he offers Zayn the biggest goofiest smile imaginable and he thinks if this is how he dies then it’s not that bad of a way to go. 

After they get done being exhibitionist they split to shower in two of the five bathrooms inside the cabin. 

Zayn’s washing both his and Liam’s come off what feels like is every inch of his body and singing ‘Can’t help falling in love with you’ loudly to combat against the water pounding down when Liam enters the bathroom he’s in. 

He doesn’t notice straight away because the glass of the shower is quite steamed up so he doesn’t halt his singing but the moment he opens the shower door to find the other lad leaning on the sink, he instantly clamps his mouth shut. 

“Your voice is beautiful.” Liam compliments with wide curious eyes. 

Zayn offers him a smile as he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. 

“You shouldn’t let a voice like that go to waste, Zayn.” Liam tells him. 

“I don’t sing in front of other people,” Zayn informs him and steps closer so he can cup Liam’s cheek, gently stroking his thumb across the younger lad’s freshly shaved cheek. “You’re one of the very lucky few.” 

“I know but you could,” Liam argues and he looks suddenly very serious. “I could set it up for you.” 

“I don’t want another contract from you, Liam.” Zayn snaps and drops his hand, it’s harsh but he hopes it gets his point across. 

Liam doesn’t look hurt like he expects and Zayn realises it’s because he’s not even listening when Zayn speaks, he’s suddenly got his business hat on. 

“This could change your life.” Liam decides. 

Zayn decides he’s obviously not going to get anywhere with whatever train of thought Liam is on so instead he decides to leave the bathroom, thinking if he walks away from the conversation then Liam might finally realise he doesn’t want to take part in it. 

“You won’t take money from me because you said you pay your own way in this life,“ Liam continues as he follows him out, obviously not getting the hint. “This could be an honest way to make your money.” 

Zayn feels like that’s a punch to the gut, even if it wasn’t supposed to be and he only has to spin around to look at Liam, for him to quickly retract the words and have guilt consume his face instead. 

"I’m sorry,” Liam says quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that, I swear, Z, it wasn’t supposed to come out that way.” 

Zayn gets a little smile on his lips from the nickname he wasn’t expecting and the moment he does, one appears on Liam’s lips too. 

“It could change your life, Z.” Liam states again, picked up on the fact the nickname was what made Zayn smile. 

“It doesn’t always change it for the better.” Zayn argues. 

Liam looks curious. 

“Harry’s mate was a busker in London, got picked up by some big record company.” Zayn explains. “It changed his life but in my opinion, it wasn’t for the better.” 

Liam looks curious. “What’s his name?” 

"What?” Zayn asks confused. 

“The busker,” Liam pushes. “What’s his name?” 

“Ed.” Zayn replies but doesn’t expand because he knows that’s all Liam will need. 

“As in Ed Sheeran?!” Liam expresses. 

Zayn nods his head. "It didn’t change Ed, he’ll pop in to Harry’s bakery for a chat now and then and he’s still the best person to have a quiet pint with. But god forbid if you wanted to go for more than one, he isn’t left alone, his face is so well known now that even walking down the street is a task. 

“Surely, people look at you when you walk down the street anyway?” Liam scoffs. 

“Maybe,” Zayn agrees because he’s not oblivious to how he looks, he knows it’s why he’s so good at what he does. “But having people glance at you as you pass them on the street is very different to attention artists like Ed get when they go out in public.” 

“There’s way to combat though,” Liam tries. “It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.” 

“I’m not a performer, Liam.” Zayn says finally. “I don’t want to be one either so will you drop it, please?” 

“You don’t think what you do is a performance?” Liam asks. “You don’t put on a show with every bloke Caroline sets you up with?” 

Zayn steps closer so he can reach out to slip his hands over Liam’s hips and offers him a sweet smile. 

“Not every bloke.” He points out. 

“This isn’t a show?” Liam checks. 

Zayn drops his hands and takes a physical step back. “You think that it is?” 

“No, no.” Liam says quickly and drags his fingers through his hair, it gives Zayn a perfect view of his bicep and the nail marks Zayn had dug in to not an hour ago. “Fuck, I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?” 

“Liam?” Zayn asks. 

Liam drops his hand and looks at him expectantly. 

“I wanted you to stop talking.” Zayn decides. 

Liam face goes through many emotions before it finally settles on humour. “You dick! I thought you were really pissed at me!” 

“I will be if you don’t come over here and fuck me again.” Zayn decides with a loose grin. 

Liam doesn’t need anymore instruction as he stalks across the room and kisses Zayn with so much passion, it makes him wish he’d never have to stop. 

***

They manage three peaceful days at the cabin before it all turns to shit. 

Zayn truly believes they didn’t have to fly all the way to Scotland to spend three days fucking each other raw, watching every marvel movie known to man and eating so much shitty food that Zayn’s sure Liam’s perfect body is slowly turning in to a dad bod. 

They’ve moved on to a Harry Potter marathon because they’d had an argument over which house they should both to belong to while showering together that morning. 

They’ve got ‘Goblet Of Fire’ ready and set to go when Liam’s phone buzzes with a name unfamiliar to Zayn. 

Liam picks up and frowns. “I’ll be right back.” 

“I’ll make more popcorn.” Zayn decides. 

Liam leans over and steals a quick kiss and when he pulls back, he smiles so hard his eyes disappear which he had started doing on their second day there and it hadn’t taken long for Zayn decide it was his favourite Liam smile. 

“I won’t be long.” Liam promises 

“I’ll be here waiting for you, Liam.” Zayn says with his own cheeky grin that he thinks Liam loves himself because he usually gets his favourite Liam smile in return to it. 

Liam grasps him by the chin this time and Zayn’s worried he’s done something wrong before Liam presses a more demanding kiss to his lips. 

“Your phone.” Zayn mumbles against 

“I’ll ring them back.” Liam decides and throws the phone aside so he can continue with what he’d started. 

They don’t let it go too far, only far enough that when they both pull apart, they have to adjust themselves before heading off to do their separate tasks. 

Though Zayn only manages a few minutes in the kitchen before he remembers he has no idea how to work the microwave so goes on the search for Liam to demand he be shown how to do it again. It’s not his fault, each time Liam has shown him how do it, he’d got distracted by how adorable he is while being instructive. 

He only makes it to the sliding door that leads out to the balcony Liam had taken his call on, when the other lad’s voice stops him. 

“--to myself,” Liam says to whoever is on the phone. “I wanted to relax, that’s all. I’ll be going to LA in a few days, I need to or Simmons will use it as his chance to turn the board completely against him.” 

The person on the other end must not be happy with that response because he sighs. 

“I wanted to show him I’m not a fucking coward,” He argues. “I won’t hide who I am just because he doesn’t approve.” 

Zayn feels a little proud that the boy he’s sure he’s slowly falling in love with is so sure of who he is and is happy to make sure other people know that too. 

“No, he was just someone I paid to attend with me.” Liam continues. “I know, yeah, he was worth the money for sure.” 

Zayn feels suddenly sick because those words hurt. Of course, he’s been called worse and to his face. But for some reason hearing Liam say it made him feel far dirtier and far more 

“I’m no hiding anything,” Liam argues. “I’m here alone, I told you, I needed a break but I’ll fly out in a few days.” 

Zayn doesn’t wait for the conversation to continue and for have himself hurt by more words. 

Instead, he drops the bowl of popcorn kernels on to the table by the door, making sure it makes a loud of noise to catch Liam’s attention. 

Though he doesn’t wait for Liam to come back inside, instead he rushes through the house to what they had claimed as ‘their’ bedroom to pack his bags to get away from what’s causing him pain as soon as possible. 

Liam’s worried call of his name follows him upstairs and Zayn waits in the centre of the bedroom for him to enter. 

“What am I?” He asks, the moment the other lad walks through the door. 

“I didn’t mean it like you heard it.” Liam tries. 

“What am I?” Zayn demands again. “Because you’re not paying me anymore but you made damn sure whoever was on that call knew you were alone so what the fuck am I, Liam? Why the fuck did you bring me here?” 

Liam looks lost on how he’s supposed to reply, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What am I?!” Zayn ask a little louder but he doesn’t give Liam a chance to answer.

‘You’re a warm body to fuck,’ Louis’ voice echoes in his memory. ‘That’s all you ever were to me, babe’. 

Zayn starts walking around room, collecting things that are his to shove back in his suitcase so he can leave.

“Stop.” Liam pleads, reaching for his arm after he’s dumped a load of clothes in to the suitcase.

Zayn does stop but his chest is heaving as he stands now toe to toe with Liam. “I can’t do this again.”

“What do you mean again?” Liam worries.

Zayn moves away from him to collect his shoes from the bottom of the wardrobe.

“Zayn, stop.” Liam pleads. 

Zayn feels frantic and he must look it because the moment he stops in the middle of the room, he can feel how fast his heart is racing 

“Can we talk about this, please?” Liam requests. “More rationally than we currently are.”

‘We can talk about it,’ Louis says. ‘If you want to, if it will help.’ 

“Fuck off.” Zee screams at the memories. 

Liam’s eyes go wide and he takes a slight step back from Zayn. 

“I want to go.” Zayn decides. 

“Zayn,” Liam pleads. 

“I want to go, Liam.” Zayn states more demanding. 

Liam lets out a haggard breath and he’s almost pulling his hair out now. “Can’t you stay and talk to me for a little bit longer?” 

“I’ll let Caroline know you ned to be charged for four extra days and three nights.” Zayn replies because he wants Liam to hurt as much as him. 

“Z, please.” He says this time. 

Zayn snaps his eyes in Liam’s direction and he’s now even more furious because how dare he try to use what’s supposed to be an attentive nickname to make Zayn submit. 

“Book me a fucking car, Liam.” He barks. 

Liam nods obediently and walks back out of the bedroom. 

Zayn turns back around and zips up his suitcase before dragging it off the bed. He’d managed to pull on a hoodie over his bare torso and slipped on the trainers Liam had bought him at the airport on the way over, before the younger boy returns to the room. 

“Your cars on it’s way,” Liam says and he’s got his wallet in his hand. “Five hundred a night, right? Three hundred for the days? That’s almost three grand.” 

“Two thousand seven hundred.” Zayn tells him quietly because his plan had backfired and now his chest is physically aching with how much it hurts to return to being treated like a prostitute when he’s spent almost four days feeling like a boyfriend. 

“I’ve only got one grand on me,” Liam explains, as he holds out the cash. “I’ll send the rest to Caroline.” 

Zayn looks from the cash and up to meet Liam’s eyes but the soft boy he’d had for the past four days has somehow disappeared (like he’d been some dream Zayn had made up) and the arsehole he’d met almost a week ago now had returned. 

“You need the money, Zayn.” Liam tells him as he shakes the hand that’s holding it, to intrigue Zayn to take it. “Take it.” 

Zayn puffs his chest out, determined to hold his own, at least until he’s safely in the back of the car and on his way back to London where he will soon be reunited with the one in his man in his life he’s sure loves him for nothing more than simply existing. 

“Take it.” Liam says more demanding. 

“Fuck you.” Zayn spits at him. 

Liam at least looks taken back by Zayn’s outburst and Zayn uses that shock to his advantage as he picks up his suitcase and makes sure to barge his shoulders in to Liam's as he storms past him to get out of the room. 

Liam doesn’t follow him and Zayn is slightly glad that he doesn’t because he doesn’t last until he’s in the safety of the car. Instead the moment he’s outside the cabin, the door slamming closed behind him, he’s crying so hard it feels like he’s never going to be able to breathe again. 

The car turns up ten minutes later and he’d managed to calm himself down enough that he can coherently tell the driver where he wants to go. 

***

One he’s back in London Zayn heads straight to the pub that Caroline and her husband own (and she runs her side business out of) to get the inevitable bollocking over with. 

“Alright, man.” John greets as he enters. “She’s out back, cursing your name I reckon.” 

Zayn nods thankfully and offers John a sultry smile as he passes to get to where Caroline’s office is at the back of the pub. 

“Not a chance,” John shouts after him. “She’d have my balls if I went anywhere near your right now.” 

Zayn laughs and blows the older man a kiss before heading to the back room where Caroline conducts her business. 

Caroline doesn’t look with her usual bright smile when he enters and that’s all he needs to know she’s well and truly pissed. 

“I have six main rules, Zayn.” Caroline starts gently. “What are they?”

Zayn sighs. “I know.”

“What are they?!” She demands, finally looking up and she looks more upset than angry.

“Text you if plans change, never go out of the country, don’t go near Styles, don’t smoke, always use protection and don’t let feelings get in the way of business.” Zayn lists off.

“And how many of those rules did you break with Liam?” Caroline asks.

“All of them.” Zayn mumbles.

“How many?” She insists.

“All of them.” He says louder. “But technically Scotland is still in the same country or same nation, at least.”

“City,” Caroline corrects. “You’re not supposed to leave the city unless I’ve given the okay.”

“Sorry.” Zayn says simply.

Caroline sighs and sinks back in to her desk chair. “Do you think I do these things because I don’t care?”

“I know you care, Lin.” Zayn tells her.

“Then why would you put yourself in situations that could get you hurt?” Caroline cries. 

“You know why,” He says and shakes his head. “Do you really think I wouldn’t find out he got our number through Louis?”

“So?” Caroline replies. “I thought we were over the Louis drama?”

Zayn sighs. “We are.”

“Is Liam our new Louis?” Caroline wonders.

“He’s not anything,” Zayn assures her. “I think,”

Caroline raises her eyebrows when he pauses.

“Yeah.” He says to himself as he makes the final decision. “I quit.”

Caroline nods like that’s what she was expecting.

“You’re not going to try and talk me out of it?” Zayn asks.

Caroline shakes her head and gets up from her chair. “It’s been a long time coming, right?”

Zayn nods. “Think I needed the push, you know.”

“Yeah,” Caroline agrees and walks around the desk. “You’ve always been too good for this line of work, babe. It’s about time you got out there to show the world what you’ve really got to offer.”

“Didn’t have you down for soppy goodbyes.” Zayn teases.

“It’s not goodbye,” Caroline scolds. “Livy’s birthday is next week and Styles promised he’d make cupcakes.”

“He’s gonna burn down our kitchen again.” Zayn complains.

Caroline smiles and gestures for him to get up so she can pull him in to a hug. 

“You let me know if you need anything, okay?” She requests. “Money or somewhere to hold one those like art gallery things.”

“Sure,” Zayn agrees. “Thanks, Lin. For everything.”

“It’s always been you, babe.” Lin argues. “You’ve been the brains and beauty.”

Zayn squeezes her when he hears her sniffle.

“Right, I’ll see you next week for Livy’s birthday.” She says as she lets him go and ushers him out. “Tell Styles if those cupcakes are burnt he better not show his face.”

“I’ll make sure to.” Zayn promises and walks towards the door.

“Zayn?”

Zayn turns around with his hand holding open the door.

“You deserve the world,” Caroline tells him. “Don’t ever let some dickhead have you believe you don’t. If he’s not willing to give you it then he’s not worth your time.”

“You should write hallmark cards.” Zayn teases.

“Bugger off already.” Caroline retorts but she’s smiling.

Zayn blows her a kiss and finally leaves, walking away from the only reason he’d managed keep food on the table and clothes on his back, for the past seven years. 

[tchalla-rogers]

Charlie’s Angels

AVENGERS FANFICTION (eventual steve rogers x reader)

series masterlist

PART 1. I Have A Plan

next part: PART 2. PART 3. PART 4. PART 5. PART 6. PART 7. PART 8.

“I have a plan,” your friend Claire stated, as three of you gathered in your apartment’s living room. Three vigilante women in their twenties with superpowers living in a dingy apartment, struggling to pay off their student debt. What could go wrong? 

You have the blonde Claire Borne who works in a law firm and fucks her boss to get extra on her next paycheck. She has a lot of men under her sleeve who surprisingly haven’t figured out that they’re all the “side chick”. You’ve definitely seen more than three in her room in one day. It was definitely due to her ability to control all of their minds, but you wouldn’t say anything. Especially due to her superhuman strength.

Next was Salia Frazier, who works as an accountant but she still couldn’t make enough money to get out of this apartment. Most of her money was going to rent and more bills, but not enough was going to paying off her college debt or saving up for moving out. She wasn’t that mad because these two girls she lived with were her best friends. They were thankful when none of them felt like moving off of the couch to get the remote and Salia could use her telekinetic powers so they didn’t have to move an inch. Now, that was perfect. She even had the same super strength as Claire.

And then there was you, Y/N McAvoy. Thanks to your parents dying in a plane crash on their way to Europe, they left their flower boutique shop to you. Of course, this was until you finally found a job that fits with your degree. Even though you were undecided for most of your college career, you took an interest in studying Criminal and Forensic science. This florist life wasn’t cutting it and you hated some of your favorite flowers now. Sometimes you would accidentally cut yourself, but you could thank your quick healing powers for not having to deal with much blood. Besides that, you had super strength like the other two, which you all had finally gained control of. You all decided to take self-defense classes to attempt to learn how to fight and the super strength came as a shock to all of you. 

The three of you met each other freshman year of college and took a trip to an abandoned building far behind a frat house. And then BOOM, the three of you are here fighting for the law but against the law. “Better be a good one this time,” Salia mumbled, grabbing her glass of wine. It wasn’t the first time that Claire had come up with ideas that were not substantial. 

“Hey, don’t come for me.” Claire crossed her arms and then grabbed the wine from the table and pouring it in her own glass.

“You’re going to need our approval, or you're doing the job alone.” 

Claire downed her glass of wine and already began pouring another and said, “It involves killing someone.” She swigged the contents in her cup around, looking at both of your shocked faces. You had killed other people before but you were hoping that this would be a quick mission. 

“Yeah, it’s a no for me,” you declared after a few seconds, looking between Claire and Salia. “We need money, not to kill someone. And don’t use your mind control powers on us.”

Claire sat down between you and Salia and laughed. “I promised I would never do that, jackass.”

“We also promised not to have this end with someone dead.”

“Okay, well, we know that Victor Martinez stole close to three million dollars and will be sitting at the gala down the street from us tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow,” she clarified. “We still have that poison from the last mission. I say you and Salia slip in and waitress the event, slip some in his food. I’ll use some mind control and have him up under my sleeve. I go to his hotel and steal anything he has on him.”

You stared at Claire, instantly reaching for the wine to gulp down any thoughts you had and quiet yourself. Salia groaned, always expecting for Claire to be the one to take the man to the bedroom. She could thank her mind control tricks, but Salia did note that she was an attractive woman. “I’m in,” Salia simply replied and stood up. “And I’m going to bed.”

“It’s 6 P.M.,” you stated, looking at Salia questioningly. 

“I tend to sleep earlier before we kill someone. It’s my nighttime routine.” Salia grabbed her fuzzy blanket and put her wine glass in the sink. 

You laughed, “You could go famous on YouTube for that video.”

***

the next day

It was disgusting looking at so many rich people fake laugh a million times but the food was amazing. The poison was hidden underneath the napkin in your hand and your gun tucked neatly in your pocket. You spotted Victor Martinez in the gala an hour ago, but now Salia and you were waiting for Claire and him to sit down for dinner. They talked, laughed, whispered to each other, drank...and now it was time for the dinner. 

By the kitchen, Salia and you were mumbling to each other about the plan. Each person that walked past was barely paying attention to you two. There were so many people here, it was easy for you guys to slip in without them questioning you. Stupidity. 

“Okay, you put it on the food now. I already poured some in this wine,” you stated, grabbing an expensive plate of steak that smelled really good right now.

“That’s a perfectly wasted bottle of wine.”

“Tell me about it.” 

The two of you walked out into the dining area, slipping away from each other. You walked around, watching Salia place her plate down in front of Martinez. She smiled and winked at Claire and then looked to you, giving you the signal. You slipped past a few people sitting at their tables, asking you for some wine. When you reached the table, you eyed Claire. She nodded at you secretly and then looked around the table to make conversation with the people around her. “More wine,” Martinez ordered in a monotonous tone. He had his arm laying on the back of Claire’s chair and raised his glass to you.

“My pleasure.” You slipped a large amount of the wine in his glass until he told you to stop. He barely waited for you to step away before he downed the entire glass in a few seconds and wiped the wine dribbling from the side of his lip. You smirked at Claire, making your way to the kitchen to finally leave. 

“Ma’am, some wine?” someone asked, raising their glass.

“Ask someone else.” You finally made it to the kitchen and poured the contents of the wine down the drain, leaving it next to the other empty wine bottles. Salia came up behind you and the two of you waited and drove your car outside of the hotel for Claire to do her thing. 

It was a good idea that the two of you snuck some food into your pockets while you waited for Claire. It took almost an hour and a half for her to finally leave the apartment, tucked in her peacoat jacket, attempting to stay warm in this winter weather. She slipped into the back of the car and pulled everything out of her pockets. “That dumbass seriously had $100,000 in the suitcase and even showed me it without me controlling him.”

“He showed it to you? Rich people are dumb as shit,” you commented, taking a fry from your food stuffed napkin. 

She took her purse and handed it to Salia in the passenger seat. “That split up could easily pay off a lot of our student loans.” Claire took off her gloves, rubbing her hands together to warm up. “And I made sure to leave a note.”

Salia was checking through Claire’s purse, amazement in her eyes. “What kind of note?”

“A suicide note that states how ashamed he stole millions of dollars from charities. A little mind control doesn’t hurt.” Claire smirked, knowing that she finally had a plan that worked out. 

***

“I think the Charlie’s Angels wannabes were apart of this,” Tony states, standing around the Avengers as they talked about who they were after for the past few months. In front of them was a screen showing all of their hits and murders around New York. Three women with no names going on killing sprees, taking down bad guys and Tony had no idea about their motive. It was definite that superpowers were behind most of their success stories, but Tony was tired of running after them. “Would that idiot really confess to stealing...right before killing himself with poison?”

“Honestly, rich people aren’t the smartest, Tony,” Natasha spoke up, tapping her fingers on the table that all of the Avengers sat at. “One less rich idiot to worry about.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember them being apart of Ocean’s 8.”

“And yet you still can’t catch them,” Natasha mumbled. Deep down she somehow knew that what they were doing wasn’t the smartest, but it was for good reason. They were vigilantes, just like the rest of them. Sure, they weren’t out killing people secretly and they were a lot more public...but they were still killing people who were breaking the law. Fighting for the people who weren’t able to. Tony just never listened to her, though. 

Tony grumbled, frustrated with the motivation slipping from his team. He looked at all of them as they just sat there obviously not wanting to bother catching these girls. They’ve had problems with Victor Martinez before, but he didn’t want them to get away with something again. Tony wanted to deal with him with the Avengers and they did it again before him. He signed off the screen before collecting his papers from the table. “Yeah, okay...meeting’s over.” Tony walked out from the room, getting ready to head to the florist that Rhodey had recommended him. It was Valentine’s Day and he was just deciding to buy the flowers for his date with Pepper tonight. Definitely, the king of procrastinating but that just meant that the flowers were fresher.

McAvoy Florist wasn’t a far drive from the Avengers Compound and it wasn’t far from the restaurant that he had booked a reservation for, either. He just hoped that Rhodey was right about how good this florist was. When he walked in the smell of fresh flowers invaded his nostrils. The different array of colors made his decision harder, but he definitely wanted to get the biggest pre-arranged bouquet that he could.

He spotted a young girl arranging a bouquet behind the counter, listening to the music blasting from the speakers. He watched the bouquet he was making for a few seconds before she finally realized that there was someone in her shop. She set down her scissors, lowering the music on her phone. “Iron Man?” she asked and moved behind the counter. 

Tony nodded, pointing at the flowers that she was working on. “Are those almost done?”

“Yeah, actually. But I was making them more for myself than for Iron Man,” she admitted. 

“I’ll pay…” Tony began rummaging through his wallet, eyes set on the bouquet that she had completed. “$400. Out of pocket.” He slipped the money in her hands as she held a shocked look on her face. He knew it definitely cost a few hundred less than that amount but he also noticed that she was the only one working in this shop. “You own this place?”

She slipped behind the desk, putting the $400 in her register and finishing up some final touches on her bouquet. She was glad because now this could cover the cost of making another bouquet for herself. “Um...yeah. Y/N McAvoy.” When she was finished with the bouquet, she handed it over to Tony Stark. He took the vase from Y/N and smiled at her and made his way to the exit.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.”

[thewhumperinwhite]

Café: Roadside 1

Previous: Teaser 1, Teaser 2, Hospital/Squad Car, Empty Bar, Used Car Lot 1, Used Car Lot 2, Gas Station

TW for: Kent and therefore referenced suicidal ideation, Vic’s Creepy Vibes.

Between the medication-induced dulling of the pain in his wrist and the soft hum of the truck’s engine under him, Sol is kind of fighting to stay awake.

“You can check out for a while, you know, kid,” Paxon says, glancing at him sideways for a second. “I don’t mind.”

Sol shoots them a glare, but when he opens his mouth Paxon rolls his eyes and takes a hand off the steering wheel to wave dismissively at him. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m an untrustworthy shmuck and you’re ashamed to be working with me, I’ve heard the speech.” They sound— a little annoyed. They’ve been driving for a few hours now, Sol guesses. Maybe they’re grumpy. Repositioning their hands on the wheel, they glare out at the dark road in front of them. “Honestly, what do you think I’m gonna do, man? I’m driving.”

“I dunno,” Sol says, maybe a little bit petulant. “That’s why I wanna keep my eye on you.”

Paxon looks at him, out of the corner of their eye, just long enough that Sol has to fight down the urge to snap at them to just watch the damn road, already. Then they sigh and focus back through the windshield. “Okay, look, I’ll tell you what. If I try to act on whatever sinister intentions you assume I have, I’ll have to stop the car, won’t I?”

Sol examines their profile, to see if it looks like they’re trying to trick him. They mostly just look tired and irritated, though. “I guess,” he says doubtfully.

“And the sudden lack of engine noise will wake you up if I stop. Won’t it?”

Sol is— not actually sure about that. On the one hand, maybe not. He hasn’t had to worry about being able to leap awake at the slightest disturbance since he got his apartment, almost a year and a half ago now. On the other hand, there’s no way he’s going to admit he’s been spoiled by a year of living comfortable to Paxon Field, who clearly has no such disadvantage. “I— guess so. Yes.”

He still doesn’t relax, though, and Paxon, noticing, finally thumps their free hand against the steering wheel angrily and glares ahead at the windshield. “You know what? Fine. You wanna be exhausted and miserable tomorrow, you just go right on ahead, babe. I’m sure I don’t care what you do.” And then they reach for the radio and snap on an 80s pop song, though they keep the volume down, presumably out of respect for Kent, who’s been asleep for an hour at least and doesn’t seem to piss them off half as much as Sol does.

That’s what convinces him it’s safe to sleep, actually. At least for a few hours. The truth is, he can barely keep his eyes open.

He makes it through “Love Shack” and “Come On Eileen,” but halfway through “Every Breath You Take” he stops jolting himself awake and lets himself drift, finally.

This song’s so fucking creepy, he thinks, and sinks into uneasy dreams filled with teeth and eyes that drip with blood.

——

Pax waits twenty minutes after Sol’s breath has slowed to a steady rhythm, curled up in his seat like a little kid, before they pull their phone out of the pocket of their coat and send up a short, non-specific prayer to thank whatever deities might be listening that there’s still cell service.

It’s— actually kind of embarrassing how well they still remember the number.

“Hello?” The silky voice sounds kind of confused, and maybe a little sleep-heavy, so at least there’s that.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Pax says mildly, cranking the music just a little, so they’re voice will be lost among the synth riffs.

There’s a surprised intake of breath, but when the voice speaks again, it’s filled with a vindictive sort of pleasure. “My god, I never thought I’d hear that voice again. What’s the news, little Paxon Field? You don’t expect me to come to your rescue again after all these years, do you?”

Pax’s lungs empty themselves in a huff of mirthless laughter so hard they sort of half hunch over the steering wheel, the corners of their scarred mouth pulling up into a furious grin with the effort of not raising their voice. “No, I don’t,” they say sweetly. “In fact, just the opposite, sweetheart.”

“Oh?” They hear the smile in his voice, and remember what it looks like— all sparkling dark eyes and sharp white teeth. “Do tell.”

“I found something,” Pax says, trying to keep from snarling. “Something you’re looking for, if the rumors I hear are true.”

Silence on the other end of the line. Pax waited. They can’t fuck this up. They will not fuck this up. They’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for too goddamn long.

“Have you,” the man says flatly. He doesn’t sound like he’s relishing the idea. On the one hand, the uneasy displeasure in his voice is like music to Pax’s ears, but on the other hand— 

“Yeah,” Pax says sweetly. “And I think I’d like to make a deal with you, old man.”

Another surprised silence. Pax wonders if they’ve been too forward. Fuck this espionage bullshit.

“You would.” The man is taking his sweet time considering it, and Pax hasn’t even set their terms yet, dammit. “I’ll be honest, Paxon— that surprises me.”

“I’ll bring you—what you want,” Pax says, looking straight forward through the windshield. “And you can start writing the check now and keep adding zeroes till I get there.”

They pause again. Goddamn the old man and his slow-ass business deals. ...Goddamn the old man just in general, too.

“You want money.”

Okay, moment of truth. Pax does their best to sound defensive and a little ashamed of themself. It isn’t very hard. “Hey, fuck you, man. The world’s ending. I need enough cash to get outta the country while planes are still flying, and enough to settle on after that. If anybody can understand that, you’d think it’d be you. Don’t think I can’t smell your brand of weird science all over this, you fucking freak.”

The old man laughs. Okay. So far so good. “You flatter me,” he says, and he really does sound flattered, the psychopath. If Pax ever doubted that the bleeders really were some of his “creations,” this is all the proof they need. “Name your terms, puppy.”

For a second, Pax forgets themself. “First of all, you call me that one more time and I’m driving this fucking truck off a cliff with your cargo inside, you get me?”

Sol shifts in his sleep, just slightly. Pax winces, but the boy’s breathing settles back out quick enough.

The old man chuckles in his ear. Pax feels their lip curl into a snarl.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry— Paxon. Your voice brings back such memories, a man forgets himself. Can you bring yourself to forgive me?”

Paxon’s hand tightens convulsively on their phone, and the other is growing white-knuckled on the steering wheel, but they fight very hard to keep their voice light.

“I think the fact that I didn’t kill your cargo the second I heard his name proves I’m the forgiving sort— to a point,” they say brightly.

“His— oh. Oh!” Pax frowns, bracing themself to hear whatever unpleasantness the man is revving up for, but then the voice in his ear softens. “That’s right, isn’t it? It’s been— too many years.”

“I always wanted a son,” the man says in a voice that makes Pax shudder all the way down to their toes.

“Want whatever you want,” Pax says through numb lips. “I want three hundred thousand.”

The old man hums. Pax has been real careful about that amount— high enough to sound real, but not high enough to be refused outright.

“What do you say to one-fifty, dear? I want what you’re bringing me, but there’s no reason to take an old man’s savings, is there?”

There’s an awful snakey smile in his voice, now, and although Pax fucking hates all these stupid mind games, they’re fairly confident that this is a test.

“Well fuck you too, then,” they snap, and make sure to brush their phone against the side of their face so he can hear them removing it from their ear.

“Alright, alright,” he calls loudly, laughing, and Pax releases the breath they’ve been holding and brings the phone back up. “I just wanted to be sure you meant business, old friend. Three hundred it is.”

Thank you, god. “I ain’t your friend, shithead,” Pax says sweetly, and allows themself a moment to celebrate their victory before the man’s voice pipes up in their ear again.

“Well, Paxon, dear,” he says. “Is that all? I know your— cargo— can be a handful. Tell me— is it giving you trouble? Perhaps I’ll have to scrounge up a finder’s fee by way of apology.”

Pax wants to squeeze their eyes shut. But they’re driving. So the most they can have is one extra-long blink.

“He looks just like you,” Pax says, and hangs up on the man’s happy sigh.

They drive in silence, faster than they need too, like if they press their boot down on the gas hard enough they’ll stop feeling dirty. It doesn’t work, or course— it never does— so instead they run over old memories like they’re picking at wounds instead, and then their hand tightens on the phone until the plastic creaks in their fist.

“Vic Michaelis,” they say, like a curse and also a promise. “I’m gonna take a bath in your blood, you fucking shithead.”

——

Pax almost jumps out of their skin when they glance in the rearview mirror and see Kent Graves staring out the window at the dark countryside, looking tired and a little ill but most definitely awake. 

They slip their phone into their pocket— it’s been switched off for only a little more than fifteen minutes now— and shoot a grin into the mirror, hoping it’ll look more genuine than it feels.

“Mornin,’ sleeping beauty,” they say softly. “You sleep okay?”

Kent blinks slowly, first up at Pax and then down to the clock on the dashboard. “Oh,” he says, his pretty voice a little scratchy with sleep. “I guess it is morning, huh? Have you been driving all night?”

Eyes back on the road, they shrug. “Guess so. No big deal. Not my first all-nighter.” They smile up at the mirror again. It seems fairly clear that he’s just woken up and didn’t hear a damn thing, and their spirits are quite high at the moment, end of the world or no. They kind of like Kent in spite of themself— the longer they can go on being friends the better, as far as Pax is concerned. “I’m in a hell of a lot better shape than either of you two kids, anyway.”

Kent shifts, winces, readjusts his position to put less pressure on his broken bones. “I— guess that’s true,” he croaks. “I feel like we’re taking advantage of your kindness, though. We can stop for a while anytime, if you want.”

Pax grins at the dark road ahead of them. This far upstate, there aren’t that many street lights, and they haven’t passed a single other car in hours, now. It’s a bit ominous. Pax grins harder. “Naw,” they say brightly. “Safer to be moving, anyway.”

Pax has their eyes on the road, but they hear the frown in Kent’s voice when he responds softly, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

There’s a pause. The truck rumbles along smoothly under them. They are getting fairly tired, actually.

“Hey— Paxon?”

Pax smiles up at the mirror. Kent is fidgeting in his seat like a little boy, his hands folded together in his lap. “What is it, sunshine?” Pax prompts, when he doesn’t continue.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Uh oh. Pax’s smile tightens a little at the corners, but they force themself to relax. “Sure, kid, shoot.” 

Kent examines his hands for a long time, and Pax watches him in the mirror, their hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“Do you know this part of the state at all?” he asks finally. “I’m, uh— I’m not totally— “

Pax blinks, and then laughs harshly, startled. “Sunshine, do you— do you not know where you’re going?”

Kent shrugs, looking up at the mirror through his lashes. “Not entirely, no.”

Pax shakes his head, grinning. “That’s fucking hilarious, sunshine. Yeah, I grew up upstate, but it’s been a long time. What do you know?”

“Uh.” Kent laughs awkwardly, picking at his face a little. “Well, I—PAXON!”

“Wha—” Pax looks back through the windshield just in time to see an unmistakably human form crouched in the road.

“Fuck!”

They yank the wheel to the side without thinking and their head smacks smartly into the steering wheel when the car plows into and halfway through the guardrail, which causes their vision to go bright and starry for a few seconds. They feel Kent’s weight slam into the back of their seat, and mostly just hear Sol jerk awake swearing.

The occupants of the truck sit still for a moment, a little shell-shocked, and then the front airbags deploy.

“Aw shit fuck goddammit,” Sol spits, shoving the fabric away from his face. “I am never getting in a car again—” 

“Did we hit her?” Kent croaks urgently, rubbing his forehead where it must have struck Pax’s seat.

“Did we hit who?” Sol barks.

“I’m not sure,” Pax says, reaching up to see if their head is bleeding. It isn’t, so far. “I don’t think so.”

“Hold on—what the hell are you doing?” Sol yells. Christ, that kid is loud. Pax winces— and then turns back to find that Kent is trying to push his door open. 

“Now you just wait right there, sunshine,” Pax barks. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Wh—” Kent stares from Pax to Sol, looking honestly confused. Maybe he hit his head harder than Pax thought. “Are you? There’s a little girl in the road in the middle of nowhere! I’ve gotta go see if she’s okay!”

He went for the door again, but Sol nearly leapt into the backseat to grab his arm. “Hey— hold your damn horses! She could be crazy!”

Kent shook him off. “We can’t know that from here,” he snapped.

“You don’t even have a weapon, dumbass! If you keep doing dumb-ass shit like this you’re gonna get yourself killed—”

“Good!”

Sol freezes like a popsicle. Kent yanks the door open and stumbles out onto the shoulder. Recovering, Sol yells “H—Hey, dumbass, wait the hell up!” and runs out after him.

“God fucking dammit,” says Pax, and reaches into the backseat for their sword.

[deepbluexsea]

Proud

Rating: PG-13 (mature situations, some language). Relationships: Jonathan/Gabriel (mentioned). Recurring Characters: Johnny, Briel (mentioned). Warning/Notes: Mention of crime/assault, mention of sex work, danger of being on the streets, abandoned child.

WINTER 2010. 

Before Johnny moved to California for a few years to take on an extended case there, he had lived in an apartment alone. It hadn’t been bad, but there were several instances where he wished he had kept some sort of weapon in his home. In this city – hell, in this state – crime was something that happened on a wide scale. It wasn’t disproportionate to the number of people; it was just that New York had a ton of people. Being gay and in the public eye also made him a target for violence. After he’d been jumped and beaten for those reasons alone, ending up in the hospital, Johnny had started taking self-defense classes on a regular basis. He was against owning guns, but he gave himself the best chance he could to never end up in a situation like that again.

It just so happened that the extended case he worked on in California had led him to the man that was now his husband. And yes, he had been his client. While they had both claimed that the marriage was a way for Johnny to have better access to Gabriel, the feelings had pretty much been there all along. They moved to Queens together only months ago. While both he and Briel were rather muscular men, and Briel was well-versed with fighting since having been in prison, Johnny was still careful every time he was out in the streets alone.

As an attorney, his days were long. Johnny had also really never owned a car because he despised driving in New York traffic. He typically ended up walking everywhere he went, and with the hours he worked it was usually dark by the time he was heading home. He always called Briel beforehand to let him know to expect him soon, but he never let his guard down. All of this was just second nature to him by this point, though. Something he didn’t have to think about anymore – he just did it.

This evening was a bit different than his usual. Tonight, he’d been working in Brooklyn consulting on a wrongful conviction case. After getting Briel acquitted, word had spread that he was a highly skilled defense attorney and numerous other lawyers in the state began calling on him for professional advice (which worked out pretty well for him because he got to charge for his time). After one of those meetings, he was walking to the subway to hopefully catch a line directly home to Queens. While it would likely still take a little less than an hour, the subway was the most efficient way to get around New York (when it worked, was on time, and was free of delays – which was almost never). While the new house was still under renovation, he couldn’t wait to get home to his husband after a ridiculously long day like this one.

But on his walk, he couldn’t help but notice the sound of a muted guitar and an even gentler voice getting closer and closer the further he progressed. Street performers were fairly prevalent in the boroughs, but not typically this late; the ones on the streets at this time were usually beggars, homeless, or ne'er-do-wells. In fact, it had been a similar time of night when Johnny had been beaten nearly to death not so many years ago.

However, when the attorney finally approached the source of the music, which actually sounded quite nice, his assumption was quickly proven wrong. There sat a boy, definitely a preteen, strumming his instrument with the case propped open for tips. He looked clean... innocent. Worry sat behind his distant gaze. The tone of the song he played reflected all of that. There was no real way for Johnny to know if the vibe he was getting was the truth, but he just felt in his bones like he couldn’t pass by this kid without at least tipping him. 

The whole scene made his heart sink a little bit.

Walking up to the case, he dropped a twenty-dollar bill into it and started to continue on his mission to the subway, but something inside of him just wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to him when he was more this boy’s size than the size of an adult (despite that he was an adult when he’d been attacked). Groaning inwardly at his steadfast moral compass, he looked at his watch. He was going to miss the freaking subway by now anyway.

And damn, even if this kid was a hoodlum of some sort, Johnny could take a thirteen-year-old child. 

“Hey… it’s getting late,” he spoke when the boy finished his song, putting his hands in his pockets so he didn’t come off threatening in the least – just a concerned adult. “It’s dangerous out here, you know. Not to mention freezing.” Pulling his suit coat around him tighter to shield from the cold, his warm breath appeared in the air as he spoke. “Do you have somewhere you can go?”

The kid looked up at him with wide eyes, not responding until he knew for sure that Johnny wasn’t going to come any closer. It was clear that he’d been burned before – possibly by someone who came off ‘well-meaning’ as Johnny was attempting to do. “Not really,” he finally said, tilting his guitar and anxiously pretending to tune the strings.

It was only then that Johnny caught sight of the rainbow sticker accompanied by the word PROUD on the back of the instrument. 

He took a deep breath before sitting down on the concrete a few feet away, peering all around them before speaking. “I’ll stay with you,” he said resolutely – without room for argument – and took off his coat to give to the kid (as he wore only a thin t-shirt).

Johnny didn’t really speak again and neither did the kid, but the awkwardness dissipated quickly when he began playing his music. People came by; they left him money, they made praising comments, and a couple might’ve even lurked in the shadows before realizing he wasn’t alone. But a few hours later, the kid was safe and there was no one left on the streets. Snow flurries started to accumulate in the guitar case.

“Do you need a place to stay tonight? I have an extra room,” Johnny eventually offered, and he understood why when the boy vehemently shook his head ‘no.’ 

“My mom works around the motel over on Fifth. I usually meet up with her in the mornings.”

Johnny knew what that meant. He had nothing against sex workers, but in his line of work he’d learned that the service they provided could draw in a certain brand of clientele – high risk. Standing, Johnny held out a hand and gestured toward the Holiday Inn two blocks over in an area that was a bit safer. “Come on. I’ll get you a room and you can call your mom to let her know where you are.”

Reluctantly, the boy agreed and they began walking.

After the transaction was complete, the mom was called, and Johnny had gone with him to his hall, the kid finally initiated an interaction. “Thank you...” he barely whispered, clutching the guitar case shyly in front of his face.

“Be careful,” Johnny instructed firmly. “Lock your door. And don’t perform out here by yourself at night anymore.”

With what sounded almost like acquiescence, he shed Johnny’s suit coat and held it out to him.

“Keep it,” Johnny replied, and the boy stared at it then clasped it tightly to his chest. He was still holding it like that when he slid his key card into the lock.

But before Johnny could leave, he knew he had to say one more thing. “Hey, kid,” he called, and the boy stuck his head out from his room. Be brave. And safe...” he trailed off, searching for words. “And be you. Be proud.”

There was a smile and a blush on his face as he nodded quickly and then shut the door.

As soon as he heard the manual lock click solidly into place, Johnny started toward the subway.