#why the fuck do phone calls take seven hundred spoons.

[passerinesoncaffeine]

why do I get irrationally anxious over simple daily tasks. like damn

I could've done this five days ago. It'll take thirty seconds in total.

Am I still gonna have a heart attack and put it off?

hell yess you bet I am <3

[spacequokka]

Kookies | Day 20

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Roommate AU, Fluff Rating: PG Summary: Your roomie needs help in the kitchen. Word Count: 0.7k Warnings: Language.

Gray, cloudy skies loomed over the city, heavy with the promise of snow. Festive lights twinkled on every corner, but the threat of a winter storm brought a sense of unease to the bustling streets. Amidst the revelry and holiday cheer, you'd been focused on finishing up an article for a client. Just as you'd submitted it for review, a knock on the door drew your attention from your computer. "Yeah?"

Your notoriously mischievous roommate, Jungkook, poked his head in. "Hey. Um, how busy are you on a scale of one to 'please help me?'"

You turned in your chair toward him. "What have you done now?"

He pursed his lips like he wanted to defend himself but thought better of it, settling for "It's not what I've done, but what I need to do."

Now he had your attention. "O-kay. What do you 'need' to do?"

With a straight face, he said, "Bake twelve dozens of frosted sugar cookies."

You waited for him to crack a smile, laugh and say "sike", but he didn't. When it was clear he was waiting on your response, you nearly choked. "I beg your damn pardon?"

He pushed the door open. "Okay, so Jimin said I can't cook to save my life. I wasn't gonna let him talk shit so," he took a deep breath, "I bet that I could and he put me in charge of bringing cookies to his Christmas party tomorrow."

You blinked a few times. "The only thing I've ever seen you cook without burning it is ramen."

"That's something I like to eat!" He threw his hands up. He'd clearly heard that retort already. "But that's not the point. I can bake the cookies, but I need help decorating and packaging them good enough to make the trip." He gave you his best puppy eyes. "Please help me. I know I can't mess it up if you're by my side."

"Why do I feel like the Shego to your Dr. Drakken?"

"You know what--I'll take that. Just say you'll help me, please? I'll do anything you want for a day."

"Just a day? That's over a hundred cookies--"

"Okay, a week! A whole seven days of whatever you want."

"Hm." You pretended to think about it. He dropped to his knees and put his hands together, poking his bottom lip out. "Meh, okay. I'm in."

"Oh, thank fuck." He stood up and grabbed your wrist, pulling you out the chair. "I got the premixed stuff because the YouTube short I found called for too much shit." His words ran together worse than in your room as he led the way to the kitchen. Everything you needed was laid out on the kitchen table. "The first batch is cooling here and the second batch is in the oven. You can start bagging the icing and I'll start on batch three."

"Holy shit." You picked up a piping bag. "You're actually on top of this." You grabbed a spoon and scooped vanilla into the bag. "Do I get music to work to, boss?"

He preened at the compliment and nodded with a grin. "Of course!" He dug his phone out of his pocket. A few swipes later, "Jingle Bell Rock" started to play. "Good?"

"Yessir." You nodded as you swung your hips to the song and added red food coloring to the icing. "Any particular request for the decorations?"

"Nope. Go wild or be as basic as you want. I just want them done so I can shove them in his stupid face."

"Aye aye." You saluted him. You both fell into a production line with him baking and you decorating the cookies.

Jungkook watched in amazement as you effortlessly piped intricate designs onto each cookie. "You're really good at this," he commented as he attempted to decorate a snowflake with blue frosting.

"It just takes practice," you replied with a smile. Once all the cookies were cooled and frosted, you packaged them in festive boxes for tomorrow's event. As you finished up, Jungkook thanked you profusely for your help.

"It was actually kind of fun," you admitted with a grin. "Much better than dealing with bananas."

"Yeah? Maybe next time we can bake something more challenging together," Jungkook suggested with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You laughed and shook your head. "We'll see."

But deep down, you knew that spending time together like this was becoming one of your favorite things about living with Jungkook. And as the snow began to fall outside, creating a winter wonderland scene, you couldn't help but feel grateful for having such a chaotic yet fun roommate.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

heated, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: An (innocent?) conversation about D/s dynamics accidentally leads to you confessing that you think about your childhood best friend while getting off. To your childhood best friend, Jeon Jungkook. Erm. This is after he told you that you would be “an awful sub”, btw.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, discussions about adult topics; reader is bisexual; smut (fem reader, dry humping, fingering, [tiny bit] m-receiving oral, penetrative sex); fluffy af; non-idol!AU; F2L; softdom!Jungkook x softbrat!reader; you kind of have a forearm kink and you never let Jungkook have his lovey-dovey moment, whoops

MMA 2020 ‘ON’ Jungkook? Yeah. That one.

--

“I could never be a sub.”

You clicked rapidly as you spoke, mashing the right button on your mouse. It was quite loud, paired with your mechanical keyboard.

“Why not?”

The music coming from Jeon Jungkook’s smartphone was a rhythm game, nearly as loud as you, since he was grunting angrily at it. It was very obvious when he missed a beat.

“I can’t imagine that being me, you know?”

You, on the other hand, were on your computer, playing with the new items in League of Legends from the latest patch. Using the practice tool, you had loaded up your favorite champion, Jhin, the Virtuoso, and messed with various builds, trying to find the best combination. So far, Lethality was feeling pretty good.

“Like why would I ever let my pleasure be handled by someone else?” you mused, reading the high damage numbers of each shot. Oh, the fourth shot felt nice. “That sounds stupid.”

Jungkook rolled over on your bed, growling in his throat as the level ended. He restarted it, trying to get a better score. “Maybe people like to let go sometimes. You know, not always be in control.”

You snorted. “I could never trust someone else with my body.”

“You got an alien body or something?”

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“Anyway,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your outburst. “I didn’t ask if you could be a sub, I just asked what you thought of domination and submission as a dynamic in general.”

You shrugged, trying to see if you could do Baron alone. Welp, you needed lifesteal, of course. “I mean, I’ve tried it in various situations. I was never the sub.”

“Kinky.”

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No.” Jungkook suddenly sat up, excited that he achieved a higher score. “Look, look. I got ninety-eight.”

You craned your head to look at his phone screen. “Why isn’t it one hundred? You’re a disgrace to this family.”

He bopped you on the nose with his phone. “If I was part of your family, your family would be even more dysfunctional than it is now.”

You rubbed your nose and looked up at him. “How much gel did you use in your hair? You look like a wet dog.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows went up and he touched his long black hair. “It’s not crunchy though.” He grabbed your hand and lowered his head, placing your palm on his slicked back hair. “See?”

You pulled your hand back, staring at your palm. “Still feels weird though. I call sorcery.”

He shrugged, creaking the black leather jacket he was wearing. He wore a black t-shirt under it. The black jeans he had been wearing were on your bed, swapped for the black joggers he kept at your place. You weren’t really sure why he left the jacket on. Maybe he was cold or something. It was pretty cold in your apartment. You were wearing fleece green pajamas with Pikachu all over them.

“You want me to turn the heat up?” you said, gesturing to his jacket.

Jungkook looked down at his chest. “Eh. It’s fine. Saves you money.”

You shrugged, getting up from your chair, leaving the League client open. “You’re only staying a little while, right? Party to go to and all that?”

Jungkook followed you as you left your room. “Told you it was cancelled, so I was just going to sleep over. No reason to go back home.”

You turned around, walking backwards. “When did you say it was cancelled?”

Jungkook raised his dark eyebrows. “Literally when I walked in your apartment.”

“Hah.”

You turned back around and went to your fridge, grabbing an aloe juice. Jungkook went to your water kettle, hunting for hot chocolate among your tea packets.

“You’d make an awful sub anyway,” Jungkook said, returning to the original subject as he filled the kettle with water from your filtered sink faucet. “Like, probably the fucking worst.”

You took a large swig and glared at him. “Alright, first of all, you wouldn’t even–”

“You’re terrible with authority.”

You paused. “Okay, true.”

“You’re angry, twenty-four, seven.”

You walked up to him and slapped him in his very hard pecs. He gestured at his chest, as if to indicate, exhibit A.

“And you’re super uptight.”

“I am not uptight.”

“Control freak.”

“That’s–”

Jungkook turned around and placed the kettle on its stand. You swooped in with a Pikachu-themed kitchen towel and wiped the excess water away, scowling. Jungkook raised his eyebrows at you, brown eyes laughing.

“That’s literally a safety hazard!” you exclaimed, waving the towel at him.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and pressed the button to start heating the water. “Haven’t you ever just… not freaked out over every little thing? Done something spontaneous and stupid?”

You placed the kitchen towel back in its proper place. “No, because that would be spontaneous and stupid, Jeon Jungkook.”

He leaned against the counter, watching you perfectly fold the towel into three parts and hang it on the rail. He scratched his nose, shaking his head. “You should be more like me.”

“Having the police called on you because you were standing on a lawn chair tooting a party horn at four in the morning?”

“That was one time! Stop bringing it up,” Jungkook groaned.

You raised your hands in innocence. “Well, I was the one called to pick you up because you literally couldn’t remember any other number and I was very disturbed on New Year’s Eve, where I should have been peacefully sleeping and not hauling your drunk ass across town.”

Jungkook sighed exaggeratedly. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t drink that much again. Jimin made me do shots–”

“You always blame Park Jimin,” you interjected, smiling. “Jimin’s the kind of guy who only wears clothes to take them off.”

“Well, it gets him laid, so I guess it’s working.”

The kettle whistled noisily, cutting through the conversation. You took a sip from your aloe juice as Jungkook grabbed a mug from your cupboard and poured the hot chocolate powder into it.

“You want some milk?”

He looked up. “You have milk?”

You went to the fridge and took out a small carton. “Because you said you were coming.”

“Aw, what a sweetie.”

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No.”

That’s how it was with you two. Growing up together was the same conversation over and over of you constantly saying shut up and Jungkook always replying with no. If both your dads hadn’t been such good friends, you probably wouldn’t have been able to tolerate him. Since they were, you were forced to, which turned out to be okay, since it turned out you had similar interests in games and such. It drifted apart a bit when you two entered high school, but you two reconnected once university started.

The dysfunctionality Jungkook was referring to was your two older sisters, who both got pregnant out of wedlock and thus caused a lot of tension between them, your parents, and you, the one who hadn’t actually done that yet. And you were trying to keep it that way.

Jungkook poured half-water and half-milk, stirring it with a silver spoon he found in your drawer. You lived alone, having gotten a full scholarship to be able to pay for tuition, meals, and part of a small apartment. Your parents paid for the rest – another point of strain between you and your sisters. That’s why you kept your grades up and rarely went out.

“When was the last time you fucked a guy?”

You sucked the inside of your cheek. “Dunno. Maybe two years ago.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows and took a long sip. “So, only girls, huh?”

You tilted your head and sighed. “They don’t get you pregnant.”

“Neither does a condom.”

“That’s a ninety-eight percent chance, not one hundred.”

He licked the excess off his pink lips. He looked like he wanted to say something, but reconsidered, taking another sip before replying. “You don’t miss dick?”

“I mean, a dildo is a dick.”

Jungkook nearly spat out his hot chocolate. You snatched your Pikachu towel again and threatened him with it. He raised a hand, coughing.

“A dildo is not a dick,” he hacked out. “You insult me.”

“Hmph.” You turned back around and placed the Pikachu towel back in its place, making sure the graphic was perfectly centered.

“You tell your parents?”

You narrowed your eyes. ‘Why the fuck would I tell my parents that I fuck girls instead of guys to avoid getting pregnant?”

He shrugged. “Give them peace of mind?”

“You think too highly of the generation before us.”

Jungkook gave you a weird look. “So… you’re just using them?”

“No.” You paused. “Okay, maybe a little, but it’s not because they’re girls. I guess I haven’t found someone who understands me yet.”

He took a long, noisy sip of hot chocolate. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“No one can understand you if you only fuck once and drop them.”

“Wouldn’t you fucking know,” you replied irritably.

“Now, I fuck multiple times before I realize it’s not going to work out,” Jungkook countered.

You shoved your bottle of aloe juice back into your fridge. Suddenly, you weren’t thirsty anymore.

“Is that the only reason?”

You closed the fridge door.

“Reason for what?”

“Is fear of pregnancy the only reason you fuck girls?”

“I don’t know!” you shouted, throwing your hands up. You spun around, blowing hot air. “I don’t fucking know why I do it, Jungkook. I don’t know why I load up dating apps to only hook up with girls, I don’t know why I don’t try to get into relationships with them, I don’t know what is wrong with me and why I can’t give anyone a chance and I don’t know why you pop up in my head every time I try to fucking masturbate! It is annoying and I do not like it, so I try to get off with someone else!”

Your chest was heaving with exertion and annoyance, hand curled onto a fist and planted on your kitchen counter, glaring at the space past Jungkook’s head, muscle twitching in your cheek. Your heart was beating so fast it didn’t feel real.

Silence.

“Fuck you, Jungkook.”

And then you turned around, stalking back to your bedroom.

Or would have, if you didn’t hear the clink of the mug touching the kitchen counter and Jungkook grabbing your upper arm, yanking you back, slamming you against his muscular body. You hissed, staring into his chest.

“Let me go.”

“Hold on a second.” You watched Jungkook take a deep breath, his toned, tan skin rising and falling. The silver necklace on his collarbones flashed as he breathed. “Just hold on a damn second.”

Your eyes were on the low neckline of his black shirt. It felt weird being close to him. Not that you two haven’t been physically close, because you had. But it had never been like this. Since you realized he wouldn’t leave your mind every time you tried to masturbate. Since you started looking to other people to push him out. Since you were sure that it was not just a passing thought, not just your brain playing tricks on you. And being this close to him now, you understood.

And it scared you.

“You cannot dump all that on me and expect me not to react,” Jungkook said quietly.

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No,” he snapped. He grabbed both your upper arms and shook you violently, making you jerk your head up to blink at him. Jungkook furrowed his brows, his dark eyes glaring at you, jaw clenched tightly. “I will not shut up. Why should I shut up? I should shut you up.”

And then he kissed you.

Your eyes widened. Jungkook’s pink lips were on you. You. On your lips, pressed firmly against them, gripping you so tight you were losing feeling in your arms. You tore back, stumbling, touching your lips, shoulders shaking, not sure why your heart was beating out of your chest, not sure why your lips tingled and wanted more, not sure why Jungkook slowly opening his eyes and flickering to you made your knees knock together uncomfortably.

“What are you doing?” you sputtered. “You don’t even… what…?”

“I’m kissing you,” he growled, walking up to you and pinning you against the counter. “I’m fucking kissing you because you want me to.”

“I don’t…”

“Just shut up, please.”

And then Jungkook kissed you again, harder this time, pressing you against the kitchen counter, hands coming up and taking you by the waist, pulling you to him and his leather jacket, him and his black shirt, breathing your name into your lips, your hands grabbing his t-shirt and yanking him to you, gasping into his mouth. And you wanted to say, no, no, you weren’t supposed to know, but it was too late because you were shoving his leather jacket off, grasping his shoulders, fingers pressing into his hard muscles, sliding down his biceps.

You yanked your head back and his hand came up to grab it back, kissing you more, more, tongue licking your lips, hissing your name, grinding his hips against yours. Your hand came up in between you two, stopping him, stopping him and his insatiable lips.

“You have to s-say–” You moaned, feeling him harden against your fleece pajamas. “You have to say it.”

“Say what?” Jungkook muttered impatiently, kissing your hand, speaking into your palm.

“Say you’re okay with it,” you gritted out as he rolled his crotch into yours.

“Obviously I’m okay with it,” he grumbled. “Why else am I humping you in your kitchen?”

“You said I’m a c-control freak,” you groaned, throwing your head back as Jungkook slid his hands down to your ass and squeezed it, grinding against you.

“You are,” he grunted. “You can’t let go, you can’t enjoy yourself, you can’t even tell me you like me so I can fucking fuck you already, instead of me cancelling my parties so I can spend time laying on your bed and staring at you playing video games wondering when you’re going to fucking notice that I want to bang you.”

“What?” you replied breathlessly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “You’re so busy controlling your own life that you don’t even notice the people around you anymore.”

“What?” you repeated again as Jungkook hoisted you up by your ass and began to walk, forcing you to grab him by the shoulders and stare down his right arm, the fully tattooed one with flowers and script and the tiny circle with angry slits for eyes and a frown on the inside of his elbow, the one Jungkook said was for you and you had slapped him in the chest and told him to shut up.

“Let me take over for once,” he mumbled, placing his chin on your shoulder and nudging you with his head and his non-crispy but still not quite soft dark hair.

“You said I would be an awful sub.”

Jungkook dumped you on the bed, shooing you upwards. You didn’t move, frowning at him. He sighed dramatically.

“You would. You are,” he corrected, planting a hand on your chest and pushing you down, bouncing you against your Pikachu bedsheets. He sandwiched your arms at your sides and straddled your torso. The bed bowed far too low and you almost slid off. Hurriedly, you scooted upwards and Jungkook followed, unbothered.

“You said I’m terrible with authority.”

Jungkook wrestled your arms back down and pinned them with his strong thighs. “You are.”

“You said I’m angry, twenty-four, seven.”

He cocked his head, slowly unbuttoning your pajama shirt. “Still true.”

“And you said I’m uptight,” you added ruefully, pouting.

Jungkook shrugged, reaching in between his legs to unbutton he last few ones. “I’ll fuck it out of you.”

“Jungkook!”

“What?”

He paused, towering above you, eyebrow raised. His black hair curled around his ears, against his silver hoops and base of his neck. His dark eyes pierced down at you, tiny mole under his lips clearly visible from this position. You could see the bottom of his sharp chin, the black t-shirt clinging to his chest, the shape of his tan arms, one tattooed, one not, from below.

“Y-you’re pinching my right arm…”

Jungkook looked down, moving his left leg. “Sorry.”

You winced, pulling out your left arm to rub the other. He tapped your forearm impatiently with his finger.

“You’re ruining the moment,” he scolded.

“You ruined it by bruising me,” you shot back, backing up to your pillows on your elbows, grimacing as you soothed your arm.

“I’m going to bruise you more if you keep being a little brat,” Jungkook growled, following you on hands and knees, the neckline of his t-shirt hanging down, revealing way too much of his skin. Your eyes widened and you slipped, a white plush Poro bonking you in the head. He grabbed it and tossed it aside, the poor guy rolling on the floor.

“That’s very rude,” you muttered, but he was over your body now, breathing hard, staring down your now open shirt and the curve of your breasts into your black bra.

“Why do you get hotter every year?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I… don’t?”

Jungkook shoved the sides of your pajama shirt apart impatiently, reaching under your back and pinching the bra clasp, undoing it with one hand.

“Yes, you do,” he exhaled hotly. “Every year you get prettier and prettier and it pisses me off so much that I have to work out to look half as good as you.”

You felt your ears and cheeks get hot. “Well… you do look very, erm, good.”

“You’re very convincing,” Jungkook chuckled darkly, pushing your bra up and sucking in his lower lip as he revealed your hard, quivering nipples.

Your eyes shifted away from his hungry eyes. “I, uh… am very wet.”

A single, perfectly shaped eyebrow ticked. “Show me.”

“Um…”

He lifted himself off you, pointing down.

“Show me,” Jungkook commanded.

You tried to move your arms and found them tangled in your clothes. You frowned and shrugged out of your pajama shirt, chucking it and your bra aside, before gripping the waistband of your green fleece pants. You hesitated and looked back at Jungkook, who just flapped his hand downwards, giving you a neutral expression.

You puffed your cheeks and raised your hips, yanking your pants and panties down your thighs. You had to bend your legs a bit to fully take them off since Jungkook’s knees were on the outside of your thighs.

Now you were fully naked in front of your childhood best friend. And he was still fully clothed.

“Er, aren’t you going to–”

Jungkook cut you off. “You still haven’t shown me.”

You blinked at him. “What do you want me to do, become a fucking pretzel?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Any way you can prove to me you’re wet.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Fucking…” You bent your right leg and slid it up between his thighs, brushing against his sweatpants and feeling his hard-on for a hot second before you jammed your leg into your chest and lifted it out, pressing your thigh against your torso and raising your calf into the air. You turned your head to the left, letting out an exasperated huff.

“There. You see it?”

Shit, this position was embarrassing for some reason. You could feel cold air on your dripping pussy. Maybe he couldn’t see or something. You lifted your right arm to wrap around your thigh, pressing it down against your breasts since Jungkook wasn’t saying anything.

“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jungkook breathed.

“Okay, going to put my leg do–”

You gasped, suddenly feeling Jungkook’s fingertips touch your heated core, smearing your juices around the lips, his hot breath against your ear as he touched you. You shuddered as he stroked your folds, your name on his lips, his lips kissing your ear.

“Had to touch you,” he whispered against your neck, tone desperate. “I’m sorry, I just had to touch that beautiful pussy, all wet and slopping for me.”

Your eyelids fluttered as his middle finger found your clit, pressing on it. “J-Jungkook… That’s my…”

He chuckled deep in his throat. “Yeah? That’s your what?”

Slow, lazy circles, pushing it around, moan leaving your lips. “My c-clit…”

“Want me to touch it?” Jungkook purred. “Want me to handle your pleasure?”

But he as already touching it, nursing the sensitive bundle of nerves and rousing your lust, igniting it and setting it on fire.

“Y-yes…”

He kissed down your neck, whispering softly, licking your collarbones. “You trust me? You trust me with this pretty, perfect, hot, sexy, fuckable body?”

You arched your neck, giving him more access as he ran his pink lips all over, rubbing your clit, mouth on your throat. Your whole body shook, hips rolling into his finger.

“Y-yes…”

His breath so electrifying that you could barely focus, barely speak as Jungkook’s other hand came up behind your head, long fingers burying into your hair, holding tight, so tight it almost hurt, teeth nipping at your skin.

“Want to mark you,” he mumbled. “Want to give you a big fat hickey you can’t explain, want to bruise you so bad you’ll be staring at it for weeks, thinking about my lips on you, remembering my teeth gave you that.”

He pressed another finger to your clit, increasing the pace, and all you could do was hiss out a yes, a burning yes, a pleading yes, please, Jungkook, whining as his teeth sank into the spot where your shoulder and neck connected, sucking hard, his tongue licking away the prickling pain. His hips rolled into your thigh, his hard cock pressing against you, straining against his pants.

Jungkook moaned into your skin, so hot, so intense, rubbing your aching clit faster, harder, more urgently. Sucking and humping your leg as the feeling of his teeth and his fingers overwhelmed you, one hand clutching his shirt and one hand curled into your sheets as your thighs shook, trying to close but unable to because Jungkook was so strong, so there, so overpowering that you could only lay there and take it, take it as his name poured out of you in a breathless wail, throwing your head back as you felt your pussy clench around nothing, your juices becoming slicker, thicker, the scent of your orgasm staining the air.

He shoved the two fingers inside you and unlatched his mouth, moaning with you as he felt you squeeze his fingers, pumping you in long, slow strokes, all the way to his knuckles. You whimpered, tightening your core and Jungkook moaned again, eyes closed, his hair in disarray as you fucked his hand, clamping your hands on his right forearm, gasping at the feel of his muscle. Pussy throbbing around his fingers, hips meeting his knuckles over and over.

His eyes opened, watching your fuck yourself with his hand, an almost bored expression on his features, but you didn’t care because you felt him flex his fingers and his arm, telling you to continue, telling you he liked it.

“I thought you were going to let me do it.” Jungkook’s voice was low, trying to stay even despite his shallow breathing. “Have to control everything, don’t you?”

You caught your lower lip in your teeth, eyes moving to his face, his handsome, angular face with his black hair curled around his forehead and his cocked eyebrow, smirk on his lips.

“I’m not in control,” you panted. “Your forearm is…”

Jungkook flexed it under your hand and you moaned pathetically, breath hitching.

His smirk grew wider.

“It’s getting you off touching it.”

You swallowed, close, so close and Jungkook was taunting you and for some reason you couldn’t tell him to shut up, because he kept tensing his arm and it was so fucking hot that you really were going to orgasm.

“Say it,” he purred, breathing your name. “Tell me you like my forearm.”

Your eyes shifted down to his arm in your hands, the tiny angry face tattoo in his inner elbow frowning at you.

“I fucking love it, Jungkook,” you gasped. “Fuck, I love your delicious, sexy-as-fuck forearms.”

He grinned and began to thrust his fingers into you, fast, so fast you couldn’t even fathom how he could be that fast like a fucking vibrator, sending torrents of pleasure through you and his arm was so hard and his skin so soft that your eyes rolled back into your head, moaning his name far too loud. Jungkook placed a hand over your mouth and you screamed into it, liquid gushing down your thighs, but he didn’t stop, he kept going until you felt it again, pussy throbbing, back-to-back, eyelids fluttering, nails digging into his arm as the crescendo slammed into you, taking your breath and senses away, lost only in the feeling of Jungkook’s secure presence above you.

He slowed, breathing hard. Gently, carefully pulling his fingers out of your pulsating pussy, gasping as he removed his hand. You vaguely heard Jungkook place his fingers in his mouth, sighing wantonly at your taste.

“You taste so good,” he whispered around his fingers. “Fuck, so sweet and thick and delicious.”

Your brain could not compute what the fuck was happening. Did Jungkook just give you three mind-blowing orgasms in a row after you exploded at him and admitted to thinking about him while masturbating?

Holy shit.

He pressed his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.

You swallowed thickly.

“Jungkook, do you, ah… want something too?” you asked quietly.

You heard him snicker. “If I take my clothes off, I’m going to want to put my dick in you.”

“… I’m cool with that.”

“I thought a dildo was the same as a dick?”

You cleared your throat. “Ah… Well, I didn’t think you’d want to put a dick in me.”

Jungkook laughed. “If I had five dicks, I’d put them all in you.”

“Erm… mathematically speaking, that doesn’t really work…”

“Shut up.”

Jungkook sat up, looking down at you with a smile. The same smile he always had, but a little different now, because he didn’t have to hide his attraction to you anymore.

“You really let me put it in you?”

You narrowed your eyes. “With a ninety-eight percent chance, only.”

His smile became mischievous. “That’s not one hundred percent.”

You puffed your cheeks.

“I’ll take the two percent chance for you and only you, Jungkook.”

He grinned and turned around, throwing himself to the end of the bed where his jeans were barely holding on. Fishing through the pockets, retrieving the foil packet from the back pocket. You blinked at him.

“How long has that been–”

Jungkook gave you a silencing look. “I bring a new one every time I come over, in hopes you become drunk enough to sit on my dick.”

You blinked at him. “What.” Not a question, just you stating it.

“Because you’re paranoid.”

You frowned. “I’m not–”

He launched himself over the bed and silenced you with a kiss, deep and longing. You leaned into it, breathing softly, tongue against his, pressing back against him. Jungkook drew back slowly, thumb on your cheek. Eyes looking into yours, careful and tender.

“I don’t want you to worry,” he said against your lips. “I’ll do anything you want. I know it’s not easy for you. I know you’re not ready for the million babies I want from you.”

“I can’t have a million babies. It’s not scientifically possible,” you interjected.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Can you just let me have one romantic moment?”

“Erm, sorry.”

“You want me to have a damn vasectomy or something? Because I’ll fucking do it. That shit’s reversible.”

“No, that kind of requires more time and I’m pretty horny for your dick right now. Condom will do.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “You are a shitty sub.”

“I will do better after I’ve had the dick.”

Jungkook straightened and yanked his black t-shirt over his head. “No, you won’t.”

Your eyes roamed over his toned chest. Damn, he was ripped. Maybe he was insecure about you being hot or something, but you were certainly benefiting. “You never know?”

Jungkook sent you a pained look and pressed a hand to your chest, shoving you back into your bed. “I’ve known you way too long to believe those words coming out of your mouth.”

You were going to reply, but he ran his hand over your chest, inhaling sharply as he brushed against your nipples. He ran his fingers over them, squeezing a little. You whined, trying to get more, but Jungkook pressed his palm down on your breast, breathing hard.

“Listen, woman, I’m about to explode in my damn underwear. Stop sounding so sexy this instant.”

Your eyes found his, pupils blown wide, lips pursed, and jaw tight. Your lips parted a little, tongue peeking out, a soft moan of his name emitting from your throat. You saw a muscle in his eyebrow twitch. He looked like he wanted to throttle you, at least a little bit.

You grinned.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes.

“You are lucky you’re cute,” he muttered. “And lucky I want to be in this pussy more than I want to be alive.”

“Don’t you ne–”

Jungkook planted his hand on your mouth. “The only words I want to hear out of you are, “Fuck me harder” or my own name, you got that?” he snarled, pressing his hand into your face for emphasis.

You nodded quickly.

He sighed, almost in relief, and yanked his pants and underwear down, wincing. There was a large wet spot on his boxer briefs, strings of pre-cum clinging as he pushed it down his muscular thighs.

“You made me a giant mess,” he muttered, eyes flickering up to you. “What do you have to say?”

You blinked at him and gave him a thumbs up.

He grinned. “You do know how to listen.”

In truth, you couldn’t say anything because you were breathlessly staring at Jungkook’s thick cock, red head glistening with pre-cum, dripping everywhere. You slid down quickly, startling him, and wrapped your lips around the head, moaning as his strong taste invaded your mouth. He hissed, gritting his teeth as your tongue swiped around, licking his length all over, feeling the veins and contours, memorizing them.

“F-fuck,” he gasped. “You wanted to clean me up that bad?”

Your eyes traveled up his abs, his pecs, his neck, to his face, giving him your best imploring look. He smirked, placing a hand on your forehead, and gradually, with great effort, pulled out of your tight mouth. Tight because you sucked in your cheeks, not wanting to let him go, but Jungkook was stronger than you. You frowned, but he shooed you away.

“I allowed it this one time. Now back to your spot.”

You backed up, tsking as you watched him roll down the condom, groaning as it covered him.

“I’m actually glad I have this fucking condom,” Jungkook muttered, glaring at you.

You couldn’t say anything, so you spread your legs. His eyes dropped down and he bit his lower lip, crawling to you, grabbing your thighs. Placing himself right in front of your soaked entrance, staring down at your pussy as he guided himself, sinking into you.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut.

You moaned, feeling Jungkook’s cock stretch you out, so different from a silicone dildo or multiple fingers, because it was Jeon Jungkook praying for air as you clenched around his length, his cries of pleasure as he rocked his hips into you. Those long nights with your vibrator and his Instagram open on your phone were incomparable to his cock molding to your walls, his hard hips finally hitting your thighs, all the way in, and it was so good that you throbbed around him, shuddering.

“J-Jungkook…” you pleaded.

“I know,” he panted, hands gripping your knees tight. “I know, but give me a second to appreciate this pussy, holy fuck.”

He jerked his cock inside you and you cried out, definitely crushing your sheets, but Pikachu had seen a lot by now and there was only going to be more.

Jungkook finally began to slide out and push back in, groaning, starting slow and deep because quite frankly he needed to last more than five seconds and your pussy was not letting up. You had too much control over your vaginal muscles and he was too into you to not be hugely turned on by it, shoving your legs up higher so he could go deeper, feel more of you surround him and massage his length.

“H-harder…” you whimpered. “Please, Jungkook, fuck me harder…”

And how could Jungkook say no to that? Begging so perfectly, with just the right amount of desperation, and you didn’t even know it was driving him insane, because he knew normally you were so wound up, always worrying about being perfect, always worrying about doing the right thing, but now you were unraveling on his cock as he bent down and put more force into it, pounded you harder, watching the ecstasy in your eyes, your mouth opening and tongue peeking out, hot breath in his face. Knuckles white as you clutched the sheets, pleasure radiating up his length as you came with a cry, his name, his name on those perfect lips, lips he always watched with envy, wondering who had them, wondering who was so lucky to capture them.

And now it was just him, just him and you, and his hips slapping into your hips, pussy nearly choking his cock, but it felt so good, so fucking euphoric as you fucked him back, raising your hips to meet his, loud, wet, and lewd, probably causing a ruckus next door. But neither of you cared, your names mixing together, your eyes staring to Jungkook’s piercing brown ones, hot pleasure radiating up your stomach, your chest, to your head and there was no one else.

No one else but Jungkook’s name tumbling out of your mouth as the wave soared into you, pussy spasming as you came again, unsure at what number it was, but it was the one Jungkook wasn’t prepared for and he groaned, smacking into you one last time before you felt his cock throb and pulse against your walls, spilling into the condom. You gasped at the feeling, clenching around him, his right hand reaching over to grasp yours and hold it tightly, intertwining your fingers.

“W-wow…” you whispered breathlessly. “Nice cock.”

Jungkook burst out laughing. “You’re unbelievable.” He reached down and gingerly felt around in your dripping folds, finding the end of the condom and pulling out carefully.

“Fuck. It’s so much,” he gulped, brows knitted in worry.

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. I finished my period yesterday. Likelihood of you getting me pregnant is pretty low.”

Jungkook jerked his head towards you.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say that sooner?” he roared, slapping your leg. “I was scared shitless over here!”

You placed your hands over your ears. “So loud. Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No!”

--

masterpost

[smut4bangtan]

Genie's Home Service (Jimin, One Night Only Anthology)

...GIRL. Once again, I’ve got a new favorite. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 😉

—

The cold breeze seeping in through the slightly open window made you shiver. The more time ticked away, the less your dinner looked appetizing. Still, though, you forced yourself to eat a few spoonfuls. You'd be needing energy later.

For the fifth time in two minutes, you checked your phone. There were two messages: one from your best friend Jian and the other from an unknown number. You clicked on Jian's message first.

[Jian: Sooo excited for you, girl!!! Just go with the flow and don't get too nervous. Trust him. He's a professional. Also, don't hesitate to contact me immediately if anything goes wrong, alright? Good luck and enjoy the night! 👻💦]

[You: Thanks, girl. Will you come home tonight?]

[Jian: No. I'll stay at my boyfriend's. Feel free to use every corner of the apartment except my room! Okay?]

[You: Got it. 😊]

[Jian: You're on your pills, correct?]

[You: Yes ma'am]

[Jian: Okay. Now stop texting and get ready!]

You checked the text from the unknown number next.

[*********: Good evening! This is Genie. I'm already here at the lobby. 😊 Wearing a dark blue shirt.]

Your heartbeat raced upon seeing the message. Even just the mention of his shirt color was already making you feel dizzy.

[You: Hi! I'll come down right away. 😊 Thanks!]

You recognized Genie as soon as you went down to the lobby. He was just sitting at the waiting area, using his phone. Aside from receiving his photos a few days ago, his sharp features and firm built made him naturally stand out from the others; picking him out from the crowd was not hard at all.

You walked towards him with light steps as if you didn't want to wake a wild animal up, but it was no use. Genie looked at you just as you were about to reach him. With a smile, he stood up. He must have recognized you with the photos that Jian sent. "Hey there."

"Genie, right?" You asked. He just nodded.

The two of you proceeded to the receptionist to record Genie's required information on the guest list. He listed his name as Park Jimin.

Is that your real name? You wanted to ask him, but you only mustered up the courage to actually do so when you rode the elevator.

"Is that your real name?" You asked. Genie just looked at you, puzzled. “Park Jimin, I mean. I peeked when you were writing. Sorry.”

Genie just chuckled. “Yeah, that’s my real name. And don’t apologize. That’s our little secret now.” He winked, making you catch your breath.

“Then, that’s what I’ll call you starting now.” You flashed a smile, hoping that it looked natural and definitely not nervous.

“Go ahead as you please.”

The two of you got off at the fourth floor and stopped at unit four hundred and seven. With sweaty hands, you stuck the key in the door knob and pushed it. In a while, I would be like this door knob. Filled in, you thought.

“Can I use the bathroom?” Jimin asked as he placed his black duffel bag on the sofa.

You nodded and pointed on the door beside the kitchen. “There.”

"Thanks!"

“I’ll be waiting in the bedroom with the yellow door.”

“It would be nice if you remove everything except your underwear.” You just looked at him upon hearing what he said. In return, he just smirked at you and proceeded to do his business.

Like what Jimin said, you took off everything except your bra and panty. You suddenly didn't like how your plain white bra looked, so you quickly threw it into the hamper and changed into a black underwire. Anxiety continuously grew upon seeing yourself in the body-sized mirror in front of the bed, but you didn’t think much about it and just trusted his words. He knows what he is doing, you reminded yourself.

You barely sat on the bed when Jimin entered the room. He was now wearing a plain black shirt and khaki shorts that almost looked like swimming trunks. Even though it was dim with only the lamp on, his bulge was clearly visible from where you were. His eyes scrutinized you from head to toe with an expression one would see at a predator looking at his prey. “So, shall we start?”

You just gave him a vulnerable smile and made room for him on the bed. Don't get too nervous, your head repeated in Jian's voice.

Jimin joined you on the bed with a mischievous smile. It was obvious that he's trying to hide his reaction but was incredibly failing. "I noticed that you're a little stiff. Would you mind if I massage you?"

"O-okay."

"Please lie on your stomach."

You did as Jimin said. He placed a bottle of massaging oil on your side table. Upon seeing that, you closed your eyes and let the situation sink in. What was about to happen didn't seem real. It's finally your turn to ride this scary and exciting roller coaster. Everything was unpredictable, and all you could do was enjoy the ride. Once it's finished, boom! You're a part of a whole new world. Nothing's the same again—for your body, at least.

"So, how did you become friends with Jian?" Jimin asked. His oily hands started to run freely through your back.

"University. You?"

"We're childhood friends."

"Oh, you must be very close then."

"We are. Jian's the type of friend anyone would want to have. She's just so accepting and open-minded even about my job."

"Mhmm."

He slowly slipped his hands under the clasp of your bra, making your breath tremble a little. "That's why when she opened up about you, I immediately agreed." You just chuckled, not knowing what to reply. For some reason, your cheeks heated up. It was definitely about what he said. "I heard from Jian that it's going to be your first time."

"Yeah," you replied.

This time, Jimin slipped his hands under the straps of your bra. Your nipples slightly hardened. You kept getting goosebumps every time it scratched against the bra cups

"May I ask why?"

"It's just that I think I've waited long enough. I'm not really confident about showing my body, especially when I was younger."

"Why? You're so beautiful. I was actually astounded a while ago. You look even better than your photos."

Your lips wanted to form a smile, but you stopped yourself. He's one of the best-looking people you have ever seen in your life too, and such a compliment from him means a lot. "Thanks," you just replied with a slight giggle.

Without a word, his hands once again slipped under the hook of your bra. "I can remove my bra if it's getting in the way," you said.

He was silent for a while but eventually replied, "got it."

When Jimin finally unclasped the hook, you pulled it from your chest and threw it on the floor. You were dead sure that he caught a glimpse of your breasts, including your hard, rosy nipples. He moved on to massage the sides of your breasts, as well as your underboob. Now, you felt your nipples reach to its hardest and biggest form. The touch of your sheets against them was slowly making you wet. "Haven't you tried to at least give a blowjob?"

"I have. A lot. But that was the farthest that I could go."

"Mhmm. How about using dating applications to set up one night stands? Why didn't you try?" He asked.

"I don't trust any of those men."

"So you trust me," he confirmed.

"Jian knows you. I trust her with everything."

You felt his nod. "Don't worry. I won't let you down." The two of you let out a giggle in unison with what he said. That was so cute of him, you thought.

"I'll proceed to your legs now." Jimin placed himself on top of you and started to massage your thighs all the way to your calfs. His rock-hard bulge was rubbing on your buttocks, making your stomach and breasts sweat. You felt your vagina release a huge amount of discharge. This made you feel a little nervous. What if he notices?

"You're so wet already, huh?" He teasingly said. Of course he would notice.

"You caught me."

Slowly, Jimin slid your panty off. He then went on to slide his hand from your asshole to your pussy. "Ah," you moaned with your hips slightly rising on its own.

"Can you sit down for me?" Wordlessly, you sat in front of him, legs apart. He took a glance at your bouncy breasts and pinkish pussy. "Beautiful."

You pointed at his shorts. "I want that out."

"Take it off for me, then," he said, kneeling in front of you.

Making sure his underwear was included, you gently pulled his shorts off, revealing his hard cock. It looked so angry and ready to fight. That's how you like it best. "Better," you said.

Jimin took the massaging oil and sprinkled a generous amount on your breasts. His hands ran from your chest to the stomach and pussy, spreading the oil all over your body. You let out a sigh as you tried to conceal the pleasure that was generating all over your body.

"Feels good?" He asked. You just nodded, looking him directly in the eyes.

He came back to your breasts and started to twist and pinch your nipples. You couldn't help but bite your lip and moan. "Fuck," you whispered, looking at the reflection of your breasts and Jimin's cock on the mirror. Your pussy throbbed so hard as it rushed to get more wet.

Jimin suddenly slid a hand down to your pussy and massaged your clit as soon as he touched it. Slowly, he bowed his head down to your breasts and started to lick your nipples.

"Just like that," you said, grabbing him by the thigh. "Oh, fuck. Please."

He gradually played faster with your clit, making your hips rise on its own and your discharge slowly drip from your pussy. "Yes, faster! Faster!" You yelled. In no time, his mouth was already sucking your breasts and he finally slid his middle finger inside you. "Mmm, yes, yes, yes!"

You stretched your vulva out as he slid his ring finger next. It hurt you for a short while, but it felt good as soon as he rocked his hand.

"Do you like that? Huh?" He asked, almost whispering under his breath.

"Mhmm," you replied, rocking your hips against his hand.

Jimin lifted his head to kiss you. Your tongues fought and your lips sucked each other. You could hear your discharge making a sound as he fingered you fast and deep.

"Oh, I think I'm going to squirt!" Before either of you could do anything about it, you already did. He slapped your pussy as your vagina uncontrollably let out everything you could. The squirting reached the lower part of the mirror.

Without a word, you took Jimin's cock and licked the head as you looked him in the eyes. Slowly, you stuck it in your mouth and sucked it like a lollipop. You made sure your tongue was on it, too. "Ah," he let out with his eyes closed. "You're good." He finally removed his shirt, revealing nothing but his bare body.

He placed his hand on your head and pushed it deeper. You then held his hips and pulled him closer. His cock has finally reached your throat. He slowly pulled your hair, making his juices flow down from your mouth.

Ultimately, he held your head and started to thrust in and out of your mouth. You sat there helplessly, getting facefucked. His cock was secreting so much discharge that you could already could swallow a great portion. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum!" He exclaimed, suddenly pulling himself out of your mouth. Discharge and saliva flowed out of your mouth once again. It looked like it could fill up a small perfume bottle.

You lathered your finger on the liquid and tasted it again. "Sweet."

"Pineapples, baby."

Jimin pushed you gently to the pillows and went right in front of you. As he was slowly inserting his cock inside your pussy, you stretched out your vulva once again. "This might hurt, but I'll be gentle."

"It's okay. You got me."

He finally inserted the head, and then the body—slowly. It started to feel a little sore, but you did your best to keep it in. He rocked his hips a little more, until his whole cock was already inside. The pain tinged a little greater than before, but it's manageable. "Does it hurt?"

"It's alright. Fuck me," you replied.

As Jimin started to push and pull himself in you, he played with your nipples to lessen the pain. The head of his cock could be felt sliding inside. It felt so good that it might be your new favorite feeling. When your vagina seemed to have adjusted well, he gradually improved the pace.

Jimin pulled you closer and sucked your breasts. You started to massage your clit, matching his phase. Your eyes rolled up in pleasure. "Ah!" you moaned every time he pushed himself inside you.

Suddenly, his cock slid out of your vagina. "Shit," he said, wiping the sweat on his temples with his palms.

You crawled on the other side of the bed and bent over, showing your vagina and asshole to him. "I've always wanted to try getting fucked doggystyle."

With a naughty expression, he slid his cock into you and rock his body hard against you. "My favorite position," he said.

You could feel his cock better with this position and for some reason, it felt more pleasurable. He was hitting the right spot every time he pushed his cock into you. "Deeper, faster," you commanded, so he did as you said with a slap on your butt cheek. "Ah, fuck. Yes!"

"Oh, I'm gonna cum," he said, suddenly pulling himself out. You immediately turned around and saw him masturbate. It was the hottest thing you've ever seen.

You leaned in and put your face in front of his cock. Just in time, his fresh, hot cum splattered all over your face.

He leaned on the headboard, panting hard. His legs were spread out, exposing his smooth asshole. "It's still hard. Do you wanna?"

You nodded. "I think I can squirt again." You sat on his cock, your back facing him. "Shit," you whispered as he filled you up again.

You bounced on top of him as you played with your nipples. You could see him watching you on the mirror with a smirk. Upon seeing that, you spread your legs wide so the two of you could see everything.

Jimin hugged you from behind and billowed his body against you. His hard cock was widening your vagina in the most pleasurable way. Meanwhile, his hand made its way to your clit. You pulled his head closer and kissed him on the lips. "Oh, God. Harder," you commanded in between the kiss. The two of you increased your pace.

Finally, you could feel that your pussy was almost full. "I'm cumming!" A big squirt came out of you as soon as you said that. "Ah!" You yelled, your hips shaking.

"Yes, yes," Jimin seconded as he slapped his cock on your vagina.

Your body dropped on top of him when you finally let everything out. Your back could feel his heart beat.

"You're so perfect," he whispered on your ear in between his panting.

"And so are you."

[theonewiththefanfics]

Hate (one-shot)

Synopsys: Bucky and reader have been stuck in the safe house for quite a while now, and the snow doesn’t seem like it will be letting off any time soon. New Year is creeping closer and closer. And it’s just the Reader’s luck that she’s stuck with a person who absolutely despises her guts.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: fluuuuuuuuffff, soft angst 

Warnings: swearing, the reader is so dumb... like the last three brain cells she had, left the chat because of what an idiot she is

Word count: 2816

He hated her. Y/N was absolutely one hundred percent sure – Bucky Barnes despised her. The war veteran, the last serving Howling Commando, the longest-held war prisoner and the man who had stolen her heart hated her.

      She watched him from over the rim of her coffee cup, how his long brown locks fell over his high cheekbones, and he huffed pushing them away from his face. Y/N had to force down the groan of just how much she had to restrain herself from going over, running her fingers through his hair and maybe tying it back in a little bun. Fuck, if he ever did that, she was sure she’d die from the hotness that was Bucky Barnes.

      They hadn’t known one another for that long. Y/N had joined the Avengers a couple of months after the whole Thanos thing. For one, she had been one of the unfortunate ones to be dusted. She had been taking a warm, relaxing bath after a long day when her feet suddenly disintegrated in the water. The last thing Y/N had managed was to throw her book over the side, so at least that didn’t get wet.

      Sam had found her after everyone was brought back by Bruce. He was recruiting new people for the team as the new captain, and the first thing she had been there to witness was his try-on haul of the new star-spangled costume.

      “Don’t you think it’s a bit novel?” Y/N asked biting on her lip. “I think the shield would be enough to tell them who’s the boss.”

      “It’s a symbol!” Sam emphasized and turned around to look at his ass. “It’s supposed to send a message.”

      Y/N hid her smile behind her palm and shrugged. “Just… never picked you as the tights guy.”

      Sam groaned. “They are not tights!”

      That was the moment when Y/N had met Bucky, and that’s when all of her rational thinking flew out of the window faster than Redwing.

      He came sauntering into the living room, a grey T-shirt stained with sweat and clinging to his body, the fabric defining each and every muscle the man owned. When Sam said that Y/N started drooling quite literally, it might've been because of the fact that a little dribble of her coffee she had had in her mouth actually spilt out on her leg.

      “You look like the American fucking flag,” Bucky snorted and gulped down a large mouthful of water, cocking his hip out.

      Fuck, Y/N thought to herself, how in the absolute hell can someone drinking be the most sinful thing on Earth. Like holy hell when did sweat become a turn on for her? Especially when it slowly slid along his neck and disappeared down his chest. She had to close her eyes to remove the mental image of him panting on top of her. Sweaty, like in that moment, but because of different reasons.

      “Fuck off, tin can,” Sam snapped back, “or I’ll replace you with her.” He motioned with his head towards Y/N, and she ducked further down on the couch. “You’re not special with your sniping.”

      Bucky shook his head and threw her a quizzical look. “And what’s so special about you?”

      Y/N would’ve probably answered nothing, that she’s completely ordinary because actually talking about her abilities and giving herself some credit was way beyond her skill set, so Sam stepped in.

      “She’s an army vet and was in the Snakeskin program.”

      Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. “Snakeskin?”

      “They were an elite ground force group of troops trained to be as stealthy as assassins. Her specialty is sniping. So, don't go on thinking you're something special. 'Cause you're not.”

      The super soldier now fully looked her over, and Y/N wanted the couch to cut open and swallow her whole, because holy fucking fuck, was Bucky’s gaze intense. It was like he was trying to carve out her soul just by looking at her. The only thing that came to her mind was to give him an awkward smile and a small wave. He gave her a nod and then looked back at Sam.

      “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Steve said he wanted some help with repainting the fence.”

      “Yeah, you go be a good wife,” Sam waved him off and looked himself over once more in the mirror. “And please remind him he owes me twenty bucks.”

      “What for?” Bucky hollered from the hallway.

      “He knows!”

      They only heard a scoff before the elevator dinged, announcing Bucky’s exit.

      “So,” Sam looked at Y/N through the mirror. “That went well.”

      If only that was how she saw it. Y/N thought Bucky hated her, and Sam’s little remark about her replacing him was not sitting well with the woman. She wasn’t there to replace anyone, least of all one of her childhood heroes who was doing everything in his power to prove his worth to the world (even though she didn’t think he had anything to prove and everyone else could just go off and fuck themselves).

      She was just there to hopefully once again regain some sort of a sense to her life. After leaving the Snakeskin program, and being one of the victims of the Snap, it was hard to find where she belonged. Then Sam called Y/N up and told her they were reforming the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, and he wanted her to be a part of it, so she jumped on the opportunity.

      And that’s what lead them to that moment – Y/N slowly sipping her coffee as Bucky tried to finish up a crossword puzzle. From time to time she glanced up from the swirling black liquid to the super-soldier, but of course, he wasn’t paying any kind of attention to her. He never did.

      After their first meeting, their interactions were limited to small ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ and communicating during missions. There was never any direct animosity, but the fact that Bucky talked to everyone on a daily basis except for Y/N – well, she didn’t need it to be spelt out.

      But it was just Y/N’s luck, wasn’t it? First, she got sent out on a mission with a man who can’t stand to even spare her a glance, then they get snowed in without a way out (even the jet was seven feet under the snow), and now New Years was right around the corner, and she would have to spend it all alone.

      Y/N looked out the window to the never-changing scene of swirling white flakes. They weaved and moved in a dance she couldn’t comprehend. But while she watched what was happening beyond the glass, Bucky was watching her.

      His eyes trailed the way her face curved and sloped, eyelids half-closed surveying the scenery, but mostly how her flannel shirt had slipped off from one of her shoulders. He so badly wanted to reach out and gently place it back to where it was, but he couldn’t.

      Bucky was no longer the same confident man in an army uniform that used to sweep ladies off their feet and make them dance the night away. This man woke up in the middle of the night in cold sweat and could barely keep eye contact with anyone that wasn’t Steve, Shuri or Sam for no longer than five seconds. So, pulling Y/N’s shirt back up was out of the fucking question. But he didn’t have to dwell on it for too long.

      “I’m gonna take a shower,” she announced, although she had no real idea as to why. Bucky only responded with a hum, which she guessed was more than what she expected to receive, but then again – it was more of an acknowledgement than she’d gotten in the three days they’d been stranded together.

      The stream of hot water pelleting her skin was a welcome change from the icy touch of being ignored and discarded. Although Y/N was stuck in a safe house somewhere in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere in Finland, it was a Stark-created safehouse. So, it was occupied by every possible piece of technology. Including the best speakers known to man.

      Because Y/N was a punk-rock emo bitch at heart (did you really think I wouldn’t put this in? Killjoys are back, suckers! Put on your fucking eyeliner and get ready cause it was not a phase, mom, it's a fucking lifestyle!), her playlist automatically switched from ‘Kicking-Ass’ that was designed to hype her up during missions to ‘Singing-Like-A-Rock-Star’ with ‘Gives You Hell’ blasting through the bathroom.

      It was like Tony had known that people would be absolutely jamming in the bathrooms because the floor was lined with a rubber mat, giving Y/N the freedom to go ham.

      And she sent up a little 'thank you' to wherever Tony was because she had needed that. She had needed to let go of all of the tension and thoughts that had collected in her body just so she could re-enter that same worrying state a second later. Just with clean hair now.

      Pulling on comfy grey sweats and a huge navy-blue T-shirt, she twisted the towel and plopped it back over her head to keep the wet strands away. The house was constantly warm because Bucky kept the fireplace stocked almost 24/7, but it was even warmer now as he had added a new pile of wood, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Which was fine by Y/N.

      With a huff and a roll of her head, she ventured into the kitchen, having decided that dinner needed to be had. It was halfway through her boiling pasta when the shrill sound of her phone ringing made her drop the sauce-slathered spoon.

      “Yeah?” She pressed the phone between her shoulder and ear and went to wash off the spoon, careful not to put the curved-inward part under the stream.

      “Y/N,” Sam’s warm voice invaded her senses. “How are you holding up? Fury and Maria says the storm’s still raging.”

      A glance outside of the window told her as much. “Any news on when it might stop?”

      “None at this moment,” Sam replied. “They’re checking every five minutes for an update so they can finally send an extraction bird out.”

      “Ooh, can you ask Maria to send the one with the bed?”

      “Sorry,” Sam sighed in mock sadness, “that one’s been sent out to Guatemala to pick up Wanda.”

      “Ugh,” Y/N groaned and threw her head back. “Damn Wanda and her mission. Could she not like manage until she got back to the Tower? It's not like she's had to sleep in the middle of the jungle or something?”

      Sam laughed, and it made her smile, knowing that he understood her joking tone. “Yeah, right? What a princess!”

      Y/N smiled and finally added the pasta to the boiling water. “What are you gonna get her for her birthday?”

      “Dunno,” her friend replied. “She’s been looking at that one perfume for a while, but we gotta figure out what Vis is getting first… speaking of other halves – you and Bucky getting on well?”

      Y/N huffed turning to face the boiling pot and stirring the pasta in it. A little vortex formed completely mimicking how she felt on the inside. “As well as two people who can’t stand to be near one another, but have to share a place, can.”

      She heard him chuckle. “Come on, it can’t be that bad! I still don’t think you’re in the right about this.”

      “About what?” her eyebrows furrowed. She took out a piece of pasta and chewed on it. Still wasn’t the right texture.

      “About Bucky. I think you’ve got it all wrong.”

      The scoff that wanted to escape her throat was blocked by the piece of food, and she almost choked on it. “Sam, he fucking hates me!”

      “I – I don’t hate you,” came a voice from behind Y/N, and she spun around, mouth left hanging open as her phone was clutched tightly by her ear.

      She could practically hear Sam grin through the phone. “I guess you gotta go.”

      Bucky stepped closer just as she lowered the now silent mobile. “Y/N, why would you ever think I hate you?”

      “Be – because you do?”

      “When did I say that?”

      She shook her head. “You didn’t have to.”

      Bucky’s whole face fell at her words. “What do you mean?”

      “I mean you talk with everyone else but me. You can’t look me in the eye one bit, and do I need to remind you when you actually left the whole Christmas gala thing right after I walked in, and I quote ‘I can’t be around her’.”

      Bucky’s eyes widened, and this time it was his jaw that hung open. “You heard that.”

      “Loud and clear.”

      “I – I,” he stammered and then cleared his throat. It was time to put all the cards on the table. “I only said that because had I stayed; I would’ve done something I’d regret.”

      “Like what?”

      “Like kissed you.”

      And there went Y/N’s breath. And her heart. And her sanity. And frankly, everything she’d ever known.

      “I would’ve most likely told you how I felt,” he said and stepped closer watching every facial feature of hers.

      “And how do I make you feel?” she breathed out.

      “Nervous. I haven’t had feelings like this for a girl in decades… and I didn’t know how to process them let alone act on them. Things have changed so much since I was chasing skirts… nowadays everything’s so complicated… and I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same. I mean, we have to work together, and we live in the same place, so if things didn’t work out… I just didn’t wanna risk it.”

      As he talked, she had started to pace. In stressful situations where she didn’t have to focus on pulling the trigger or if she wasn’t trying not to trip off a treadmill, Y/N paced. A lot. She was pretty sure there was a line in the living room floor where she had done her thinking before missions.

      “Wait, so you like me?” Y/N spun around and pointed at him. “Like really like me?”

      “Yeah,” Bucky chuckled as relief flooded his veins. He wouldn’t have smiled as wide as he did, had he not seen her lips quirk up. “Yeah, I really like you.”

      “And you don’t hate me?”

      “Not one bit.”

      Y/N stepped forward, head hanging low as she carefully grasped Bucky’s hand and intertwined their fingers, metal twining with flesh. “So, you like me?” she looked up at him, eyes intently watching his face. He squeezed her palm stepping closer as well, chest to chest at that point. He placed both of their hands right over his beating heart.

      “Yeah, I do... Happy New Year, Y/N,” Bucky muttered with a shy smile gracing his face.

      “What?” she had been so lost in his eyes that his words weren’t registering. His soft chuckle was like a melody designed by angels.

      “I said Happy New Year.”

      Y/N looked down to the worn watch on his right wrist and sure enough, the two hands were perfectly aligned to 12. A small chuckle escaped her mouth as she reconnected their gazes.

      “Happy New Year, Buck.”

      He was so close to her; she could smell the hot chocolate he had been drinking. Y/N closed her eyes, insides trembling as he leaned closer. But the kiss never came

      “I heard you in the shower.”

      “What!?”

      Bucky grabbed a spoon from the table and used it as a microphone, pointing at Y/N and wiggling his hips to the rhythm of the song. “’ Hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!’” She shoved him away from her and through a laugh threw her towel at him.

      “Ugh, I hate you!”

      “No, you don’t!” Bucky grabbed at her waist and pulled her to him. Together they plopped down on the couch, and Bucky didn’t hesitate to pull her in his lap, legs thrown over his and head resting against his shoulder. Y/N looked up at him, her hand leaning against his stomach as she drew gentle circles on the shirt clad torso.

      “Can I kiss you?”

      She chuckled and moved closer to Bucky. “Are you still going to make fun of me and my singing?”

      He looked like he was contemplating before he nodded, a wide smile on his face as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Yeah. Most definitely. For as long as you let me.”

      “And if I say forever?”

      She didn’t need to hear him say what was on his mind when the only thing that existed was Bucky’s smile. Y/N’s own lips widened, as he bent closer. The New Year and the new decade had begun quite a few minutes ago, but neither cared much because as their lips touched, a new chapter in their lives opened.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn​ @projectxhappiness​ @callmebucky-doll​ @coal000​ @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken​ @sophiealiice​ @raquelbc2003​ @watch-out-for-thorns​ @potentially-kinetic​ @thatonegirljessy99​ @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub​ @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611​ @horrorx570ximagines​ @the-nargles-made-me-do-it​ @pooslie​ @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel​ @purplebananatragedy​ @pxrrishly​ @parker-barnes-af​ @skulliebythesea​ @california-grown​ @stevehesaidabadlanguageword​ @belongsto-prachi​ @hello-i-am-insane @its-nott-my-problem

Marvel tags: @nerissa98​ @happyseagrill​ @asguardiansoftheavengers​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @wishingforahome​ @pizzarollpatrol​ @desir-ae​

Forever tags: @lumelgy​ @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki​ @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @sweet-ladyy​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines​ @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28

A/N: Hi! so, quite a lot of things have happened. and the biggest thing is... I’m gonna be seeing MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE in JUNE!!! AAAHHHHH!!! I’ve been a fan of them since I was nine, and now I finally get the chance to see them perform live! I’ve never been so stressed in my life while trying to get tickets to something! I was in the middle of my 9 AM lecture and I was legit shaking. I fuffed about for like 3 seconds and those 3 seconds cost me the tickets... at first! and then it was like the emo gods were smiling down upon me, I saw there was another date added. I thought it was a glitch in the system because nothing was announced. so, obviously, I clicked off, only for my twitter notification to go off that they have announced they have added another date. I think it’s fair to say that I was barely functioning as I clicked furiously on my computer. And now I get the chance to see them... I am STOAKED!!!

[mystech-master]

F/GO High School/Modern AU BS

Me and @rex101111 have been talking about a modern/HS AU ft. as many Chaldean servants as possible. Here are the ideas we came up with (I am pretty much cut and pasting our message convo, so this is a mixture of both me and Rex's ideas):

Gil is the douchbag Senior everyone hates but his dad owns the school or whatever so he can do whatever he wants. The only decent person who willingly hangs out with him is his childhood friend Enkidu who's hoping he can un-douch his bro. He has kid Gil as his little brother and Caster Gil as his older bro who both agree that he sucks (Gil is the loser middle child of the family), Caster Gil wonders what Enkidu sees in his shit head brother. "He's too good for you." "Blow it out your ass." "One day he's going to wise up, see how much of a shit you are, and when you're all alone don't come crying to me." Caster Gil is in college studying political science, Kid Gil goes to a fancy boarding school. Archer Gil goofs off and throws parties

Scathach is a swimming class teacher, mainly b/c I recall underwater training being a part of Cu's regiment under her tutelage. People were jealous of the Cus for like two seconds when they find out the swim teacher is their mom, then they see her having them do an extra twenty laps and ignoring when OG Cu starts floating in the water. "CU DIED!" "YOU'RE NOT HUMAN!" while Scathach is like "you have two seconds to stop playing around before I ACTUALLY drown you" and he's back to doing laps.

Yeah with 4-5 Cus (if you count Setanta from Arcade) that is like 5 brothers.

Nightingale as school nurse, she is friends with Asclepius who works at a hospital associated with the school (strictly professional, but the students think otherwise).

Side note, keep in mind you can have multiple servants be the same type of teacher, just for different classes/grades.

King Hassan is the old Religious History teacher. Every one thinks he's older then the rock is the school is made out of. He has a scary face and a scarier voice but most students consider him the most fair and patient teacher in the whole school. He always gets a lot of food gifts before Ramadan form the students. (A few students, such as the Guda twins and Mash, call him gramps.) The other Hassans are his grandkids, like actual grandkids. He's super strict with them because he expects a lot from them. He always praises them when they do well though. He made sure they ALL got into his class and they've been living in fear ever since. They love their grandpa but by Allah they know not to disappoint him. The only one to ever get out of anything is kid Hassan (one of the hundred face). Cursed Arm is oldest, then Asako (the main hundred face), then Serenity.

"I am very disappointed in ALL of you, have you all lost your heads? I swear I-*to kid Hassan*-ah no Habibi not you you're fine here have a candy-*back to the rest*-I KNOW you're better than this!"

VERY traditional guy, Cursed Arm mutters "Oh for God's sake" while doing a pop quiz and King Hassan looms over him and growls, "No Blaspheming In This Class Room"

For the various Artoria/Arturias, I imagined Lancer and Lancer Alter being sisters, so Saber Alter is a cousin. That leaves everyone else to just be sisters with one brother. Mother Lartoria owns a casino and gas her own yacht in reference to the summer event where she became a Ruler. If you want MHX could be a part of the family as a massive fucking Star Wars nerd. MHXX and MHX Alter are her mom and sister (so MHXX is a third sister for the two Lancer Artorias)

For Irisviel, I remember in one of the Nero Fest things that she was called Therapist Iri. Maybe she starts to get into that b/c she wants to help her adoptive son Shirou (instead of a big fire like in Zero it can be an orphanage fire thing, similar situation but a much smaller scale) , so she is the school therapist/psychiatrist. Like Maruki in P5 Royal.

Iskandar died in his 30s, Waver is around his 30s as Lord El Melloi II. The two are old college friends who still hang out and Alexander is Iskandar’s kid.

If you guys want you can see this as the two being gay dads since I know that ship is popular.

Fran had an abusive father before Babbage and Moriarty got involved. In the og story, Frankenstien has a scientific mindset like his creator, here Fran has a talent in the field, but she also hates it b/c it reminds her of him. Like imagine being talented at the thing your abusive parent was good at/known for. Moriarty tried to get it into her that SHE'S the one with the talent, not her college dropout bum of a father, "From you tell me of him Victor couldn't engineer his way out of an argument with a cat, you have a magnificent mind my dear, not letting it flourish to spite him would be a horrible waste...it's your talent, your skill. Not his." He smiles that smile she loves that scares every one but she knows he only smiles like that when he is absolutely convinced of something, "and you can out perform him without breaking a sweat."

Moriarty teaches Fran sign language while Babbage teaches her some engineering.

Jekyll is going for a major in medicine with a minor in law (in the actual irl story Dr. Jekyll was a doctor in medicine and law).

For science associated servants, you got da Vinci, Babbage, Edison, and Tesla as possible science teachers.

The Jeanne sisters. Without the Avenger BS, the reason Jalter (or Joan as one series of fics calls her) could hate her here is just inferiority complex and being compared to her perfect saint big sister all her life. Joan does have her talents, based on the summer event an, but again she doesn't acknowledge her own talent b/c of her always being compared to her older sister., in the 7 counterfeit events she is a really good artist. And it is the typical thing of Jeanne actually being scared out of her wits of being less than perfect because of all the expectations thrust on her. She gets one A- and runs to the bathroom crying and Joan has to swallow her pride and actually have a conversation with her sister for the first time in years. Jeanne Alter lily puts up Christmas decorations super early, much to Jeanne Alter/Joan's displeasure.

"IT JUST TURNED NOVEMBER CHILL TF OUT!"

"CHRISTMAS!"

Martha is Jeanne's BF since middle school and has this HUGE dog that scares everyone and growls at anyone expect Martha and Jeanne. She calls him Terry.

Rex loves Penthesilea. and we talked at length about the situation between her and Achilles. Can you not tell that he likes a woman who can kick his ass *gestures to all of his Baiken posts*

Rex's idea: I think they had a fight when they were little and Achilles, being a little shit back then, made fun of her for being a girl, and Penth has been sore about it ever since. She keeps running into big misogynistic meatheads that reminded her of that and she just got angrier over the years. She's a wrestler and can knock out just about every dude in school by herself. Achilles is very regretful about back then and wants to apologize but Penth ain't having any of it.

My idea: I thought they were on opposing HS sports teams and when Achilles handed her ass to her he forgot to drink his respect women juice and then Penth got all pissed.

In this AU, Penth and Hippolyta's dad was a general who taught them how to kick the ass of men twice their size since they were seven or something.

Penth surprises everyone when a festival comes up and she gets picked to be the one to organize everything...and does a spectacular job. Another surprise is that she plans on being a business major when she goes to college (Obligatory Amazoness CEO jokes)

Bedivere is the Arturia Pendragon family butler with a prosthetic arm. He's also the security guard, last guy that tried to steal something or cause trouble got slapped right out of the window he sneaked in from.

Francis Drake and Artoria Alter Lancer are work friends (referencing them both being associated with the Wild Hunt in F/GO's lore).

Beni-Enma is the short and shorter tempered lunch lady, last kid who mouthed off at her during lunch got smacked upside the head with her spoon. She's sweet, but if you're in detention and have to help her in the kitchen she's a mini Gorden Ramsey, "IT'S RAW DECHI!!!" She can also come into the home EC class where Shirou is her best student. Also her roasting of the other girls like in her quest. Getting Fs in Beni's class is the worst, because it isn't just an F, it's a meticulous dressing down of exactly why letting into a kitchen should be considered a war crime, dechi.

The three Avenger Nobus are three different people. 1st Ascension is basically Archer Nobu, then you got Oda Kipposhi, and then the mom is Ascension 3 with Demon King Nobunaga. The youngest Ascension 1 Nobu is a musician. Demon King Nobu is one of those "super scary but also super polite people that only makes them scarier" type, basically a female koei Nobunaga from samurai warriors (check out some cutscenes form the games with him, he's a treat).

Imagine Demon King Nobu mom in a business suit.

Suzuka Gozen and Sei Shonagon are the textaholics who always talk in slang to the point of it sounding like they speak a different language. Murasaki is the librarian but Sei is like that ONE student who just makes her job so much harder.

Every week it's "No phones in the library Miss Shonagon." while Sei rolls her eyes and types out twitter post like "fugly ol librarian at my school needs a life lol"

Oui Katsushika is a gifted art student, and her dad (not a floating little octopus), is just a normal dude with a squid/octopus like beard. She's the teacher's pet in De Vinci's art class.

Eresh and Ishtar come from a rich family, Ereshkigal is the older sister so she had a shit load of responsibility to take over the family business while Ishtar basically gets to party her life away. Rin is the cousin they each try and swing their way. Eresh wants Rin to keep up her studies and get into a good university, Ishtar wants Rin to loosen the fuck up and admit that she likes that scrawny Emiya kid already.

BB is the host of a talk show downtown so she is kind of an absentee mom. Meltryllis has prosthetic legs that she specifically asked to be made into stilts b/c she wanted to be taller, and Passonlip has a massive rack that makes life difficult (either people staring, people assuming she's gonna be a home wrecker b/c said staring must be intentional, etc.), and of course he also has prosthetic arms to match her canon claws, obviously not as massive.

Hijikata is a very serious police officer but his wife Carmilla just uses this to have fun in the bedroom. They have two Dobermans. Hijikata's route has him patrolling near the school so most of the kids know as that scary police dude that has a picture of his wife in his pocket. One day a famous Idol called Eli-chan~ (yes spelled with the ~) is about to perform in the town and the kids can't stop talking about her, so Hijikata overhears. But, being the serious dude he is he shrugs it off until he sees a picture of this "Eli-chan~" and realizes it's his sister-in-law that came to visit and suddenly the influx of parasitic paparazzi near his house start making sense.

Carmilla: "Now you see why I hate them?", Hijikata: "No you cannot send the dogs after them honey."

She almost ran one of them over in her, very expensive, car and when that reporter says she should be locked up Hijikata corrects that would only happen if she had hit him...and she would be fined. For littering.

Okita Alter being Hijikata's partner, while Okita is her younger sister who's looked up to Hijikata since she was a little kid but she has asthma and such so she's afraid she might not get accepted.

Sigurd owns a metalworks shop (referencing his myth where he was raised by the dwarf Reginn), he met his wife Brynhildr when she was disowned by her overly controlling father.

Ozymandias, Nitocris, and Cleopatra are all the high board members of a company. Nitocris specifically got wind of Scheherazade's abusive husband situation and after getting said husband arrested, she offered Scheherazade a job.

Atalanta is a college student/TA who worked with Achilles' dad who ends up at their HS for a program or something, Achilles' dad has told him a lot about her.

Amakusa Shirou is an uncle married to the CEO of Babylon Gardens Pharmaceuticals, Semiramis. Semiramis herself is kinda chill if REALLY scary. She had to be pretty cutthroat to get to her position in the company, but Amakusa Shirou helped her mellow out, but she is still a massive tsundere.

"You know you COULD poison their lunch." "Semi, dear, I'm not going to poison my coworker's sandwich for being an ass." "It wouldn't kill them! Just a bit in their peanut better and they'll be stuck on the toilet for a week, no harm no foul."

Rex initially said Taiga would be an overly enthusiastic gym teacher but then I remembered that she was a homeroom/English teacher in Fate canon, but either or can do if you wanna be unique.

For Quetzalcoatl, Wrestling club supervisor when she isn't the senior year gym teacher. Some of the male students laughed that they didn't think a woman would know anything about wrestling. Two piledrives later, the students have earned a new appreciation for the importance on how not to be two pieces of shit. She's big on Lucha as in canon and during Halloween she gets JAGUARMAN to have an exhibition fight with her. They make a show of it but later on Taiga admits that Quatz could have CRUSHED her if they were actually fighting. She takes the wrestling club out for homemade Mexican food after tournaments

For Siduri, there's a bunch of rumors she's dating Caster Gil but it's strictly professional, Caster respects her too much to consider that. Archer Gil hits on her relentlessly, she manages to wound his ego more severely then anyone else simply by being unfailingly polite in her rejections and treating him like what he is, a teenage punk jumping higher than he can handle to land.

Ibaraki is Shuten's adoptive little sister after she was taken from an abusive mother, hence why Ibaraki looks up to her. Ibuki is either Shuten's big sister who had to take on a guardian role, or just her mom. Shuten and Ibuki have a bit of a strained relationship because Shuten saw the way Ibuki acted as they grew up, taking more and more responsibilities onto herself and refusing any distractions. And she decided that her biggest nightmare is to wake up one morning and realize she's turned into Ibuki so she tries to do everything to avoid that, hence their relationship not being the best. Ibaraki is kinda stuck in the middle because she wants to side with Shuten but she sees where Ibuki is coming from. Messy.

Caren is still Kotomine’s daughter, but he isn’t a good dad and in rebellion she sleeps around despite being a woman of god. Including sleeping with local punk Angra Mainyu. Angra Mainyu seems like a bad guy but he has a shit load of issues due to being blamed for everything going wrong in his old town, eventually coming to believe them and thinking he will cause nothing but problems. Caren banging him gives him a type of closeness he’s never felt, but under very warped circumstances.

For the Tamamo family, Vitch totally fucked her way up a corporate ladder or something, imagined Tamamo Cat working at a Cat Cafe if she were a Student. Tamamo no Mae accidentally fed her prev BF a food he was allergic too, and that kind of haunted her and scared her rep. IDK basically she seriously fucked up a previous relationship, either on purpose or accidentally, and that kind of hurts her deeply so she wants to start over with Hakuno.

Nero and Tamamo no Mae are rivals over this one guy.

Kiichi Hougen is the adoptive mom, Benkei is the family friend/uncle, Taira is Ushiwaka's older sister. Taira isn't on the best of terms with her family, some drama way back caused a rift and nowadays Ushi is the only one who's willing to talk to her and visit. Benkei never lets her go alone because he doesn't trust Taira one bit. Taira and Ushiwaka are Kintoki and Tomoe's cousins (I say Tomoe b/c apparently her husband and Ushiwaka were half cousins, with their grandpa having kids with their grandmas. I tried to make a whole family tree out of a few servants).

These are the ideas we had the most to talk about, if you guys have any suggestions for your fav servants in this AU, let either me or Rex know. Or just reblog and say them here. Who knows maybe you have a much better idea for a Servant we already mentioned.

[ashtonirwins]

➵ hold on to me (i’m a little unsteady)

harry has a migraine; louis takes care of her (ft. trans harry, nourry friendship, and pet names galore) | 1.7k words | ao3 

The apartment is dark when Louis finally manages to push the front door open. The porch light hadn’t even been turned on, so Louis had to fumble with his phone to light up the lock before succeeding in getting his key in.

He drops said keys in the bowl on the table next to the door, trying to be quiet. He has an assumption; there’s usually a reason for a dark and quiet apartment when Harry is home.

Sure enough, when Louis makes his way to the bedroom - stumbling through the dark guided by the flashlight from his phone - Harry is tuckered out in bed. It’s so dark, it takes Louis a few moments to adjust and realize there’s someone else in bed with Harry. Louis uselessly panics for a heartbeat before common sense kicks in; it’s just Niall.

The moonlight coming in from the window allows him to see Harry curled up in the center of the bed, her head pillowed on Niall’s chest. One of Niall’s hands is in Harry’s hair, but they’re both dead to the world. Louis doesn’t want to disturb them - definitely doesn’t want to disturb Harry - but he also wants to be the one Harry is curled up with.

It doesn’t matter either way, it turns out. Niall blinks his eyes open, causing both of them to startle as Louis had, at that moment, been bent over his and Harry’s bodies. His intent had been to drop a kiss on Harry’s forehead, not to give Niall a heart attack.

They both freeze, watching to see if Harry’s going to wake up. She just grumbles unhappily under her breath and rolls over, effectively freeing Niall.

Louis tugs him out into the hallway.

“For fucks sake, Lou.” Niall has a hand to his chest, still breathing heavily.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. How bad is she?”

Niall sighs. “Left in the middle of class.”

Louis frowns at that, pulling out his phone to see if there’s a text or call he’s missed.

“Mate, it came on so suddenly. Even the light from her phone was too much for her.”

“Oh. You could’ve called me.” He tries not to sound put out, but well.

“She was pretty insistent I didn’t.”

Figures. “How bad s’it?”

Niall makes a face, nose crinkling up. Louis waits patiently, one ear listening for movement in the bedroom while he catalogs the changes in Niall’s expression. Harry’s pretty stubborn when it comes to talking about pain. Harry even admitting she’s in pain is a pretty big indicator; actually leaving class mean it’s serious. Louis just doesn’t know how serious.

“Pretty bad,” Niall settles on. “A seven or an eight, I’d guess. Didn’t take her sunglasses off till she was under the covers. Might’ve been crying a bit. But not as bad as I’ve seen it.”

“Couldn’t eat anything,” he guesses.

“No. Nearly threw up when I suggested it. She only fell asleep a little while ago.”

Louis nods and some of the tension eases in his shoulders. He knows he won’t relax completely until Harry is feeling better. Though, he supposes, that’s not quite fair since living with chronic migraines means Harry is rarely, if ever, feeling one hundred percent.

He pulls Niall into a hug, leaning into the other boy momentarily. A little bit of weakness he wouldn’t let many others see. “Thank you for taking care of my girl.”

“Course, Lou.” Niall rubs his back with one hand. “She’s my best friend.”

Niall leaves shortly after that, and Louis makes a mental note to take him out for a pint in thanks soon. He returns to the bedroom to find, in the short time he’d taken to walk Niall to the door, his girlfriend has woken up.

Harry blinks up at him a couple times before her eyes seem to focus. She stretches out a hand across the sheets, and Louis climbs in beside her without hesitation.

“Hi, baby girl.” He keeps his voice quiet, unsure how she’s doing and not wanting to unintentionally trigger anything. “How are you feeling?” He doesn’t touch her, not yet, but Harry curls her hand in the front of his shirt weakly.

“Better,” she says after a moment, voice heavy with sleep. “Don’t wanna move yet, just in case.”

Louis nods understandably and runs a hand through her thick curls. Harry leans into the touch slightly, so he keeps it up while he talks. “You need anything? Want anything?” He has to specify both because God forbid Harry asks for a glass of water if she’s not dying of thirst.

Harry doesn’t answer right away, just sighs with content as Louis massages at her scalp.

“Want me to rub your back?” he prompts.

“Always,” she replies immediately. “But I don’t want to move.”

Louis starts to sit up, but she clutches at his shirt tighter.

“I can move,” he offers.

“No, want you here.”

He settles back down. Slowly, so slowly it feels like full minutes pass, Harry shuffles forward till their chests are pressed together and she can nose her way under Louis’ chin. She settles, her whole body going boneless. Louis rubs a hand down her back as best he can from this position, tries to massage into her tight shoulders gently.

“Think you could try eating something?” he murmurs.

“In a minute. Just want you right now. Missed you.”

Louis kisses the top of her head. How her hair still manages to smell like her coconut shampoo even after classes all day, he’ll never understand. “I missed you, too, darling.”

They stay like that for longer than a few minutes. In all actuality, it’s probably 15 minutes later that Louis feels Harry start to stir again. He thinks they’ve both started to drift off. His limbs feel heavy with sleep, but when Harry mumbles about food, he kisses the top of her head again and slides out of bed.

He digs through the kitchen for something light on the stomach; something bland without much scent is always a safe bet when Harry’s recovering from a migraine. When he makes it back upstairs, Harry is sitting up in bed, long legs crossed, eyes closed. He pauses at the end of the bed, and Harry opens her eyes.

“I have to pee,” she explains.

“Do you need help?”

She moves to the edge of the bed with glacier slowness. “I don’t think so.”

Louis watches her closely, ready to catch her if she shows signs of feeling weak or dizzy. When Harry finally makes it to her feet, she pauses for a few long moments and then straightens to her full height.

“I’m okay,” she says.

One she makes it to the bathroom, she pauses again. Louis watches her hesitate momentarily before she flicks the light on. He holds his breath, waiting, and then she moves again to stand in front of the toilet. He looks away just as she goes to tug down her pants. She comes back into the room a minute later, smelling like their lemon hand soap, the rings missing from her fingers, with damp palms. She curls into the bed and nibbles on the toast he’s brought her.

“Rubs now?” She looks up at him, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Of course.” He slides in behind her, his hands automatically going for her hair which falls in a mix of ringlets and waves down past her shoulders. He runs his fingers through it a few times, massaging at her scalp gently to help her relax. He knows it works because it almost always works, and her shoulders droop almost instantaneously. Her chin drops to her chest, baring the back of her neck for him.

Louis smiles and tucks her hair out of the way so he can press a kiss to her exposed skin. “Finish your toast,” he teases.

His fingers move to her neck when she complies, and he starts massaging there, moving up into her hairline a little before moving on to her shoulders.

By the time Louis makes it to her lower back, Harry has been reduced to the human equivalent of a puddle.

Louis eases her onto her side and spoons up behind her. “How do you feel?”

Harry’s response is a quiet, unintelligible noise.

“Sleep, baby girl.”

Louis stays home with Harry the next day. Her migraine is gone, but she’s still recovering. Nobody ever really talks about after a migraine is gone. The nausea lingers, as does the dizziness and general weakness. Like getting over the flu, Harry had once explained.

They cuddle on the couch, Harry swaddled in blankets with her head in Louis’ lap. Louis plays with her curls and rubs at her shoulders.

In the middle of watching Tangled, Harry rolls over onto her back and smiles up at him. Louis pokes at her dimple, and her smile deepens.

“I love you,” she says. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Louis presses a kiss to her lips, the barest of touches. “I love you more.”

Harry shakes her head ever so slightly, hair falling over Louis’ knee. “Nope,” she argues, popping the P.

He pokes her in the side, and she squirms. “Yes.”

She leans up on her elbows and presses another kiss to his lips. “I love you most.” He doesn’t respond, too caught up in the lingering kisses.

“You’re trying to distract me,” he says.

She sits up, crawling into his lap. “Maybe I just like kissing you.”

“Don’t see why it can’t be both.”

They kiss for long minutes. Harry bites at his bottom lip before licking inside. Louis runs his hands up her sides to cup her face.

“How are you feeling?” he asks when they separate to catch their breath.

“Perfect,” she says, leaning back in to kiss him.

He pulls away before she can connect their lips, frowning.

“Okay,” she amends, “not perfect, but better. Let me kiss you.”

They exchange kisses, soft and slow, for a few minutes before she lies back down. His hand goes to her hair again, playing with the curls more than massaging.

“I won by the way,” she says. He hums in question. “I love you the most,” she explains.

Louis rolls his eyes. “You cheated.”

She, predictably, elects to ignore that. They settle in to watch the rest of the movie.

“You were my new dream,” Harry quotes along with Flynn.

Louis smiles, overwhelmingly fond. He wants to stay right here, in this moment, forever. He presses a kiss to the side of her head. “And you were mine,” he whispers.

[sherrybaby14]

Fever

Summary:   You are sick.  Steve’s your boyfriend and wants to help your fever break.

Warnings:  Smut, flu-like-illness, I am going to label this Non Con (PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU)

Pairing:  Steve x Reader

A/N:  I have been sick for a week (not like I haven’t been bitching about it non stop) So this is super self indulgent.

Words: 2500

It started with a tickle in the back of your throat.  You tried to ignore it, but an hour later you found yourself coughing.  Maybe it was allergies.  Time ticked away at your desk, you started to get cold.  Too cold.  You touched your forehead.  The temperatures didn’t match.  

You were sick.  There was no more denying it.  Your boss and coworkers would understand, they weren’t the ones you were concerned about.

There was a reason illness was contagious.  It kept people away and away they should stay.  You winced thinking about the last time you were sick.  Steve was giddy to take care of you.  At first you thought it was sweet, counted yourself lucky your boyfriend’s enhancements included an immune system.  But you had been wrong.  So wrong.

With a shaky hand you pulled out your cellphone and typed a quick text:

I have to work late.  Sorry.  Can’t hang out tonight.  I’ll call you tomorrow.  

Before you could even put the thing away the typing bubble appeared.  

Why are you texting?  You know I like phone calls.  

You didn’t get a chance to type back before his name appeared on your screen.  You took a deep breath and let out a coughing fit.  Keep it together.  You planted a fake smile on your face and answered.

“Sorry baby.  We’re just swamped.”  You tapped at the keys on your computer.  “If my boss catches me on the phone he’s going to freak out.”

“What’s wrong?”  Steve’s voice was stern.  “Your boss never cares.  Is he giving you a hard time?  Do I need to come down there?”

“Steve we’ve talked about this.  You can’t always be my hero.  I can handle some stuff on my own.”  The tickle and urge to cough came back, you tried to bite it down.

“And we have talked about you quitting that dumb job and letting me take care of you.”  Steve’s words were biting.  “Really, you’re not even happy there.  You could write or paint or work on whatever…”

You tried to cover the phone, but the cough exploded right in the middle of Steve’s chase your passions speech.   You pressed your eyes shut and hoped he didn’t hear.   Once you calmed down you realized another spat was coming.

“We’ll talk about this tommorrow.  I have to go.  Bye. I love you.”  You hit end and then started coughing into your sleeve, letting it all out.  

“You look like shit.”  Your boss was in front of your desk.  “Go home.  Take tomorrow off too, the next day even.  Don’t come back until you’re at one hundred percent.”  

You glared at your boss with an open mouth and dizzy head.   Why did he have to be so understanding?  Why couldn’t he demand you back the next day?  

But he was right.  You nodded and grabbed your purse, shutting down your computer.

“Feel better.”  He waved as you left the office.  

The entire time all you could think was fuck, fuck fuck.  

~~

When you got to your apartment the fever and aches had set in.  The cough strangely enough had disappeared, or at least your other ailments hurt enough that you weren’t paying attention.

Maybe a train ride to your parents was worth it.  You could hide out there for the week.  Your mom could take care of you like a normal person.  Lots of sleep and binge watching.  Chugging seven-up and a random glass of Hawaiian Punch.  Even a hot toddy or two to help you sleep.

Yes.  Steve would never try anything around your parents.  It was a safe space for you to recover like a normal person.  That was the ticket.  

The idea was so promising you crawled into your bed thinking about it, a smile on your face.  The perfect solution, and you would be able to rest. Rest.  Maybe closing your eyes for a bit wouldn’t hurt.  You would need your strength for the train ride of course.  You pulled the comforter over yourself, promising you would close your eyes for five minutes tops.

~~

The bed dipped behind you.  You let out a groan and hugged the pillow tighter.  You were equal parts too hot and too cold.  It felt like your head wasn’t even part of your body.  

A hand touched your shoulder and you winced.

“Shhh.”  The comforter was flipped away.  

“Wha?”  You started to turn.  

“You fell asleep in your work clothes.”  Steve guided you into a sitting position.

“Please.”  You felt a sob coming. “I can’t.  Not like last time.”

“Shhh.”  Steve put your arms in the air and lifted off your shirt.  “None of that.  Hush.  Let me take care of you.”  

“Everything hurts.  Please.  I don’t know if I’m hot or I’m cold.”  Your lip quivered.  

“I know Baby.”  He put your arms down and then went for your pants, pushing you back into the mattress with his other hand.  “Don’t worry about lying to me right now.  We will deal with that when you feel better.  And I plan on making it my goal to nurse you back to health.”  

“Steve, not like last time.”  Your tears were so hot they burned your eyes.  “I can’t.”

“Hush.  Save your strength.”  He picked up your hips and pushed your pants down.  

A shoe hit the ground with a thud.

“You didn’t even take off your shoes?”  Steve shook his head.  “You really need my help.”  

You squinted your eyes shut, unsure if you wanted to help the tears fall or fight them off.  Fighting didn’t seem to be in your wheelhouse at the moment as Steve tossed your pants on the floor, leaving you in your bra and panties.  

“I need rest.”  Maybe logic would work, but your head was swimming so much it may have not made any sense to him.  “Just sleep.”  

“Oh sweetie.”  Steve’s hands went underneath you and he I clipped your bra.  “You have no clue what you need.  That’s obvious.  You’re so lucky I am here to take care of you.”

You clenched your thighs, not wanting the reaction your body was already producing.  

“No.” You tried to wiggle away as he slipped off your bra, but once the garment left Steve pinned your shoulder to the bed.  “I’m too sick.  Please.  I’m so cold.”  

“That’s the fever talking.”  Steve’s other hand slid down your body to your panties.  He hooked his fingers under them and dragged them off.  “Don’t worry.  We will break that nasty thing together.”  

“Everything hurts.”  You put your hands to his chest and realized he didn’t have a shirt on, was probably already naked and you let out a sob.  “I can’t.  You can’t.  Please, just be normal.”  

“Normal?”  Steve parted your thighs.  “If you weren’t so sick I would think you wanted a kinkier time tonight.  Lying to me?  Now insults?”  

He positioned himself on top of you.  You brought you hands to your face, equal parts mad at yourself for disappointing him and not stopping him.  

Steve’s lips met your stomach and you shivered.   He kept moving until he arrived at your pussy.  His tongue ran up your slit and you cringed at how wet you already were.  

The realization snapped you back to reality and you sat up, trying to shove his shoulder as the room span.

“NO!”  You slapped your thighs to his head.  “NOT NOW!”

Anger flashed in his blue eyes as he reached up and grabbed your wrist.  

“This is the best medicine.”  His voice carried a warning that matched his features.  “You’re lucky I can take care of you this way.  Now LAY DOWN!”

Your shoulders started to shake as you fell backwards.  Were you right? Was he right?  Everything was so fuzzy.  Your brain couldn’t even began to process before his mouth covered your entire sex.  

Your hands went to the bed and you started to fist the sheets, now bending your knees and lifting your feet from the bed to give him easier access.  Steve sucked down hard, pulling you into his mouth as his tongue slid inside you.  Fuck. You were already so wet.  This almost seemed unnecessary.  

This was wrong.  A chill ran over your fever addled brain and there was an ache in your thigh and back from the position.  Your feet hit the bed and you began to pant.  There had to be a way to stop this.  To stop him.

“I’m going to puke.”  You bit your lip.  

Steve sucked hard before his mouth vanished, leaving your clit pulsing and pussy empty.

“Lying again?”  He shifted to his knees.  “There are no signs of that sort of distress.  You need my help.  Stop fighting.”  

“I’m sorry.”  You turned your head in shame.  Then a wave of heat covered your body.  Why were you feeling guilty?  You said no!  He should respect that.  

The bed shifted to your left.  You looked up at Steve as he put a hand on your cheek cradling your face.  

“I’m giving you some leeway because of your sickness.”  He turned you to your side and wrapped an arm around your middle before placing a kiss on your temple.  “And I appreciate the apology.  There’s my girl.”  

He held you tight to his chest.  Spooning.  Maybe he heard you.  Maybe he really was just concerned about you wearing your work clothes.  You let out a sigh of relief as you snuggled back into him.  

Then his hand came forward and he lifted your leg onto his thigh.  You grabbed the pillow and dove your face into it, biting as you felt him line up.  Shaking your head from side to side in protest.  

“We need to break that fever.”  He began to slide into you, easier than you wanted to admit.  “Get you to work up a sweat and beat those germs away.”  

The position made you feel his cock make it’s descent.  Your fever rattled brain couldn’t focus on anything, but he felt so giant.  If the rest of your body wasn’t already sore this would have broken you.

“Please…stop.”  You spoke into the pillow, unsure if he even heard you.

“Oh baby.”  He kissed the top of your head.  “I know, it’s hard to take your medicine, but I promise we will break this fever and then you will feel so much better.”  

He bottomed out and you winced into the pillow, feeling all of him.  

One of Steve’s hands was on your hip and the other on your shoulder.  He began rocking you into him as he pulled out and slid back in.  

“You’re so hot.  We need to cool you off.”  He kept kissing you. “Let your body take what it needs.  Shut off that beautiful brain.  Give it a rest.”

Rest.  That was all you wanted.  Not this.  

“You take me so well.  See your body knows what it needs.”  His hand left your hip and snaked down to your clit.  “We’ll raise that temperature until it crashes.   I know just what you need.  Let me take care of you.”

You whined into the pillow and realized it sounded like a moan.  Was it a moan?

“There’s my good girl.”  Steve rubbed your bundle of nerves harder and pulled you tighter as he picked up the pace.  “Taking the treatment.  Doctor’s orders.”

The tears were flowing freely now, but you weren’t sure if you were rocking against him or letting him take control.  Either way you were starting to give up.  

Then you noticed another reaction: the tightening in your belly.  You leaned forward, hoping it would satiate it.

“That’s it sweetie.”  Steve moved even faster.  “The best cure there is.  Take it.  You always do so well.”  

You screamed into the pillow, not understanding how your orgasm was forming anymore than why you were now humping against him, desperate for it, no longer concerned with the aches in your body or fever in your head.  

He was right.  This was what you needed.  You sobbed, not even bothering to think about the reason behind your tears as you let everything go, fell forward into the pool.  

“I’m here to take care of you.”  He grunted.  “Let me take care of you.”  

“Ahh!”  You let go of the pillow as you cried, the waves of pleasure melding with the illness.

Your body shook as the chills, fever, aches, and ecstasy melted into one.  

No thoughts came to mind as you passed out.  Still feeling equally hot and cold and confused.

~~

When you came back to you were on your stomach, Steve’s warm body behind you, still pumping in and out.

“Why?”  You croaked out with a horse ness.  

“Shhh.”  His fingers were on your clit, playing it into life.  “We’re getting close to breaking. Just enjoy.”

Everything was so hot.  You wanted to buck him off of you, your legs shaking as you were covered in sweat.  But then you noticed the tingling in your pussy.  

A scream left your lips as you bit into the mattress.  Your body shaking as an orgasm ripped through you.  What number was it?  Did you know?  Did you care?

Exhausted wasn’t even in your vocabulary as you collapsed into the bed.  

“There we go.”  Steve pushed into you hard with a grunt.  “You broke.”  

Sweat seeped out of your pores as Steve’s cum coated your insides.  

The heat vanished from your form as you popped your eyes open and gasped.   The swimming of your head slipping away.  

Steve kissed the top of your head and rolled off of you.  You were spent, unable to move.  

His hand appeared in front of your face with some pills and a water.

“We have to keep you hydrated.”  He put them in your mouth and brought the water to your lips.

You took them down and let your head drop.  Sleepiness covered your body, but before you could slip away his hands were on your calves, massaging deep.  

“I’m going to work on these sore muscles.”  He pushed hard into your leg.  “Then we’ll get you a nice warm bath.  But don’t worry, I’m here for the long haul.  If that fever comes back, we’ll take care of it again.”

You moaned.  Hating it that you already felt better.  

-

[cagestark]

A Hole in the Head//3

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter  Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Read here on AO3.

-

Peter stares at his reflection, assessing the image. The sweater he wears is dove gray, hemp-fiber and wide knit, giving a glimpse of his lean figure beneath—he likes the way it feels when he moves his arms and the knit brushes over his nipples (which are still tender from the loving abuse Tony delivered to them yesterday). A darling navy tumbled-fabric jacket and chinos complete the outfit, giving him a sense of elegance while remaining casual. 

Usually he likes every item he wears to be on-brand, but Peter doesn’t own any Armani sunglasses. He needs the sunglasses, though. Today, he wants the extra security they give. He wants some control, wants his guard to not know where his gaze rests. So on slip the Salvatore Ferragamo sunglasses with the rose-gold frames, like armor. 

After Peter’s embarrassing display yesterday, he’d spent the remainder of his afternoon and evening in his bedroom. He’d dropped after the sex, but only a little, lying shaky in a steaming tub while Tony fed him strawberries and licked the juice from his raw lips. 

“Send him away, sir,” Peter had begged. “I don’t want a guard. I just want you.” 

Tony smiles in a way that’s sad and soft and that Peter hates. “You didn’t feel that way when you were asking him to join us.” 

“Do y’ think I’m a slut?” Peter asks. He doesn’t cry—but it’s a near fucking thing. Everything, inside him and out feels scratched raw. “Why am I still like this after what Beck did? What’s wrong with me?”

“Pete. Hey, kid, look at me. Look at me. Good boy. Don’t talk about yourself that way. Do you know what I’d do if anyone said that bullshit about you? I’d kill them, sweet thing. I’d gut them. I’d grind them into dust. Nobody talks about my boy like that, and that goes for you, too. You fearless fucking thing. God, you know it drives me crazy watching you lose your mind, no matter who it’s over. And I don’t think there’s a person in the world who could fault you for wanting Barnes. He’s art, isn’t he?”

Peter sits up, startled. Water splashes over the side of the tub and soaks Tony’s pants (the only thing he wears, tugged on hastily after their fucking) but he gives no notice. Pieces to a puzzle he didn’t know existed suddenly snap into place. “You like him too.”

“I like him as much as I can like anybody who isn’t you. I’d say it’s more lust than anything—some admiration too. I’ve seen him dismember a body in ten minutes flat, you know that? I don’t think he knows the meaning of the phrase weak stomach. He’s got my respect is what I mean.” 

“More of your respect than Beck had?” 

Tony sighs and lets one hand slip into the bathwater to take Peter’s pruning hand. “Short answer? Way more than Beck had. But Pete, it doesn’t matter anymore. Beck is deader than dead. Do we need to go and visit the hole I dumped him in to make sure? It’s been a while since we’ve visited. Maybe it would help you put it to rest.” 

“And what about you?” Peter asks. He reaches out with the damp fingers of his free hand and runs a wet thumb beneath Tony’s eyes where the skin is thin and bruised looking from nights spent in insomnia and in poor sleep. “Are you resting?” 

“I’m getting there,” Tony promises. “Barnes helps. We’re going to keep him, Pete. You’ve got to make peace with it.” 

They’d spooned and spent the night in their room. Peter had stirred only briefly to Tony pressing a kiss to his forehead and giving him his love before leaving for the day. Plans are being drawn up for a Stark Industries tower in Manhattan, and Tony is up to his eyes with contractors and city planners and architects, spending more time away from the mansion in general. Though he doesn’t say anything, the knowledge is unspoken that Barnes is outside the door, that he will be Peter’s shadow from now on. 

Peter is ready, though.

Every hair in place, he moves to the door and opens it. Barnes is there in the hallway. He has the room beside theirs to sleep in (and isn’t that fodder for Peter to consider when he’s jerking off in bed, thinking about thin walls and naked assassins tangled in the sheets), but from what Tony told him, Barnes doesn’t often sleep. The years he spent in Russia being trained in God-knows-what have changed him. It’s no wonder that most of the people in Tony’s employ speak of him like he’s a phantom. 

Without acknowledging the other man’s existence, Peter goes downstairs and makes himself breakfast: organic overnight oats and avocado toast. Barnes takes up residence in a stool at the island countertop, eyes on his phone. He looks like a bored receptionist. 

Maybe Peter should make things a little more interesting for him.

“I’m going to the mall,” Peter says off the top of his head. Because the best plans are the ones no one can see coming, including Peter himself. Barnes doesn’t flinch at the sudden words. His head turns slowly, eyes half-lidded as he stares at Peter blankly. Did they not have malls in Russia? Peter thinks with scathing glee. “This is me being nice and warning you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you asked me to?” 

“Why are you going to the mall?” 

“To hang out? To windowshop? To shop shop? I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“If you don’t have an objective, why do you want to go?” 

Had he really spent so little time around normal humans that he’s forgotten the inherent illogic of them? 

Something stirs in Peter’s gut, a strange mix of softness and exasperation. Like always, when he’s presented with two choices, Peter finds himself tempted by the worser one. He can’t help but put his hand to the flames; he loves being burned. “I just—oh my god. Look, I need to spend time outside of the mansion or I’ll lose my mind. I’m trying to leave in a safe way. Unless you’d like me to wait for when you’re taking a shit for me to climb out the window?” 

Barnes shrugs one shoulder and goes back to scrolling through his phone. 

Brown eyes narrow. If there’s one thing Peter does not like, it’s being ignored. It makes him see red, like blood is dripping down into his eyes. If you’re ignored, then you’re ignorable. There is nothing ignorable about Peter B. Parker. 

“Shouldn’t you get a car for me or something?” Peter snaps. “Call me a cab?” 

“I’m your guard, not your servant,” Barnes says, his voice rough from disuse. 

Bust. Peter thinks for a long moment, chewing on his toast. At last, a smile spreads across his face. To his benefit, Barnes responds with a look of appropriate trepidation and scepticism. “That’s fine,” Peter says brightly, pushing away his empty plate. “I’ll get us a ride.” 

-

Tony’s garage is fourteen-hundred square feet and houses six cars and two motorcycles. (His garage beneath ground houses much less legal and savory things, but Peter can’t open that with a press of the automated door opener) Barnes doesn’t look equipped to withstand the sunlight dressed in a black leather jacket that probably conceals far too many weapons and black fitted pants that appear too tight to conceal anything. Though judging by the organic bulge there, he’s certainly packing heat in a way that Peter would appreciate—

Peter opens the third garage door and Barnes squints into the darkness making out the shape of the Aston Martin One-77. It’s a beautiful car, almost supernatural with the allure it holds over most people, luring them in like fish to a pretty tackle. Barnes steps inside without being ushered by Peter. One hand reaches out to hover over the glossy surface as though he doesn’t dare touch it. 

“You like?” Peter asks smugly. 

“We’re not taking this,” Barnes says at length. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You don’t know the meaning of the word inconspicuous, do you, kid? You’re supposed to be laying low until Toomes is taken care of.” 

“Come on. It’s New York City. Conspicuous is the new inconspicuous.” 

Barnes doesn’t look impressed. “No.” 

Peter prepares to argue but just manages to stop himself, gritting his teeth. Pick your battles, Pete, he tells himself. It’s no use dying on this hill. Not when he’s sure that he’ll find a much more satisfying hill to die on later in the day. He takes a deep breath in, holds it to the point of pain, and then lets it all out silently. “Fine,” he says at last. “We’ll take the Cadillac. Happy?” 

“Thrilled,” says Barnes with all the joy of a pallbearer. 

“You’re driving,” Peter says, plucking the keys off of their designated hook. He tosses them and Barnes catches them easily, the bastard. He’s so unflappable. Peter has no idea what it will take to get a reaction from him, but he can hardly wait to find out. 

After adjusting all the mirrors and seats (Peter takes note of how far back the man has to adjust the seat to accommodate legs that are inches longer than Tony’s) Barnes sits stoic behind the wheel, unmoving. 

“Any day now.” 

“Put your seatbelt on.” 

“Are you kidding me? I’m not twelve.” 

“Put. On. Your. Seatbelt.” 

“Make. Me,” Peter mocks. It’s worth it when Barnes reaches out faster than Peter can blink, wrapping a gloved hand so tightly around the seatbelt strap that hangs beside Peter’s neck that the leather of his glove creaks. The scent of leather and oil in Peter’s nose nearly makes his eyes roll back before Barnes pulls his arm back towards the console, jabbing the seatbelt into place. 

“Safety first,” Barnes snarks. 

Turns out, it’s a good fucking idea: safety. 

While he drives them from the secluded suburban house into the city, he breaks every traffic law known to man. Maybe he’s doing it to frighten a reaction from Peter, but if so, he’s going about it in all the wrong ways. Peter is a total adrenaline junkie. The swoop in his stomach he feels at every descent over a hill, the way his body is pressed to one side or another when Barnes makes a turn at double the recommended speed—all it does is take his breath away, make his head spin. 

When they begin to enter the city, Barnes is forced to adhere to more conventional traffic laws, but Peter is already looking forward to the drive home. He glances at the older man’s profile, not bothering with subtlety. Sunlight lights up the edge of him, emphasizing the perfect slope of his nose and the defined jaw. 

“What?” Barnes asks. 

“What, what?” 

“You’re staring at me.” 

“You’re hot. Sue me.” 

Barnes lets a sarcastic breath come out his nose. Peter takes the lack of response as a chance to turn fully in his seat, the belt straining across his chest. “What?” Peter asks. “Has no one ever told you that before?” 

“Told me what?” 

“How hot you are.” 

“Is this a real question?” Barnes wonders, face expressionless, voice unwavering. 

“Very real. When’s the last time someone told you that you were hot?” 

“About thirty seconds ago.” 

“God, you’re no fun,” Peter says. “You’re like Steve Rogers Junior or something. Turn up here onto the one-way. I want to go to Brookfield Place.” 

No matter the time of day, everything is always busy in Manhattan. The mall is no exception, and Barnes has to go up three different floors before he finds a satisfactory spot in the parking garage. Going into the mall with the other man is a downright surreal feeling. Peter can’t help but wonder what they look like together: Barnes’s hulking, gothic mass and Peter’s petite, borderline-preppy figure. But if Peter thought that he would get the chance to interact with Barnes here, he was mistaken. The man cuts away from Peter and disappears among the sea of bodies, probably to do something like maintain a superior vantage point. Despite being amongst so many people, Peter feels the keen sting of loneliness. 

He hates when Tony spends so much time working. 

Determined to make the best of his time, he stops by Davidoff’s and buys the cigars Tony likes. There’s a lighter too that catches his eye: S.T. Dupont, brushed palladium. Peter doesn’t know much about lighters except that he loves the way they look in Tony’s hands, the way he opens them with sure, practiced fingers. 

Feeling a little cheerier (spending money has that effect on him, maybe a side effect from so many years of poverty in Queens, but Peter’s no therapist) he crosses over to the new Louis Vuitton store. Tony doesn’t step foot here—it’s ultra-gauche to him, and Peter finds a giddy little thrill in being surrounded by clothes he knows Tony would make a sour face at. He picks a few items that are the least offensive and steps into a private luxury fitting area. 

When he steps out of the fitting room to test his stride in the tight denim pants, Barnes is sitting in one of the chairs with his ankle resting on his knee. He looks out of place among the luxury and colors. 

“What are you doing here?” Peter wonders. 

“I can’t keep eyes on you when you’re in a fitting room,” Barnes says around a scowl. “Stick to the open areas.” 

“What’s the use of going to the mall if I can’t try on clothes?” 

“I’m not seeing the use of being here at all,” says Barnes, tucking one leg up to rest his ankle on his knee. Peter grits his teeth. It isn’t fucking fair that the guy is so attractive and repulsive all at the same time, that he has a body Peter wants to worship but an attitude that makes him want to take the elevator up to the top floor of the mall and jump off. Splat. 

Peter ducks into the fitting room without a word and tugs on his clothes in a cold fury. I’ll show him, he thinks, tucking his shirt into pants. Anyone who tries to fit a collar around Peter’s neck finds that he’s not afraid to pull on the leash, even if it’s a bad idea, even if it chokes himself. Barnes will see.

When he comes out dressed, Barnes lifts both eyebrows. 

“I’m going to go and get a shirt to match those pants.” 

“No,” Barnes says, slowly, like Peter is a child. “We’re leaving.”

“One more shirt, and I’ll go without a fuss.”

Barnes weighs his options, gray eyes flickering from side to side while he thinks. At last, he says, “Be quick, kid. Or else.” 

As soon as Peter is free of the fitting room, he turns towards the doors of the store and begins to walk briskly. Once he’s free of the store itself, he lets himself jog to the escalator. He goes up to the top floor to throw Barnes off in case he’s already looking, ducking into the stairwell and then sprinting down them to the ground floor, narrowly avoiding bumping into a man counting his change at the vending machine. 

The feeling inside him is like euphoria. It’s the way he felt in the car with Barnes behind the wheel taking turns at ninety miles per hour. He imagines that he can already hear the pounding of boots behind him, but when he turns around, there is no one there. Barnes is probably just realizing that Peter made a run for it, and when he catches the younger man (when, Peter notes distantly, even in his mind he knows now that he will never be able to escape the man, he is always the rabbit running just out of reach of the dog’s jaws) the punishment—well Peter can hardly imagine what he’s in for. 

Peter comes out of the mall and into the sunlight. He turns away from the parking garage and begins to stroll down the street, hoping to god no civilians passing by take note of his half-hard cock. Heart pounding, Peter glances back over his shoulder, looking for a figure dressed in black and towering over the others, but there is no sign of the assassin—

Until a hand grips his wrist and pulls him into an alleyway. 

The breath goes from Peter’s lungs and for a moment he feels true fear. He goes for his strap but the figure knocks him off balance, urging him further into the darkness and away from any prying eyes who might glance down the alley. A body presses him into the brick wall of the building, skewing his sunglasses. 

The hand that rests palm flat on the bricks beside Peter’s face is gloved in black leather.  

“You think this is fucking funny?” Barnes whispers hotly into Peter’s ear. 

“Maybe not funny, but I’m having a good ti—ow, fuck, watch it!” Barnes grabs the sunglasses and crushes them in his hand, glass littering the ground. “You asshole! Those were four hundred dollars!” 

The pressure against his back increases until he struggles to take in a breath. Gasping for air, Peter grabs at the wrist beside his face, struggling to make known his urgency. All at once, Barnes turns him around so they face each other, the back of Peter’s head thudding against the brick wall. He grits his teeth against the pain and goes to knee the taller man in the balls. But it’s a move Barnes has been expecting, kicking Peter’s legs apart and planting himself between his thighs. 

The position is more than intimate. There’s no way Barnes can’t feel Peter’s erection, pinning his pelvis to the wall the way he is. Their chests brush with every breath, and one of those strong, leather clad forearms presses against Peter’s throat, a threat that has his blood singing. 

“Do you want to die?” Barnes asks him through his teeth. “Because this is how it happens. By not listening to me. By running from me. Tony told me you were smart, but all I see is a little boy playing grown-up games. It’ll break your daddy’s heart when Toomes gets his hands on you, and who do you think he’s going to blame? His brainless little baby? Or me?”

It’s a good thing Barnes’s arm cuts off Peter’s ability to speak, because at least that way he can blame it on anything but the shame he feels, the embarrassment that ties his tongue. He struggles and writhes more out of instinct than real hope of escape, and during one undulation, his stomach brushes against a distinct hardness. 

Peter freezes, eyes wide. Barnes’s eyes expand fractionally before narrowing even more, his jaw working as he grits his teeth. Arching more, Peter makes contact again. Barnes pulls him away from the wall for just an instant before jerking him back in admonishment. The rough bricks catch his hair and make his head ache, but it’s secondary. It’s all secondary. 

Because Barnes is hard. 

Peter begins to laugh. Even when the forearm pressed against his throat presses forward maliciously until no more noise can slip past his lips, Peter can’t stop shaking. Head spinning, Barnes gives him space to breathe before he can slip into unconsciousness and Peter gasps for air only to give it up again in laughter. 

Winning is so fucking sweet.

“I finally got a reaction out of you,” Peter rasps, eyes wet from the hilarity of it all. He bends at the waist, gagging, working to catch his breath. The whole time, Barnes watches with an expression that Peter can’t deduce, head tilted as if Peter is some microbe beneath a microscope that needs further studying. 

“Oh, right,” Barnes says at last, mouth curling upwards cruelly. He takes a step back to lean against the opposite brick wall, lounging there in a way that looks far too comfortable. Doubt sprouts in Peter’s mind and sours the joy of his victory. Whatever is brewing behind Barnes’s empty, smug eyes isn’t something Peter’s going to like. “I forgot. About your self-esteem issues.” 

That sucks the last bit of laughter from Peter’s lungs. “Excuse me?” 

Barnes crosses his arms. At length, he says, “Yeah. You know. How you correlate your own self-worth with the number of people who are sexually attracted to you. How if nobody has a hard-on looking at you, then you feel like shit. Because you are shit. That what you needed, kid? Needed to feel like more than just a poor orphan from Queens who sucks a powerful man’s dick to get affection and protection?” 

Peter’s blood boils. He feels himself shaking, fists clenched tight at his sides. For a moment, he thinks about drawing his concealed carry and pointing the barrel right at Barnes’s pretty fucking face just to see the smug expression drain from it. “You’re just talking out your ass right now because you have a hard-on for me. Must suck being human like the rest of us!” 

They’re both hitting new lows, finding cracks in the armor of the other person, because Barnes’s face twists into fury and he pushes away from the wall until they are nearly chest to chest again (and the size difference, Jesus, Peter has to look up at the guy, and that doesn’t even speak to how broad the other man is, bulky where Peter is lithe and willowy). Through his teeth, Barnes wonders: “What do you want from me? Jesus, if I knew you’d be such a fucking brat, I never would have taken this goddamn job!”

Peter pokes a finger into that broad, hard chest. “Right now? I want you to admit that you want to fuck me!” 

Barnes grabs him by the shoulder and shoves him back into the wall, pulling Peter upwards so that when he presses their bodies together, their cocks meet. Both of them are still hard. “Fine,” he snarls, breath wafting over Peter’s face. “I want to snap you in half from fucking you so hard. I jerked off last night wondering which I’d like more, to cum in your ass or all over that smart fucking mouth. Listening to you and your daddy fucking made me harder than I’ve been in my entire life. Is that what you want? Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Peter chokes, eyes rolling. His hips thrust even though there is no space, even though the man is front of him is as yielding as the brick wall behind him, the pressure on his cock making stars burst in the back of his brain. “Yes, I want it all, I want it all.” 

Barnes drops him. The loss of contact has Peter’s head rushing. The man leans forward until their faces are inches apart, close enough to kiss if they so wanted, and for a moment Peter’s eyes even flutter only to be dropped back into reality when Barnes speaks: “But it’s never going to happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. This is my job. The last guy who fucked you on the job got himself killed, and I’m not looking to follow in his footsteps.” 

Peter is left gaping as Barnes steps back to put space between them again. It had all seemed so close, but now it had slipped through his fingers like sand in a clenched fist, like water down a drain. His mouth opens but no words come out. No words. 

“Get over it, Peter,” Barnes says solemnly. “And quit trying to get the both of us killed.”

[wondersofdreaming]

Lost Boys - THREE

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 2.389

Warnings: Family reunion. Memory overload. Realization. Hurt. Self-loading.

Author’s note: Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @katerka88​ @littlefreya​ @hell1129-blog​ @radaofrivia​ @gothwhopper​ @fcgrizi​ @vania-marie​ @mary-ann84​ @sciapod​ @mitzwinchester​ @omgkatinka​ @mis-lil-red (your tag isn’t working 😢)

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated. Seriously, please tell me all the good and bad stuff, else I won’t be able to develop into a better writer if I don’t know what I’m doing right and wrong. I swear I don’t bite.

[ONE] [TWO] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

Lucas was sent home to Georgia to heal. Joshua, the Syverson’s biological son, flew across the Atlantic Ocean to meet and bring him home. Silvia Syverson was a stern woman, and when she wanted her younger son to pick up her adoptive older son that is what she would get. His brother had been curious about what had happened, as a medical practitioner he was also compassionate and wanted to help in any way he could.

A 12-hour plane ride later Lucas was back in his childhood home, lying in his old bedroom filled with rock music posters. On his dresser sat an old boombox and next to it, a towering stack of CDs.

Silvia had demanded he got some rest. There he was. Staring at the ceiling like a good little boy. Fuck. He was a captain in the US Army. He had seen death and destruction enough to last two lifetimes, and he was still a little momma’s boy.

After dinner that evening, Lucas asked his mother for the things he had with him when he was sent to be fostered by them.

“Are you sure you want to rip up in the past?” Silvia asked him, her brows pushed together in concern.

“Ma, I need to know.”

She sighed and motioned for him to follow her. Joshua was right behind the two. All three entered the basement and towards the wall filled with stacks of boxes.

“One of them should be labelled Trevor Thompson.”

Lucas started lifting his uninjured arm to one of the top boxes, but a steely look from his mother made him back away and sit on the stairs.

“Joshua, come help your old mother,” Silvia commanded her younger son, who was snickering behind his older brother.

“There’s nothing old about you, ma,” the younger man said and kissed his mother’s cheek. He started taking box after box down. Of course, the box that belonged to Trevor Thompson was at the bottom of the pile.

It contained Trevor’s birth certificate, fostering papers, adoption papers, name changing papers, and a black photo album. Lucas opened it with one hand and a pair of blue eyes were staring right back at him. The same colour as his own haunted eyes. Beneath the photo was written ‘Jennifer Thompson’. The next page shocked him even more. ‘William Thompson’, Lucas was the spitting image of him, besides the eye colour. In his dream, his father was always too far away to get a close enough look besides some minuscule features.

“Wow, Luc, you look just like your dad,” Joshua exclaimed, “You even have the same freckle on your lower lip.”

“Josh, that is creepy as hell that you notice stuff like that,” Lucas looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m a doctor, I would be a terrible one, if I didn’t notice the little things. Now turn the page and let’s see those brothers of yours.”

Lucas sighed, preparing himself mentally to take a look at his biological brothers. Brothers he couldn’t remember until a week ago. They had shared a womb, so why the hell couldn’t he remember them?

Silvia noticed the change in her son. She put a hand on his good shoulder and squeezed. He looked into her green eyes that were giving him the confidence to face the past.

“Lucas, you were five years old. Don’t beat yourself up for not remembering.”

“I just have this feeling that we were so very close as children. I feel bad for forgetting them. They are my brothers. I’d do anything for my brothers, those in the army and even Josh.”

“Gee thanks, bro.”

Lucas chuckled and turned the page. Three identical young boys were smiling back at him. One of them had a front tooth missing. Probably himself. He couldn’t even see the difference between who was who in that picture. Only the names under each boy answered his question.

Trevor, Oliver and James.

“Aw, Luc, look at how innocent you looked once. Now you’re a grumpy old man with a beard,” Joshua was teasing him. Lucas ignored his little brother and looked at the next page, which was of the entire family sitting on a porch swing all together, laughing and smiling. The boys were smaller, maybe three years old at the time.

A sense of sadness washed over him. The flush of some childhood memories overwhelmed him. Lucas closed the book. He handed it back to his mother and walked away from the basement. Both mother and brother calling his name, he didn’t listen, just kept walking. He needed to be alone, to collect his thoughts. His mind was flooding with a million memories, his heart was racing, his legs just kept walking, until he was standing at the end of the driveway. He went into a sprint and ran as fast as he could to the beach, or as fast as his broken arm would allow him.

The beach was almost void of people. Only a few were out swimming or walking along the edge of the water. Lucas sat down and just let his mind wander. Letting all the memories in. His brain was throbbing, the feeling was like it wanted to escape from the cramped space of his skull.

Memories of smiles, laughter, love. He remembered the devastating feeling when two policemen came to the front door and told their neighbour, who had been watching over them, that their parents had died. A social worker, Marcy Kane, had taken care of the boys until they were divided into new families. He remembered a lot of yelling and screaming.

“They are only young boys. You shouldn’t separate them. They need each other!” Marcy roared at her boss.

“Nobody wants to take in three boys at the same time, so either you calm down, or you are off the case.”

The next he remembered was Marcy crouching in front of the three boys. They hadn’t said a word since the news of their parents’ death. They had vowed not to talk or be happy again without their parents.

“James, Oliver, Trevor. I’m sorry.” She started and hugged each boy in her warm embrace. It nearly made Trevor cry. As the eldest of three, he needed to stay strong for his brothers.

The families came and picked up each of the boys, separating them, forcing them apart from each other. Marcy put the medallion of Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton over each boy before they departed. None of the boys cried. They had made another pact, to find each other when they were old enough. A vow all three of them forgot as they grew up.

Now it was time to make that vow come true.

Lucas stood and brushed the sand from his well-shaped ass. With a clear mind, he walked home to get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Joshua drove him to city hall. They released his papers but there was nothing hinting where his brothers had ended up.

Back home he called an old army buddy, Aiden, who had started a private detective company when he was released from the military. It took Aiden a few hours before he called back.

“Aiden, any news?” Lucas asked the minute he answered the phone.

“Yeah. I have some good and a whole mountain of bad, which one do you want first?” His friend told him.

“Give me the good ones. You found my brother? James?”

“I did. He was sent to live with a family in Minnesota. He’s still there. He changed his name to Walter Matthew Marshall, and guess what, he’s a police detective. He used to be S.W.A.T. and, dude, he has a daughter.”

“I have a niece?”

“Yes, congratulations Uncle Lucas. Are you ready for the bad news?”

“Hit me.”

“The brother, Oliver, you met in Iraq, he was moved to Virginia and changed his name to August Christopher Walker.”

“August? What the fuck kind of name is that? August is a month, not a name.”

“That’s not the worst part. Lucas, he was in the CIA.”

“He was definitely well trained. What else?”

“He rebelled.”

“What do you mean ‘rebelled’? What did he do?”

“Luc… your brother is wanted for planning to set off nuclear bombs around the world.”

Lucas nearly dropped his phone. His parents and brother were giving him worried looks. He went to sit down on the sofa before telling Aiden to continue.

“They thought he had died somewhere north of India, but they haven’t found his body. And there’s a warrant for his head from all the intelligence agencies around the globe.”

“How much?”

Nothing. Aiden kept his mouth shut.

“Aiden, tell me. How much?”

A heavy sigh could be heard through the speaker.

“A hundred.”

“A hundred what? Just a hundred? A hundred thousand? Spit it out, man.”

“A hundred million dollars. All the agencies want him gone, Lucas.”

“What does the warrant say? Dead or alive?”

“Both.”

Lucas groaned in frustration. What the hell had his brother done? Why had he done it? What happened to him?

“Thanks, Aiden. I really appreciate your help.”

“No problem. Call me if you need any help. Any kind of help.”

“Will do.”

Lucas pushed the end button and threw the phone on the coffee table. His mother came to sit next to him. She touched his left bicep, trying to comfort him without saying anything.

“What now?” Joshua asked and sat on his other side.

“I don’t know.”

“Son, look at me,” his adoptive father, John Syverson, was a rather large man himself. Don’t be fooled by his grey hair and grey beard, he might look like a nice old man, but he could kill people with a spoon. Lucas heard the authoritative tone in his general father’s voice and looked into the compassionate green eyes. “What are my rules?”

“Always be kind.” Joshua and Lucas said at the same time.

“Treat your woman like a queen,” Silvia chimed in.

“Don’t judge people based on the first look,” Joshua continued.

“Don’t do things to make other people happy, do them to make yourself happy,” Silvia smiled.

“And never leave a brother behind,” Lucas’ voice was firm. His mind was made up.

“I’ll book you a ticket to Minnesota.”

“Who’s going to Minnesota?” A soft female voice said from the hall. Four pair of eyes looked at the curvaceous woman entering the living room. The Syverson’s only daughter, who had been born a year after they had adopted Lucas. Her long curly brown hair was put up in a bun, her glasses sitting at the edge of her pretty little nose. She had her father’s deep green eyes.

“Melanie, darling, we didn’t know you were coming home,” Silvia exclaimed and went to hug her daughter.

“I heard through the grapevine that the captain was home, so I had to come home and say hello,” Melanie smirked at Lucas and squeezed his left side, avoiding his casted arm.

“Good to see you, shorty. How’s the University treating you?” Lucas asked and kissed his sister’s forehead. She went to get kisses and hugs from her other brother and father, before plumbing down with a huge sigh on the armchair.

“I love my job. I love that I can do research all day long, I never get tired of that, but lately…” She started.

“Lately, what?” Joshua gave his sister a quizzical look.

“Lately it’s been a bit boring. It’s too much of the same. I know it is what I signed up for when I accepted the job, but I was also promised more fieldwork, where I would be able to travel and study the texts, ceramics, and people up close, not from a computer where someone is streaming. So, I’m taking a sabbatical, one year where I figure out, if I still want to do desk research or if I need to find a job that is better suited for what I want and need.”

Silvia and John gave each other a look that only a married couple could give. They were communicating non-verbally. Lucas looked at his parents.

“No,” he said sternly. “Not in a million years.”

“You need someone to help you,” Silvia told her son in the same hard voice.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You’ll need help with the cast.”

“Josh can help me.”

“Sorry, bro. I have to be back at work on Monday.”

Lucas sighed and turned to the young woman, who had put her hair down. Her long curl cascading down her shoulder.

“Melanie, will you come with me to Minnesota?” He said through gritted teeth.

“Anything for you, Luc. What’s going on in Minnesota?”

“We’re going to find my brothers.”

Lucas had filled his sister in on his history. She had taken one look at all his documents and said she would figure out why in the world they had to be separated into three different states. They dropped their belongings off at a nearby hotel, walking to the precinct where Walter Marshall worked.

The secretary at the front desk didn’t even look up when they entered and just told them where to go.

“Hey Marshall, when did you break your arm? And I thought you said something ‘bout never wanting to cut your hair.” A young man, fresh from the police academy by the looks of it, was yelling from the other side of the room. He walked over and gave Melanie an appreciative look over. Lucas clenched his left hand into a fist; it wasn’t his dominant hand, but he could still break the little fucker’s nose.

“Hi, we’re looking for Walter Marshall, could you direct us to his office?” Melanie asked as she blinked a few times. Lucas smiled; he knew the look in her eyes. The charm-glare as he called it. That look that had gotten her out of trouble countless times.

“Well, miss, he’s right here,” he motioned at Lucas.

“Cade, get back to work or I’ll wring your neck,” a deep grumpy voice said behind them. Lucas turned around to look into another mirror version of himself. Walter Marshall was standing with his leg spread, his arms crossed over his broad chest, wearing a black jumper. His eyes widened as he looked at Lucas. “My office, now.”

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 89

Warnings: none

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

“Can you feel this?”  Esme asks, as she lightly drags her fingernails down Tyler’s face. Starting just below the stitches under his eye and then stopping at the corner of his mouth

In the past forty eight hours -and following a lengthy and heated debate pitting her and Julie against the head of anesthesiology-, they’ve significantly lowered the amount of sedation being pushed through the central line.  Upping the pain meds, but slowly easing the heavier drug out of his system. In twenty four they’ll cut the sedation all together; stopping it in the middle of the night while he’s asleep and then allowing both his body and brain to walk naturally.  It will be hit or miss; he’ll either react calmly to full consciousness or wake to overwhelming panic and fear over his surroundings and the state of his body. And while he’s nowhere in the clear when it comes to even a partial  recovery, it’s a remarkable beginning; his strength and overall health and physical condition allowing an earlier than expected start to the long and arduous healing process.

“I can feel it.”

His wakeful moments are coming more often now, yet still relatively short in duration. The pain medication and those to keep nausea at bay make him groggy and often disoriented; the quick return to exhaustion his weakened body’s response to fighting the injuries and the pain caused by them.

“A hundred percent or…?”

“A hundred percent.”

She gives a pleased smile then presses a kiss to his temple. “Good! The plastic surgeon was a bit worried; it’s deep enough that it could have messed up some of the nerves. But if you can feel it…”

“I can feel it,” he assures her. “I wouldn't lie.”

“What about this?” She scrapes her nails across the top of his eyebrow, followed by higher up onto his forehead. “And this?”

“The first one, not so good. Second one is okay.”

“Not so good as in you can’t feel it all or…?”

“It feels weird. I don’t know; kinda fuzzy. It didn’t scratch but it didn’t tickle either. Just feels...fuzzy.”

“Might take a little longer than the other spots. I’m sure it’s nothing. You want something to eat? Are you hungry?”

He glances over at the tray on the bedside table. Disgust registering on his face  at the sight of the cup of extremely weak tea, a styrofoam bowl of soup, and a container of red gelatin.  “Not for that. That’s not food.”

“It’s the only food you’re allowed right now. Nothing solid. I don’t make the rules, honey. I just follow them and enforce them. You should eat a little bit; get your tummy used to food again.”

He grins. “My tummy?”

“Listen, I’m used to talking to little kids about this sort of thing. I can’t turn the mommy side of me off.”

“You’re a good mommy. A really good mommy.”

“I try.  You really should eat. Just a little bit. The soup doesn’t look too bad. You want to try that?”

“It looks and smells like shit. Probably tastes like it too.”

She moves to the bedside table and pops the lid of the soup; using a plastic spoon to stir and poke at the mushy, pale green concoction before placing some in her mouth.   “It’s surprisingly not bad. There’s actual taste to it.   I think it’s a mixture of cream of broccoli and cauliflower.”

“I don’t know if I can take your word for it. About whether it’s good or not. I’ve been living with your cooking for almost seven years.”

“And you’re alive, aren’t you? You’re a big boy; you’re not wasting away. So it can’t be THAT bad. Hang on for a second; don't move. Don’t even make a different face. “ She fishes her phone from the pocket of her hoodie; flipping open the front cover of the case and then quickly snapping a picture of him. “Thank you, husband. Now I have proof.”

“Of what? The huge fucking mess I am? How I need my wife to babysit me?”

“Don’t be like that.  I am not babysitting you, I’m taking care of you. And in case you haven’t noticed, you need a bit of help right now.”

“A bit? I’ve got a tube in my dick so I can take a piss, and I’m eating baby food. Which I can’t even feed to myself. What’s next? You’re going to have to wipe my ass for me?”

“If I have to, I will. In a heartbeat. And you know why? Because I love you, you insufferable bastard. And you would do it for me; if the situation was reversed. You would, right? Take care of me like that?”

“OF course I would. You’re my girl. My  wife.”

“And you’re my husband. It’s what people who love each other do. Take care of one another.”

“But I’m the man. The man is supposed to…”

“Shhh…” she lays a palm over his mouth. “...none of that toxic masculinity shit. Here, have some soup.”  She removes her hand from his face and holds the spoon to his lips; the other hand cupped under his chin to catch any spills.

“That’s not soup. That’s baby food.”

“Which kept your first four children alive and helped them grow, right?”

“But I’m not a kid.”

“No. You’re not. But this is all you get right now and you need to at least eat a little bit. A few spoonfuls. It would make ME feel better; if you ate something. Happy wife, happy life. Eat the fucking soup.”

“I don’t remember you using the F word when you were feeding our babies that kind of shit.”

“I was thinking the F word. A lot. Especially when TJ used to blow raspberries when he had strained peas or green beans in his mouth. Don’t make me shove this food down your throat, Tyler James.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I could always get one of the personal support workers do it.”

He frowns. “No.”  It’s one of the things he hates the most; the thought of a complete stranger helping him with basic needs.

“Eat the goddamn soup. Please.”

He sighs heavily, reluctantly opening his mouth and then quickly shutting it again.

“Tyler…”

“Esme…”

“What is your issue with the soup?”

“Why can’t I do this for myself again?”  The confusion and the forgetfulness are courtesy of the amount of medication -sedation wise- that had been pumped into his system and still continues -albeit minimally- to be administered. Once he’s fully weaned off, those issues SHOULD disappear within a couple of days.

“Because you’re not supposed to use your right arm at all and your hands shake too much. From withdrawal.”

He accepts the explanation, and the first spoonful of food. “Why can’t I use my arm?”

“You have a torn rotator cuff and a shredded labrum and a lot of scar tissue pressing on some nerves. That’s why you’re getting those pins and needles in your hand,” she explains, and gives him another helping of soup.

“Why didn’t they just fix it?”

“I didn’t want them putting you through too much once.”   Her tone never changes, nor do her eyes or the expression on her face. Always patient. Gentle. Loving.   “It’ll get fixed when you get home. When we get you into the hospital there.”

“When’s that?”

“I don’t know yet. Couple weeks, probably. Maybe sooner if you  keep doing as well as you are.  And if you keep eating your soup. Not too bad, right?”

“Tastes like shit.”

Sorry, I don’t have access to vegemite. This the one and only time I’d actually suck it up make you a vegemite sandwich AND feed it to you. And by the way, the picture I took? It’s my evidence.”

“Of what?”

“That you pout.”

“I don’t pout. That wasn’t a pout. That was  a frown.”

“It was a pout. You want more? Or do you want to try the jello?”

“I’ll try it. It’s not baby food, at least.”

“Probably not real jello, either.  And don’t be grumpy. I don't care how adorable it is when you are.”

“What did I tell you about the A word?”

“You’re adorable and you’ll never convince me otherwise.”  She places the half eaten bowl of  soup to the tray, licking the spoon clean as she returns with the gelatin.

“Don’t do that,” he teases. “I don’t want your cooties.”

“I think we’ve shared way more than cooties in the past seven years. You seem to forget I’ve had your dick in my mouth. On multiple occasions.”

“Oh trust me, I could never forget THAT. What flavour is it? What does it taste like?”

“Depends what you eat during the day.  Sometimes it’s salty, sometimes it’s sweet, sometimes there’s no flavour.”

“ Not THAT. The jello.”

“I think it’s supposed to be cherry.”

“Supposed to be?”

“Shut up and try it.”

“You’re bossy. Like your daughter.”

“You like it.”

“Depends on the circumstance.  You’re beautiful, by the way.”

“I look like shit. But thank you,” she pecks his lips.

“Never. You never look like shit.”

“All the ass kissing in the world won’t save you from trying the jello,” she chides.

Neither of them speak for several minutes, and when the cup of gelatin is finished, she playfully -and affectionately- ruffles his hair and places a kiss on his forehead.

“You’re a good patient. My all time favourite. Even when you’re grumpy.”

“I don’t mean to be grumpy. Not with you.”

“I know. You have any pain?”

“A little.”

“Back?”

Tyler nods.

“It’s the pressure on the wound. Lean forward a little bit.”  She places a forearm against his chest for support, then moves one of the pillows further down the bed; wedging it between him and the mattress and then helping him lay back. “Better?”

“A little. You’re good at this. This nurse stuff.”

“You and the kids are the only ones I’d be able to do this with. Strangers? No thanks. Feel a little better?”  She uses two fingertips to gently clear any leftover food from his lips. “Tummy okay?”

“Feels okay,” he confirms, then scowls. “Why can’t I feel my legs?”

“Nerve blocks,” she gently reminds him. “To help with the pain. You had three pretty serious surgeries done all at once. It was the best option. I didn’t want you to be in agony and I didn’t want you to be able to move and maybe hurt yourself.”

“You told them to do it?”

“I had two options. Nerve blocks, and a tube they’d put right into your spine that they could put medication through. I chose the nerve blocks.”

“Like an epidural? The other option?”

“Kind of . And seeing as you almost fainted when they gave it to me while I was in labour with Millie, I decided to spare you.”

“Good call, baby.”

“Don’t worry, I got you. Always. You feeling alright?”

“A little tired.”

“This is the longest you’ve been up. And the chattiest. I’m shocked.”

“Maybe I just like your company.”

“Well I like yours, so…” she softly kisses him.

“Will I be able to feel them again? My legs?”

“They’re going to stop with the blocks while you’re sleeping tonight.  It’ll take a couple days; to get the feeling back.”

“Are you sure? That it’ll come back?”

“I’m sure, baby.  This is only temporary. Just give it a couple days, okay? You trust me, right?”

“With my life.  And I think it says a lot that I just let you feed me baby food. And what’s up with this stupid fucking thing?”  He nods down at the metal ‘cage’ around his thigh.  

“It’s helping the femur heal. It was a bad break. A VERY bad break.  It was the best option to fix it.” She’s explained it all -the surgeries, the loss of feeling in his legs, the apparatus on the right one- at least a dozen times in the past twenty four hours. But she’s always the same; calm and gentle. But she hates how it makes her feel. Not having to answer the same questions over and over again, but at how confused he gets and in turn, how frustrated he becomes.  And how he sometimes looks and sounds so sad and scared. Like a lost, hurting little boy.

“How long do I have to have it on for?”

“A while.”

“How long’s a while?”

“Three or four months.”

“What the fuck? Are you serious? Why so long?”

“Because your leg needs to heal. Properly. This was the best way to do it. I would have picked another way...an easier way…if they’d given me another option.”

“I’m not mad at you. Please don’t think I’m mad at you. I’m not.”

“I know you’re not.”

“I’m a fucking asshole.”

“No. You’re not. You’re scared and you’re confused. It’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up, Tyler. This is a fucked up situation.”

“I'm not scared. I’m pissed. At this whole mess. At everything that happened. And the fact that sometimes, I don’t even remember what DID happen. And I’m pissed at...at…” he frowns, unable to come up with the name.

“Nathan.”

“Yeah, him. I’m pissed at him. I swear; I am going to fucking hunt him down and kill him when I get out of here.”

“He’s already dead,” Esme gently reminds him, then puts down the railing on the left side of the bed and takes a seat beside him.  “You don’t have to worry about him; he was taken care of.”

“You sure?”

“One hundred percent sure. Calm down, okay? Don’t get worked up. Especially over him. Why don’t you close your eyes and try and rest? You’ve been up for a long time.”

“I don’t want to rest. I’m tired of resting. It’ll rest when I fucking want to.”

“Don’t you get pissy with me, young man. Or I’ll never give you a sponge bath.”

“I can’t exactly enjoy your version of sponge baths with a tube in my dick. And I’m sorry. For getting pissy. I love you.”

“I know you do. And I love you. Even when you are pissy and grumpy.   You’ll be getting rid of this soon too,” she lays a finger against the port of the central line.  “They’re going to switch you over to a regular IV tonight. So you have to promise me that you won’t rip it out. You have a real uncanny ability of tearing your IVs out.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

“Don’t make me get them to put no-no’s on your arms. Remember when TJ split his head open?��

“The time he fell off the back deck in Telluride?  Or right after we moved back to Australia and he announced he was Superman and he could fly and he launched himself over the second floor banister?”

“The Superman incident.”

“Yeah, I definitely remember that. I was home alone with him. All of them. And he did that stupid shit.”

“They had put the no-no’s on him so he wouldn’t pick at the stitches. He was so pissed! He is a TRUE junior. Not just in name, either. He is so much like you, baby. A mini you.”

“I miss him. I miss all of them.”

“I know you do. And you’ll see them soon. When you get sent to the hospital back home.”

“That’s not soon enough.”

“No. It’s not. But I knew you wouldn’t want them here or staying in Mumbai. That’s why I sent them home.  It wasn’t to hurt you. Or punish you. You know that, right?”

“I know it wasn’t.  I know it’s what was best for them. I just miss them. And I guess I don’t really want them seeing me this bad.”

“You actually look really good considering. And you’ll get the stitches out in three days. Are they getting itchy?”

He nods.

“You’re going to be so sexy; with your new scars.”

“You have a very weird definition of sexy.”

“You’re my definition of sexy. I don’t care how many scars you have. Would it bother you? If it was me all beat up?”

“Nope. ‘Cause you’d still be the most beautiful woman in the world to me.”

“And that’s how I feel about you. To me you’re the most beautiful man in the world.”

“Did you just really drop the B word?”

“You’re beautiful and I don’t care what you say. Fight me.”

“You’d be able to kick my ass right now. Can I get rain check?”

She sighs dramatically. “I suppose.”

“Do they know? The kids? Do they know what happened?”

“They know the basics. I didn’t give them too many details. They know daddy got hurt and that he needs to stay here until the doctors say it’s okay to send him to a hospital closer to home. Maybe when you’re fully off the sedation and you’re up to it, you can video chat with them. They would love that. And I know you would too.”

“I can do that. Are they okay? With what you told them?”

“They’re sad. A little scared. But they’ve got a lot of people around them that will reassure them that you’re going to be okay. And they’re back at school and doing pretty good. They have a lot of crafts to show you. And the principal said there’s a special school. A private one; for kids like Tanner.  Gifted kids. Because he’s so smart and he’s not being challenged where he is and he deserves better than that. And we can more than afford it.”

“Do whatever you think is best for him. You know what that is. I trust you to make the right decision.”

“Both of their classes made you huge get well cards; they’ll show when you video chat with them. And they have so much to tell you.”

“I bet they do. And I can’t wait to see all of it. I miss it; that kind of stuff. I miss life in general. OUR life.”

“We’ll get back to it soon. We’ve got a lot of years ahead of us. Together.”

“Yeah…” Tyler smiles. “...we do.”

She leans down to kiss him. “Your daughter is super pissed. At me. For lying to her at first. She won’t talk to me.”

“She’ll get over it. You’re her mom. She loves you. You did what you thought was the best for her. And it was. It WAS the best thing for her.”

Esme nods in agreement, then closes her eyes and rests her head back against his chest. It’s incredible. That solid, strong body and the warmth that radiates off it, being able to both feel and hear his heart beating; the weight of his head as he rests his cheek against her hair. How even with those stitches in his left shoulder, he still manages to sneak his arm around her; hand resting on her baby bump.

“It’s getting big, huh?”

“It’s cute. Just makes you more beautiful. I can’t wait to see it; watching you get bigger with the baby. MY baby.”

“You sappy bastard you,” she teases, and tilts her head up towards him and presses a kiss to his chin. And for several minutes, neither of them speak; his hand moving in slow, smooth circles over her bump,  her body relaxing against his, feeling as if she could drift off into a peaceful, well deserved nap. But it’s short lived; eyes snapping open when she feels his body tense and then begins to tremble. It’s heartbreaking; the mental anguish so clearly etched on his face, the tears that stream down his cheeks.

“Baby…” she turns to face him, laying a hand on the side of his face. “...what’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

“I know; life’s pretty shitty at this moment.”

“You’re the only thing that’s right in it. You and the baby.”

“Don’t leave out how great you’re doing.  Because this is a huge right. Believe me, it is. You came so fucking close, Tyler. But you’re here and you’re doing amazing and things will only get better. And you have proved so many people wrong. That has to feel good, right?”

“It does actually.”

“I’m sorry. That you’re going through this. I’d take it all away if I could.”

“I know you would. I’m just glad you’re here. Not just here, here.  But HERE. Alive. Because what he said…”

“No,” she gently orders. “We are not going to talk about that. Don’t do this to yourself.  It doesn’t matter what he said. I’m here. The kids are fine. Fuck what he said. Please don’t think about that. Don’t think about him at all.”

“Hard not to. He’s the reason I’m in this fucking mess.”

“And he paid for it. Trust me, he did. So don’t give him another thought. Think about other things. Think about us. The kids. How good it’s going to be to get home. Even if it’s just to a hospital there. The one in Cairns is really nice. The ward you’ll be on? All the rooms overlook the beach. That’s perfect for you.  And you’ll be able to see the kids all the time once you’re there. That’ll do you a world of good.”

He nods in agreement.

“You’re tired. You need some rest. You’ve been up  a hell of a long time. I’m so proud of you. You have no idea HOW proud.”

He manages a small smile.

“You need sleep. You’ve used a lot of energy today already.”

“Doing what? Sitting on my ass?”

“It takes a lot of energy to heal. And you’ve been sleeping well; no pain for once. No bad dreams.”

“I had a good dream though. Good in a sad way.”

“About what?”

“My mum.”

“When you were a kid?”

“No. She was with OUR kids. At our house. She was on the beach with them; walking in the surf. And she looked back at me and she smiled and she was so beautiful…” his voice cracks with emotion. “...like that picture I showed you; the one when I was five. She looked just like that. And she was happy. She was SO happy. No bruises, no cuts, no old man in sight.”

“Baby…” she carefully kneels on the bed, then pushes her hands through his hair and kisses his brow. “...it’s okay.”

“I’d give anything for that dream to be real. Anything.”

“So would I, believe me.”

“After this first happened, I had a dream about her then, too. She told me not to be afraid. And I don’t know if that meant not to be afraid because I was going to be okay, or don’t be afraid to die.”

“I’m pretty sure it was the first one.”

“I didn’t want to die. But I was expecting to.”

Her heart shatters at his confession, and it takes all her willpower and strength to not cry herself. Instead, she places a hand on the back of his head and draws it down to her shoulder. Both of his arms -despite their injures and the pain and discomfort accompanying them- wrapping around her waist. His entire body shaking as he sheds enough tears for both of them.

*****

Koen and Rata take up residence in Tyler’s room while he sleeps. He can’t be left alone; panic immediately taking hold of him if he awakens and no one -especially her- is there with him. It’s the confusion and the ‘fog’ caused by the weaning of the sedation and the increase of pain meds; his brain not allowing him to remember where he is, why he’s there, or that she is even alive. Torturing him with the last thing ever said to him inside the storage facility; the promise that Asif’s people would get to her and the children, torture them, then kill them.

She goes to lunch with Sanjib and two others from the ICU ‘family’, a young woman whose brand new husband had been in a horrific car accident, and an elderly man whose only surviving relative -a great grandson in his twenties- had overdosed on a near lethal combination of street drugs.  And it makes her blood run cold when the latter situation leads to talk of Amir Asif and his long standing -despite his death- reputation as the biggest and most evil drug lord in Bangladesh history. She offers no comment or opinion; not revealing her own seven year long tie to the man in question or her connection to the infamous ‘shoot out’ on the Sultana Kamal Bridge or the now well known incident three days before. She acts oblivious to it all; pretending to both listen intently and concentrate on her food. The conversation makes her feel nauseous and anxious; internally screaming about the false information and pure speculation   being spread around the table. Desperately wanting to set the record straight yet knowing it isn’t her battle to fight anymore; the last of Asif’s men dead, their demise hopefully ending his posthumous reign of terror.  It’s hard not to share her personal -and very accurate- account of what happened seven years ago; the memories and the images still so vivid and fresh. She is still able to to remember certain moments right down to the very second; recall conversations word for word.  But it would be for nothing; stirring up a hornet’s nest that’s better left to wither and rot. That chances are good that she won’t be believed; her lunch companions would laugh it off and accuse her of lying and she’d be left with the anxiety or reliving the nightmare in the first place . And she’s thankful when the conversation changes  to other matters; world news and celebrity gossip.

“I almost forgot what it feels like,” Sanjib says, as they slowly make their way back to the hospital; a two block journey from the small dinner they’d converged on. “The sun on my face. The breeze in my air.”

“I almost forgot what it was like to wear real clothes,” Esme quips.  “ARE leggings considered real clothes? Real pants? Because none of my shorts or my jeans fit. I can’t even get them over my stomach, let alone closed and done up. I am not amused.”

“Real clothes are whatever you feel most comfortable in. My wife always says that; when someone complains about her choice of casual attire. How far along are you?”

“I don’t even know. We were in Mumbai when we found out about this little bean. It’s what we call them; when I’m pregnant. Little bean. Or beans, for the twins.”

“That’s very cute.”

“My husband started it; after the very first ultrasound with our daughter. He said she looked like a little bean and it stuck.  I can’t be anymore than thirteen weeks; it’s mathematically and biologically impossible. That’s the first time we...you know...after our last baby was born. And she was three weeks then , so…”

“It was a surprise? This baby?”

“Very much a surprise. In more ways than one. None of our kids were really planned, though. Declan in a way, I guess. That’s number four. We had a miscarriage between him and his older brothers; that’s why there’s three and a bit years between them. It did a lot of damage to both of us; mentally speaking. It took us a while to be ready to try again. But it happened quickly when we decided to go for it.”

“Do you have a preference? Boy or girl?”

“If I’m totally honest, I do. I want a boy. Our daughter Millie is six, and none of my boys have been as difficult as her. I love her to death; she’s my first and she’s beautiful and incredible. But holy crap! The drama! And the attitude! She’s just...I don’t know...she’s just extra. Do they use that word here? Extra?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well let me tell you , she is very extra! The pre-teen and years are going to be brutal. My husband wants a boy, too. Although it doesn’t really matter that much to him; he’s very ‘as long as momma and baby are healthy’. That’s all he really cares about. He worries about me. All the time. Even now. No matter what he’s going through...how brutal it is...he always puts me first. He’s pretty incredible that way. Actually, he’s pretty incredible in a lot of ways.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“He is. He really is. He’s big and he’s tough and he can be pretty intimidating IF he wants to be, but he’s got a huge heart. When he loves, he loves huge. You should come into the room sometime and meet him; when he’s up to it. I think you’d really like him. He’s a little tough on the outside, but I promise he’s pretty tame.  Unless you’re threatening his family. THAT doesn’t go over well. He’s not afraid to defend and fight for what’s his. Or stand up for what’s right.”

“I’d like to meet him. He sounds…interesting.”

“He is. In his own way.  People are always surprised when they get to know him. They look at him and assume things about him.  Some ARE true, mind you. When you do meet him, you’ll see what I mean. He’s a study in contradiction. I learned that real quick. And I think it’s what made me fall in love with him in the first place.”

“And you met working?”

“We did. We were assigned to the same job. Just the two of us. Things took off from there. It’s kind of strange and a little complicated; the hows and the whys.”

“Try me. I’d like to hear it.”

“You sure? It’s a dandy. I don’t tell many people.”

“How bad could it be?”

“It’s not that it’s bad. It’s just...surprising.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“Alright. Keep in mind, this is something I don’t just don’t tell everyone. You’ll understand why when I DO tell you. No one ever expects it.”   Sighing, she takes a sip from the plastic cup of iced coffee in her possession. “Tyler...my husband...is a  mercenary.”

Sanjib stares down at her, both eyebrows arched.

“Right?” Esme laughs. “I said it was surprising. That’s not what you thought I was going to say, was it.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well he is. A mercenary.  And we met on the job. Here in Dhaka. Well, we technically met in Australia, but everything between us started here.”

“You’re one as well?”

“No.  I’m not. I never have been. My job was to help guys like him information they needed; about people they’re after. And this job we were on was a little different than most. We actually had to pretend we were married. That’s how it all started. How WE started. We met and things happened while we were working together and well…seven years and five kids….” she lays a hand on her bump. “...SIX kids later, here we are. My fake husband became my real husband.”

“Now I’m even more curious. What kind of job?”

“I had to help him find where a fourteen year old boy was being held. Amir Asif took him.”

“You’re talking about Ovi Mahajan's son?”

She nods.

“I was just a boy when that happened. Only sixteen. Forgive me, but how old ARE you?”

“Old enough to have almost six kids and an almost forty two year old husband. But if you thought I was younger, thank you. My ego needed that.”

“So you did know. About what we were talking about at lunch.”

“Yeah, I did.  And I wanted to say something and clear some things up, but it wouldn’t have done any good. It just would have stirred up a lot of bad things for me. A lot of bad memories. Things I can’t seem to let go of. And it wasn’t entirely wrong; what you guys were talking about. We DID cause a big old mess on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. That was all us.”

“You were there. On the bridge?”

“I was. I pretty much heard and saw everything that went down. It’s pretty accurate; the way it was described at lunch.  But the man who got the boy out…who was responsible for it...he is very much alive. And I’m very much married to him.  He got off the bridge. Barely. But he did.”

“I’m sorry. The stories have all been the same. That he died. On the bridge. If I’d known…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, and in a way, that’s what we wanted; people to think he died.  It meant they wouldn’t come looking for him. Which in turn meant I was safe, too. And eventually our little girl.  It worked for a while, but they...Asif’s people...figured it out. And they found us and made our lives hell and we’ve pretty much spent the last seven years worrying about when they’d physically come after us. Always wondering IF they would.  And they did.  They came hard. They teamed up with Mahajan and they took people we care about.  And that’s what happened four days ago. I know it’s been all over the news. The bloodbath at the storage facility north of here. About all the bodies; Asif’s people.”

“That was you?”

“Well not me per say, but yeah. It was.  They did and said horrible things. About me. About my children. Things they would do to my daughters. My little girls.   They’re six and four months, and these people were going to hurt them. In ways that physically make me sick to think about. I can handle what’s said about me. I’ve had bigger and better threaten me. But those are my kids. My babies. And when I think about what could have happened…”

“I’m sorry.” Sanjib says, and lays a comforting hand on her back. “I didn’t…”

“My husband isn’t usually about revenge. He’s the one always giving me shit when I talk about wanting it. But he won’t back down when people are threatening his family. Especially his children. He will fight to the death for them; no questions asked. And that’s almost what happened. They almost DID kill him. That’s what happened; in that storage place. He got our friends out and he got the revenge he wanted. That I wanted. I told him to do whatever he had to make them pay. And now look. Look what happened to him. He’s paid too high a price. Way too high.”

“He was protecting you. And your children.”

“It’s still too high.  These people are merciless.  But they didn’t expect him to be even more so.  So that’s what happened. That’s why we’re here. That’s why we were here  seven years ago. Because Amir Asif...alive OR dead...won’t leave us alone. He won’t let us rest.”

****

She returns to the hospital an hour and a half after she left; emotionally drained following the emotional conversation with Sanjib, but somehow feeling lighter. It felt good; as if some of the burdens and the lingering horror of seven years ago had been stripped away, making her feel lighter and more optimistic.   It’s a relief; getting it off of her chest. Able to finally vent to someone without the fear of judgment; able to just let go of some of the things that have been holding her back and weighing her down. It will be different this time; when they get home.  She’ll finally be able to let it all go.   To let the memories of seven years ago become just that; memories. No more dwelling on the mistakes made or the decisions that could have been different. No more nightmares and vivid recollections of that final twenty minutes on the bridge; holding a dying man in her arms and putting her fingers through the hole in his neck in a desperate attempt to keep him alive.

This time when she leaves Dhaka, she’s leaving it behind for good.

“You missed some excitement,” Koen says in a way of greeting when she steps into the room, slipping out of the bedside chair with a loud yawn and a languorous stretch.  

She sets her purse and a take out container of food on the window ledge. “ I don’t really  don't want to know do I.”

“You never told me about that drongo’s apprehension when it comes to strangers touching him.”

“Oh no…” she glances towards Tyler; fast asleep, hair damp and his beard trimmed. “...please tell me they didn’t send a PSW in here.”

“They sure as shit did.”

“I specifically told them NOT  to send in someone.  It’s written right in his chart; no one is to come in here and force their services on him.   How bad did it get?”

“Bad enough they wanted to sedate  AND restrain him. Seems like these blokes don’t know how to take no for an answer; no matter how big and strong the guy is that keeps saying no.   All those drugs in him and all those injuries, and that fucker fought with the strength of ten men. Took me and Rata and two orderlies to hold him down. Just to get his hair washed and his beard trimmed.”

“Was he sleeping? Did they wake him up to do it?”

Koen nods.

“That’s why he freaked out. When he wakes up he’s disoriented. He’s confused and he’s scared and being in a hospital freaks him out. He has to take meds when I go into labour; so he’s calm enough to walk through the front door and he can see his child being born.  It’s his fight or flight. And he chooses fight. Every damn time.”

“Color me surprised.”

“He was probably losing it because I wasn’t here, right?”

“He was upset; pretty certain you were dead. No matter how many times we told him you were fine and just went out for a bit. It was like he didn’t even hear us.”

“He probably didn’t. He doesn’t know what he’s doing when he’s like that. That’s what his brain does to him. And now you’ve seen it yourself. All those times you’ve got on his ass about being ‘sick in the head’ and to just ‘suck it up’. Well, now you’ve got to witness what it does to him. The PTSD.  How’d he calm down?”

“They gave him some meds. Through the line thing.”

“They sedated him? Are you fucking serious right now? You didn’t say anything?”

“They said it was just a little something to calm his nerves. And it worked; that poor PSW was able to get shit done.”

“Yeah, and now look. He’s out.  We are trying to wean him off sedation. Not give him more. Jesus Christ. This is what I wanted. I told them not to give him anything.  Why didn’t you call me? I would have come back right away. He would have been fine when I got here. I would have been able to calm him down. Now…” she gestures towards the bed. “...he’s out again. Not what I wanted.”

“I didn’t know that. If I’d known…”

“It’s not your fault. It’s theirs. They were told not to send anyone in here. I said I would do it. I’d wash his hair, cut it if he wanted, trim his beard. He was fine with that. He wanted ME to do it. And then they totally go against that? What the fuck?”

“Sorry, sunshine,” he presses a kiss to her cheek and gives her shoulder a squeeze. “Didn’t mean to shit on your parade.”

“Where did Rata go? Did he get  scared off?”

“Once again, he saw something he liked. This time it WAS a brunette.”

“I thought he had a girlfriend?”

“They broke up when he agreed to become a merc. The world’s his oyster now.”

She gives a derisive snort and rolls her eyes.

“I’m going to get a drink. A stiff one.”

“There’s a bar in this hospital?”

“No. But there’s a mini one in my hotel room.  Need me to bring you anything?”

“Some tequila would be nice, but seeing as I have this inside of me…”  she lays her hands on the sides of her bump. “...I’m shit out of luck.”

“Shouldn’t have let something else inside you and it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Very cute,” she grumbles, and he playfully tousles her hair before heading from the room.

Esme toes off her running shoes and then slips into the bedside chair; leaning back and putting her feet on the mattress.

“You just had to be difficult didn’t you,” she lightly scolds her sleeping husband.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I left you here. And I’m sorry that they sent someone in here AND they gave you meds. That is not what I wanted. At all.  I don’t blame you for being pissed. I don’t like strangers touching me, either.  I met someone nice here though; another ICU family member. Just a young guy; his wife had a stroke giving birth to their first kid.  Remember how scared we were just because I bled a little too much with Millie? We thought THAT was scary. Or even when my blood pressure went up with the twins. We thought THAT was  bad. But this? Having a stroke while giving birth? What the hell? How can the universe allow that to happen? Bring a baby into the world but take its mom at the same time?  Can you imagine? You’d be a basket case and burn the whole fucking place down if something like that happened to me. And this poor guy…this new father…”  she shakes her head and fights back her tears. “...it’s just so sad.   His wife probably won’t make it and he’s got this beautiful baby girl at home. Maybe when you’re up to it, you can meet him and talk to him. A little dad to dad chat. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

She sighs heavily, then runs her hands over and along her bump.  “I need to be honest about something. Either this baby is going to weigh over ten pounds or there is more than one.  And if   it’s over ten pounds, I’m doing a home vasectomy on you. That way I’m guaranteed no more surprises.   We haven’t used any of those knives from the set your dad gave as a wedding present. I bet one of those bad boys could do the trick.  But, on the bright side, I brought you REAL soup for dinner.  Sweet potato and thyme. It’s delicious. I made them puree it really good.  I felt you deserved better than glorified baby food.  I hope you wake up soon.  I miss you. As corny as that sounds. I know we just talked like two hours ago, but I  miss being able to  talk to you whenever I want.  I miss spending time with you. REAL time. Not like this.”

She slides further down into the seat and moves her feet further onto the bed, until her toes touch the side of his thigh.  And she closes her eyes as she leans her head back against the chair; minutes away from sleep when a light knock comes to the door.

“Holy shit!” She can’t hold the cry that escapes from her mouth, the chair being pushed back from the bed as she hurries towards the unexpected visitor. “What are you doing here?!”

“Thought you might fancy a visit.”

“Oh my God...Andy…” She throws her arms around his torso and buries her face in her chest; not bothering to restrain the tears that flow from her eyes. “...what the hell? What…?”

He chuckles and embraces her warmly. “None of that now. No tears.  Unless they’re happy ones.”

“Happy and surprised ones,” she says, and he cradles her face in his hands as she looks up at him. “What are you doing here? In Dhaka?”

“Thought I’d come and see how things were. How the two of you are doing.  I’m an artist when I feel like it; I have  a lot of time on my hands.”  He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks. “How are you?”

“Right this second? Shocked. I can’t believe you’re here. We just talked two days ago.”

“And after I hung up, I decided to come here. Thought you could use another someone. A different face.”

“I can’t believe you came here...all this way...for us.”

“That’s what friends do, right? They make a way to get to each other. I made a way. Here I am. How is he?”

“Amazing, actually. He’s doing really well. Proving a lot of people wrong, that’s for sure.  You can come in. He’s having more wakeful moments. He might wake up if he knows you’re here.”

“Let him rest. He needs it. Come with me….”  he slips behind her, then places his hands on her shoulders and steers her out of her room. “...I have something to show you.  Go out now; into the hall.”

“What are you up to?” She laughs, then glances left to right when she steps out onto the hall. “What do you have to show me?”

“Over here…” he lays his hands against the side of her face and turns her head to the right.  “...the nurses station. Look there.”

“What about it? A nurse is holding a baby and the rest of them are gathered and their ovaries are exploding at how cute the baby is. Why…”  her voice trails off, eyes widening and a hand moving up to cover her mouth. “...is that MY baby?”

“Someone missed their momma just as much their momma missed them.”

“Oh my God...Addie…” It comes out as a choked whisper, and she breaks away from her friend and rushes over to the nurse’s station.  

“She’s beautiful,” the young nurse holding the infant hands her over to her mother.  “And tiny.”

“Thank you. Oh my God...Adeline...” she manages through her sob of relief, and settles Addie along her arm,  Managing a laugh at the sight of the custom made onesie the baby sports; DADDY’S LITTLE PEANUT written across it in pink and purple glitter. “Addie…”  she presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead and runs her fingers through that soft dark hair, smiling when the baby flashes one of her own and reaches for Esme’s hair.  “...I missed you. I missed you so much. I was worried you’d forget me.”

“You’re her momma,”  Andy says as he joins her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. “She could never forget you.”

“Ovi was supposed to bring her. Tomorrow. What…?”

“Change of plans. I have a room across the street. If you want to stay here at night, she can stay there with me. I’m a dad; I know what I’m doing.”

“Thank you. You have no idea how badly I needed to see her.  To be with her.  I could never, ever thank you enough. Or repay you.”

“That smile is all the payment and thanks I’d ever need,” he says, then drops a kiss on the top of her head and leads her back to the room.

[sedehaven]

Gratuity

(Not a true story, but based on a real person and a real diner. Published in Voices of Rosewood  with her blessing.)

~

It was Mardi Gras Monday—Lundi Gras—and it was busy. I work at Tim’s. It’s a shithole. But it’s a job. And I should be grateful. My momma ain’t even got a job no more. Laid off. Fuck that.

~

So the regulars are there. College girls up from LSU with skinny legs and zebra hair in the front booth. The old homo and the tan boy that lights his big stinky smokes in the corner of smoking. The dykes are in the back of non-smoking. They’re my dykes. They listen to me bitch about work and they always tip good. Dolores at the counter, talkin’ trash about her neighbor’s kid. (He in jail now and his baby-momma took up with the trash man. Steady pay, smart girl, mmm-hmm, cher.)

~

In other words, it’s like every other Monday—except busy. The cook never rings the goddamn bell so I don’t know when my fuckin’ order’s up. I got whatever flu is goin’ around because I sat my runny-nosed nephew for my sister last night. So I’m dropsy and shit from the Sudafed. Ain’t had a smoke in eight hours. Been here goin’ on twelve. Ain’t had lunch. I’m startin’ to get that twitch on my left eye and Eileen can do the bathrooms her own damn self. I ain’t her slave.

~

He walked in, caught Angela’s eye, but she went to the back. She got the asthma bad and we ain’t had air for like a week now. So anytime someone come in that she don’t like, she go to the freezer, all wheezin’ and crap. That’s some shit, man. Cause I know she was hotboxin’ a fuckin’ Parliament not fifteen minutes ago. Goddamn cheap smokes.

~

I know why she did it. We all hate this motherfucker. Especially me. He always wears the same tweed suit with those stupid patches on the elbows. (And you know he’s only wearing it to look smart. He teaches at Delgado, for chrissake.) He’s got a bad case of face pubes, which makes me wonder what he’s trying to cover up. His glasses are always lopsided, and he always smells like cabbage and his stank smokes.

~

But all THAT would be okay if he didn’t send back every order cause the cook can’t speak enough English to know how pink to make the damn meat. But THAT would be okay if he didn’t expect to be comped cause Jose can’t do med-rare. But THAT would be okay if he didn’t blow his stanky cigar smoke in my face when he ordered. But THAT would be okay if he didn’t touch my fucking ass every time I pass his table. But THAT would be okay if he didn’t tip me with pocket change.

~

It is NEVER okay to tip less than fifteen percent—understand?

~

I got my twitch goin’ when he order—steak medium rare, eggs over easy, toast and coffee, both black. Yeah, I got it. Fucktard. Okay, I didn’t call him a fucktard. He had his hand spread out on the table, stumpy-ass fingers. I saw the fork there and I wanted to go all Manson-family on him. Just stick a fork in the motherfucker’s hand and say I am fucking done with you.

~

But I didn’t. So I had a spoonful of Oreo crumbs when I passed it on the sidebar.

~

Jose doesn’t ring the damn bell. Doesn’t like the way it sounds.

~

I get the college girls their dessert. I used the same spoon that I ate Oreos with to make their sundae. I hope you all get my flu and die. Suffer bitches, and tip more than five percent. Especially if you’re gonna make me split the check eight ways. Cunts.

~

Then I remember the steak-and-eggs. It’s fucking cold. Thanks Jose. And I can see that the damn steak is well. Not medium. Not med-well. Fucking well. I usually just hand it back. Tell Jose, “More pink, and ring the damn bell.” Eileen says don’t do that anymore. It’s wasteful. The customer might not send it back.

~

What a load of shit. The customer didn’t pay for cold food and a bad steak. But they might not complain because they’re too nice. So fuck that. But I ain’t getting fired, and I don’t even like this guy. So I bring him the food.

~

It’s cold, he says. And the steak’s overdone. So I bring it back to Jose, and call him a fucktard. Then I ring up Angela’s table. Bunch of tourists. At least they tip—in cash. And I sure as hell ain’t given Angela a dime. She’s still hiding in the freezer.

~

I start my sidebar. Got to leave everything pretty for Alex. His shift’s in a half-an-hour, and I can go home, sleep. So I’m cutting strawberries. I hate the strawberries. They slip and I cut myself. Every time.

~

The dykes sit near the bar. So I’m cuttin’ and I’m bitchin’ and I’m twitchin’. I just want a nap before Zulu, for chrissakes. And they listen and nod. The strawberry slips, I cut myself. And I cuss. Eileen hears and I know she’s gonna cream me as soon as I get back to the register. Fuck it, I’m bleeding. So I go to the back and get a band-aid. My order’s up. Jose didn’t ring the bell.

~

I take it to the guy, who thanks me and slaps my butt to send me on my way. Twitch. Eileen calls me over to register, so I can’t even bitch to my dykes.

~

She’s on the phone. She covers the receiver and says “Alex is on the line, he can’t come in. His baby’s sick.” Yeah, I’m sure. The only thing his baby’s got is Zuluitis. Fucking bitch is bailing on me so he can go to the parades. You have to stay until eight, Eileen says. I remind her that I’ve been here since four this morning, but I know it won’t do any good at all. I don’t want to get fired, and they know it. So I’ll stay. Fuck. There goes my Zulu coconut.

~

And there’s the motherfucker, waving me back to the table. Turns out the eggs are overdone. Fuck, that’s never happened. And it’s cold. So I call Jose a fucktard again and tell him to get it right this time and ring the damn bell.

~

Back to the strawberries. I’m still bleeding a little, but I don’t care. I’ll rinse ‘em. My dykes are quiet. They stay quiet. So I start bitching anyways. Cut myself again. Damn.

~

One of the dykes tells me that my order’s up. I go to the little window and throw the bell at Jose. It hits him square in the back of the head. Eileen pretends she didn’t see it and goes to ring up the homos.

~

Angela seats seven ripped guys dressed as sailors. Why are all the hot guys in New Orleans gay?

~

I get the steak-and-eggs to the table, and cabbage man says they look alright, but he’ll expect to be comped for the inconvenience. Motherfucker. Doesn’t he know that shit like that comes out of my pay?

~

And everything is quiet for the next half an hour. I fill drinks. I serve the eight emo kids some ice cream and water. My dykes keep talking. I know they’re killing time until Zulu. They say they’ll get me a coconut. That makes me happy.

~

Motherfucker waits at his table for the check. He can’t even be bothered with going to the register. He lights up. He signs it. He gives it back to me—no tip—and breathes a fog of stank around my face. But I just smile, because I know he’ll leave.

~

And he does…but he doesn’t even leave a dime on the tablecloth for me.

~

I caught him halfway to the door. I told him he forgot to tip. Eileen was on the other side of the restaurant and really, I could care less anyway.

~

He said he wasn’t going to tip me for two bad plates. Twitch.

~

But if you wanna earn some easy money, he said, and he touched my hair. Twitch.

~

Mother. Twitch. Fucker. Twitch twitch.

~

So I grabbed the chair right next to me and hit him with it. He went down pretty easy. I guess teaching at Delgado don’t make for much in the way of muscles and them stank smokes ain’t good for reflexes, neither. I kicked him in his fool head a couple of times—hard as I could. I wasn’t wearing my good boots, just Keds, but I could see the bruises welling up under his liver spots. He still had his cigar in his stupid teeth, which surprised the hell outta me. He must have bit down hard on it when he fell. So I yanked it out his mouth and stubbed it out on his forehead. Then I kicked him some more. He wasn’t moving, so I whipped out the pen I take down orders with, and wrote:

~

15%

FUCKTARD

~

around the burn on his forehead. I stomped on the bridge of his glasses. The glasses snapped in half and fell off his face. I finished it by putting my pen right through his neck.

~

It didn’t bleed anymore than I did when I cut my hand. That kinda surprised me. But I found out later that he died of a heart attack before I even hit him with the chair. And that really pissed me off too, because…because…it’s just one more thing he didn’t give me, you know?

~

So I took a hundred out of his wallet and dropped my apron and went to Zulu. I didn’t get a coconut, and I got arrested that night. They brought me here, and it’s nice, I guess.

~

But here’s the best thing. Like a week later, I get this box. It’s from two chicks. I don’t know the names, and I’m like, what the fuck? And then I open it and it’s a Zulu coconut, smiling at me.

~

So the moral of the story is this: God bless the dykes, and everybody tip your fucking servers.

*

-- S. E. De Haven

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

There Are Harder Addictions to Shake - Oneshot

Jim Mason x fem!reader (dark!jim)

Words: 3.9K

Request: for @alexcornerblog my girl has waited a long time for this!

Summary: You’ve just made your relationship with Jim official, however it isn’t long before Jim starts to smother you, fixating on your relationship to cope with the damage in his life. As Jim grows obsessive what will you be forced to do? What will he do to win you back? 

Warning: PG-13 fic! Contains an obsessive and unhealthy relationship! Please do be warned, Jim is not the sweet peach we all know and love. Swearing! Emotional Manipulation! Drug use! Obsessive love! Stalking! Fluff! Time Jumps! 

A/N: dark!jim is back, but I didn’t want this to go down a dubcon route! Jim is very emotionally unstable in this, the reader becomes his new fixation. I’ve been through/and am still dealing with a relationship where I have been emotionally manipulated so pls do be careful with partners and friends! There is fluff at the beginning though! I hope you all enjoy 🙈

(Gif by @hardyfern) 

The night was everything I had hoped it would be, he was soft and tender, Jim’s fingers traced everywhere I wanted them to be, pulling sounds from me I didn’t know I could make. It wasn’t my first time, but he made it feel like it was. We were facing each other on our pillows, Jim’s legs wrapped around mine and he told me I was his lighthouse. His shining beam guiding him through the shit he’s trying to deal with. It was romantic, poetic and I fell asleep wondering how I got so lucky with this sweet, kind boy. 

I wake to find Jim out on the balcony. I glance at my phone, it’s early - 7:06am. He’s not wearing a shirt, Jim doesn’t look cold standing only his boxers without a care in the world. A curl of smoke rises in the morning air from Jim’s lit cigarette, his lips taking a long drag. He looks delicious, Jim’s got a surfer’s body full of well-built muscle and sinewy arms. He catches sight of me watching from mu bed, puts out his cigarette and leaps on top of the duvet. I laugh escapes me, “Morning.”

“Good Morning.” He greets, propping his head up on his hand, “Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“You think I was going to throw you out after last night?” 

Jim’s eyes sparkle, “I hoped not.” Jim takes me in from my rumpled hair to where my body hides behind the duvet, “You’re so beautiful.”

I’m blushing and reach for the hairbrush on my bedside table. Jim crawls up between my legs, “Let me.” He offers, taking the brush and running it through my hair. I’ve never had a boy care for me like this, I can feel his fingers slide through the knots till my hair is smooth once again. “I meant what I said last night.” Jim’s sat himself cross-legged before me, my legs spread open to accommodate him. “I don’t think I’d survive without you.”

I pull his face in for a kiss. “Don’t say that,” I whisper when we break apart. “You have so much to live for, Jim.”

“I only feel like that when you’re near though.” He admits, turning over and lying his head in my lap. Jim basks in his new-found position, my fingers running into his hair and massaging his scalp.

A yawn escapes me, “Are you coming back to bed?”

Jim nods, climbing under the covers and spooning me tight against his chest. I start to drift off, Jim pressing kisses into my neck when a phone blares. I start, accidentally elbowing him and Jim grunts in pain, rolling over to check the Caller ID on both phones.

“Sorry.” I call, “It’s it me?’ 

Jim lets out a cry of frustration and chucks his phone across the room. It hits my wardrobe, still singing away as Jim pulls the duvet back up over his shoulders. 

“Leave it.” He orders, “Just my fucking Mom, again.”

“Did you tell her you were coming over?”

Jim scowls, “She would never let me come over if I told her.”

I don’t know Sandy that well. We met once when I was heading out of school with Jim and she gave us a ride to the beach. She asked me a hundred questions about PV, where I lived and if my pool was one acre or two. Jim was mouthing apologies the entire ride, squeezing my hand until Sandy told him to stop. Jim’s phone dies down and I don’t question it. We all have moments when we don’t want to hear from our parents, I can respect that. Jim resumes kissing the back of my neck, I roll over eager for some more action. Jim obliges at once, kissing me deeply, “I’ll never tire of this.” He says, “I’ll kiss you forever if I can.”

I nuzzle my head onto his chest and Jim lies back, letting me sleep against him. I can feel his heartbeat hammering away, “Why are you nervous?” I ask, my eyes going back to his phone. There’s a steady stream of notifications on there, piling up on top of each other.

“My Mom just gets me so riled up.” He admits, “And my Dad.” 

“You know you’re welcome here whenever you want.” 

“Do you mean that?” 

I nod, pressing a kiss into Jim’s chest. “If you need an escape, just let me know.” 

Jim and I are friends, we have been since the Mason’s moved here. Medina, Jim and I are a unit, we spend all our free time together and I kinda feel guilty for leaving Medina behind. But Jim always set my heart aflutter, he brought out the best in me, lavished me with his attention and I gave it all back in return. “What are you thinking about?” Jim asks, “Tell me what you desire?”

I snigger at his attempt to be smooth, “Thinking about last night, about us.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, “What are we?”

“I was going to ask you?” 

I smile up at him and Jim kisses me again, “I’m yours.” He vows, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

Jim’s phone blasts again. He groans, dragging his pillow over his head. 

I give in, climb out of bed and fetch his phone for him. I dare not answer it, the Caller ID clearly says MOM. I wait for it to stop ringing and check the notifications. “Jim, there’s over ten missed calls here.” I tell him, “She’s probably worried about you if she doesn’t know where you are.”

“Medina knows.” Jim protests from under his pillow, “Medina will have told her where I am. She’s just fucking paranoid, she won’t leave me alone.” 

I climb back onto the bed. Jim peeks at me, removing the pillow so I can see one eye. I hold his phone out to him, “I think you should head home.” I say, carefully.

His expression darkens, “You want me to go?”

“Of course not.” I say, “But I don’t want to upset your Mom.” 

Jim doesn’t reply but he looks desolate. 

I pull him into me for a hug, “At least call her back, tell her you’re safe.”

He kisses me goodbye, promising to be back over as soon as he can slip away. Thankfully my parents aren’t up yet, so Jim sneaks out successfully and once he’s gone I jump right back into bed. 

When I wake again it’s around mid-day. I’ve slept longer than I expected to but I don’t mind, my body tingles from last night and I lie there for a few minutes re-imagining how Jim suckled at my neck, how he fed on my breasts while he pumped in and out of me. My phone pings with a text from the boy in my fantasies - Are you up yet? Beach at 1, Medina’s already out. 

It’s a weekend, of course Medina’s getting in as much surfing time as she can. I put on a swim-suit, the one Jim likes with the plunging neckline. It isn’t one to seriously swim in, but after last night I’m feeling risky. 

Medina’s is indeed already surfing when I pull up in my car, I hop out and grab my tote bag. She’s such a professional already, learning tricks off Dan Adder or so Jim tells me. She waves at me from the sea and I wave back, locating her stuff and laying out my towel. Medina swims for the shoreline, her arms powerful, her body flat on the board. 

When she arrives she shakes water over me and I scream, “Where was my brother last night?” 

I give her a look, “You know where.” 

Medina has a shit-eating grin on her face, “Did he finally tell you?” 

I nod and Medina nearly punches the air in triumph, “Thank God, I am so sick of keeping his moaning, pining ass a secret from you.”

“Why, how long has it been?” I’m curious because Jim and I being more than friends has completely snuck up on me. I had thought this was just a natural progression, I had no idea Jim’s feelings had been going on for a while.

Medina considers and then plops down next to me, “You can’t tell him because he will kill me.” She begins, “But he’s had it bad since you stood up to Chad.” 

“That was months ago.”

“Now you know how hard it’s been.” Medina grins, “All the Medinaaaa, how do I speak to her. I don’t wanna ruin what we have, but she’s so pretty and confident blahhhhh.” I push her over and check my phone. Medina comes rolling right back her eyes scanning my swimsuit, “So you’re not here to surf.”

“Nope.”

“Slut.”

I tap her, “We don’t use words like that do we, Medina.”

‘I’m only trying to wind you up.” I shoot her a frown, suddenly regretting my choice of swimwear. I tug at the neckline and Medina pushes my hands away, “I’m sorry.” She apologies, “You look stunning, I mean it. Jim’s lucky.”

“I know I am.” 

He’s snuck up on us, Jim sitting right beside me and kissing my cheek. Medina fights her revulsion, “Well I’m gonna go disappear into the sea again.”

“Bye.” Jim calls, waving her away and I laugh again. Jim presses me down into the towel, kissing me so deeply I have to push him away to get some air. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I have homework.” I tell him, “Considering I didn’t get any done last night-”

“We’re going out.” Jim informs me, “Seven.” You look away out to the waves. Medina catches a huge wave and I give her a cheer as she styles it out, Jim keeps watching me, “Well?”

I kiss him, “Homework. If I get a lot done then I’ll let you know.”

Studying goes slow, despite my endless cups of tea to try and keep me going. I don’t get Maths and it doesn’t seem to get me either. I look up from my pile of notes when there’s a knock at my door, “Jim?” I push myself up, “I said I’d text you.”

“You’re Mom’s so nice.” He says, completely ignoring me. He picks up your calculus book and catches my stony expression, “I wanted to come and help you.”

“You hate maths.” I remind him, taking back my book.

“I’m okay at it though.”

You let it slide, taking a sip of tea. 

It isn’t long before Jim is sitting next to me. He’s flipping through my notebook, smiling at the doodles he comes across. His voice interrupts my studying, “Who’s N?” 

“Don’t remember.” 

‘Why is there a heart?”

  Jim is hiding his irritation. His mouth is a harsh line, his eyes frozen on the scribble. I kiss his cheek, “Relax, it’s Nathan from Medina’s Biology class. She likes him.”

Jim doesn’t seem convinced though, “You like me, right?” 

I stare at him, “Of course. I wouldn’t have let the other night happen if not.” 

Jim’s fingers lace in mine, “You’re the best thing in my life Y/N. You and Medina.” 

“I know.” 

Jim pulls me in, kissing wherever he can reach. His hands slide my shirt up, cupping my breasts, ‘Jim.”

“I want you.” He moans, “Wanna make you mine again.”

He squeezes and a sound of pleasure leaves my lips. My homework forgotten about as I let Jim lie down and pull me on top of him. I straddle his waist, my hair falling into my eyes. Jim’s runs his hands over my stomach, tugging my top off. Books and notes scatter on the floor as I surge down to kiss Jim, “Y/N?”

We both freeze, it’s Mom. I jump off Jim right as the door opens but Mom is already inside my bedroom, “Heard of knocking?” I ask, seizing my top. But she’s already seen me standing in my bra, Jim’s hair ruffled as he lies in the mess we’ve made of my bed.

Jim doesn’t look sheepish at all, he just waves from the bed, “Thanks for letting me in again.”

Mom shakes her head, “So there is something going on between you two.”

“Jim and I are…” 

“I’m her boyfriend.” Jim declares, “We made it official last night.” 

Mom beams, “Finally.”

The second Mom has shut the door, Jim springs off the bed and pull me to him. He kisses me deep, the kind that burns into my soul. Our lips mash together Jim pressing his entire being into me. When we break apart he looks jubilant, “Hey girlfriend.”

“Hey.” I say, still whoozy from his kiss. 

I slide past him and start gathering up my notes, “Jim, it’s sweet of you to come over. But I really need to finish this.” 

My laptop pings into life and I dump my notes on my desk. Jim hasn’t spoken though and when I turn round he still stood in the spot I left him in, motionless. “You don’t want me here?”

“Not if you keep distracting me.”

Jim looks away, I turn back to my laptop but I feel suddenly guilty. But I shouldn’t, I need to get this homework done, “I can’t go home.” Jim appears beside me, “Mom’s really bad tonight.” 

I pause, taking in my new boyfriend. “Well if you’re gonna stay you’ve got to be quiet till l’m done.”

Jim nods, pulling out his phone and a pair of earbuds, “Let me know when you’re finished.” He says, “You won’t know I’m here.” 

Jim’s true to his word, I don’t hear him till I’ve completed my chapter and written up all my maths notes. I don’t really understand them, but I hope I’ve taken some in subliminally while writing. I find Jim back out on my balcony. He’s swaying back and forth to music, watching the stars hanging above. I tap his shoulder, “All finished.”

He takes out an earbud, “So you’re all mine?”

“All yours.” I declare, wrapping my arms round his neck. Jim hands me the earbud and I can hear Florence and the Machine playing softly. He pulls me in, rocking us back and forth. It feels peaceful, like everything I ever wanted.

Jim’s earbud falls out but I don’t mind. His lips are moving though, almost absentmindedly, “If I can’t have you no one else can.” 

I wasn’t meant to hear it. Jim’s words send a chill though me that I would never have suspected. He catches my movement, his hands rubbing at my arms. “You cold?”

I nod, letting him lead the way back inside. Jim grabs your laptop and makes himself comfortable on your bed, “Movie?”

“Should we invite Medina?” I know why I’ve said it, Jim’s words still playing round my mind. 

Jim shakes his head, “She doesn’t wanna third wheel.”

I join him on the bed, “We should get her together with Nathan, then.”

Jim’s expression sours, “Sure. Great.”

I let him pick the movie, Jim pulling me against his chest. I don’t listen to a word, I don’t even know what we’ve decided on. The hours tick by while I’m caught up in my thoughts till finally the movie ends and we go to bed. I don’t sleep at all, I just watch the beautiful boy next to me. His expression innocent, his lips tugged up in a  tiny smile. His words haunt me, a promise I never should have heard.  

Jim’s calls become excessive. I spend more time with Medina, we both know I’m avoiding Jim. I tell her about what I heard and Jim’s twin is surprised, but she isn’t as freaked as I am. “He’s been through a lot.” Medina says, “He’s just being protective. He’s wanted you for a long time.”

As we enter a month into our relationship Jim only gets clingier. He drives us to school and takes me home, usually overstaying his welcome. He’s a distraction, my grades are dropping and I’ve started to stay longer in school. I walk home when I can, slipping out when Jim isn’t looking. 

We have our first argument the day Jim catches me heading home with Medina. I told Jim I had an after-school careers meeting so I could get some hours away from him and he caught us at the beach. It was horrible, but Jim’s tears and paranoia only confirmed my worst thoughts - he’s becoming too much.

“You’re so selfish.” He cries, “How could you lie to me?”

“I need my space, Jim.” I try to tell him. “You control every aspect of my life.”

His mouth drops open, “I do not.”

“You’re smothering me.” I tell him, “You pick me up and take me home, you stay too long at my house. I can’t do anything without you anymore.”

“Well I’m sorry for wanting to spend time with you.”

“It’s just too much.” 

Medina looks between the two of us, “Jim you have been a bit full-on-”

“Don’t you dare.” Jim rounds on her, “You don’t have a say in this.” He cups my cheeks, “Y/N, all I want is your love. What has brought this on?”

A tear leaks out of my eye, “I heard you, Jim.”

“You heard me?”

“On the balcony.” I say, avoiding his crystalline eyes. “I heard you say that if you can’t have me no one else can.”

Jim scoffs, “You took that seriously?”

“How else I am meant to take it?”

“Baby, you’re overreacting.” Jim says, “I just-”

“I just…no one has made me feel the way you have. I feel safe with you, I feel loved.” He kisses me and I have no choice but to let him, “I’ve loved you for so long.”

I look into his eyes. Jim is completely convinced that what he’s doing is alright, that his obsession is just an act of love. He thinks I should be moved by this level of devotion. 

I take his chin in my thumb and index finger, “You need help, Jim.”

His face turns violent. Jim’s eyes cloud over with something I’ve never seen before, “I do not need help.” He seizes my arms, “I don’t need help!” He repeats.

Medina shoves her brother, “What the hell? Let her go, Jim.”

Jim realises his mistake at once. He lets me go, taking a step back. His eyes fall on Medina, “Shit, what am I doing?”

I start to pack up my things, shoving them into my duffle bag. “Don’t follow me, Jim.”

Panic grips him, “What are you doing?”

“There’s no middle with you.” I try to reason with him once more, “When it’s good it’s great but when it’s bad you’re so clingy and you won’t let me go even for five minutes and I don’t want to lie to you. It’s worse than then...”

A silence stretches between us, “I’ve been clean for months.” Jim states, his voice low. 

“I just need to breathe.” I say, “It’s like you’re obsessed.”

“I am not!” Jim seizes me again, “You are my life, Y/N. You and Medina, I can’t survive without you.”

I wrench myself out of his arms, “Don’t call me.” I order, grabbing my bag and heading to the car. “I need time.”

I race to my car, Medina following me. “Are you breaking up with me?” Jim calls, but I don’t turn back. “Y/N!” He screams, giving chase. “You can’t break up with me!”

“Stop, Jim.” Medina shouts, “You’re too much.”

But Jim’s beside himself. He collapses into the sand, “Is it Nathan? I’ll find that fucking prick! I can’t let you go!” He shouts, “You can’t leave me. I need you now more than ever. You selfish bitch!”

I unlock the car and sit inside, Medina sliding into the passenger seat. I catch Jim’s red eyes, he looks so lost and desolate on his knees in the sand. The wind ruffles his hair and he’s still speaking, but I can no longer hear him.

I prefer it that way, maybe it’s better if I never hear from him again. 

Two months into our ‘relationship’ and Jim has taken up stalking me outside my house. It isn’t really a relationship, I don’t speak to Jim but he tries to win me back every second he can. He doesn’t stop calling my phone so I end up throwing it out the window. It landed at Jim’s feet and died in his hand, the screen spiderwebbed and useless. Mom’s worried, so is Dad. They don’t let Jim inside anymore, though I can hear him begging from the hallway. They’re trying to protect me, but it’s damaging Jim too. I don’t want to see him suffer, but what can I do?

He tries to break into the house and my parents call the police. They drag Jim away in handcuffs and threaten him with a restraining order. He’s crying, begging to see me because I can tell the cops it’s just a misunderstanding. We’ve just had an argument and he’s here to apologise. 

I let them take him away and Sandy’s round the next day because Jim spent the night in jail. 

He follows me at school, the bags evident under Jim’s eyes. He’s been called into the Principals’ office numerous times and they’ve been made aware of his trip to the Police Office. Three months into this nightmare Medina tells me that Jim has been suspended. 

“They think he’s using again because of the bags under his eyes.” She tells me, the two of us watching Jim from my bedroom window. He sits on the bonnet of his car, staring up at us. He doesn’t move that much, his gaze locked on me, biding his time. 

I swallow, “It seems there are worse addictions.”

Medina takes my hand, “I’m scared, Y/N.” She whispers, “He’s not eating, he’s violent. I don’t want to be around him, he’s consumed with you.”

I can’t let Medina be at risk in her own home. I know what I have to do, “Will you go get him?”

Medina splutters, “A...are you sure?” 

I sit down at my desk, listening to the sound of Medina’s dying footsteps. She’s running to get Jim, seizing the chance to have us make amends. It must be torture for her, the brother and the best-friend and she’s right in the middle. I close my laptop lid and wait for the Mason twins to enter, but Medina isn’t there. Only Jim stands before me, “Where is-”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jim looks even wilder than I thought. His hair is a mess, clumps sticking up in tufts. His eyes are bloodshot, glassy and I can smell the drugs from here. 

“Get out.” I snap, “I’m not doing this while you’re drugged. You said you were clean.”

“Oh I was.” Jim’s voice is cracking and deeper than I’ve ever heard it. “But you make me do the craziest things, Y/N.”

Fear ripples through me, “Leave.”

“No baby, no.” Jim stumbles over to me and drops to his knees. He places his hands on my thighs, “I’m never going to leave you again now I’m here.”

He takes out a key from his jacket pocket at waves it in front of your face, “Guess what this is?” I don’t want to know, my eyes watching the key wave back and forth. “This is where we’re gonna live.” Jim grins, “Just you and me. I’ll be perfect, we’ll let Medina visit on the weekends, we’ll have a cat. It’s by the beach and you’re gonna love it. One bedroom, of course.”

“What the fuck?” I breathe, “You aren’t serious?”

Jim’s grip on me tightens, “I’ve never been more serious about anything.”

“Where did you get the money to afford it?” I challenge, pushing his hands off. “Tell me, Jim.”

He giggles, falling back onto his heels. The key slips from his hands, “My Mom’s so stupid.” He says, “She leaves Dad’s black credit card just on the coffee table. Cause sweet, innocent Jim would never ever use it for anything.” Jim looks so triumphant, so pleased with himself. “We’re getting out, baby. You and me, we’ll be together forever.” 

I make my move, surging for the front door. “Medina!”

Jim beats me to it, slamming my bedroom door shut and pinning himself against it. “Uh uh.”

I shove him, “Open the door right now.”

“You should be careful, Y/N.” Jim warns, “You don’t know who will try and take advantage of you when you’re parents are out.” Of course he knows they aren’t here. He’s been watching the house for days, creeping out my entire family. Jim smirks, “Date night at Beluca’s right?”

“Fuck you.” I hiss, “There is no way I am going to live with you in your fucked little fantasy.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Jim’s fingers play with my hair, “You belong to me, Y/N. You were always destined to be mine, just as you will always have me.” He leaves bites down my neck, his lips attacking me and sucking on every spare inch of skin he can find. “We’re gonna have the best life.” He murmurs, nuzzling into me, “We don’t need PV or school or anyone. Just each other and when we’re nice and settled I’m gonna fuck a baby into you. We’ll have the most beautiful children, a boy and a girl.” Jim pecks you on the lips, “Doesn’t it sound like heaven?” 

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[metaphoricallyroger]

With Love, From Me to You - ii of iv [R.T.]

Summary: One-hundred ways to say ‘I love you’ over twenty-seven years.

Words: 3,511

Warnings: Implied smut. Swearing. Vomit mentions.  

Note: This follows both Bohemian Rhapsody’s and real-life events (generally for dates, minor plot etc.), picture whichever Roger you fancy! The title is taken from ‘From Me To You’ by The Beatles.

--

26. (1971):

“How’d he work out?”

You’re swept into a hug that lifts you off your feet as you’re spun around by Roger, who’s buzzing with excitement after Queen’s first gig with John.

“I could kiss you you’re that brilliant!”

“Don’t get too excited there! I take it I was right?” You grin knowingly, having watched the performance yourself.

--

27. (1972):

Roger almost couldn’t believe the lecture he was getting from John. Having feelings for you? Him? You’ve been best friends since you were fifteen, weren’t these things supposed to crop up in your teenage years rather than punch you in the face in your twenties?

“Don’t worry, it’ll go away soon.” Roger sniffs and looks away from where he’s been staring at you talking to some shaggy-haired Jim Morrison knock-off. What did Morrison have that Roger doesn’t? Oh yeah, Roger thinks, a successful band with numerous albums, and he wrote like a poet. Who wouldn’t be in love with him?

“If you say so,” Deacy replies in a honeyed tone, not looking so convinced.

“Oh God,” Roger continues, ignoring John, “she makes me crazy all the time, I can’t stop thinking about her, even when I don’t think I’m thinking about her, guess what? I still am!”

“Yeah, so you like her, Roger.”

--

28. (1972):

Roger sits and waits outside your flat, growing more anxious as the night wears on and you still aren’t home. He knows he should have called, should have made himself open up, but the only thing he can focus on is how he let your relationship become so strained.

“Roger? What are you doing here?” You weren’t expecting to see him tonight, the blonde man sitting, hunched on the stairs in the cold.

Roger has been distant for the past few weeks. You haven’t seen him as much as you normally would and you put it down to band stress, but for him to not even call? There had to be something else going on.

“I’m not going to let our friendship fail just because I’ve been an arse these past few weeks.”

“An arse,” you scoff, “that’s putting it lightly. Why have you been ignoring me?”

“I’ve been going through some stuff.”

“Girl stuff?” You don’t want to assume, but Roger does like women.

“Yeah. That’s not an excuse to avoid you, I can’t do that to you. Our friendship matters too much to me to do that.”

“I’m glad you came,” you whisper and pull him into a hug that makes your heart flip.

--

29. (1972):

“All we’ve got is an almost empty box of Corn Flakes.” Your stomach growls at the idea of not getting anything to eat.

“You eat it. You’ve got to start recording an album, you’ll want all your strength.” You get a bowl out of the cupboard and set it down in front of him.

“We can share.”

--

30. (1972):

You sit on the lounge in the control room with Mary and the new friend Roger has brought along. The band is trying to record tracks for their first album, and are using all of their allotted late-night time to the best of their advantage.

You enjoy the way Roger looks when he’s focused on his creative processes, the small crease between his brow, the tapping of his fingers. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

“He’s really something isn’t he?” The girl, Emma, says. You watch as Roger uses spoons to play a beat on pots and kettles he’s borrowed from who-knows-where.

“Yeah,” you agree, “he is.”

Mary watches the exchange with a knowing pair of eyes, too wise beyond her years.

--

31. (1973):

In the bathroom of the crappy flat that all of the boys share, you help Roger with smoking his eyeliner out.

It is Freddie’s idea that they should all try out eyeliner to ‘spiff’ up their boring looks, as he so delicately put.

“There. Very beautiful.” You wipe your finger on a piece of toilet paper to get rid of the remaining dark stains.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” you grin as Roger preens over himself in the mirror, fiddling with his blonde locks. The darkness of the eyeliner brings his blue eyes out so that they look like liquid silver.

--

32. (1973):

You sneak up on Roger who’s sitting on his flats outside stairs, smoking. Brian has banned all smoking indoors and you haven’t heard the last of it from Roger since that battle.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

“What?” He turns to look at you but you push his head back to the front.

“Just do it.”

An odd-shaped bundle lands on his palms and he immediately opens his eyes, not wanting to wait to see what you got him.

“You bought me flowers?”

You bounce lightly on your toes as you gesticulate in an excited manner.

“Yes! You bought me some when I got my first job, so I wanted to return the favour for your first album!”

“Well, thank you. They smell nice.” You can see that he does sincerely mean his thanks, but you know it wasn’t what he wanted.

You sit down next to him.

“Don’t worry I also got you a bottle of wine,” you purr, “you can give the flowers to Brian.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

--

33. (1973):

“This is bollocks and I can’t understand why I need to dress up,” Roger whines as he adjusts his blazer in the mirror.  

“Probably because this party is to celebrate your first album and being signed for the first time? I think they need the whole band there, not just three-quarters. You look very nice, this is your night, and you should enjoy it.” You smile, knowing you can win him around.

“I don’t even have hairspray left. There. I can’t go now,” he huffs.

“You can use mine.”

“Why are you suggesting things that will actually get us there quicker?!” Roger physically refuses the hairspray so you spray it all over his blonde mane for him, causing him to grumble under his breath.

--

34. (1973):

“Oh fuck, oh no,” you drag out.

“It’s alright, Y/N.” Mary tries her best to console you by rubbing your back where you’re hunched over on her and Freddie’s lounge.

“Maybe you should talk with one another? You’re best friends, you should be able to talk to one another about this stuff.”

“Best friends shouldn’t get feelings for each other, Mary!” You can’t help but yell.

“What does he mean to you, Y/N?” Despite you yelling at her, Mary replies in a calming, loving voice.

“He means the world to me. Like he was made just for me. To be the best thing.”

“I think you’ve got your answer,” she smiles gently.

--

35. (1974):

On one of your rare days off from the small publishing firm you work at, you sit on the lounge next to Roger in the space Queen had rented to practice in. The band are preparing to travel to America for their first international stint thanks to John Reid.

“Are you excited about going to America?”

“Course, we get to support a great band and bring our music to the American fans.” You glance at Brian where he sits on top of his amp, watching his curls bounce as he agrees with his bandmate.  

“You aren’t excited to meet all the American ladies?”

“Did I not mention that was the only reason I’m going?” You dig your elbow into his rib cage and he jolts before settling down again.

You both fall into a comfortable silence and you shift on the lounge, leather creaking with age. You’re jostled due to your close proximity as Roger sits up straight and begins to fiddle with his shirt buttons.

“I want you to have this.” He hands you the necklace you’ve seen around his neck since he was eighteen that looks like a medallion from the Olympic Games.

“But, you love this necklace!”

“Consider it a memento, so you don’t forget about me.” He winks and crinkles his nose.

“I don’t think I could forget about you even if I tried.”

The necklace sits against your chest as you see Roger and the rest of the boys off at the airport the next week.

--

36. (1974):

The phone connection isn’t great, and you struggle to pick up on the story Roger is telling you.

“Wait, so you’re coming back early?”

“Brian’s sick, think he picked something up from a needle.” You hear him stammer and know that it can’t be something as mere as a cold. Not if they cancelled their openings for Mott the Hoople.

“How are you all getting home?”

“Dunno, we’ll have to work that out once we get here. Got to get Brian to the hospital first, that is if we get through immigration. He’s bright yellow.”

You nibble at your lip before speaking. “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” You both say a quiet goodbye after that and lie back on beds in rooms encased in early sunlight and late darkness.

--

37. (1974):

It’s not a particularly romantic atmosphere, a hospital, that is, to think about kissing someone. You stand with Roger as he smokes after visiting with Brian, who is finally starting to look his normal, still pale, colour.

“Can I kiss you?” You swallow constantly and try to avoid eye contact, wanting to shrink under the inevitable shattering of a friendship.

It’s something you’ve been thinking about a lot in the recent months, especially since he gave you his necklace. That gesture made you think he might have feelings for you too. Your wildest thoughts could not have prepared you for his answer.

Roger answers you with a kiss of his own.

--

38. (1974):

“I’m sorry it was such a shit date.” The restaurant was terrible and the movie even worse, but this is your first date with Roger, and that made it perfect overall.

“It wasn’t all shit.”

“It wasn’t?” A bashful smile graces his features and he stops rubbing his fingers along the bleached pocket of his jeans.

“No, you were with me, remember?”

--

39. (1974):

You don’t want to rush into things with Roger. After having been friends for almost ten years, this next step in your now-relationship seemed almost too intimate.

“I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared? It’s just me.” His eyebrows crease, worrying that he has done something unintentionally to scare you.

“That’s it. It’s you. I never thought this would happen in a million years.”

Your eyes shift around the room, trying to focus on anything except for the angelic features of the man in front of you.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to. I really want to.”

“Are you sure?” His hand timidly traces your sternum where the priceless necklace lies. It’s as if he’s trying to imprint it to your skin. An angel’s kiss.

“Yes. Just be gentle?”

You share one small kiss and pull away. A moment passes, a flicker of the eyes before you’re devouring each other.

--

40. (1975):

“So, we’re together,” Roger states, gripping your hand tightly should the band have a bad reaction. You both agreed, that after being in a relationship for months, it was high time to tell the people Roger (and you to an extent) considers himself closest to.

“We know,” John says in that deadpan way you wouldn’t expect from the often-quiet man.

“What do you mean ‘we know’?”

“It’s glaringly obvious, darlings.” Freddie also pipes up, not pausing his motions as he plays a nameless tune which seems to boost the mood of the room.

“But we tried so hard to hide it.”

“That was the problem, geniuses, neither of you are subtle.” It’s also Brian’s turn to add his two quid apparently.

“Anyways,” John continues, ignoring Brian, “we’re happy for you, Roger.”

“I’m happy too,” his lips curl into a beatific smile.

--

41. (1975):

“Are you enjoying Japan?”

You talk quietly into the receiver behind your desk at work. Although it was your lunch break, you didn’t want to go to a telephone box where the connection wouldn’t be so great and you’d have to keep feeding a machine to ensure you get to talk to your boyfriend. Talking quietly was to ensure the gossiping women around you didn’t overhear.

“It’s very overwhelming, but exciting, you know? We have to keep leaving the hotel through the kitchens!”

“Why are you doing that?” You laugh.

“People keep coming into the hotels looking for us!”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! People were even waiting for us at the airport with pictures and signs all screaming their heads off.” You know the boys are used to a moderate amount of success in England, but hearing about their reception in Japan sounds like what The Beatles experienced when they first went to America.

“Well, Mr Rock Star, I can’t wait to see you,” you purr.

“I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll try to get you a present if I can escape the hotel prison.” He yawns through his last sentence.

“Go to sleep, Roger.”

“Go back to work, Y/N.” You can hear him grin over the connection.

--

42. (1975):

You and Roger were enjoying the peace and quiet that came with a bubble bath. He rests between your legs and swirls his hands through the bubbles, sometimes giving himself a beard with them and turning around just to hear you laugh. Said peace and quiet were interrupted by your boyfriend’s bandmates who’ve still yet to grasp the concept of privacy.

“Jesus, Brian!” You huddle yourself against Roger’s back to protect your modesty.

When Brian starts talking, he pointedly stares over the tops of both your heads, trying not to make eye contact that could make social interactions with you awkward for the rest of your lives.

“You weren’t answering your phone, Rog.”

“You don’t possibly think there was a reason for that, Brian?” Roger also adjusts himself and brings his arms back to wrap around your waist.

“We’ve got a meeting with Ray Foster again in an hour.”

“Can’t you see we’re a bit busy here, mate?” Roger gestures to the shampoo still in his hair where you were pampering him with a scalp massage.

“Yes,” Freddie now sweeps into the bathroom, “we can all see that you’re busy grooming each other, but time doesn’t stop for Roger Taylor. Let’s go.” He claps his hands together.

“Why are you so excited?” Roger scrunches his face, glaring at Freddie.

“Because my stroke of genius is going to get us another hit, darling.”

--

43. (1975):

“Recording studio?” Roger looks at the rooster that parades itself across the wall and the mud that’s seeping into the bottom of his jeans.

“Well, the idea was to get away from all distractions.”

Roger turns from Paul to look at you with a scowl on his face.

“Good thing I’m not a distraction then.” You grin and share a secretive kiss with Roger once all the other boys have gone inside.

--

44. (1975):

Sickness has made its way around the band and whilst Freddie and Brian were getting over their flu, Roger seems to have caught something else.

You sit backstage on the cracking lounge with Roger as he sips from a cup of water rather than beer, subconsciously letting you know how poorly he’s feeling.

“How are you feeling?”

He doesn’t respond and instead burrows himself into your side with a groan.

When they’re moments away from taking to the stage, Roger looks like he’s about to lose what little food he has consumed and you watch as he swallows heavily before walking on stage.

You watch the show with trepidation, but Roger’s adrenaline seems to be working as he doesn’t look ill enough that the audience will be able to tell.

However, when the lights go down, Roger is the first one backstage and heads straight for the nearest rubbish bin where you follow and pull his hair back from his face just in time.  

“Here. Drink this,” you hand him your water, “it’ll make you feel better.”

--

45. (1976):

“Roger, you’re snoring,” you groan into the darkness.

“Huh?”

“You’re snoring, I can’t sleep.” The pillow you’ve placed over your face is removed and blonde hair swims in your vision.

“I’ll go sleep on the lounge,” he yawns out whilst you roll over to go back to sleep too tired to understand what he’s saying.

You aren’t asleep for long before you wake up cold and take your pillow to the lounge with Roger, who accepts you into his arms without waking up.

--

46. (1976):

You break up over something so incredibly mundane, you can’t believe it. You leave after Roger suggests you should move into a house together. It’s not that you aren’t ready, because you are, you just had a momentary panic. And broke up with your boyfriend in the process.

“I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot!” You turn up at his bedsit in the early hours of the morning, panting hard. You can barely look him the eyes as you continued your frantic ranting.

He pulls you inside and moves you over to his lounge, trying to get you to stop shaking.

“What? Don’t call yourself that, you aren’t ready to move in, it’s totally fine!”

“But I am,” you groan and put your face in your hands, “I don’t know why I broke up with you, I freaked out.”

“You broke up with me? I didn’t think I spooked you that much.” You take your head away from your hands and blink to get rid of the red spots in your vision. He’s grinning at you.

“Stop, I’m trying to get you to be in a relationship with me again.”

“Consider it done, on one condition.” He holds your hands, kissing the tops of them softly.

“That is?”

“You tell me when you’re ready to move in with me.” You look into his eyes and see such sincerity that you know he’d wait forever to live with you.

“I am so, so ready to move in with you, Roger Taylor.”

He kisses you gently and picks you up, carrying you off to his bed.

--

47. (1976):

“I’m really cold.” Roger’s teeth clattering are deafening in the dark, silent bedroom.

“That’s because you’re sick.”

In the first week of living together in your newly bought house (if it could be called that), Roger has unfortunately caught himself a nasty cold.

“Y/N,” he whines, “can you come closer?”

You roll your eyes and shuffle over to the man already buried under a mountain of sheets. He didn’t have a fever, you made sure of that, he was just cold.

“Do you want me to get you another jumper?”

“No, I’ve got you to keep me warm.” He wraps himself around you and nuzzles against your chest, snuffling slightly to make himself comfortable.

--

48. (1976):

Roger wakes up to fingertips dancing across his features.

“What’re you doing?” He whispers in his deep morning voice, without opening his eyes. He feels your hand tenderly withdraw before they ghost down his shoulder, tracing the veins of his forearm and the lines in his palms.

“Looking at you.”

“Why?” He forces himself to open his eyes with a yawn and looks up at your smiling face.

“Just because you’re pretty.”

--

49. (1977):

“I know,” Roger sighs, ready for the third degree as he makes his way into the restaurant.

“Only an hour and a half late,” You nod. You receive a kiss so deep that you’re surprised no one has noticed the rockstars entrance.

“I’m so sorry, the plane got held on the runway,” he whispers. “Did I miss the cake?”

You roll your eyes and slide a piece of your friends birthday cake across the table as her husband gives a speech about how proud he is of her thirty years on earth.

“I saved you a piece, aren’t I sweet?”

“You are, without a doubt, the best thing that’s happened to me.” Your eyes nearly get stuck in the back of your head from their rolling as you smile with that soft one reserved only for Roger.

--

50. (1977):

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?”

Without saying hello to Roger, you immediately blurt out the first thing that comes to mind when you see his new appearance.

“Hello to you too, love.”

“Why-why did you cut it?” Shock glimmers in your eyes as you stutter in your state.

“Because I can? Everyone else has too!”

“Brian still has the same hair!” You point at the tall man stood off to the side, who still has the same hair as when you met him.

“Brian is a ninety-year-old in a thirty-year-olds body. I can’t expect him to look after himself.”

You hear Brian’s groan of protest and grumble under your breath as Roger moulds himself to your side.

“Do you hate it?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out on you.” You pause for a moment and quietly stare at his hair.

“I think it’s growing on me.” You run your hand through his hair and enjoy its new softness.

[secretshinigami]

all right, here goes nothing

Author: @hazblogs For: @weneedtotalkaboutdeathnote Pairings/Characters: Mello/Matt, Mello/Near, Mello, Near, Matt, L Rating/Warnings: T, mention of dermatillomania Prompt: An Au where L defeated Kira, grew older, and basically disappeared. Older Mello (mid 20sish, now a detective) follows a lead that takes him to the washed up L. Author’s Notes: nyello !!!!! after all this time i’m very proud to announce that my gift is here !!! i really hope you like it and that everyone else will too. i had lots of fun !!! have a good day everyone

The recorder makes some shitty ass noise before working, but that’s all xe has, so xe makes it work.

All right, here goes nothing.

“I never imagined I would be alive to tell you this. From the most crack ass place of the Earth, nowhere in Argentina, here’s Mello, also known as the second fucking best detective in the world, and I’m here to report on-”

There’s some background bang that makes xem stop. Xe rereads xer intro one last time, waiting for the noise to subside, and then, xe gives up and gets out that crap laptop from xer backpack and starts typing again. The room is dimly lit, and moss grows on the exposed beams, there are probably termites eating at them.

If xe’s right about this, it could be the most important discovery in the detective world since the fall of Kira.

It’s been… twelve years or so. Mello still remembers what xe did when the news broadcast announced that Light Yagami was dead (xe was cat-fighting Matt for a place closer to the TV) and xe remembers the intolerable feeling of dread that seized xem. “That’s it. We’re all useless now,” was what xe thought, and it’s been half disproved by the years, but the feeling lingers.

Something is making noise again, an awful lot of noise, and – fuck, someone is trying to break in again, aren’t they. Mello grabs xer crowbar and directs a lazy but wary gaze towards the door. It finally flings open, and. Oh yeah. It’s Matt.

“Mells, fuck you,” he says without missing a beat, “I’ve been under the rain for like, fifteen minutes, couldn’t you just come and see who was trying to enter ?”

“Easier to let ‘em come and take ‘em out when they’re already in. That way I don’t get wet,” Mello answers, and Matt makes an indignant noise of protest, before giving up entirely and walking away to shower.

The little house they’re renting on the Argentinian coast is big enough to have three rooms, and they’ve been staying there for some days now, thanks to Wammy’s insufferable donations. Not that they couldn’t afford it by xemself but xe’s been… spending xer money, lately. More than usual.

Matt is back half an hour later, naked – because he knows Mello fucking hates it – and he lingers on the back of the couch long enough to peep at what Mello is typing, before getting a new set of clothes. It’s not exactly warm inside, though it’s far from freezing, and xe sits tightly wrapped in a blanket.

“Any new stuff ?” Matt asks.

“Nope,” xe says, and xe sighs. The leads have been cold for a little while now, not long enough for it to despair, but enough to make xem worry xe is losing track of xer most important witnesses. Though, it’s been weeks since xe has been on that case, and it’s been nothing but one cold shoulder after the other.

“Gimme that computer and go get something to eat,” Matt ends up saying around dinner time, and xe knows it’s only to read more of this… second novel, if you can call it that. Xe isn’t a good writer by any means, though xe thinks xe got better over the years, and this is only a shitty first draft, full of plot bunnies and incoherent rambling. Matt should also not be allowed to read anything on xer newest lead, until xe knows for sure it’s not a sham. Last time was enough.

They end up shutting the laptop off, squeezing both their asses on the small couch, and eating microwave chili with a single spoon. Two adult-sized kids, grown up too fast, looking for old gods under the rain.

My first lead was a woman named Naomi Misora. If you’ve read my previous work, you should know about her – she is the one who helped L solve the Los Angeles BB murder case. She died during the Kira case, however her suicide note contained deeply important information revealed that she had try to contact L before she died. What prevented her ? What are the circumstances of her death ? It seems that her husband Raye Penber was one of the FBI agents sent to chase Kira in Japan, and that after his death she simply wouldn’t go on living decided to commit suicide for an unknown reason. This is not consistent with the person L had described to me, which is why I went to such great lengths to get this letter from her living relatives.

I was disappointed not surprised at the contents of the letter. She did not have any information about where L could be, and hadn’t been contacted by him after the BB murder case, even though she had quit the FBI to become a consultant and eventually a stay at home fiancée. She did manage to mention, though, that she met several people, through the course of her career as a consultant, that claimed to have been helped by L.

This is where my investigation begins.

“So you say you have no idea why L helped you ?” Mello asks, slightly bored. And infuriated. And close to getting up and walking away from this shitplace.

The old woman lives in a hole-in-the-wall, next to a supermarket and a church, and probably only leaves her crappy residence to go to both those locations. Her house is however surprisingly decorated with a fully reconstructed human skull.

Mello would like to insist on the “reconstructed” part – it appears to have been smashed in a hundred pieces, and glued back together before being varnished. It has long since turned yellow, and will probably crumble at the lightest touch. Xe won’t try to grab it, though holding a supposedly real human skull has its charm.

“I don’t, young lady,” she answers, and Mello has to stifle a laugh – it’s been a while since people mistook xem for a girl, but xe guesses the long hair is a disguise enough. “I simply know my husband died in his boat and next, I was contacted by this old woman on the phone who said the greatest detective in the world would like to help.”

Her husband was killed by the English military for getting too close to the Falklands with (as they said to her, after L’s investigation) threatening weaponry: a fishing rod, five knives and a standard rifle. She is the last person to have heard from L in an investigation context, and her help is invaluable. Mello can’t help but feel absolutely cheated.

This is what L was doing ? Seven years ago, before his unofficial retiring, helping this old woman solve the death of a husband she was the only one to mourn was probably the last thing on his mind. Why do it then ?

Matt thinks he knows what this is about. He thinks, and Mello is directly quoting him there, “that you’re looking for L because you never solved any-fucking-thing that he couldn’t have solved, and if you manage to outsmart him, then maybe for once you’ll stop being a bitter little bitch”. Touché, xe had thought, but also, fuck you.

An hour later, Mello exits the house with the feeling that xe is a tiny step closer to unravelling the truth. Xe has a clue – an address in southern Italy. It’s no longer useful to stay in Argentina, thankfully, the weird winter was starting to get on xer nerves. Matt will probably be happy he can go back to England now that his tracking devices aren’t needed.

Xe just hopes this isn’t another false hope.

I went to the police department of Los Angeles looking for the archives of the BB murder case. One of the things Beyond Birthday requested during his stay was a speech-to-text device that he could use with his damaged arms, presumably to write his memoirs. What if there were clues as to L’s whereabouts ? Anything about his past that could get me to where he is now ?

A few days in, I realised my mistake. The memoirs were a series of names and numbers, accompanied with notes as to what appeared to be a suspected cause of death. Most of the names at the beginning I did not know, but for some pages there was a list I recognised as the birthnames of Wammy orphans. This deduction I was able to make seeing my name and Matt’s – and one name I guessed was Near’s. L’s real name, is L.

L Lawliet.

This name was supposed to be my biggest lead – even my former place of residence could be tracked down using my birthname, which is the reason why I keep it a secret, and the Kira investigation showed the importance of this secrecy.

There is nothing, not a single clue, tying L back to his name. He has, for all intents and purposes, no existence under the name Lawliet as I have none under mine, we are for all society but black holes with no ID numbers.

At first comforting, the thought came to be troubling. What if we don’t exist.

The town has its charm, xe have to admit. Matera is a small-ish city looking down on a gorgeous landscape, that has nothing to envy to the beauty of Rome and its cathedrals. It feels… so foreign, so fucking weird, to imagine L sitting at the terrace of café eating ice-cream.

He probably isn’t even here. He probably set never foot in this town. Mello is probably knocking on the door of some stranger right now, and the person opening definitely isn’t someone xe has seen before.

“Cosa posso fare per te, signorina?” asks an old lady with an incredible wig and hands that could definitely strangle a chicken. She seems partially deaf from the way she angles her head, so Mello takes on his strongest normal voice to answer, “Un giovane uomo vive qui?”

“Maestro L, qualcuno ti sta chiamando !” she yells back, and xe has to do a double take to make sure xe didn’t mishear.

L.

He’s here.

A man in his thirties, with dark bags under his eyes. Standing hunched, almost like he’s afraid. Biting on his thumb, and looking at xem without any spark in his eyes.

After all this time looking for him, Mello doesn’t know what to say.

“Cosa vuoi, Laetitia,” he asks eventually, eyeing Mello with deep-seated fatigue.

“La signorina qui ti sta chiedendo,” the old woman answers, and she leaves without giving xem another glance.

They spend a minute or so looking at each other, trying to decide who will make the first move. L looks ready to slam the door in xer face, and his eyes are still so fucking empty – it’s almost frightening.

“Wait,” Mello eventually says as L reaches for the doorknob.

“What do you want,” he asks, voice deeper than xe remembers. “I’m not letting any clients in.”

“I’m not a client,” xe says petulantly, forgetting about the world around them. For a moment xe is thirteen again, looking up at L with stars in xer eyes and wondering what they did to deserve meeting him.

“Do I know you ?” L says, almost wondering aloud. “Your face looks familiar.”

This snatches the words out of Mello’s mouth. So… he doesn’t remember xem. Has xe changed that much ? Xe doesn’t think so, and even then, it’s L xe is talking about, he would remember xer face had he seen xem an infant.

What is happening ?

A thousand pleas die on xer tongue.

L sighs, and closes the door.

I don’t even fucking know what to write in here. This is entry 37 of this journal and I have absolutely nothing to write because L has gone insane and isn’t recognising me and he locked the door in my face. I don’t know if I’m furious or scared or just super tired of it all.

It was so useless in the end I can’t even believe I thought it’d be useful.

Mello hates xemself for not thinking about what xe would do in case this failed.

Well. Rather, in case this succeeded. What did xe think would go on ? A familial reunion ? Talk about a cliché. That would never happen, not with L as xe knew him, so… what exactly was xe hoping for ?

When xe is in doubt, xer first reflex is to call Matt. He always knows what to say, but right now, Mello needs something else (xe can hear him, drawling voice and all, “What did you expect, Mells, just give it up”. This is not what xe needs right now).

Xe calls Near.

Xe forgot xe had his number, but xe does, and it rings once before Near answers the call.

“It’s five in the morning, Mello.” ‘What the fuck’ is implied but not said, and xe appreciates the efforts Near makes not to get on xer nerves.

“You’re in Japan, I forgot.” Xe didn’t. “I…”

“You found him. Matt told me.” Near’s voice is small, tired and still somehow bored, but he knows how important this is for xem, so he settles back on whatever chair he was in and probably starts twirling his hair, a habit he never grew out of.

“He’s a complete dumbass,” Mello seethes. Xe can’t help it, it all goes pouring out. “He didn’t recognise me. And before you tell me it’s something he came up with so I’d leave him alone, no, he really didn’t. I could see it. He really fucking didn’t know who I was, Near. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before and he asked if he knew me. I can’t do it, Near, fuck. I don’t know what I wanted out of this but…”

“But that’s not it,” Near quietly adds, “yeah, I understand.” He heaves a sigh, before going on. “I knew he lived there.”

For a split second, Mello’s vision whites out with fury. “What the fuck. I spent weeks on this.”

Near sighs again. “And what for ? You didn’t even get a pat on the back.” Scratching sounds, the ruffling of white pyjamas, a yawn. “Sorry, that was rude,” Near says, not sounding sorry at all. “I know how important this was for you. Maybe you should try to go back, see if now he recognises you. His memory can’t be that bad.”

Mello huffs haughtily, not ready to admit defeat and make the first step. L will reach him if he wants to. Which is fucking never.

Xe doesn’t know if xe is ok with that.

Maybe Near is right.

“Ok, say I contact him. What do I even say,” Mello asks.

“You try and make friends, I thought you were good at it. Say you’re a fan. That’s not too far off the truth.”

Near has to be joking. A fan ? Xe would literally rather die. Once again Mello is submerged by the hopelessness xe felt when Kira died. In truth, xe knew Near would survive this. Near would prevail because he was godless, had no icons, no one to look up to. This battle of giants was not what his life had at stake.

Mello on the other hand, would stay in L’s shadow all xer life. Had, actually. Second rate detective, xe was, if xe was honest with xemself.

Fuck.

“I’ll just.” It’s Mello’s turn to sigh. “I’ll just let you sleep, Near,” xe says. “Thanks for listening to me.” This does not leave a bitter taste on xer tongue at all. “I’ll catch you later so you can tell me about stuff.”

“I didn’t even know you had my number,” he answers, “you’re probably blocking me right after this call.”

“Yeah, right,” Mello says. “Fucking true. Still. Have fun or whatever. You’ll pay me back for not telling me where he lives.”

“I have,” Near cryptically says, and he hangs up.

The doorbell rings.

I have received a package from a friend a business acquaintance, containing pictures and files about what L has done since retiring seven years ago. It is filled with mundane things such as crumpled grocery receipts, pictures of L sleeping in various locations and orders to have a giant washing machine built in his new house. What for I don’t know, since L barely seems to change clothes.

One thing that struck me was the date of Watari’s death. It was eight years ago, and he apparently died in his sleep of natural causes. I wonder how L took it. It must have had an impact on L’s detective abilities, as the Kira case was to my knowledge the only one where he revealed his face to associates during the case instead of speaking through the phone or through Watari. Had he found ways to interact with the world outside of his comfortable little bubble ?

It doesn’t seem like it. Barely a year after Watari’s death, L was ceasing all detective activity on international soil, solving only one minor police squabble in Wales before retiring to this little town in Italy. Did he lose his mind most of his field of action because of Watari’s death ?

I have another theory. L got bored. He stopped his detective work out of sheer fatigue, tired of never facing a foe as formidable as Kira. Tired of the never-ending squabbles for glory humans have, when he tasted the power of a wannabe god. No one will be as interesting to him as Kira and this destroyed him.

I know this because no one will be as interesting to me as L and

Xe stays in Matera for a little while. Not purposefully trying to cross L’s path, but not avoiding him either, rather, staying in this grey (dark) area where xe avidly goes to every place L might have been seen at times of the day he might be there, while telling xemself xe is totally not hoping they’ll meet. They kind of try to cross his path, ok.

Near’s pictures prove to be faithful. L can be seen helping Laetitia, his babysitter (for lack of a better word), do grocery shopping, or perusing market stalls. He can be seen drinking coffee on the little plaza and – this surprises Mello a great deal – going to church. Xe had never pegged L as a religious guy, not in the same sense as xem, but he doesn’t seem to go there out of devotion rather than out of the compulsive need to get out of the house as much as possible.

Near’s pictures also are useful, inasmuch as Mello is not surprised to see L gnawing at his fingers, pulling at his hair, scratching his leg over his jeans until it bleeds. He has dark circles under his eyes, worse than before, and the light in his room almost never goes off. He barely eats anything other than candy, though Mello sees Laetitia coax him into buying a sweet potato, something she does often judging by how easily L cedes to her demands, and… Mello thinks he gets a clearer picture.

Never meet your idols if you’re not ready to see them crumble under your baffled eyes, xe thinks bitterly.

There’s no point in staying in Matera any longer after xe realises this. Xe leaves at dusk, because xe loves a good theatrical exit. The only thing xe is not sure of is where to go. Matt says he’s busy but that his house is open, Near’s number is long gone from xer contact list – not that xe doesn’t know it by heart, but it’s the symbolic gesture that counts.

Xe errs here and there, going back to Wales for a short while before leaving for Sudan. Xe spends weeks there working on unveiling some of the horrors of the civil war, excruciating work that xe is not sure xe will ever do again. Months pass. Summer turns into autumn, and into winter again, like in Argentina.

Xe receives a message.

It’s from Near. He’s asking for advice. Which isn’t strange, he’s done that before, but Mello never answered and just changed xer number, though that never seemed to stop him.

This time, Mello answers.

There’s nothing like losing someone to make sure you’ll remember those who stay.

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

Isaac and the Angel - Chapter 22

Read on AO3

Isaac awakes the next morning with a painful crick in his neck, his face pressed uncomfortably against the couch cushions. He did not sleep well. He wishes he hadn’t slept at all. He sits up with a groan. Peeks over the back of the sofa to look at the clock in the kitchen. Eight twenty-seven. Too early to be awake, too late to go back to sleep. He sighs, flopping back down onto the couch. He curls up on one side, reaching toward the coffee table for his phone. No notifications. He puts the phone down. Closes his eyes once more.

He can feel in his bones that today is not going to be a good day.

Isaac had half expected to wake up and find Israfil crammed onto the couch beside him. He had half expected to feel the weight and warmth of a body pressed close against his own. A pair of arms wrapped loosely around him. But he is alone. And the angel is nowhere to be seen.

He supposes that’s for the best. After all, the couch is barely big enough for him to lie down comfortably by himself. He can’t imagine how unbearable it would be to share such a limited space with another person. Creature. Whatever.

Though, he has to admit it would’ve been nice to have someone to wake up to.

Isaac hears a faint rustling sound coming from a few feet away and he opens his eyes to see Israfil setting a paper bag down on the kitchen counter. Isaac didn’t even hear him come in. He has, for the second time, changed his clothes. Instead of the striped sweater and jeans he’s been wearing for weeks, he now wears a short sleeved grey button up and a pair of midnight blue velvet pants. The shirt, mysteriously, has the Cliff Bar logo sewn into the front, parallel with the breast pocket on the other side.

“Where do you get your clothes from?” Isaac asks drowsily.

Israfil turns sharply. “I thought you were still sleeping,” he says.

“I woke up just before you showed up.” He sits up again, running his fingers through his horribly tousled hair. “Where do you get your clothes?” he repeats, knowing if he doesn’t ask again he’ll probably never get an answer.

Israfil looks down at himself as if surprised to see that he’s wearing clothes at all. He pinches the fabric of his pants between his forefinger and thumb. “Why do you ask?”

“Just… I mean, every time you change clothes you show up in some weird thing I’ve never seen before.”

“You think I look weird?”

“You don’t look bad,” Isaac says quickly, “but you have to admit that a Cliff Bar button up and velvet pants aren’t the most normal articles of clothing.”

He shrugs. “I don’t even know who Cliff Bar is.”

Isaac snorts out a laugh. “It’s not a person, it’s a company.”

“Oh.” He continues to look thoughtfully at his outfit for a few moments before saying, “Maybe the clothes changed themselves.”

Isaac doesn’t really have the mental stamina or willpower required to unpack the logic of that statement, so he merely makes a noncommittal noise in lieu of a reply.

Israfil begins to rummage around in the paper bag, pulling out a stack of napkins and paper wrapped disposable utensils. “I brought you breakfast.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “It is breakfast time, right?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

“Too many meals,” he mumbles to himself. “I always get them mixed up.”

“There aren’t that many.”

He shakes his head. “Before I fell, I hadn’t eaten anything in hundreds of years. It is baffling to me that humans have to eat three times per day.”

“Well, three meals a day. There’s also snacks and desserts and stuff. Also brunch, which is kind of like a fourth meal, I guess.”

Israfil gives Isaac a very distressed look. “There’s what?”

“Never mind, not important.” Isaac gets up from the couch, his joints cracking loudly in protest. “What’d you get for breakfast?”

He removes a few large, plastic containers from the bag. There’s rice and dumplings and some kind of soup, along with what looks like pickled vegetables. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he admits, “and I didn’t want to wake you to ask. But I thought it would be rude not to get you anything, so I just… got a lot of things.”

“How did you pay for all of this?” Isaac asks, going into the kitchen to get plates and bowls out of the cupboard.

“…Don’t worry about it.” Isaac opens his mouth to ask what the hell that is supposed to mean, but Israfil adds, “I didn’t steal anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“The thought did cross my mind.” He spoons some of the soup into a bowl for himself. “Should I be concerned?”

“Nope.” Israfil shovels rice and vegetables onto his plate, neatly lining up three dumplings on the side. “I would tell you if you needed to be concerned about something.”

“I guess that’s… reassuring.” Isaac takes some of the vegetables as well, adding them into his bowl of soup. He also snags a couple dumplings. “Well, thanks for getting food either way. It’ll be nice to have leftovers for a little while.”

“Hm.” He sits down at the kitchen table, gingerly peeling strips of dough off the dumplings. “How are you feeling?” he asks abruptly, glancing up at Isaac.

“Fine,” he replies automatically. It always makes him oddly nervous when people ask how he’s feeling or if he’s okay. He makes himself very busy with the containers of food, putting their respective lids back on and gathering them to be put away. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Seems like the thing to do.” Israfil nibbles absently on one of the dough pieces. “I thought you might like to be asked. Although…” He trails off, breaking apart the filling of one of the dumplings with a plastic fork. “It looks like I might have been mistaken,” he says quietly.

Isaac picks up his plate and bowl, joining Israfil at the table. “It was nice of you to ask. But you don’t have to worry about me.”

“There are very few things I have to do.” He scoops a forkful of dumpling filling and rice into his mouth. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care ab—” Israfil cuts himself off, inhaling sharply as if pained by something Isaac can’t see.

“What is it?” he asks, looking Israfil up and down for any sign of what could have caused his reaction.

Israfil claps a hand over his wrist, his jaw tensing visibly. “Shit,” he mutters. “My cousin is calling.”

This statement raises a lot of questions for Isaac, but the only thing he can think to say is, “Since when do you have a cousin?”

But before Isaac can even finish his sentence, Israfil has disappeared into thin air as quickly and quietly as when he arrived. His fork falls from the place where his hand had been onto the table, landing with a faint clatter.

Isaac sighs, slumping back in his seat. “Just once,” he mutters, “I’d like to have a normal fucking interaction with him.”