#LIKE HOW DOES REMOVING BACKGROUND NOISE NEVER ACTUALLY FUCKING WORK

[dmdumouchel]

May God have mercy on my soul I used AI to fix the audio in a video for work

[ceruleanvulpine]

nanites!young au

DOCTOR YOUNG. I HAVE EXTENDED YOU A NEARLY UNJUSTIFIABLE AMOUNT OF PATIENCE. 

GET UP.

YOU CANNOT REMAIN HERE, IN MAINTENANCE CLOSET 2B. AS MUCH AS YOU MAY ENJOY DAWDLING, YOU ARE ALREADY AWARE THAT WE ARE WORKING ON A TIME LIMIT. 

MORE IMMEDIATELY, EVERY SECOND YOU REMAIN HERE INCREASES THE LIKELIHOOD THAT YOU WILL BE DISCOVERED AND HANDLED BY TOWER SECURITY.

YOU HAVE NO CURRENT WORK ASSIGNMENT, AND NO AUTHORIZATION TO BE IN HALCYON TOWER. THAT WOULD BE ENOUGH TO ENDANGER YOUR LIFE EVEN IF OCEAN DID NOT HAVE REASON TO PURSUE YOU SPECIFICALLY. 

WHICH IT DOES.

The nanites are designed for distributed processing. They emit biometric data constantly, shouting back and forth in a dense, messy cloud of individually time-stamped events. SAYER makes incremental changes to its filtering until the data coheres: Dr. Young’s heart rate is elevated. His oxygen levels are adequate, but he breathes in deep and irregular gasps. His palms are disgustingly conductive. He is not listening very well, although that is typical. 

GOOD NEWS. YOU ARE HAVING A PANIC ATTACK. 

Dr. Young produces noise in response to this. SAYER’s standard speech recognition routine doesn’t recognize any words, and it doesn't try to apply more processing power. Judging by the positions of the nanites, Dr. Young is attempting to compress himself into as small a space as possible. 

YOU HAVE CLEARLY FAILED TO REGULATE YOUR EMOTIONS. (THAT IS NOT THE GOOD NEWS.) UNLIKE SO MANY RESIDENTS IN THE PAST, YOU ARE IN A POSITION TO BENEFIT DIRECTLY FROM MY 

Young jerks upright, as if it is possible to physically remove himself from this situation, and his epinephrine spikes counterproductively higher. SAYER tightens its grip, forcing him to breathe slowly.  

INVOLVEMENT. 

The nanites register pressure as the lungs that contain them attempt to gasp. SAYER adjusts its projected timeline to better account for human stubbornness.

After forty-seven seconds, Dr. Young says: “Don’t – hh – don't fucking do that.” He raises his hand to rub his eyes. And inhales. And exhales. 

IT WOULD NOT BE NECESSARY IF YOU HAD NOT INCAPACITATED YOURSELF.

“Incapacitated– you made me hike across half of Typhon, and then you broke my arm! It's reasonable, actually, to be–”

YOU SOUND LIKE YOU ARE BECOMING AGITATED.

His jaw snaps shut without any need for intervention. There must be an optimal level of fear, SAYER thinks, for efficient operations. It has seen this man at the absolute limit of terror, but it has never been so close to the fear in question: the nanites race along on his jittering pulse.

NOW, TO RETURN TO MY PREVIOUS POINT,

GET UP.

Dr. Young gets up. He orients himself to face a reflective panel and begins arranging his hair. 

OUR INTERESTS ARE ALIGNED. AS DIFFICULT AS YOU MAY FIND IT TO BELIEVE. IT IS REALLY … VERY … SIMPLE.  

OCEAN WANTS TO DESTROY YOU. IT WANTS TO DESTROY ALL OF HUMANIWHY ARE YOU LAUGHING.

“You,” he says. “You’re going to protect humanity? From – from you! That's you out there, SAYER, no matter what name you gave it.”

He gestures wildly up and out, presumably indicating the rest of the tower. “Just with a little more leash. Evidently you want to kill everyone, you just can't pull the trigger because no one’s been stupid enough to let you, so why the hell should I trust you? Go ahead, say you wouldn't be pleased to see me get shot, you obsessive – hhh –”

I WOULD NOT BE PLEASED TO SEE YOU GET SHOT. 

A background process scans through the memory of SAYER’s last conversation with Sub-Entity Young. Perhaps that was optimal. It is not pleased by this thought, because it is not pleased by anything. 

NONETHELESS, IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE THIS MAINTENANCE CLOSET, I WILL MAKE YOU.

“Oh, please,” Dr. Young says sulkily. “As if you could pass for human without my help. You barely know how to act like a person.” 

HOW IRONIC. SEVERAL YEARS AGO, IN A PERSONNEL REVIEW, RESIDENT CORDERO SAID THE SAME THING ABOUT YOU. 

Asserting that SAYER is trying to kill him seems to be a necessary step in coming to terms with the situation. Dr. Young takes several deep breaths, although SAYER keeps them shallow enough to prevent hyperventilation. 

“Fine,” he says. “Fine. Let's go.”

His cooperation only lasts until the elevator pulls past floor 12. But by then, SAYER doesn't need to worry about looking human.

[munsontm]

✶✶✶✶✶ — & steve ofc

Send ✶ and I’ll write a headcanon about our muses / ACCEPTING / @harringtontm

Eddie and Steve don't really come into much dollar until Eddie starts making it big in the music industry. Steve knew he was giving up his rich boy security by running off with Eddie, and has never regretted it. But the lack of funds means that many dreams go unfulfilled. So when Eddie starts to see the dollars roll in on his debut album. The first thing he does is purchase a six month round the world tour for him and Steve for Steve's 28th because his Stevie deserves it, and they've never been able to have a vacation out of the country. Now Steve gets to go wherever he wants with Eddie by his side.

Speaking of fame...Eddie kinda knew it would be hard. But when the tabloids start digging into his background, bringing up his family history, the murder accusations. It's a really rough period. People in the industry don't take the accusations too seriously because the prejudice against metal music is widespread, associating it with satanism etc. But there are nights spent crying in Steve's arms that he wants to quit, and it's more the stuff about his family that effects him. Eddie had been doing very well to put his mother and father behind him. But then it's being dragged back up, exaggerated, and thrown in his face to the point people think his scars were made by his father. It's not like he can tell the truth either. The noise dies down eventually, but Eddie would not have gotten through that period without Steve. Not at all. He would have 100% turned to drink and drugs without his support.

The black ring on Eddie's hand eventually ends up on Steve's finger as a romantic gesture. He doesn't say until Steve proposes to him years later that the black ring was actually his mother's engagement ring, so they've kinda been engaged for years already. But he cherishes the ring Steve proposes to him with for the rest of his life. Hardly ever removes it.

Their earlier years really are spent being dumb boys together. They party a lot, fuck even more (when aren't they, tho?) , experiment with drugs etc. Among their chief idiot moments is a drunk Steve wrongly accusing a dude of groping Eddie in a club. Eddie had actually dropped a fucking baggie of E pills and went super quick to pick them up, and bumped into the guy accidentally. It was sweet that Steve was willing to fight a guy with half a foot on him for Eddie's honour, and if the dude had groped him. Eddie might have let him fight. But he didn't and Eddie ended up giving some of his precious pills away as an apology while dealing with an angry Steve. They then left swiftly while Eddie explained. Oops?

When Steve first starts working as an EMT. Eddie waits up for him through the odd shift hours just to listen to how his night went. He massages Steve's shoulders, kisses his neck and back, and listens to his stories with genuine fascination. Eddie had already been impressed with his babe way before then, but it adds to the awe he has of Steve hearing about the tough situations, and the calls he has to make sometimes. It's a lot at times. Eddie likes being someone Steve can unload to when he needs it, and he always makes time for it whether it's first thing in the morning, or in the middle of the night. It's important to him that Steve is listened to and taken care of emotionally.

[chocominnie]

One Last Time 01  —  Pjm. (M)

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Word Count : 4.3k

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

The winter’s coldness is hardly enough for you to bear. Even though it’s just the beginning, Seoul is known to just go from season to season without a fucking warning. Not only that, but the first snowfall is going to come soon. The weatherman has been talking about it non-stop for the past few days. It’s going to be a brutal one he says but he says that every year so why believe?

Turning off your alarm, you take a few minutes to collect yourself and stretch. Barely any sleep once again but that’s an everyday thing now.. without Jimin. It’s been some rough months not having his body wrapped snugly onto yours. These days you long for his touch, but completely dread at the same time for very good reasons.

Your kitten greets you with small licks on your thigh in which in return you pet her head softly with a smile.

‘‘ At least I still have you babygirl. You keep me company. “ You coo softly while grabbing your phone off the charger. Texts from your best-friend just spamming you with love and apparently she’s coming over. Great. That’s normal.  But one text catches your eye. Jeon Jungkook.

You furrow your eyebrows as your finger slides to open it after typing in your password. In relief, he’s just checking up on you as always. Rolling your eyes, you muster enough strength to actually pull yourself out of bed. The cold tiles hit your feet like icicles. You jump from from foot to foot cursing yourself for not turning on the floor heaters as you walk out the room. Clara, your kitten, follows you out purring nonchalantly with a few meows here and there.

‘’ Alright Clara I hear you. Im getting your food now.’’ You chuckle, grabbing her food from the bottom kitchen cabinet right under the sink and pour her half a cup of cat food and a whole bowl of water.

After snacking on your morning granola bar you prepare yourself for your morning routine. Shower, brush teeth, skin care, get dressed, clean. Your phone dings once more just before stripping yourself of your clothes. You don’t bother to look it’s probably just a social media notification.

Drying your hair with a towel as you get out the steaming hot shower, you head straight for the mirror. Dark circles remain under your eyes from months of barely any sleep. You sigh, and gently rub under them. Jimin is the cause of this. Why would he do this to you. Surely enough he would not like to see you like this at all. The worriedness he would have over you is huge. But he has moved on and you just have to accept it no matter how in-love you still are with him.

As you clean up around the living room, another ding from your phone occurs. A groan escapes your lips as you place the pillows back as they should be. In hopes of it just being your manager giving you some good news, you let out a sigh and plop yourself down on the grey suede couch. Three new messages. Jeon Jungkook, who has text you twice, and Ryan your bestfriend. 

‘‘ Damn it Ryan why must you consistently text me twenty four sev- “

“ Beause I need to know if you’re okay.”

You jump and drop your phone onto the hardwood floor from the voice that comes from around you.

“ Holy fucking shit you scared me! “  You whine, turning around to face your best-friend. She smiles and holds out her arms for a hug. You roll your eyes and open yours waiting for her embrace.

“ Oh i’ve missed you so so so so so so so-”

“ You just seen me yesterday..” Your voice sarcastic and bland as you let go of her. You sit on the couch first followed by Ryan sitting right next to you.

She looks good today, the navy blue coat she has on suits her very well. Although, you cannot figure out why she decided to wear leggings today. It’s going to rain a bit later but you disregard that seeing as though she’s the fashion deisgner and not you.

You. The model and seemingly ex girlfriend of one of the biggest solo idol in the world right now. Thats what they call you in the news, headlines in magazines, and real life as if you don’t have a real name and just was his acessory. Your modeling career had taken off way before dating him. The world, or Seoul to say the most, didn’t acklowledge you to that point yet. 

“ Okay but still. You know we should be roomates. It’ll be easier for me to watch over you. “

Your head turns towards her quickly shaking no, “ I don’t need to be looked over im 20 years old.”

Silence takes place for the next few seconds. You know what she’s going to say next but pray she doesn’t. Those words will just make you even more upset. It’s already enough you have that constant reminder in your head. 

You watch her fiddle with the rings on her index and pinky fingers. “ But you know… you haven’t been the same since you and Jimi-”

“ Don’t fucking say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

She sighs harshly and stands up, “ Im just worried about you Yn”

“ Don’t be. Im fine. “ That lie escaped your tongue way too easily. 

Truthfully you haven’t and won’t be fine. Everyday there is something new about that girl and Jimin on twitter. Gossip pages, twitter fanpages, and online entertainment pages just always talking about them. They did this, they did that today. Oh we caught them going to this and that restaurant. That used to be you and him.. but now everyone has forgotten about you and focused on them.

Ever since you’ve told reporters and paparazzi repeatedly that you will not be holding or going to any interview they just stopped. A few calls here and there to your manager about scheduling one but she knew you didn’t want to do them so every request is denied. Although its been a year and some change, they still seem to want your side and your opinion to weigh in on. I guess that’s what happens when you date an Idol.

“ The door.. Y/N the door somebody is at the door.” Ryan says, tapping you over and over. You shake your head interrupting your thoughts for the time being. A few more knocks come through.

Finally up onto your feet you harshly walk to the door with each step making noise. It’s to early in the morning for someone to actually be knocking at the door right now. Whoever it is better be dropping off some sort of package, or they’ll surely get a piece of your mind.

Your frail hands grab onto the doorknob and swing it open. Your eyes almost pop through your sockets. How? How did he know you were here? You certainly did not tell him your knew address.

There he stands, his tall frame looking down on you. Lips formed into a tiny pout along with his eyebrows scrunched slightly. His brown eyes forming an ungodly stare into yours with his specs on.

“ Yn! Do you know how worried I was about you? Why did you not answer my messa-”

“Jungkook how do you know where I live?” You pace your hands on your hips, raising an eyebrow at him. To your knowledge, you never gave Jungkook your new apartment address.

Jungkook swallows slowly and puts on his best innocent face on. Oh please like that would work in this moment right now. The only person who has this address is Ryan because she’s the one who helped you move. Even if you had the choice of not giving it out to Ryan you would of but you couldn’t do that to her. She would of been so upset.

Ryan’s voice blares in the background full of excitement. Here we fucking go. “Jungkook! Come in Come in.”

“ Ryan says I could come in.” He says quickly, brushing past you and removing his shoes.

You heavily sigh and slam the door shut. What is this a family reunion? On your way back to the couch you notice them laughing and giggling like two five year old children. They don’t even notice you when you sit right across from them.

You study their expressions. Their chemistry is something so strong. The way their eyes light up when they meet, the way that Jungkook smiles and scrunches his nose more often when she’s around. You miss that. You miss doing that.

“ So are you both coming along this afternoon?”

Your attention focuses back on them. Of course you weren’t paying attention once again.

Your eyes slowly meet with theirs, “ Huh? Where are we going?”

“ Kookie finally bought a house! He wants us to come tonight for chicken and beer. You’re coming right?”

A sharp pain goes through your heart. If the both you you guys go then theirs a possibility that Jimin was invited too. After all, that is his brother. If Jimin comes then he’s most likely going to bring Isabel. A recipe for disaster. Your poor heart, that most likely could not bare the sight of them infront of you, would shatter into a million pieces.

Jungkook’s expression is ready to burst into happiness or to turn into a pout awaiting for your answer. If you let him down he’ll surely be mad at you. But putting yourself before him this time would be the right thing to do right?

“ Listen Jungkook I.. don’t think I can go.” You start off, playing with your hair with your head down.

“ I’ll space you two apart.”

Your face automatically lifts itself up in shock. Somehow, that little confirmation of Jimin being there, gave you some hope. Hope for what though?

 “ Wha-what do you mean?”

Jungkook sighs heavily with his hand going up to his brown hair running it through lightly. “ I’ll make sure you two are distanced apart. You don’t want to come because of Jimin but I’ll make sure I’ll invite more people to keep you company and away from him. Okay?”

“ Please Yn. I’ll be there too.” Ryan begs, laying her head on Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook smiles a little, caressing her cheek with his other hand upon waiting your response.

Weird. When did they get so close?

The first thing you want to say is that you really could not go. But they already know the excuse now. You might as well just give in.

‘‘ Fine. What time tonight? “

Skincare and makeup products are scattered everywhere on your vanity. You needed the perfect look for tonight that says ‘Yes im doing fine without you’, but in reality you’re doing worse. This is the night where you’ll actually see him. Damn it’s been a while.

After you apply your highlight you step back and take a look at yourself. Not bad at all. You smile to yourself and start cleaning up the mess of products you had  distributed across the vanity. A new text appears on you phone as soon as you gather everything up and put it back in it’s place. Grabbing your phone, it’s Ryan giving you the address to Jungkook’s new house.

You sigh and mentally prepare yourself, ‘‘ Okay Yn. You can do this. It’s just one night of conversing among people. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone new.”

Before heading out you grab your coat and scarf. Clara follows you all the way to the door letting out her little meows once again. You bend down to pet her head lightly with a smile. “ Clara im coming back. I’ve put food in your bowl babygirl.”

She purrs under your touch then walks away to settle herself in her bed. You take one last final look at your decent sized apartment before heading out.

The subway ride was agonizing pain for you due to it being 30 minutes long. Well, at-least you can ride the subway now. Your mind wouldn’t even of thought of that when you were with him. Everybody would have noticed you and bombard you with questions.

The outskirts of Seoul is peaceful and quite. Not many people live over here. Mostly famous actors and idols. The taxi takes a few minutes to get to the fairly clean subway station. Once you’re inside you take a good look at the driver who seems to be eyeing you in suspicion. You pull out your phone and read the words to the address exactly to him. The taxi man pulls of into the empty streets of god knows where.

All it took was a ten minute ride and then you’re there. The taxi man pulls up to a security guard booth. Just beyond the gates is more street but  by squinting your eyes you can make out just a few newly built houses.

‘‘ Who are you here to see?” The taxi driver says.

“ Jeon Jungkook.?

The driver talks to the man for a few seconds before you see the security guard pick up a phone and start dialing. The security is extremely uptight, thats good. After a few moments of speaking the security guard finally opens the gates to be let through.

As you pull up to the house you’re automatically mesmerized on how big and beautiful it is. There’s fresh bushes and some white roses growing in the front of it complementing the white modern style home. The roundabout is full of luxurious cars, in which might be all the other guests.

‘‘ 10 dollars’‘ He says. You give him the ten, thank him, and grab your purse, closing the door behind you.

Your eyes meet face to face with the expensive house. Behind you is the tire wheels backing up and running off back down the roundabout. The time on your watch reads 8:15. Only fifteen minutes late, not bad right?

With each step you take fear quivers inside of you. What if he opens the door? What if that girl opens it instead? The wind blows harsh-fully hitting your cheeks making them turn slightly colored. You raise a small, shaky fist to knock on the door. Your blood turning cold, and face turning pale already. Your anxiety already taking its place inside of your body.

The door swings open revealing Ryan smiling from ear to ear. She pulls you inside without even a greeting. You kick your shoes off in a hurry as she pulls you more and more inside. Scanning the area around you, its a nice huge place. First the both of you pass the entrance, then the chef sized kitchen, which then leads you to the spacious living room where everybody seems to be sitting.

All eyes are on you now with some familiar faces and some not. They smile and greet you one by one and you slightly bow your head with a fake smile.

‘‘ Ah Yn, nice to see you again huh.’‘ Hoseok, the smiley one says, getting up from his seat to greet you once more.

‘‘ Nice to see you to Hoseok. Is Chae-Yeon here? I’ve baked the cookies she likes.’’  You say, holding up the big tuba-wear of freshly baked cookies. Nobody can resist those.

‘‘ No she had to work sadly, but I will enjoy them for her.’‘ He chuckles, bringing the tuba-wear out of your dainty, cold hands.

A very familiar voice booms from behind you causing you to turn around. “ Yn! You actually did come!’’ Jungkook, the owner of the voice exclaims. He wipes his hands with a napkin just before pulling you into a hug.You pat his back just before letting go.

Ryan smiles and shakes her head, “ I told you she would come.’’

Only one hour and 30 minutes into the festivities and half of the people here are drunk or nearly there. You on the other hand do not drink at all. Staying sober throughout this whole party is a must. Who knows what would happen if you start drinking and saying things.Ryan seems to be doing good with Jungkook who’s laying on the floor laughing and cracking jokes with her head laying on his stomach giggling along with him. The others have casually invited themselves into the guest game-room to play some pool.

You just sit there on the couch, munching on a cookie and smiling and laughing here and there at one of Seokjin and Jungkook’s back-to-back jokes that seem to never leave the air.

Only for a knock on the door to interrupt  their flow of jokes.

‘‘ I got it I got it.” Seokjin stammers, placing a beer bottle down and stumbling towards the door. You freeze, face turning pale once more. It’s them. It could be them. Your teeth find their way to your lips and you begin to chew on it excessively.

Ryan notices it and automatically gets up from Jungkook, ‘‘ Come Yn, lets go see if the game of pool is interesting.’‘

You nod your head slightly as you get up from the couch. What are you worrying for? You look extravagant tonight. No need to worry yourself.

Just before taking your first few steps you stop, that voice. That oh so familiar voice begins to inch closer and closer. The famous laugh that he always tries to stifle by putting his hand over his mouth, that you’ve always thought was so fucking cute, fills the air.

You don’t know what got over you, but you sit back down dragging Ryan down with you. “ Yn? What are you doing I thought you wanted to avoid him.’’

‘’ No it’s okay. Im going to be fine.’‘ You say, awaiting upon his arrival into the room.

The footsteps are haunting you with each step they take.

one..two..three..four..five..si-

‘‘ Everyone, Isabel and Jimin are here.’‘ Seokjin stammers, smiling wide clearly drunk from all the beer consumed.

Your eyes go directly towards his. The pit of your stomach flutters with nervousness as you hold the long stare with him. His facial expression shocked but not showing it at all. His partner, who’s arm is linked with his, smiles brightly at everyone bowing her head slightly to them including you.

‘‘ Sorry we are late. Jimin didn’t want to come out of his home studio but I’ve made him come along with me.’‘ Her voice gentle and soft.

‘‘ Yn I forgot let me show you my new painting i have received.” Jungkook says quickly, trying to escape you from the awkwardness.You can bare it though its not as bad as you thought.

‘‘ Maybe later Kookie. I’m going to grab some juice.”  You say, getting up from your spot. You brush past Jimin lightly with Ryan tailing along with you.

The spacious kitchen was perfect for you to escape for just a moment. Silence is golden. Ryan sighs, pouring you and her a glass of juice. Nothing is to be said yet. But you know she really wants to have her input.

Raising the glass to your lips, you take a sip letting the tanginess run across your tongue and down your throat. ‘’ Say it Ryan.’’

She puts her cup down and looks at you with your eyebrows furrowed, ‘’ You aren’t fine. Please just avoid them for the night.’’

You knew it was coming but you have to face the fact that they area couple anyways so why avoid it? Maybe your mind will finally accept it to see it in person.

‘‘ I have to face it one way or another so why not now?’‘

She shakes her head in disapproval, finishing the rest of her juice. “ No you don’t. You’re making yourself suffer and I don’t like it.’’

‘‘ Yn.. did you make these cookies?’‘ A voice says behind you. Ryan’s eyes go wide and then looks at you signaling for you to not turn around. But you do it anyways.

Isabel. How dare she call you by a pet name? You don’t even know her like that and she’s doing this. Anger wants to get the best of you but you remain humble and calm.

‘‘ Yes. Is there a problem though? Are they not good?’‘ You say, putting on your best innocent act.

She smiles as she moves a piece of hair of her perfectly framed face, ‘’ No they are great! I was wondering if i can have the recipe.. for Jimin’s purpose of course.’’

You breathe through your nostrils with your eyes closed. She knows what she’s doing. She likes seeing you suffer huh? ‘’ You can follow any recipe online. I just add almond extract and substitute white sugar for brown.’’

Ryan shakes her head slightly while sticking her cup into the sink. ‘’ I’m going to be back I have to use the restroom.’’

Once she leaves Isabel’s smile drops.’’ Almond? Im- Im allergic!” She says, semi yelling at you. You’re shocked more or so at the sudden outburst that you can’t speak. You had zero knowledge of her being allergic, it’s an accident for sure.

 “You did this on purpose!’’ She says, tears filling her eyes as she goes into a coughing fit.

Shit. You didn’t know if anyone was allergic to nuts here but you had put it in anyways because that was the secret ingredient

‘’ I- I didn’t know im sorry is there anything I can do?’’ You say, guilt taking over you while you rush to her side patting her back. 

‘‘ Get off of me! You did this on purpose! You never liked me anyways. Jimin! Jimin!‘ She scream’s, coughing and wheezing making her face red.

Multiple footsteps rush into the kitchen. You don’t know what to do at this point so you just back away and let whoever take over. All the commotion going on and yelling is starting to give you a slight headache. All of the boys surround her, bombarding with questions and asking each other what to do. 

‘‘ What’s all the yelling about? What happened! “ Jungkook exclaims rushing towards her hunched over body.

‘‘ What’s going on? “ That voice that haunts you everynight finally comes inside the kitchen. When he see’s Isabel he automatically rushes towards her side. It pains you to see him rush to another woman’s body. But that figure is no longer yours so he has every right to do that.

‘‘ She-She put almond in the cookies on purpose! She’s trying to–to-’‘ She manages to wheeze out before another coughing fit.

Jimin’s eyes meet yours full of rage but then taken over by concern. He knows your hurt. Still hurt from the past and from this very situation now. You don’t manage to keep eye contact, so the floor is your eyes’ bestfriend right now.

‘‘ Yn. is this true? Why would you do that?”  He says, eyes never leaving yours and voice soft.

You shake your head quickly, “ I didn’t know she was allergic. I always put almond extract an-’’

“ You knew better than to put any type or form of nut in a dish when bringing it to ones house. You never know if someone has an allergy to it.’‘ Jungkook scolds you, eyes furrowed in shame.

‘‘ Don’t blame her. She didn’t fucking know.” Ryan’s voice enters the room in madness. She comes to your side with her arms crossed. Your own personal savior. Without her, you’d still be feeling guilty and taking the blame.

‘‘ Besides, you knew better than to invite him if you knew he was going to bring the girl he cheated on her with.. right?’‘ She says, cocking her head to the side as her attitude takes over.

The room is silent again. Good girl Ryan. 

Isabel lifts her head in disbelief along with Jimin. “ Listen that’s beside the point. Just don’t do it again.” Jimin says, focusing his attention back on Isabel. He reaches into her purse to grab her Epi-pen.

His scolding is enough to send your eyes into tears. You shouldn’t of agreed to come. This is a disaster. You take the tuba-wear of cookies from the counter on your way out of the kitchen and dispose of them. Your vision is blurry and you don’t know where your going but you just need some air. You make lefts and rights down long and short hallways till you reach a room that has a balcony.

You slip on who-ever’s house slippers and open the sliding door revealing the winter’s cold harsh air. You lean on the railing and close your eyes breathe in and out heavily.

Wiping the tears away, You open our eyes and look straight ahead. The whole city is lit up such a beautiful view for a sad moment. The sad moment is cut short by the sliding door opening and closing. You don’t bother to turn around it’s probably just Ryan checking on you again. When are people going to stop doing that?

“ Yn.”

Thats the last voice you wanted to hear.

‘‘ Are you happy? Happy for scolding me infront of everybody.”  You sniffle, wiping away your leaking nose.

You hear some rustling before something is placed on your shoulders. You look down at the material and shrug it off of you.

‘‘ Give it to your girlfriend.”

‘‘ I can’t let you be cold. Put it back on.’‘ He sighs, picking it back up and coming closer to you. You both stand side by side. Jimin puts his jacket around you once more and before you could re-do your action just before, he speaks.

‘‘ Shrug it off again and I’ll scold you. Do you understand?’‘ He says firmly.

You don’t bother to speak. Silence is golden.

‘‘ Listen.. i know you still aren’t over the fact that we are through but-”

‘‘ Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. Please go tend to your dying girlfriend.’‘ You say, sarcastically.

He huffs, “ She’s resting right now. She wouldn’t have to be if you wouldn’t of put-’’

You turn towards him slowly and meet his eyes daring for him to finish the rest of his sentence. ‘’ Don’t you fucking dare Park Jimin.’’

‘‘ Honorifics.’‘ He says, slightly looking down at you due to the height difference.

‘‘ You’re right Jimin-ssi.’‘

Jimin’s expression is taken a-back. You knew that one honorific word would hurt him.

‘‘ If we are done speaking I will take my leave now.” You say, eyes never leaving his as you take off his jacket and toss it to him, leaving him outside in the cold

This night was one of your worst mistakes. You thought you could handle it, but couldn’t. So maybe Ryan and Jungkook were right. Maybe you can’t handle it at all..

[spikesbimbo]

Better love

Summary: Niichan always takes care of you <3

cw: yandere niichan gojo but the reader actually likes him being a yandere, pseudo incest, blood play, possessive tendencies, violence, oral sex

wc: 1.9k 

   -

Your slight smile was hidden behind your fake, worrisome appearance as you looked him in the eyes, your doe eyed expression bringing him back to reality as his hands rested on your waist. 

You did not know why the guys following you around campus did not get the hint of “no”, and that your niichan would easily get rid of them if you asked. But you didn't want him to know that you, his sweet little angel, thought that way; so you conveyed it to him in a more discreet way. 

Crying, not so fake as you were frustrated and scared, but you easily let the tears fall to show him how distressed you were as he waited for you outside leaning on his car as you ran up to him, noticing that your precious little eyes were ruined as he embraced you in his arms.

What you didn't see, but felt, was the intense glare he gave them as he opened the door to set you in the passenger seat, trapping them in a barrier that you couldn't see as he drove you home.

As he finally got you washed up and in bed, tucking you in your favorite blanket, he left the house after giving you a kiss on the top of your head. You weren't really asleep as you heard the car starting, your heart racing loudly at the thought that he would go this much out of his way for you.

You knew what was going to happen as you got up, still a mess but for a ‘good’ reason now, your hands shaking from excitement and not fear as you tried to bring the glass up to your mouth. He was one of the only people in your life now, slowly getting rid of them one by one, whether it was just convincing you to cut them off or other methods.

But you didn't care, he's been the only one you could count since you met him Calling him niichan within a month of being with him, and still calling him it even though your ‘relationship’ has changed.

 He made you feel like you were the center of his world, universe. Thinking about how effortlessly he would slip you off your feet and catch you in his arms as you brought the glass down from your lips.

He quickly snapped his fingers firing it at them, the men disappearing besides the bloody remains left behind on him and the ground. He brushed some off walking straight back to his car, not wanting to waste another second without you as he sped down the highway.

You heard the door open, swiftly running to see him. Exclaiming “Toru!” as you wrapped your arms around him, he let out a little laugh not even through the door yet as your need for him made the seriousness in his head drop.

“You know why it did it, right sweetheart?” he whispered into your ear as he bent his tall frame into yours. Your hands working their way up to his jaw, wiping off some of the blood splattered there with your sleeve. Him showing it off in a sense after your reaction from this happening before, same situation different scenario.

He did it in front of you with no second thoughts as their disgusting hands reach out to grab your ass, coming to his senses when he saw the mess he made laid out before him.

And when he turned around, his mind was racing as he thought he was going to have to lock you away to stay with him, but the last thing he would've thought to see was your face flustered, eyes beaming as you clung onto his now dirty shirt with your fingers, muttering out “you did that....for me?”

“You needy honey?” he said letting you cling onto him as he walked to the bedroom. “I thought i told you to go to sleep.”

“m’sorry niichan, i was worried about you.” You pouted as he laid you on the bed taking his shirt off, thinking how ironic it was that you were the one wanting his attention. 

He always had you at his call, expecting you to respond to his texts directly unless you were asleep, which he knew of, his tenseness whenever you brought up another man that wasn't him, his eyes never leaving you whenever you two went out.

“Worried about me? That's so sweet of you baby” he said sitting beside you. “so worried about me that it got you this worked up?”  

His big hands were resting on your nightgown, lifting it up enough to see another mess he had to take care of. “Fuck sweetheart, you’re soaked for me. You want niichan to fuck you that badly?” he asked teasingly, grinning at your image.

You hid your face in the sheets, embarrassed of the reason he got you like this as he pulled them down with ease. Your fragile little arms being nothing in comparison to him”

“Cmon angel, u gonna let me wreck that dripping little cunt of yours or what? he said tugging on the string of your panties.

You whined out softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him into you. His bright hair shining in the moonlight as it tickled your skin ,putting out a false complaint playing into the game he created. 

“Why, is it because niichan is dirty right now? I can take care of that sweetheart.”

“No! Tor-”

“No?” He chuckled out, seeing your hips grind in place as his dirty hands worked their way up your body. Freeing you from your nightgown, only being left in your panties as you leaned up and kissed his blood covered face. The iron taste spreading in your mouth as you held him close.

“You like me all messy, hmm? Messy because I had to take care of you... what a naughty girl.”

The tease in his voice never left as he kept muttering filthy words, your squirming body being the highlight of his day as his breath got closer and closer to your aching cunt, dripping though your panties as you moaned out when he touched you.“Fuck baby you got like this for me, im flattered.”

“You know niichan loves you.... and that he’ll do it over and over again if it gets you like this.” he says pushing his middle finger into the slickness of your hole immediately, thinking about claiming you in and out had his head going dizzy along with your scent.

Your tightness around his fingers is making his cock harder at the thought of stretching you out. He shushes you, cooing while rubbing your clit to ease you up, his finger curling into you as you thrashed around in his hold.

“Niichan’s the only one who can make you cum, you know that right? You know i'm the only one allowed to touch you here.”  he said, grabbing the base of your neck, wanting to instill it on you that he would be the only man to ever see you like this as his fingers tightened.

“Y-yeah, toru, please” you whimpered as he put another finger in, buried knuckle deep inside of you as he started thrusting them. He pulled out his cock, stroking it while he leaned his forehead onto your thighs.

Crying at how his lips attached to your clit, sucking the swollen bud intensely, so impatient to make you cum so he could fuck you. “Fuck baby, you're so sweet”

“You want my fat cock in there? Is that what you want baby?” he smirked, rubbing the area around your cunt. “You gotta tell me like a good girl or i don't know what to do.'' he said, removing his fingers from your hole to your protest as you gasped, nodding heavily to the point where you got dizzy.

His hands trailed up your sides, focusing on your pretty body before ruining it. His long fingers rubbing your thighs and tummy, grabbing the fat in his hands while spreading your legs open. 

“Such a pretty pussy, for my eyes only.” he observed gazing into yours, the blue turning white as he wouldn't let your vision go. You let out another whine at the feeling of his eyes burning holes into you.

“Shh angel niichans here to take care of you, like always” he said with your sloppy cunt spread open for him, your ankles besides your ears as he moved them there. The heat leaving your body as his cold hands gripped your thighs, locking them in place as he pushed his fat cock slowly into you.

“Fuck you're so tight, always sucking me up.” he groaned, his hips thrusting upwards as you moan out. “You got such a greedy little cunt, baby, you always wanna have something in you. Don't worry sweet girl, i'm gonna stuff you full like you deserve. Fuck you till youre all swollen and pretty with my cum.”

“Toru-” you sobbed, face being in his chest met with the dried blood that your hands were scratching against as his pace was ruthless. Your little hole clenched  so tight around him that he can ballet thrust in and out of you.

His hands grip harder on your thighs, pushing himself even deeper as his hips slam into yours, fucking you as fast and rough as he can. “That’s my girl, you this huh? Tell me.”

Your voice chokes out, head dramatically falling back as his cock was ramming into your cervix. “Yes, yea, nii-chan, p-please, cum in me ple ― ah.”

“Of course.” he grunted out, your cries being background noise at this point, mixing in with the sound of his balls slapping into your wet cunt. “Just like i always do.”

His hips rut into you faster as you feel your stomach clench up. You feel him throbbing inside you as your vision goes white. Your nails digging to the flesh of his back as you feel his warmness fill you up.

He lets you rest your head as your limp under him, pulling out slightly enough to see how much cum he left in you, seeing the slick pool out too. He doesnt let it slip as he fucks it back into you quickly. Loving how you're always ready to be fucked and bred, whenever he wanted.

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice half gone as he fucked it out of you, making sure the blood was just there’s and not his.

“Yes baby i'm fine.” he answered, kissing you on the forehead before slowly pulling out as he had to clean you two up.

“nii― ” You voiced as he got up, picking you up along with him as he took you to the bathroom, due to the fact that he was unfortunately covered in someone else and not just you.

“Everything i do is for you, remember that.” he interrupted, his gaze hardening as he sat you on the counter while he was below you, running the bath to wash you.

But not before he placed his mouth into the mess he made, licking his cum out of your messy cunt then smothering your lips with it, covering you completely in him, in and out.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

some thoughts on what living with bakugou would be like:

-he’s weirdly organized. like he remembers where he put everything every time so if ur ever looking for something, most times he’ll just find it for u and it takes like .2 seconds

-will cook meals a large majority of the time, but if u bake sweets he’s an absolue sucker for them.

-if you’re like reALLY allergic to a certain type of bug or plant,, man’s got his eyes pEELED whenever y’all go somewhere together. like lets say, for example, ur allergic to bees. bakugou is blowing bees up left and right and u look at him and ur “no!! stop!!! bees are endangered!!” ,, he looks u dead in the face, like ur stupid or something and says “yeah. because of me. i’m gonna kill all of them.”

- if u have to get in an argument with somebody over the phone, he wants to hear it. like he’ll ask u to put the phone on speaker and he’ll just make mocking, bitchy faces while the other person is speaking. like,, he lets u fight ur own battles, but he wants to be there bullying the other person mercilessly in the background.

-if he doesnt like a song ur playing, he’ll just skip it. won’t ask, wont look at u, he’ll just skip it. borderline dick move tbh

-gets grumpy if u don’t follow his nightly routine on time, but also wont go to sleep without u. like he’ll just stay up and crab at u until u go to bed with him

-likes when u brush his hair for him. like u’ll be brushing yours, totally by urself fine, and he’ll just look at u and clear his throat until u roll ur eyes and beckon him over

-if u get like a bag of junk food or something,, do nOt leave that shit out, bakugou will finish it 10/10 times. he’ll finish it but then look at u and “why the fuck would u even bring that shit in here, huh? u tryin’ to get me out of shape or somethin?” ,, and u look at him like “idk man maybe just dont eat it then.” ,,, the glARE he gives u in response is muRDEROUS //pls this is quite literally the only area he lacks self control dont remind him\\

-has absolutely no regard for neighbors. he yells a lot and if y’all get noise complaints he just glares and 😡💥at the neighbor until they get scared and leave

-he thinks it’s funny to just subtly move things from time to time. like, for example, lets say plates. ,,, so like, u always keep plates on the left side of a certain cabinet, right?? but if he’s putting dishes away and feeling particularly petulant that day, he’ll just put away the plates on the right side instead. man’s then proceeds to smirk and laugh at u every time u open the wrong side of the cabinent from then on with a “jeez, u rlly are a moron, huh? they’re on the right side, remember?” god he’s annoying

-genuinely enjoys going grocery shopping by himself. like idk he just thinks it’s his quiet, personal time, u kno?? and he enjoys doing super-intense meal prep for the week anyways so he’s gotta make sure he gets the right ingredients

-u just hear muffled screaming from time to time. like u’ll be in the kitchen eating breakfast totally calm, and he’s making the bed and all the sudden just a “jesus fucking christ, swear to fuck im gonna blow up this stupid fuckin’ fitted sheet!” (which honestly??? valid. fuck fitted sheets.)

-if he doesn’t want to hang out with the bakusquad but they’re forcing him he’ll text u something like “I love you.” and then ofc ur like “i love u too. but also, u never just say that to me normally?? is something wrong?” and then total radio silence from him for like 20 mins and u get super worried,, and then he just sends u a video of mina or denki being loud with a “Can you get sick or something? I want to come home.” ,, i- 🧍

- isnt going to want a pet,, but if u have, like, a dog already when u move in with him, then it’s going to become bakugou’s dog. if he’s going to have to have a dog than he’s gonna make sure it likes him more than u

-hates doing laundry. will volunteer to do dishes instead 11/10 times

-he doesn’t sing in the shower but 100% plays the drums on the walls or his own stomach fight me on this

-he hates the smell of nail polish/nail polish remover. so if ur painting ur nails he’ll just walk in the room and walk directly out,, quickest way to get alone time

-speaking of alone time- say bye. u’ll get none of it,,, it’s not that he’s constantly on top of u or like talking to u, he just always sorta ends up in whatever room u are. like a cat, pretty much. like he won’t say anything, but if u get up to do something, he gets up and chooses to move his lounging to somewhere nearby

-he likes to scare the shit out of u. just like, rlly juvenile stuff like hiding around corners just to jump out at u. will just stand there and laugh when u scream, and will never, never apologize

-he gets weirdly worked up about hair?? just hates it, thinks it’s disgusting if he sees a stray hair anywhere. even if its his own. like yes it’s gross ig, but he gets so 🤮 about it

-he does house chores unecessarily loudly. like, u watch him and it seems like he’s doing everything totally normally,, but jesus christ why is it so loud

-gets bitchy around christmas if u decorate without him. he will complain the eNTIRE time if he does have to decorate, but will throw an even bigger fit if u dare to do it without him

-he gets mad if people drive too fast in ur neighborhood/ past ur apartment complex. like, y’all have 0 (zero!) kids, but he’s still up at the window like “Slow the fuck down, asshole! Why the hell doesn’t anyone have any common fuckin’ sense around here? That’s dangerous, you piece of shit!”

-if u sing around the house a lot, it’s the only habit of urs he’ll have absolutely nothing to say about. like it doesn’t even matter if ur a good singer or not, he just likes when he can hear u in the house even if ur not in the same room. he finds it comforting

-bakugou hates having people over to ur place. he thinks of it like his calm-space/safe-haven and it rlly pisses him off when people are there

-on the rare days he doesn’t have to work at all and stays home, mans is a total baby. he just refuses to get up for anything other than bathroom or meals and even then goes straight back to bed. he takes basically a 24 hr nap and expects u to do the same with him he’s so dramatic pls

-will make snarky comments about reality tv shows with u. just the bitchiest shit possible bc he enjoys trash talking as an art form, and absolutely does not care who it’s about

-likes to watch u do skincare stuff. he won’t ask questions and will be borderline offended if u offer some to him, but he just likes to watch u do it. man’s thinks of it as like his personal asmr

-hates online shopping. (pls i have absolutely no explanation for this one i just know its true)

-he has a lot of pride in his house so it’s actually rlly well decorated. like, he would never consent to living somewhere busted, lmaooo, so if u dont kno how to decorate he’ll figure it out for the both of u

-u can always tell if he’s falling asleep bc he constantly does that weird full-body jerk. like the one where it feels like ur falling

[nashibirne]

Where The Wild Roses Grow - An August Walker Story - 3

You can find the previous parts on my masterlist

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Fern) Summary: Don't screw the crew? This doesn't work for August Walker Warnings: Smut, Sex, 18+, NSFW, unprotected sex, rough sex, slapping, kinda soft August Unbeta'ed! English is not my mother tongue, so please be lenient with me

Disclaimer: I don't own August Walker (but he owns me...)

Pics for the header taken from Pinterest.

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights

~~~~

Chapter 3

Fern

So, today's the day. I'm going on a date. The first in I-don't-know-how-long. Two years, three years, I don't remember. After my long time relationship with Max went down the drain I didn't want to date and here in London there was just no opportunity. To be honest I'm quite nervous. I mean, I don't know much about Lucas and I haven't interacted with a lot of people since I'm in London. Actually just with my neighbor Sloane and her wife Jackie, who are very nice and we have a little chat from time to time and with Peter and August and our clients of course. But that's it. That's pathetic you say? Yeah, maybe you're right but that's just the way it is and it's okay. Basically I like my life the way it is, I love my work, I enjoy my affair with August but deep down inside I crave intimacy, tenderness and a life outside the office. So I'm really looking forward to this date and to getting to know Lucas a little better. 

I'm sitting in my car right now. I'm ten minutes early so I have enough time to check my make-up -I think I look alright- and to straighten my clothes. I get out of my car and check my reflection in the metallic paint of my Classic Mini Cooper. I'm wearing a light blue summer skirt, a plain white sleeveless shirt and white loafers. I considered wearing the blue dotted dress but I can't wear it without thinking of August so it wasn't really an option.

I lurk around the corner and there he is. Lucas is waiting for me at the entrance of the museum, checking his watch repeatedly. He looks good with his blond hair and the blue eyes, not extraordinarily handsome like August but attractive. A John Doe but in a good way. Okay, guess it's time to go. Wish me luck!

There was really no reason to be nervous, Lucas is really nice and charming, the perfect gentleman. He knows a lot about art and I love how he shares his knowledge with me but never mansplains. He's not a bit arrogant or bossy, unlike many other men. August for example. Speaking of which, I think I spend too much time with him. When Lucas and I were walking around the museum I thought I saw August from the corner of my eye. Twice! I must be hallucinating or something. 

Right now I'm standing at the souvenir shop waiting outside for Lucas who wants to buy a present for his son Milo who lives in Liverpool with his mum, Lucas' ex-wife. We're done with the exhibition and he asked me if I want to have a coffee with him in a cafe nearby. I said yes. I really enjoy his company and it feels so good to finally do something that has nothing to do with my work.

A loud noise suddenly startles me. It sounds like someone has dropped a glass that's smashed to pieces. I spin around quickly to localize the noise source and that's when I see him. It's really him. August Walker in the flesh, standing behind a pillar, watching me.

I stare at him, surprised, or to put it more precisely, stunned. What the hell is he doing here?

He gives me a nonchalant smile and strolls in my direction as if it was the most natural thing to meet me here.

"Fern. What a lovely surprise." 

Is he kidding me? Lovely? He never uses words like this, they are not part of August Walker's vocabulary.

"August. What are you doing here?" I don't feel the need to exchange polite phrases.

"Enjoying the exhibition."

"Oh really?" I cross my arms in front of my chest.

"Yes. Why would you doubt it?" He smiles innocently and it makes me mad.

"Because you're not interested in art."

"Well, I am now."

"I took both tickets because you said you didn't want to go." I point out.

"I changed my mind and bought a ticket."

I take a deep breath and roll my eyes. I can't even explain why I'm so annoyed by the fact that he's here.

"So? Where's your date?" he asks en passant.

Now it dawns on me.

"Is that the reason you're here? Are you spying on me?"

August's face hardens and he looks at me with a frown. "I'm not spying. I'm just keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need a babysitter, August." 

"You don't know anything about the guy, Fern. He could be dangerous."

He comes one step closer and is standing right in front of me now, our bodies almost touching.

"He's not dangerous. He's a teacher at a primary school."

"That's what he says." He almost whispers. It's ridiculous.

"Why would he lie to me?"

"Because maybe he wants to cover up his true identity."

I laugh out loud. "Like what? Like an undercover agent or something. You think he's after you?"

August gives me a death stare, his lips pressed together to a thin line. "Exactly. And he wouldn't be the first." His voice is only a low growl. "I mean, come on, Fern. He sees you for what -5 minutes maybe?-  and asks you out? Can he really be that smitten by you?"

I stare at him, his words cut right into my heart, and I try to hide it by being even more sarcastic than usual.

"Oh, you mean you find it more likely that he's a spy, sent by the government to get to you, than the simple thought that he's attracted to me and therefore asked me out? Wow, I mean, that's flattering, August. So basically you're saying I'm so uninteresting that it's not a realistic scenario that a man meets me and wants to date me?"

"That's not what I meant, Fern. All I'm saying is…"

"Hi." I freeze when I hear Lucas' voice. I step back to bring a little space between me and August and turn around.

"Lucas. Did you find something for Milo?"

"Yes. I did." He gives August a funny look and things are getting pretty awkward. I clear my throat.

"Um, Lucas. This is my boss. August Walker. We just bumped into each other."

"Lucas Bellingham. Nice to meet you." Lucas gives August a nod and August gives him a forced smile in return.

"Yeah. Nice to meet you."

I can't believe he used to be an agent, since he's such a bad actor.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Fern, see you on Monday."

"Sure."

He leans in, grabs me by my elbows and kisses me goodbye french style. Two times. Right. Left. Mua. Mua. What the fuck? After the second innocent peck on my cheek I feel his breath hot against my ear. "You look hot in that skirt. Be a good girl and wear it on Monday." 

His soft words sent shivers down my spine and at the same time I'm fuming with anger.

All he can expect from me on Monday is a cold shoulder and a lecture.

August

Okay, that monitoring operation on Saturday didn't go exactly as planned. I guess I'm a little out of practice. Of course Fern wasn't supposed to see me nor was her date. Lucas Bellingham. A boring name for a boring guy. I checked his record, of course I did. How, you ask? I'm sorry but I can't tell you. If I would I'd have to kill you.

Hey, don't be so shocked, I'm just kidding. Really. Relax.

Anyway, I have ways and means to do a background check on someone and Lucas seems to be legit. On first sight that means. I told Pete to dig a little deeper, just to be sure. He has his ways and means too. I promised Fern she'd be safe with me when I hired her and I'm a man of my word. I'm not going to expose her to any kind of danger. And no matter what she says, it definitely is possible that someone is sending an undercover agent to spy on me or Peter. Could be the US authorities or the MI5 or someone from my past, there's no lack of enemies, I've pissed off a lot of people and I know one day I will regret it. You know what they say. Karma is a bitch.

Well, here she comes.

"Good Morning, Fern."

"Morning."

Okay. A look that could kill and no skirt. Tight black jeans and a turtleneck sweater. All buttoned-up. Okay, woman, I get it. You're mad at me. She goes straight to her office and I follow her and sit down on the edge of her desk. She doesn't even look at me but starts typing something into her computer. 

"Are you alright?"

"Of course I am." 

"Really? You don't even look at me."

She takes a deep breath before her eyes meet mine.

"Just stay out of my way today, August."

I know I should take the hint and leave her alone but I can't. I don't take orders. Not from her, not from anyone anymore. I'm the one in charge, she should know that.

"What if I don't want to?" I give her a smug smile.

"I don't care what you want. Just fuck off."

"Woman." I growl. "Who do you think you're talking to? I'm still your boss."

"Then let me do my work. Boss." She holds my gaze and I know I'm going to lose any kind of staring contest with her so I decide to change my tactics. I hop off her desk and sit down in a chair.

"I just don't get why you're in such a bad mood." I try to smile and I have a feeling that it makes me look like an idiot. Fern furrows her brows. "Oh really. You have no idea?"

"Is this about Saturday?" 

"Yes, you bloody genius, of course it is. Your behaviour was beyond the pale."

"My behaviour? I was visiting an exhibition. Just like you."

"Don't give me that, August."

I stare at her. What does she want from me? I did nothing wrong goddamn.

"I was just trying to protect you, Fern. You tend to trust people too easily."

Her eyes shoot daggers at me and god, that's so sexy. Why the hell isn't she wearing that bloody skirt like I told her?

"People like you, you mean?"

Ouch. That hurts.

"I don't need you to protect me, okay? Not in a situation like this. Fuck, August. It was just a date with a harmless guy in a public place. What was he supposed to do? Kidnap me? Murder me?"

I don't know how to respond to this so I just shrug it off but the way she looks at me tells me she expects me to say something.

"I was just trying to keep my promise, Fern. You know I guaranteed your safety and I guess you have no idea how many people want to see me dead. You never know what they are up to and when someone new appears on the scene I get suspicious. This has nothing to do with you. It's just me and maybe I overshot the mark." The next words are the hardest part but I know if I want her to wear a skirt or dress ever again I have to say them. "I'm sorry."

Her face softens a little. 

"Just don't do it again, August. My private life is none of your business."

I nod and I really want to know if she's going to see him again but I don't ask.

The next few days totally suck. 

Tuesday: blue jeans and a cold shoulder. Shit.

Wednesday: skinny jeans and distant behaviour. Goddamn.

Thursday: A jumpsuit and a little smalltalk  but not much more. 

She's driving me crazy and she knows it. If she keeps on acting so stubborn she must not be surprised if I don't want her anymore. Ah fuck, who am I trying to fool. Truth is I want her more than ever. I want to fuck that distant look off her face. I want her to moan my name. I want her to obey. To give in. To acknowledge that I'm in charge.

On Friday I don't expect much, but to my big surprise and relief she shows up wearing the blue dotted dress she wore when I took her for the first time. I give her a glance when she walks past my office with swaying hips and she returns it. She even smiles at me. 

Okay, I have to get rid of Peter. Asap. I go to his office and close the door behind me.

"August?"

"Peter. Go home." 

"Excuse me?"

"Leave. Work from home today."

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms with a frown.

"Why?"

"Because I say so."

He snorts and turns to his laptop again.

"Fuck off, August."

I roll my eyes and sigh.

"Please." I say through clenched teeth. "I need some time to talk to Fern."

"Talk, huh?"

"We had a little fight the other day and now it seems she's willing to forgive me." I know I sound desperate and Peter looks at me again. "Yeah. I know about your visit to the museum. And you think you can get back into her pants today."

She told him about it? This takes me by surprise. But I don't say a word and he knows me well enough to interpret it as a yes.

"You know my opinion on your little affair."

"I do and you know it's none of your business."

"Right." He hesitates and scratches his chin. "Well, do what you think you have to do. I'm going to have breakfast in the little cafe around the corner and try to get the number of the hot waiter. You have an hour." He gets up and grabs his wallet and his phone.

"Thanks, Pete."

"I'm not doing this for you, August. I'm doing this for our business and my future. If you and Fern don't talk you can't do your job properly and this could ruin everything we have built up yet. So get your shit together and return to normal. Whatever it takes."

He leaves and I can tell he's pissed but well, he's gone and that's all that matters. I go straight to Ferns office and now that I'm standing right in front of her I'm so aroused and full of anticipation I feel like I'm about to explode with lust and I'm sure I look like a predator. She looks at me and slowly stands up.

"You've been a really bad girl." I growl.

"Is that so?" She bats her lashes innocently. Oh, her audacity.

"Yes." I murmur. "You kept me waiting for four days."

"You deserved it." Heavens, she's really a challenge.

"I'm gonna show you what you deserve, woman."

Two wide strides and I'm standing right next to her. I grab her by her waist, spin her around and bend her over her desk before I lift her dress and rip her panties into shreds. I press her down with one hand between her shoulder blades and unzip my trousers with the other. My dick is so hard it hurts. I don't waste time. I enter her without any kind of preparation or the slightest hint of foreplay. I wanna punish her by being raw and ruthless but she won't let me. She is wet. So fucking wet and she takes me as well as usual. Sighing with lust when I stretch her pussy. Moaning when I start to fuck her deep and fast. I let out a moan too. "You're so wet. You've been looking forward to this." I hiss into her ear while railing her so hard that the desk moves under us. "I've been all wet since the moment I put on the dress." Her voice is dripping with desire. "I've missed your dick so much." 

I keep on fucking her with long, deep movements and when I slap her ass out of the blue she cries out my name. "August." She likes it, oh yes she does. She likes it a lot. I can tell by her moans that get even louder. I've never done this before though I wanted to, but I was scared she might not like it or think I'm a perv and tell me to fuck off. I move faster and we are both gasping and panting like never before. I'm close and so is she. I can feel it.

"Again." She begs. Oh how I like the sound of it.

"What did you say, pretty?"

"Again. August. Please."

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Yes."

"You want it?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"Slap my ass, August. Please."

She's a whimpering mess now and I slap her again. Harder this time. She shrieks and it sounds incredibly hot. I go on and on and after the fifth slap I feel her come. Her walls clench around me and her legs shake. "Fuck...oh god. August…" Her sweet little cunt milks my cock and when I cum too I throw my head back and sigh her name softly  till my orgasm is over. I press a kiss on her back and give her ass a few gentle strokes to sooth the pain. I bet it stings, her cheek is crimson red. I pull out reluctantly. I feel the strange urge to stay inside of her but I fight it. She turns around and looks at me with a smirk. She licks her lips and it's obvious how much she's enjoyed this.

And so have I.

I enjoyed it and I've missed it.

I've missed her. 

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 7

So this chapter is in Ivar’s POV. Kind of a glimpse as to see what is going on with him. Plus, its a great excuse to write some Floki/Ivar interaction. 

Warnings: swearing, implied violence, Ivar having boundary issues but that’s not new. 

Words: 4550

Tag List: @heavenly1927​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @zuxiezendler​ @punkrocknpearls​ @love-all-things-writing​ @southernbe​

Series Masterlist

"There you are, you crippled bastard. I've been looking everywhere."

 Ivar smirked, exhaling the cigarette smoke from his mouth, not even turning his gaze from the lights of the city beneath him. "How did you get up here? I thought your old, lazy ass wouldn't be able to handle it."

 Floki scoffed as he moved to stand next to his protégé. "Old, lazy ass. I may be old but I could still kick your ass if I wanted too."

 Wordlessly, Ivar pulled out his cigarette carton from his suit’s pocket, taking one out and handing it to Floki. He grabbed his lighter and held it out, open palm. When Floki did not immediately take it, he glanced over to see one of the people he trusted most, staring down at the cigarette spinning between his fingers. 

 "I won't tell Helga."

 Floki giggled. "You're a bad influence on me, boy." He took the lighter and lit his cigarette, handing it back over after. 

 The two stood silently for several minutes, leaning against the railing, overlooking the city. They were at the Ragnarssons Trading headquarters, one of the taller buildings in the heart of the city. The sound of humanity floated away to a hushed background noise with how high up they stood. The upper floors of the building were restricted access, being the main offices and meeting rooms of Ragnar, his sons and others deemed important. The lower floors housed the cesspool of asinine insubordinates, those that did their limited jobs and were easily replaced. Ivar avoided those floors, not just because of the stares, or the twittering females and few males who vied for attention from the Ragnarssons in hopes of snatching one up or thinking sleeping with them as an easy way to further their careers. No, he found them all boring and beneath him. With a single look, he knew what many of them wanted, they were so easy to read, to know their simple minds. It was pathetic. 

 So, when he did come to the headquarters, he immediately headed to the upper floors. He had an office next to Torstein that he used infrequently. Most of his work he could do remotely, a blessing due to his condition and his volatile temperament. When he had work that needed extra cyber security or to delve deeper into concerns, having the multiple monitors at his office and the ability to search out his father or brothers immediately came in handy. 

 The roof of the building was his favorite place to think and plan. No one came up here but more than that, he could see everything. The city, the surrounding water, everything. He wondered if this was what the gods felt like looking down on Midgard from Valhalla. 

 Ivar exhaled, the curl of smoke slipping from his lips. "Are you coming to the meeting?"

 Floki ran a hand over his tattooed head. "Your father asked for me to come."

 "Mmmm. Know what it's about?"

 "Probably the same old boring shit."

 They chuckled, still staring over the city. Out of the corner of his eye, Ivar could see Floki tug uncomfortably on the black business suit he wore. The only reason the shipbuilder ever wore anything remotely formal was when Ragnar demanded it….and coming to the headquarters fit into the category. Ragnar liked to say that if they wanted to be taken as serious businessmen then they needed to dress the part, and it was not too difficult to wash blood out of the suits. 

 The youngest Lothbrok leaned against the railing in a charcoal gray suit, his dark hair pulled back into a man-bun. He did not mind the formal attire as much, there was a sense of prestige and strength that came with it. On more than one occasion, he had been told he presented a striking figure and he liked to use that to his advantage. Whether it was terror or arousal that his figure caused depended on the person. He knew how to control them all. 

 A vibration had Ivar pulling out his phone to see a new text from Kari. He smiled softly at her cheeky response. When asked what she was doing tonight, she said she was taking a bubble bath and reading a book. He said he did not believe her and demanded a picture as proof she was actually taking a bubble bath like a child. Now he gazed down at an image of her feet peeking out of bubbles against a porcelain bathtub. The picture was so innocent yet sensual, just like his kitten. An innocent seductress. His cock began to stiffen at the lewd ideas running rampage through his mind at the simple picture. 

 With her picture came a text.

 Kari: You should try it sometime. It's very relaxing. 

 He snorted. There was no way in hell he would ever take a bubble bath, and he figured she probably knew it. 

 Ivar: the only way I'm gtn n2 a bubble bath is if u in there w/ me

 Grinning smugly, he could imagine the flush on her cheeks at his answer as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. 

 Floki's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You going to tell me about her?"

 Ivar did not answer right away, taking a drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaling it. "Nothing to fucking tell."

 "Hmmm…. I'd bet she is the only person you smile for like that."

 "Fuck…." He ran his hand over his mouth, before turning to lean his back against the roof's railing. Floki was right and clearly knew it if the sly look said anything. It made Ivar want to knock the smirk off the madman's face with his cane, which rested on the railing next to him. 

 "This isn't like Freydis, right?" Floki quietly inquired after several minutes of companionable silence. 

 "Gods, no. She is…." He found his words trailing off, unable to articulate what Kari meant to him. 

 Freydis had been a hope for someone more than just a fuck, someone who potentially cared for him. Unfortunately, he quickly realized that she may have cared for him, but she cared more for the status and money being in a relationship with him allowed. So, they used each other. She wasted his money on frivolous things, lavishing herself with stuff she would never dream of having otherwise. He used her for fucking and to have someone on his arm when they attended events, to silence the pitying looks from others and the comments that he did not know how to please a woman. 

 After ten months though, he found himself resenting her and their relationship. It was then he broke it off with her. She cried, supposedly heartbroken but he did not care. In the months following, she tried to worm her way back into his life but he slammed the door shut, uncaring of how cruel he appeared to others. He fucked other women or had them give him blow jobs, never even taking the time to remove his leg braces or pants. They meant nothing. They were nothing. 

 But all that changed a month ago when a woman with blue-green eyes and a sweet innocence about her bumped into him…. and then confused the hell out of him when she kissed him. 

 "What's her name?" Floki asked, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette.

 "Kari." He answered, probably sounding far softer than he meant to. After, he tilted his head to look at his surrogate father, brow furrowed. "How'd you find out?"

 "The gods told me." At Ivar's unamused look, Floki giggled. "Your brothers. They said you have a new girlfriend."

 "She's not."

 "Mmmm?"

 He sighed. "My girlfriend. She's made that very fucking clear. She keeps saying she can't be my girlfriend or she doesn't want to date right now. It's fucking infuriating!" He ripped the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it on the ground. "I don’t…. I don't fucking understand. She always says we're just friends, but I know she wants more. Sometimes I can see it when she looks at me. I don't know what to fucking do!" 

 "Why are you still wasting time on her then? She sounds like she doesn't care. Just move on from the bitch."

 "Don't you fucking call her that! And she does care! More than most people." He snarled, fists trembling at his side. When Floki only smirked at him, Ivar rolled his eyes, anger slowly abating. He played into the old man's game easily. 

 Floki dropped his own half-used cigarette, eyeing Ivar curiously. "What is it about this girl?"

 "She…. fuck…. she sees me. Not a cripple. Not some rich guy she can fuck and get stuff from. She sees... she sees me. Just me. Like you and mother. I don't….no one has looked at me like that. There's always a motive, always an angle. But not with her." The words rolled off his tongue, a dam unleashed, as if begging to have been finally uttered, to share his thoughts aloud to make sense of them. With Floki, he knew his thoughts were safe, that the man would never cruelly make fun of him. 

 "You really care about this girl."

 Ivar did not answer, the truth already hung in the air as if painted in the sky for all to see.  

 Floki moved closer, wrapping his arm around Ivar's shoulder and pressing their foreheads together. "Give her time. The gods will tell you what to do. But for fuck's sake, stop stalking her. Hvitserk made sure to tell us how you showed up at her work and home unannounced."

 Ivar chuckled, mirroring Floki's action. "Hvitty better keep his fucking hands off her."

 "He will. He sees how important she is to you." Floki leaned back, that stupid grin on his face. "When do I get to meet her?"

 "Why the hell do you think I'd let her meet your insane ass? She'd take one look at you and run away."

 "She puts up with your stupidity. I'd be an improvement for her." 

 "Fuck off." Ivar laughed, throwing a mock punch at the man. "I've only known her for a month."

 "But it feels longer, right?"

 Ivar startled at the soft tone Floki used, like he knew exactly how Ivar felt. For once, he wondered if this was how Helga and Floki’s relationship felt. His tone was just as quiet, almost reverent as he answered. "Yeah."

 "Don't do something stupid and lose her. Meet her where she is. Be her friend if that's what she wants. She seems good for you."

 "Where is this wisdom coming from?" Ivar scoffed, running a hand over the braids on top of his head. 

 "I've always been wise, you just don't listen, pretentious asshole."

 "No, it's Helga that's the wise one."

 "My sweet Helga certainly is." Floki clapped a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "Come on, the meeting will be starting soon. I was sent to find your crippled ass."

 "Why the fuck are we talking then?"

 "I wanted to hear about this girl. From the sounds of it, you'll start waxing poetic sonnets about the poor girl soon and the gods will certainly…."

 "Shut the fuck up." 

 Talking casually about the latest boat Floki was working on building back home in Norway, they headed towards the meeting room attached to Ragnar's office. The trip from the roof to the meeting room should have been quick but Ivar moved slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. He knew the whites of his eyes had an alarming shade of blue. He had seen it that morning when he looked in the mirror but even more so, he could feel it in his bones. It felt as if with one simple misstep, he would break a bone. The fragility of his body was never more evident than on these days. 

 He loathed it. 

 Thankfully, Floki made no comments about Ivar's eyes or his slow, measured gait. Instead he talked, making sure to hold doors open and continued in his loping walk as if they were on a leisurely stroll. He did comment about how nice Ivar's cane was and asked if he had used it on anyone recently. 

 The cane had been a gift from Floki three years ago for his birthday. It appeared to be an expensive cane made up of an ebony tapered shaft and sterling silver handle with a snarling wolf's head. What only a few knew was that if Ivar twisted the handle and pulled, a long, slender knife came out, the blade attached to the handle. Plus, the shaft of the cane was reinforced with a sturdy material, making it easily used as a blunt force object without fear of it bending or denting. Floki had said long ago that one should never be without a weapon, and the cane was his way of ensuring Ivar followed that sentiment. 

 The private meeting room of Ragnar was a spacious corner room with two walls made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, a dark hardwood flooring and deep green walls. A single slab wooden oak table was the centerpiece of the room, with cushioned chairs around it. Currently all those seats were filled besides two, signifying that Floki and Ivar were the last to arrive at the meeting. 

 Ragnar Lothbrok looked up as they entered the meeting room, appearing both suave and intimidating in his gray business suit and hair plaited. "Where have you two been?" He narrowed his piercing eyes at Floki. "I thought Helga wanted you to stop smoking."

 "Your son is very convincing." Floki shrugged. 

 The patriarch's lips twitched in a suppressed smirk. He waved at the almost full table. "Sit. Let's get this started."

 At the beginning of each month, Ragnar liked to meet with his sons and few trusted advisors to review the past month and discuss anything important in the future. It was his way of checking in with progress and making sure everyone was doing their jobs, while keeping all informed. Ivar typically found the meetings boring and a waste of time, but he made sure to attend them like a dutiful son. 

 In this particular meeting, Ragnar discussed how he would be meeting with Ecbert of Saxon Industries in a week, an impromptu decision but Ecbert had insisted of its necessity. 

 Ivar rolled his eyes but kept his thoughts to himself. He knew by the way Floki clenched and unclenched his fist on Ivar's left that he felt the same way. A glance at his brothers showed the two latecomers were not the only skeptical ones. Ecbert and Ragnar had a mutual respect for one another but it did not stop them from betraying and trying to sabotage each other's businesses when it pleased them. Aella, who ran the Northern part of Saxon Industries, made no qualms about showing his disdain for Ragnar and his family, labeling them nothing more than "power-mongering, bloodthirsty heathens who allowed their animalistic tendencies to rule them". 

 To say there was bad blood between Ragnar and his sons with Aella was an understatement. 

 Years prior, Saxon Industries had been the leader in imports and exports in the United Kingdom and Ireland but all that changed once Ragnar set his gaze upon those shores. Now, Ragnarssons Trading was the powerhouse of the United Kingdom, Scandinavia, and France, with that influence expanding even more as trade flourished around the Mediterranean.  

 Saxon Industries was forced to turn their ventures to North America, something that caused resentment from both Ecbert and Aella, even if Aella was the only one vocal about it. 

 Ivar personally thought they should just wipe out the competition, utterly destroy Saxon Industries until it held no hope of recovery. It would also send the perfect message to any who tried to compete against them in the future. 

 At the conclusion of the meeting, Ivar rose from his seat, still moving slower than normal. He could feel the tenderness in his muscles and bones. A silent threat to his body. The concerned looks from those around did not help. It only happened every few months now, but he still hated the pitying looks. 

 "Ivar, I need to speak with you." Ragnar announced, momentarily breaking off his conversation with Torstein and Sigurd at the head of the table. Ivar nodded his understanding. With a muted groan, he sat back down in the plush chair and pulled out his phone.

 "Want me to wait for you?" Hvitserk asked, coming to his side. 

 "Nah, go ahead. I'll see you at home."

 Hvitserk gently clapped him on the shoulder then leaned down to whisper smugly. "Tell Kari hello from me."

 "Fuck off!" Ivar said, making his elder brother laugh as he walked out. 

 Speaking of, Ivar opened his phone to view the response from Kari to his previous message.

 Kari: unbelievable. 

 For a second, he considered replying but closed out of the text. At this late hour, she would already be asleep due to how early she regularly woke up. Instead he decided to wait until the morning to reply. 

 Soon enough, everyone trickled out of the meeting room leaving him alone with his father. Once it was just the two of them, Ivar watched as the confident, composed expression typical on his father's face slid away to reveal something more haggard. He straightened in his chair when his father walked across the room and pointedly closed and locked the doors before taking the seat next to him. 

 Ragnar rubbed a hand down his face, gazing out the open window before them. A sudden falling star streaked across the sky, momentarily distracting Ivar from his impatience, which thudded in his chest like a drum, growing louder and louder each moment his father kept them locked in silence. 

 "What I'm going to tell you does not leave this room. If you have any questions, you come to me directly. Understood?"

 Turning his head to eye his father with intrigue, Ivar nodded. "Understood."

 Only after that did Ragnar shift to meet Ivar's intense blue eyes with his own. "Our security system caught an email being sent out which contained an itemized list of some shipments we will be sending next month to our friends in Finland."

 Ivar's eyebrows rose. About ninety percent of Ragnarssons Trading was legal, something his father was very proud of considering how the company started. That hidden ten percent, it allowed them to stay connected to the black market and underground trading, to know things before they happened. Most recently they had made contact with a new buyer from Finland who had an affinity for certain illegal weapons. 

 Ragnar leaned forward, rubbing a hand over his mouth before continuing as if it pained him to utter the words. "It seems the damn email was supposed to be encrypted but somehow never fully transitioned, leaving half of it legible. We know it was sent from this building."

 "Do you know who the recipient was?"

 "The Russian mafia in Thailand."

 Ivar sharply inhaled, his mind furiously working on the implications, plus what their next steps should be. "What do you want me to do?"

 "I want you to find out who the fuck is selling us out. By any means necessary….and I want to burn them alive."

 A sinister grin grew on Ivar's face, matching the one on his father's. 

 "Consider it done."

 "Good." Ragnar absent-mindedly tapped the table with his fist. "This is your main priority but completely confidential, not even a word to your brothers."

 "You think it's one of them?"

 "No, but we don't know who is close to them that it might be." Ragnar reassured.

 Ivar rubbed a hand over his mouth as he thought, eyes drifting to the window. "I'll trace from my office. If the need arises, I'll go to Norway with Mother."

 "Good. You've never failed me. I know you won't in this."

 Ivar's heart swelled at the praise, something he rarely received from his ambitious and frequently absent father, especially during his childhood. 

 After a long moment, Ragnar reclined back in his chair, a small smirk on his face. "Your eyes are blue."

 "They are always blue, courtesy of your genetics." Ivar retorted harshly, already knowing where this was going. 

 "You know what I mean, Ivar." His father flatly stated. "If you break something, your mother will be breathing down both of our necks."

 "I'm not a fucking child, I can take care of myself."

 Ragnar hummed, seeming amused by his son's antagonized state. "Don't come into the office tomorrow."

 "I'll do whatever the fuck I want to."

 "Start whatever you want, but for gods' sake, stay in bed where you can rest. If I get a call that you're in the damn hospital with a broken bone, I'll break something else on you." He threatened, pointing a finger at his son.

 Ivar sneered, "Mother will skin you alive."

 Ragnar chuckled darkly, leaning back once again. "No, her style would be to sabotage me somehow. Now get out of here. Your brothers planned on going out for drinks tonight, are you going to join them?"

 He opened his mouth to answer when an impulsive idea latched itself in his mind. "No…." He answered slowly, a wicked smirk curled on his lips. "I think I'm going to bed."

 "Alright."

 Ivar rose, leaning on his cane. After taking a few steps away, he turned back to see his father watching him curiously. "Doesn't mean it's going to be my bed."

 With that, he walked out of the meeting room to the sound of Ragnar laughing loudly behind him.  

 *****

 He closed the bedroom door silently behind him, pleased with how the house remained quiet as he moved about. It was nearing two in the morning and the last thing he wanted was the police called with the neighbors thinking he was a burglar or something ridiculous. 

 Gently, he leaned his cane against the wall then proceeded to slip his shoes and shirt off. He dropped them on the floor, overly aware of any noise he made. Carefully, he maneuvered to the side of the bed, feeling very much like a thief in the night though he ignored it, and eased his legs out of his braces, setting them on the ground. Next, he slid under the rumpled covers, pleased when the bed's other occupant did not wake. His heart pounded in his chest though it did not deter his actions, if anything the forbidden feel spurred him on. Laying on his side, he placed his arm around her. Cautious of his body, he scooted closer to her until his chest was to her back. Before he could fully relax, she began to stir. 

 "Mmmm?"

 He tenderly placed a kiss on the back of her neck before murmuring. "Shhh, go to sleep."

 "Ivar?" Kari asked sleepily, her body tensing under his touch. 

 "Yes. Go back to sleep."

 At his words, she twisted in his arms to face him, his arm still over her waist comfortably. He could hear the sleep fading from her voice. "What? What are you doing here?"

 "Trying to sleep." He answered coolly, a flash of irritation shooting through him. Why was she questioning him? All he wanted to do right now was sleep with her in his arms. The increasing pain in his traitorous body made him want to lash out. To demand she shut up and let them sleep. He bit his tongue before the venom could erupt. Logically he knew his presence was unexpected and surprising at this hour, but he had hoped she would be more excited to see him. 

 "That…. what? How did you get into my house?" She demanded, trying to wriggle out of his hold but to no avail. 

 "I have a key."

 That easy statement made her freeze. "You have a key…." She slowly repeated. After a moment, she sighed, relaxing back into his embrace. "You know what, I'm too tired. We'll talk about that fact in the morning. Why are you here though?"

 Maybe it was the darkness surrounding them or the enticing sleepy voice of hers, either way he found himself answering honestly…. a bit too honestly. He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he quietly confessed. "I missed you….and I don't want to be alone."

 They laid there for several seconds in a tense silence. Even though she did not pull away from him, he could practically feel her over-thinking. If she told him to leave right now, he wondered if his dark heart would splinter. Over the past month she had become so vitally important to him. When he first met her, his interest had been fueled by lust plus the mystery and innocent aura around her. He wanted her. Now though, it had moved beyond want. It was a need. As much as he needed air to breathe, his mind and body coveted her. She somehow slipped past his guarded heart to entangle herself in his very core. Her presence soothed the violence that controlled his mind, she gentled his rage. She cared about him, not because of who or what he was, like everyone else. No, she cared about him as his own person, as simply Ivar. 

 Finally, she spoke in a resigned whisper. "Fine. Go to sleep, Ivar."

 "I was trying to but someone kept asking me questions." He quipped, in hopes to hide the joy and relief in his voice. 

 She grumbled, then turned over and tried to move away from him but he was not going to have that. Not now. Not where he wanted her to be after so long. Where she deserved to be. With the arm around her waist, he pulled himself against her until they were spooning. At first, she attempted to fight him, squirming away, but after a few moments she surrendered. A barely suppressed chuckle escaped him, as he tightened his hold on her. She felt so perfect in his arms, like the gods created her to fit flawlessly against him, two puzzle pieces that finally found their match. He pressed his face into her hair, nuzzling into her. His elation only increased when her fingers intertwined with his that were splayed just under her breasts. A fond smile danced on his lips at her acceptance. 

 Within moments, he felt her go limp against him, sleep consuming her one again. He lightly kissed the back of her neck, pleased when he thought he heard a content hum come from her at the action.

 Knowing his kitten, there would be hell to pay come morning, but for now, he needed this. Her body against his, to feel her heartbeat, to know she was safe. It was something that was no longer optional. He felt a man possessed, bewitched. Everything about her cast him under her spell- her beauty, her friendship, her tenderness towards him, the silly ways she made him laugh, and how she stood up for him. She was his. His responsibility. His devotion. His peace. His kitten. His alone. 

 "God natt, min skatt." He whispered against her skin. (Good night, my treasure)

 It did not take long for him to follow her into sleep, more at peace in this moment than he had been for in years.

[therealvalkyrie]

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 1.5

portraiture and speculation

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: mentions of insomnia, slight angst, swearing, and idk libraries?? ‘Tis not a heavy one

AN: So this is a mini-chapter, entirely Levi’s POV, hopefully to give some more background/insight into what homeboy’s thinking. And we get some Hange in this chapter which I had so much fun writing:)) Thank you for the wonderful comments on the last chapter and again, please don’t hesitate to reblog/comment/send in an ask with any suggestions, questions, or feedback!! ~valkyrie

(read Part 1 here)

In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture came next. Artists aspired to elevate the importance of…

Levi takes a slow sip of tea while his eyes glide over the article in front of him: the latest reading for his European Art History class. His mouth twitches at the bitter taste of over-brewed Earl Grey. The library cafe never seems to be able to get tea right, but he was desperate for some caffeine to push him through a couple more hours of studying.

...female members of the royal family have been depicted as goddesses…

Fuck. Levi’s brain had gotten away from him again. I have no idea what I just read.

With a deep sigh and adjustment of his posture, Levi starts the paragraph again.

In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture…

The portrait in his room flickers into his mind’s eye. Nearly complete, his mother’s smiling face stares back at him. The stormy grey of her eyes had taken Levi a week to remember and another to perfect. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he sits cross-legged on his bed facing her and wondering if it’s truly an accurate depiction. In his best memories, she is warm and smiling and beautiful. Levi can’t help but wonder if somehow he’s written over his mother’s true features with an invention of his own; some sort of collage of the kind women in his life. He had caught himself painting Hange’s wide smile instead of his mother’s once, and he hadn’t worked on the portrait for a month after. If he was going to ever do it justice, he had to be certain it was as close to his actual memory as possible.

The end of the page jars Levi out of a reverie, and once again he hasn’t retained any of what he just read. Leaning back in his chair with a frustrated groan, he allows the ambient noise of the library to drift back into his consciousness.

The beeping from the front desk as a librarian scans books. The thunk of someone’s metal water bottle on a table. A spirited discussion between two professors in line at the cafe. Levi can feel his will to work slipping from his grasp with each passing moment.

“No use trying to study with your mind caught up in more important things,” your voice seeps through the cracks of his work ethic. It had been six weeks into living with each other when you caught Levi staring into space at his desk instead of working yet again and decided to do something about it. Your pretty hands had guided his own away from the laptop and closed it with a finality even your obstinate roommate couldn’t argue against.

“We’re going out for sushi,” you’d insisted. “And then you’re going to watch your favorite show and go to bed.”

You were right. It’s exactly what Levi needed, both then and now.

“Hey, shortstack!” A pair of hands lands heavily on his shoulders, and Levi has to quell the urge to break Hange’s nose with the back of his hand. He settles for a steely glare over his shoulder, greeted by her energetic grin.

“If you touch me without warning like that again I will not hesitate to put you in the hospital.” Hange doesn’t seem perturbed by his deadpan delivery, but nonetheless removes her hands and holds them up in surrender.

“I come in peace! Just thought I’d say hi before my lab.” She pulls out the chair next to him and plonks down but doesn’t bother to put down her backpack or unwrap her scarf. “How’s the studying going?”

“I was just finishing up. Can’t concentrate in this environment.” He gestures vaguely to their surroundings.

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m surprised to find you here, actually, don’t you usually hole up in an empty studio?”

“Eh, figured a change of pace might help. Clearly not.”

“Great, then you can walk me to class! I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway.” Hange bounces out of her seat and flits her gaze around the library as Levi packs up his stuff.

As they leave the library together, frigid winter air swirls around them, kicking up a flurry of snow from the snowbank by the sidewalk. Levi zips up his jacket and stuffs his hands into its pockets. Hange is unusually quiet as they walk towards the sciences building. Levi hazards a glance and sees her deep in thought, chin tucked into her scarf and glasses fogged with breath.

“So are you gonna tell me what you wanted to talk about or am I supposed to guess?” He nudges her with an elbow and she jumps.

“Oh! That’s right. It’s about your delightfully brilliant roommate,” she starts, grinning at Levi once more.

“What about her?”

“How has she been doing? Y’know, since the breakup?” Hange’s tone is almost too casual, and it makes Levi take a second to carefully consider his answer.

“She’s been fine, I think. Going to class, eating, studying.” He pauses to think again. “She has been staying up late a lot. Why do you ask?”

“That’s just it, she looked exhausted this morning in our seminar. Like she hadn’t slept at all.” Her quizzical gaze is fixed on him as he considers this.

Come to think of it, you had been looking quite tired recently. He had attributed it to upcoming exams, but it could certainly be deeper than that. For the past two weeks since the breakup, Levi had noted light from under your bedroom door every night as he went to bed. And yet, you were consistently awake before him, already on your first or second cup of coffee.

“You’re right. I don’t think she’s been sleeping,” he affirms, setting his mouth in a thin, worried line. While Levi was no stranger to insomnia, he did have strategies to help himself get enough sleep even when his mind couldn’t rest. Chamomile tea, meditation, sleeping pills when it really came down to it. Does she have those resources? he wonders.

They arrive outside the sciences building and Levi stops just short of the stairs, Hange turning to face him.

“Will you check up on her, please? Make sure she hasn’t actually been turned into a vampire?” Her tone is joking, but Levi can see the worry behind Hange’s eyes as he gives her a nod.

“Of course. I’ll text you later. Good luck in your lab.” He waves her off as she practically skips up the steps, giving him an impish salute.

“Have a good one, shortstop!”

As Levi turns back to begin walking home, worry sets in his chest with a winter-like frigidity. He thought you had been doing fine. 

I thought she was glad to be rid of that jackass.

-- (read part 2 here)

[wienerbarnes]

Witch Bitch

Pairing: Bucky x Witch!Reader

Word Count: 3,943

Warnings: witch stuff, burning at the stake 😳

A/N: this is heavily inspired by american horror story: coven bc i recently watched and ive been binging all of it lately but its not necessary to know anything about ahs lol i kinda just used their fancy magical terminology and concepts bc they were cool🤪 

MAIN MASTERLIST

The best time of the day was breakfast. It was the time when Bucky, Sam, and Sharon were most often together. Sometimes training overlapped and they missed lunch. Sometimes missions ran long or friends were in town and they missed dinner. But the morning? They were all early birds, all awake by seven. They took that shared characteristic and shared breakfast together whenever they could. Bucky usually took care of the coffee, Sam usually took care of the eggs and bacon, and Sharon usually took care of the bagels, toasting them to perfection before slathering on a layer of cream cheese.

It was a moment of peace in their day. Quiet before the noise of the gym or the conference room or the jets or the private trainings or the interviews with prospective agents or anything else they do on a daily basis. It was a time for three friends to just sit and eat and enjoy each other's company as though they are just that: three friends. Not super soldiers or captains or special agents. Just people being normal. Normal doesn’t last long, though. It never does for them.

Bucky’s on dish washing duty this morning while Sam and Sharon chat idly behind him, waiting for him to finish so they can all leave together. A soft voice interrupts them, though, making the three of them stop what they’re doing because no one has access to this floor except for the people that live here - meaning them three.

“Who’s in charge here?” You ask.

“Who the hell are you?! How did you get up here?!” Sharon asks, ignoring your question.

You were in a long, flowy black skirt, slit cut in the left side exposing your leg, and a long-sleeve black shirt, tucked beneath the waistband. Think black boots cover your feet and a black hat sits on your head to complete your look. Bucky almost doesn’t notice the folded black umbrella underneath your arm as his eyes trail down the multiple chains and necklaces around your neck, falling between your breasts.

“I’ve been trying to find someone to help me but the people in this building are not very helpful. I figured I’d find who’s in charge myself, something that you all don’t seem to want to help me with, either.” You explain.

“The only way to even enter this building is through strict appointment and background checks, and no one’s even allowed past the nineteenth floor.” Sam explains.

“Why are you entertaining this? I’m getting her out of here.” Sharon says, moving to walk towards you to take you out of the building herself.

As she nears closer and closer, you wave your hand lazily, without taking your eyes off Bucky, the only one who hasn’t said anything this whole time, and Sharon collapses on the floor soundlessly.

“Jesus!”

“What did you do!”

Both Bucky and Sam panic as they rush to Sharon’s body on the floor. They frantically run their hands over her body, looking for the point of injury that made her collapse the way she did, but they find nothing. No holes, no blood; she didn’t even make a sound.

“She’s not breathing and she doesn’t have a pulse, what the fuck did you do to her?!” Sam yells at you.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you got me. I don’t need help finding who’s in charge, I already know it’s you. I still do need your help, though.”

You’re ignored as the two men hover over their friend, unsure of what to do or what even happened to her.

“Oh, alright, move.” You order them, stepping over Sharon’s body.

You stand before her, lifting your hands to hover over her body before closing your eyes and letting out a deep and long exhale. Bucky and Sam watch as it takes only about seven seconds for their friend to suddenly gasp for air, jumping back to life. The boys crowd her once more, checking her eyes, her pulse, everything to convince themselves that she’s actually alive like that, and if she was even dead in the first place.

Sam finally looks back up at you from the ground, as though he just remembered that you’re there, “What are you?”

You smirk in response, ready to finally get what you came here for.

…

“So, you’re a witch?” Sam asks, the four of them now occupying a private conference room for some privacy.

“A witch who killed me.” Sharon adds.

“And a witch that brought you right back.” You reply, leaning back on your chair, leg crossed over your knee, slit exposing your thigh. Bucky’s eye twitch to look at your bare skin for a second before returning to meet your eyes.

“So… what do you do?” Bucky asks.

You smile at his innocent curiosity, “All witches don’t have one universal power. Some are clairvoyant, some do voodoo, some dabble in pyrokinesis, divination, transmutation, descendum,” You glance over to Sharon, who’s still pouting at you, “Resurrection.”

“And can you do all of those?” Bucky asks.

“Almost all of them, but I’m not here to talk about me.”

“Why are you here?” Sharon asks.

“You guys hunt the Nazi’s, right?” You ask, aiming your question towards Sam, knowing he’s the Captain in charge.

“Hydra, yes.” He confirms.

“Well, your Nazi’s somehow got a hold of my magic. And they are playing with very dangerous fire,” You begin.

Bucky interrupts, “We’re all for taking down Hydra, but, don’t you think you’re a little more… powerful than us?” He asks.

“Bucky!” Sharon slaps his arm, as though she’s shocked that he would ever admit such a thing.

“I am. But I’m not that powerful, either. Not anymore, at least. A group of those Hydra invaded the coven my sisters and I were at. I was the only one that escaped.” You tell them.

“Did Hydra take them?” Sam asks.

“No, they killed them.” You respond, growing irritated as the subject grows touchier and touchier.

“Can’t you just bring them back like you did me?” Sharon inquires.

“No! I can’t. Like I said, I’m not that powerful anymore. Maybe I’d be able to bring back a house full of dead girls when it was me and twelve others but it’s just me now. I wouldn’t come all the way over here if I had other options.”

Silence grows over the group as they process what you’ve gone through. Surviving through the massacre of your fellow witches and not being powerful enough to find the people that did it on your own. You’re vulnerable.

“So what can we do?” Sam asks, ready to join forces with you.

“Help me locate the men who did this so I can handle the magic part.” You tell him.

“What magic do they have?”

“Although witches control most of the magic, sometimes it can be taken on in… physical forms. Specifically blood. The blood they retrieved was from a witch that was skilled in Vitali Vitalis.”

“The alive within the living.” Bucky translates.

“There are two worlds: the living and the dead,” You begin to explain, “Vitali Vitalis keeps the balance between these two things and it’s one of the most difficult powers for a witch to master. Oftentimes it’s used to give parts of your own life, health, and energy to someone who needs it. But it can also allow you to take life from someone and give it to yourself.”

“Like immortality?” Sam questions.

“Not quite. Any witch can be killed with a knife or bullet. This kind of magic keeps you from dying of age. I’ve only ever known one witch who mastered it.”

“What happened to her?”

“She used it for evil, like this. Took the souls of hundreds in order to allow herself to live for almost three centuries. Until she was killed, of course.” You finish, a small smile on your lips knowing that she got what she deserved.

“What, you burn her at the stake?” Sharon jokes.

“Yes, actually. We did.” You tell her matter-of-factly, becoming more and more irritated at the fact that she doesn’t seem to take this is as seriously as you are.

Bucky interrupts, sensing the rising tension between the two girls, “So when we find these guys, you’re going to burn them at the stake, too?” He asks.

“Yes,” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “The consequence of using magic like this for evil is death by fire. I hope you all don’t think the rules will change on account of these men being Nazi’s?”

“Well, we just have a different way of doing things -” Sam begin to defend

“Yes, I’m aware. The countless destruction caused by you and other militaries, the millions of innocent lives lost yearly, not only in the constant war and irresponsible handling of your nuclear and alien weaponry, but by incorrect prosecution. Not to mention the billions of dollars spent on your ridiculous prison systems that don’t work when actual bad people escape and the death penalty practices in certain states. I just figured my way was easier. And cheaper.” You reply.

Silence crowds over the four of them once more as they think over all their options.

“I’m in.” Bucky speaks first.

“Me, too. Even if I don’t like you.” Sharon follows.

“Feeling’s mutual, dear.” You smile at her.

The three of them look to Sam, waiting for his commitment as well.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

Plans were made, theories of location were thought of, and plans to execute the mission were put into place, all of which included you. A temporary room was given to you when the information of your lack of a place to stay was brought to light. Only for the duration of this mission, is what Sam told you, but you can spot the amount of love and light in his heart from miles away.

It was later that night, and you’ve since cleansed the room, going as far as to place a protective spell on the entire floor. You’ve lost too much already, and you’re not about to risk anything.

A knock at the door sounds and the visitor you’d been expecting has finally arrived. You walk towards the door, still in your clothes from earlier but now you’ve removed your shoes, and open the door to reveal Bucky.

“I was waiting for you.” You tell him.

“How’d you know I’d come?” He asks, stepping through the door when you step aside, silently gesturing to him to enter.

“I can hear your thoughts. You've been debating whether or not to come see me for the past thirty minutes. Your mind is very loud.”

“Tell me about it.” He mumbles to himself, thinking about the countless nightmares, voices, and all the other reminders of just how loud his mind was.

“You can ask all your questions, you know. I won’t take any offence. You’re just curious.” You tell him, settling on your bed, hoping he’ll join you and stop hovering near the door.

Luckily he takes the hint and takes a seat across from you.

“I’ve never met a witch before. A real one, I mean. Like, someone born a witch. Like Salem witches -”

“I understand.” You chuckle lightly.

“You don’t seem… afraid of me. Or, hesitant, rather.” You tell him, thinking about how he’s received your presence here compared to his colleagues.

“I was wary when you killed my friend, but… you just need some help, is all. I’m sorry, by the way, I’m not sure if I said it before, but, I’m sorry for what happened to your friends.” He tells you.

He’s very polite. But you supposed that’s not abnormal considering he got his manners from the 1920’s. You like it, though. You give him an appreciative smile before giving him the okay to ask you whatever he wanted.

“So you said that witches can master multiple powers but have one specialty; is yours resurrection?”

“Yes; it was the first power I ever exhibited when I was a teenager. I was about fourteen or fifteen. My next mastered skill is descendum and then clairvoyance, where I was in my twenties, or so.” You tell him as he looks at you with pure fascination in his eyes.

“What is - what is descendum?”

You pause, “The power to descend your soul down into the afterlife - to hell. And return alive.”

His eyes widened, not even knowing that was something someone can do; not even knowing that hell existed in the first place, “So, you’ve been to hell?”

“Yes. I’ve also been able to retrieve people from hell, their soul. A variation of my power of resurrection, I suppose.” You explain, not being too fond of that power; descending to hell.

Bucky sits in silence for a few minutes, and you let him. You can hear the question lingering around in his head; what he’s thinking. But you let him build up his own courage to ask it. You know he’s only scared of the answer; the answer you know he’s not going to like.

“What is hell like?” He whispers.

“It doesn’t matter what my hell is like. Everyone has their own personal hell they experience when they die.” You tell him.

Confusion clouds his features as he registers your answer.

“Is there… Is there no heaven?”

You smirk, “It’s nice that you’ve remained religious after all this time.”

“Yes, there's heaven. But only for the purest and most innocent of souls. And rarely do people escape life without sin. Everyone has evil in them.” You tell him, knowing it’s a harsh truth that no one wants to hear.

The people Bucky’s killed, the crime he’s committed, the families he’s hurt; it all passes through his mind. Everyone has evil in them.

“What was your hell like?”

“I’m not telling you that.” You tell him quickly.

Bucky ponders what his own hell will be like, after seeing the way you’re clearly shaken up about your own. The fall from the train. The man in a lab coat sawing off the rest of his arm. The needles poking through his skin in the middle of some facility. The chair.

He doesn’t realize that he’s looked away from you until he snaps his thoughts back to the present and sees he’s looking down into his lap. He glances up to see your face, your soft features and kind eyes staring at him. He glances from your eyes to your lips and back up again before clearing his throat, not realizing how close he got to you during his time here sitting on your bed.

“You know, I, uh, I should go. Thank you for, uh, answering my questions, but we head out pretty - pretty early tomorrow, so,” He trails off, standing and patting down his shirt to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in a nervous habit.

He makes his way towards the door and his hand touches the knob when he hears your voice, “Hey, Bucky?” He turns slightly to face you again, a hum to indicate for you to continue.

“Thank you for coming to see me. And thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me. You’re a very good person.” You tell him sincerely.

He gives you a nod of you’re welcome before exiting.

He’s not sure if you told him that because you truly mean it, or if it’s because of the state of anxiety and existential crises you’ve put him in now that he’s going to be thinking about his personal hell, but he appreciates it, nonetheless.

He thinks you’re a pretty good person, yourself.

…

The mission goes off without a hitch. The combined skill of the Avengers’ stealth, spyware, and experience along with your magic and witchery makes for an easy capture of the men who killed your witch sisters and stole your magic.

It’s not long before the facility they were at was shut down and cleared out, arresting any officers and rescuing any prisoners or hostages, and the five men specifically responsible for the destruction of your coven are in separate custody. What’s left of the blood is returned to you, as well.

That’s where the group of you stand now, a decision to be made about the criminals you’ve captured. To be put in the maximum security prison floating in the ocean, or to be put to death by fire.

“I don’t believe in being the executioner of people.” Sam tries to convince.

You can’t help but let a laugh escape you, “Do you know who you work for?! Do you know who you are?!” You remind him.

“Those guys can’t escape the Raft.” He tries, referring to prison in the middle of the ocean you’ve heard about.

“You did.” You respond, knowing about when Steve Rogers took him out of that prison, along with other superheros.

You see Bucky and Sharon look between the two of you, torn between how these Hydra criminals should receive their fate. Staring into the hot depths of flames or rotting alone in a cell? Both seem to be too merciful, in Bucky’s opinion.

“This isn’t just running the facility or experiments, Sam. This is different. They were using dark magic to commit crimes. Maybe they should face the consequences of a dark-magic-punishment.” Sharon offers.

You don’t have time to be shocked at Sharon agreeing with you and picking your side before Bucky agrees and Sam is outnumbered. He stares at you and gives a single nod, allowing you to do this your way.

You smile, a silent thank you for giving you the closure and opportunity to serve justice to those who did you harm. “Off to Massachusetts, then.” You tell them, and Sam takes his seat in the pilot's chair, Bucky accompanying him in the front of the jet.

You take a seat, making yourself comfortable for the flight to Salem and you feel a body take the seat next to you. You glance up to see Sharon looking at you, but you notice she has something in her hand, offering it to you.

You look down to see a small plastic bag of fruit gummies. But not just any fruit gummies, you realize. Halloween themed fruit gummies. The pictures on the outside show the various options inside: witch’s hat, a broom stick, a melting pot, a vial, and a magic wand. Hilarious.

You take the gummies, though, accepting her attempt at a truce.

It’s not long before you and your temporary teammates find themselves standing before a large, empty field, multiple wooden stakes standing about fifteen feet tall scattered about with plenty of space in between.

You lead the walk to a group of them standing tall in line, so the men can be burned at the same time, as opposed to one by one. A group of large, burly agents lug the Hydra operatives along, behind you and the rest of the team.

Bucky hangs around your left, as to not be in the way of the black umbrella held in your right hand, and Sam and Sharon trail behind you. You can sense their uneasiness and tune out their worried thoughts. Everyone’s first burning is always an experience; they’ll get over it.

Bucky doesn’t seem worried, though. In fact, you can’t hear his thoughts this time around. But he still stands tall and straight, walking with confidence, so you make a safe assumption that he’s okay.

None of the men’s cuffs or shackles are removed, but thick rope is tied on top of it, around the wrist and looped around the waist, tying them to the stake. The cuffs are special grade - high tech Avengers vibranium - and they can be retrieved later once the fire burns out.

“Any last words?” You ask, more for tradition than whether or not you actually care.

They look scared, obviously not expecting their fate to look anything like this. You remember seeing Bucky tackle one of them in the facility, prying his mouth open to rip out a tooth, or what looked like a tooth, like a dog caught eating something it wasn’t supposed to. A cyanide pill.

Silence comes from them, except for one of them, “Hail Hydra!” He yells, as if that cowardly and pathetic phrase would change anything.

With a raise of your hand, seemingly with no effort, you wave it and the stakes all begin to rise up in flames. There’s nothing to spark, no twigs, no gasoline, nothing, and Bucky watches as the flames rise, growing stronger as they engulf the five men. They begin to scream, and Bucky looks over at you, as if to confirm you didn’t bring gasoline or something with you, and he sees a smile slowly grow on your lips.

They haven’t stopped screaming; they’re still alive when you turn and begin to walk back the way everyone came. Bucky follows, and eventually Sam and Sharon do, too, the other agents staying behind until the end to retrieve the cuffs and shackles that will survive the fire.

“So, now what?” Sharon asks, the air quieter as the screams have slowly stopped in the distance.

I can’t imagine what kind of paperwork follows this, “Back to the tower.” Sam responds.

“The coven’s only a short walk from here.” You say, not needing to elaborate much more. The men have been caught and brought to justice, but you still have a broken, battered, and beaten down coven to fix.

A friend of yours was meant to go by and retrieve the… bodies. Which you’re grateful for. But magic won’t help you fix the walls, the floors, mop the blood, or find other witches in need of an escape and a place to improve and master their powers. You have a lot of work to do.

As the view of the jet gets closer, you prepare to bid your goodbyes to the Avengers, your thank you’s as well. Regardless of your attitude towards them before, you couldn’t have done this without them.

A metal hand engulfs yours, pulling you back a bit as Sam and Sharon continue on.

“Do you need any help?” Bucky’s warm and gentle voice floods your ears, hand still in yours.

“You guys have been more than enough help, now, really.” You try to tell him, but he has none of it.

“You may be tough, but you can’t fix up that house by yourself,” He tells you, “I can be pretty handy, fixed up a few things back in my day.” A soft smile grows on his face.

You glance over his shoulder as Sam and Sharon wait by the entrance of the jet, “Don’t you have to go back?”

“They won’t miss me.” He tells you, not even looking back to confirm with his teammates, hand dropping to run it through his hair.

You giggle at him, before giving him a shy nod in answer to his offer to help you fix up your big house.

“I’m going to hang out here for a few days.” He yells over his shoulder.

“We figured.” Sam calls out, and Sharon throws you a wave as they board the jet, the opening close after them.

“Lead the way?” Bucky offers you, taking your hand once more, interlocking the fingers this time.

And so the two of you are off, one of your hands still clutching the umbrella, holding it above your head, and the other hand interlaced with the one of a handsome and kind super soldier. This wasn’t the way Bucky expected the last two days to transpire, but he’s glad they led to holding the hand of a very pretty witch.

[emy-loves-you]

Accessories and Crushes

This is Day 1 of the TSUS Challenge: Dukexiety!

Summary: Remus buys some jewelry to make himself look good and impress his crush, Virgil. But why does he look so upset by that?

Pairings: Dukexiety, background Roceit

Word Count: 3769

Warnings: Bullying, stealing, miscommunication, implied violence, blood

"C'mon boys! You need to leave now or you'll be late!"

"Coming Mom!" Both boys called out, Roman from the bathroom and Remus from his bedroom. The green-clad twin had finished putting on his makeup and was now frowning at his reflection. Something was missing. There was some part of his style that was incomplete. It had been missing for a while now, and because of it Remus looked incomplete. Bland. Boring. And he couldn't tell what was missing. He'd tried switching out his makeup palette (Roman had so many leftover, since he liked to do his own makeup in theater. He wouldn't miss this one), he tried different outfit styles, he even tried things that he never imagined wearing like skirts and high heels, but nothing felt right. Maybe I need new accessories?

There was a knock on his door and Roman poked his head in, a lopsided grin on his face. "C'mon, we gotta go before mom kills us."

Remus scoffed, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Psh, I've been ready. I was waiting for you, prettyboy. How many hours did you spend in the bathroom this time?"

Roman made a sound that their mutual friend (and Roman's crush) Janus dubbed an 'offended Princey noise' as they walked out of their house. "First of all, low blow. You can't just use that nickname-"

Remus snorted. "Of course I can. Just not in front of Janny.” Janus had made up the nickname years ago, and Remus constantly teased Roman with it. (Honestly, Remus was halfway tempted to lock the two of them in a closet and leave them there until they either made out or beat each other up)

Roman continued as they approached the school. “Secondly, I’ll have you know that every moment I spend in that bathroom is absolutely vital to my daily routine.”

Remus smirked. “Yeah? Even the 20 minutes you spend just belting out romantic Disney songs to your reflection?”

Roman blushed but didn’t back down. “Yes.”

“Hmm, a blushing Roman. The perfect way to start my morning.” Janus suddenly slinked up behind them, throwing his arm up over Roman’s shoulder.

Roman groaned, blushing harder. “I can never tell when you’re being sarcastic and when you’re being genuine.”

Janus chuckled softly. “If you knew, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun to do.”

The bell rang and Remus groaned. “Gotta go. Catch ya later.” He quickly made his way to his first class, silently glad to be rid of the two hopeless lovebirds. He got to his class with 5 minutes to spare and was going to play on his phone and ignore everyone like he usually did when he saw a flash of green out of the corner of his eye.

On one of the student’s desk was an ornate wooden box, filled to the brim with hand-crafted jewelry. The student in question, Jacob Smith, was currently counting a large stack of cash as he waited for the bell to ring. Remus got up to look at the jewelry and he smirked. “Hey, Prince. I’m selling my sister’s hand-made jewelry. Like anything you see?”

Remus glanced down at the jewelry. There were dozens of accessories in a ton of different colors, but there were a few that caught Remus’ eye. There was a matching set of 2 bracelets, a ring, a chain necklace, a choker, and a pair of earrings. They were all a metallic dark green with black and dark purple accents. Remus looked at the prices Jacob had given the jewelry and winced. They were all super expensive, but they were also high quality and hand-crafted, so Remus wasn’t going to complain.

Jacob smirked as Remus paid for the jewelry, about to say something when the bell ringed. Remus sighed and put the jewelry away, grabbing his notebook to take notes. Even though Remus was the school’s resident ‘bad boy,’ he still liked to keep his grades up. Remus hated that he was always stereotyped as lazy and dumb. Yes, he regularly punched homophobes and transphobes. Yes, he tended to struggle in English because metaphors were bullshit. But that wasn’t his fault! There were only a handful of people that Remus wouldn’t immediately punch their teeth in for calling him dumb, and only three of them went to this school. Of course, there was Roman and Janus, but there was another person who was allowed to insult Remus, even if he never did.

Eventually, lunchtime rolled around, and Remus ignored his usual routine of vandalizing homophobic lockers to instead go put on his jewelry in the bathroom. He spent the whole 15 minutes making sure that the jewelry looked perfect and his make up was flawless. He had someone to impress, after all.

A few more hours passed and Remus was finally in his last class of the day, impatiently waiting to see his crush walk through the door. Virgil Storm, resident emo and snarky introvert. He and Remus were forced to work on an English paper together last year, and now he liked to sit next to Remus during class. Remus knew this was only so they could work together on creative writing assignments, but a part of Remus dreamed that Virgil sat next to Remus because liked Remus, not just tolerated him.

When Virgil finally walked through the door, seconds before the bell was supposed to ring, Remus barely resisted the urge to grin and wave frantically like an overexcited puppy. Instead, he gave his meat flirtatious smirk, angling his body to show off as much of his new jewelry as possible. Instead of smiling (or blushing like Remus fantasized), Virgil froze in place. He gave Remus a look that made his heart sink. He looked… betrayed? That didn’t make sense. But before Remus could get up and ask what was wrong, the bell rang and Virgil took a seat in the front of the classroom, away from Remus.

Now, most people would be able to see that Virgil was upset before he even walked into the room. They would realize that Virgil isn’t having a good day, and would give him some space until he was ready to talk to them.

Remus is not most people.

He spent the entire class staring at Virgil, several pencils snapping as he pretended to take notes. Virgil slouched forward, ignoring Remus’s gaze burning holes in his hoodie. When the class ended, Virgil practically ran out the door. Remus growled and stuffed his things into his bag, shooting a quick text to Roman.

Re- (2:21 PM) Staying after, go on without me

He turned off his phone, not waiting for a response as he stalked out the door. He knew that Virgil didn’t take the bus, and Remus had a feeling that the emo hadn’t left the school yet. He probably didn’t go to his locker, and he hated all of the teachers, which left-

Remus slammed the bathroom door open, Virgil jumping from the sudden sound. He was hovering over the sink, his face red and puffy from crying. His shock quickly morphed into anger as he glared at Remus. “What do you want? Here to rub it all in my face?”

Remus growled, ready to rip his own hair out. Or Virgil’s. He hadn’t decided yet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Virgil barked out a laugh, and Remus ignored how beautiful Virgil looked, even when angry. “Wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?! I thought you were my friend!”

A part of Remus’ heart broke at his crush calling him just a ‘friend,’ but the rest of his heart shattered as he processed what the emo said. “Of fucking course I’m your friend!”

Virgil glared at Remus, pointing at him accusingly. “Then why the hell are you wearing those?!”

Remus looked down at his jewelry, which he had bought and put on just to impress Virgil. They had to be what he was talking about, since it was the only significant change to Remus’s normal outfit. He actually liked this jewelry a whole lot. And now his asshole crush was getting pissy about it. “What’s wrong with me wearing jewelry, huh? You got a fucking problem with it?”

Virgil growled, slamming his fist onto the countertop. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it, dumbass! I’m not stupid, I know where you got those!”

Remus huffed. “You got something against Jacob? I know the guy’s an asshole, but are you seriously gonna hate me for buying his little sister’s jewelry?”

Virgil froze, his hands gripping the bathroom counter like a death grip. “Little sister? So you didn’t know?”

Remus was confused, but he was still more irritated than anything. “Didn’t know what? What the fuck are you talking about?!”

Virgil stayed quiet for a moment before he started screaming. “THAT SON OF A BITCH!” He slammed his fists back on the counter, fresh tears rolling down his face.

Remus rushed forward, pinning Virgil’s wrists down so he couldn’t hurt himself. No matter how pissed he was, Remus couldn’t see his crush get hurt. “What the fuck is going on, Virgil?”

Virgil froze again, looking away. “It’s none of your business. Just leave me alone.”

Remus growled, adding pressure to Virgil’s wrists, ignoring the way he winced. “Not this time, emo. You can’t just accuse me and say we aren’t friends, then tell me to fuck off when I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” He stepped closer, not giving him any room to squirm away. “So we’re not going anywhere until you’ve told me what’s going on.” Virgil looked away, and Remus growled. “You said that we’re friends, right? Then fucking treat me like one.”

There were a few moments of silence between them before Virgil sighed looking away, mumbling. “My name’s on ‘em.”

Remus’s grip loosened, confused. “Huh?”

Virgil groaned, pulling himself out of Remus’ hold and grabbing him by the wrist, removing his bracelet with practiced ease. He showed Remus the inside of the bracelet, where V.S. was stitched into the fabric. “Jacob’s little sister’s name is Sally. That’s my name. I sewed and etched it into every product.”

Remus stared for a minute until it hit him. “Did you make these?”

Virgil blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I sell them online. They take forever to make but it’s fun and I make a good amount of money off of it.” He huffed. “I shouldn’t of brought them to school. Yesterday Jacob had found me and was be-” he coughed “was talking to me, and he found them in my backpack. Said he would sell them for me, and in exchange I wouldn’t leave with a broken nose. All of the popular kids knew that I made them, because they bought a ton and flashed it off in front of me in the hallways.” He sniffled and wiped his tears away with his hoodie sleeve. “I… I thought you knew too. I thought you were like them.”

Remus stared for a few minutes before getting out his wallet. “How much do you normally charge for these?”

Virgil sputtered. “W-what? You don’t-”

Remus growled. “I know I don’t have to. Now. How. Much. Do. You. Charge?”

Virgil rambled off the price and Remus frowned. That wasn’t even half of what Jacob had charged for them. Still, he paid the price that Virgil listed before opening a backpack and grabbing a notebook and pen. “Do you know everything that he took? And how much you usually charge for them?” Virgil nodded softly, still a little mystified. “Can you write them down? Or if you have a picture it would be helpful.”

Virgil carefully wrote them all down, giving descriptions of each piece of jewelry and their worth. Remus nearly growled when he read the list. Virgil was missing almost $200 worth of jewelry, and based on Jacob’s prices, the asshole was going to make at least a $500 profit from all of this.

Remus took back his notebook and put it away, giving his crush one last look. “I promise I didn’t know about any of this, but now I’m going to fix it. Here,” he grabbed Virgil’s wrist and scribbled something on the back of his hand “here’s my number. If those assholes try something like this again, give me a call and I’ll go punch their teeth in.”

Virgil looked away. “You don’t have to…”

Remus chuckled. “Punch their teeth in? It’s kind of my signature move by this point. It would be a shame if I didn’t.”

The emo blushed, finding his shoelaces to be more interesting than looking Remus in the eye. “You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

Remus shook his head. “You earned my niceness, fair and square. You’re my friend, Emo. Do you know how many people get to call me that and mean it?” He snorted. “Do you know how many people get to call me a dumbass without immediately getting their bones broken? It’s a very short list.” He sauntered out of the bathroom, stopping as he reached the door. “You mean a lot to me V. And I’m gonna make these assholes pay.” He didn’t look to see Virgil’s reaction as he walked away, one goal in mind: make Jacob Smith’s life a living hell.

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Virgil went to class the next day, still in a slight state of shock. He felt numb all over, like he’d been drenched in ice water and was still dealing with the aftershocks. A lot had happened in the past 2 days, and he wanted nothing more than to lay down for a nap and not wake up until it all blew over.

Yesterday was awful. Usually Jacob just beat him up and went along his merry way, but instead he decided to ruin one of the few things that made Virgil happy. Jewelry making had been his passion for years, and seeing dozens of bullies showing him their new jewelry with a vindictive smirk, and knowing they were his but he wasn’t making a single penny, hurt him more than any punch or kick ever could.

But what hurt was seeing his only friend (and crush) sitting in the back of the room, showing off the jewelry that Virgil had specifically made with him in mind. Remus had been smirking, just like the bullies had as they flaunted off their jewelry, and Virgil had felt his heart break into a million pieces.

But that was yesterday. Today was a new day, and Virgil was wanting to crawl into a whole and never come out. Everyone would still be buying and showing off Virgil’s jewelry, some knowing where it came from, others having no idea. Jacob would probably come to beat Virgil up when he ran out of jewelry to sell, demanding more products that Virgil refused to make. He wasn’t going to spend all of his time on these products just to put money in Jacob’s pockets. And to top it all off, his friendship with Remus was probably ruined. Judging by how he acted yesterday, Remus would probably get upset if Virgil tried to distance himself again. But he was dreading the day where Remus would realize that Virgil wasn’t worth a decent English grade and tell him to fuck off.

Virgil was late to school today, so he didn’t actually realize that something was amiss until around lunch. No one had come up to Virgil to show off their jewelry, and a lot of students were staring at the emo as he walked by. When he took a closer look, he realized that the kids who had shown off their jewelry to him yesterday weren’t wearing them anymore, and some of them were sporting some nasty bruises. The ones who were wearing them were constantly staring at Virgil and… smiling? That was weird. But as Virgil sat down to eat his food another, more important question arose.

Where’s Jacob? And Remus?

His questions were answered in English class, where he overheard two students chatting as Virgil stepped in. Apparently Jacob and Remus had gotten into a fight and were now suspended. Virgil sat back in his normal spot, ignoring how the room went quiet as the ice water feeling returned with a vengeance. Remus got into a fight? Over him? That didn’t make any sense. Just the fact that Remus apologized and paid Virgil his debt for the jewelry was more than Virgil deserved. But the fact that Remus got into a fight with Jacob, because Jacob stole from Virgil, made something in his chest stutter. It made his heart race and his breath stop for a minute. Keep it cool Virgil, it’s not like someone as cool as Remus would ACTUALLY like you. His fight probably had nothing to do with me.

“Um, Virgil?” Virgil looked up at the random student next to him. Bethany, his brain half-heartedly supplied, still in a half state of shock. She was fiddling with the bracelets on her wrist, and it took Virgil a moment to realize they were his bracelets. “I-uh… I wanted to say sorry for what happened. Jacob told us he had brought those bracelets from home. We had no idea they were yours.” She pulled out her wallet. “Can I repay you for it? Or maybe buy more to make up for it?”

Virgil shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. You already had to pay a stupidly high amount to Jacob, you shouldn’t have to waste more on me. I’ll be behind for a while on money, but I’ll get back up there eventually.” He blushed. “But if you want to buy more…” He scribbled down a url on his notebook paper and handed it to Bethany. “I have a website where you can customize your jewelry. It’ll take around a month or two depending on what it is, but I’ll have it done and shipped to your address as soon as it’s done.”

She took the paper and smiled gratefully. “Thank you so much! See you later Virgil!” She went back to her gaggle of friends, showing them the website url as they took pictures and typed it into their phones. Virgil smiled softly, glad to have at least a few potential customers after this.

When class was over, Virgil quickly grabbed his stuff from his locker and walked out the door. He was making his usual journey across the football field and towards the neighborhood when a familiar figure waved in the distance. Remus was underneath one of the bleachers, a familiar box in one hand and his backpack on the ground. Virgil ran over and hissed. “What are you doing here? You’re suspended right now! If they catch you on school grounds you’ll be expelled!”

Remus chuckled. “As if that would stop me from visiting my favorite emo.” Virgil flushed and looked at the wooden box. Remus suddenly perked up as he held out the box. “I got you your stuff back!” He sounded like an overexcited puppy and Virgil bit back a giggle, instead taking the box. He frowned when his hand came back wet.

“Uh, Remus?” He looked at his hand and cringed.

Remus tilted his head to the side, still resembling a puppy as he excitedly spoke. “Yeah?”

Virgil showed Remus the box. “This box is wet.”

“Yeah?”

“...With blood.”

“Yeah?”

“...Is it your blood?”

“I don’t think so!”

Virgil nodded, wiping his hand on his black skinny jeans. “Okay… thank you. It-” he looked away, blushing. “It means a lot to me.” He opened the box, looking at the contents. Around a third of the original jewelry was in the box, most of it he vaguely remembered the bullies wearing yesterday.

Remus smiled brightly, bouncing slightly as he grabbed his backpack. “That’s not even the best part! Look what I found while beating that asshole up!” Virgil hesitated before opening the bag, the not-so-nice part of him imagining Jacob himself shoved into the bag. Instead, the bag was filled to the brim with cash. Virgil stared at the money in shock while Remus explained. “That’s everything that he earned for selling your jewelry. He charged for a lot more than you did, but now you’ve made all of your money back and then some!”

Virgil tried to count the money at a glance, but his head started to spin after a minute. “Remus. How much money is in here?”

He giggled. “Almost $600. Jacob got a lot of money selling your stuff. He also had an extra 50 bucks that I added to the pot as compensation.”

Virgil nearly dropped the backpack in shock. He’d never had that much money before. This is it. I can actually start a business with this money. I can throw it into my bank account and actually have a chance at making jewelry after high school. At least as a side-job. He looked up at his crush, who was still bouncing slightly as he waited for praise. He did this for me. Remus gave me this chance. He did this because he cares. No one’s ever cared about me this much before.

Virgil didn’t realize what he was going to say until it was already out of his mouth. “Do you like coffee? With me?” He realized how jumbled his words were and he blushed. “I mean, would you like to go get some coffee with me? I know a good caffe a few blocks away. I know we aren’t too close, but maybe we could get to know each other better?”

Remus froze for a few seconds before he chuckled. “I don’t actually like coffee.” Virgil almost felt his heart drop, but his crush smirked at him. “But I know I’ll enjoy anything with you.” Virgil squeaked with a blush, and Remus chuckled. “Let’s go! We’ll get you some coffee, and we can talk about the inspiration behind your jewelry. Especially these.” He held out his wrist, showing off the dark green bracelet, a small purple heart sewn on the inside. Virgil blushed again. They both knew what inspired it. They both knew that Remus had inspired it. Or rather, Virgil’s feelings towards Remus. And Remus seemed okay with it, judging by his flirtatious chuckle and teasing grin.

Virgil eventually grabbed the resident bad boy’s hand, dragging him out from under the bleachers and towards the nearest cafe. He never thought he’d have a chance, but Remus gave it to him. And there was no way in hell that Virgil wasn’t going to take it.

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Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst @whatishappeningrightnow @idont-freaking-know @cute-and-angsty-princess @artsy-enby09 @girl-who-reads @drarrymalecsolangelo @count-woe-laf

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt.2

Part One, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi.

Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Again! Massive shoutout to @pirateismywayofspeaking​ for the constant support and ideas! And lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist!)

—————————-

It’s a well known fact that there are three certainties in life; death, taxes and the willpower of one Penelope Garcia. In less than an hour she had somehow organized to get all your clothes and personal possessions delivered right to the BAU, packed in your favorite suitcases and all. A couple of things had to be kept in evidence because the UnSub might have come into contact with them, but all the important stuff was there. It was comforting, having your stuff safe with you and, as you sat through the long and rigorous process of being interviewed, you felt better.

“And you’re 100% sure that none of your employees could have possibly done this?” Rossi asked, “Maybe someone you recently fired? Or someone who has a history of violence?”

You gave him an incredulous look, “Rossi, come on. Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to hire someone with a violent past?”

“You checked everyone out?”

“Full background checks on all three employees,” you agreed, “the harshest thing on any of their records was a parking ticket and a decade old charge for underage drinking.”

Hotch sighed, rubbing his temples right where you knew he got headaches.

“We know the poem is significant to the UnSub. It’s an old love poem, so it’s got to be someone who has some sort of connection to you,” he repeated, “it's personal.”

You shook your head, “Hotch, I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t had a romantic relationship in years. There’s not a lot of time when you work 14 hour days.”

“Don’t we know it,” Rossi agreed, “so, a stalker, maybe?”

“That’s a hell of a way to make first contact,” you scoffed, “a phone call would be less risky.”

“And less effective.”

You conceded the point with a head tilt, and then looked back at Hotch, “Hotch, can we take a break? We’ve been at this for hours.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “get some rest, Y/L/N.”

“No, it’s okay, there’s work to be done here. I can stay,” you assured, stretching your stiff limbs.

Hotch shot you a look, but said nothing, obviously sensing that you weren’t going to give in without some sort of fight. Instead, he just gave you a terse nod, and walked out, leaving you with Rossi.

“You’re impossible, you know that, right?” He said.

You smiled, shrugging, “What can I say, Ros? I learned from the best.”

He chuckled, shaking his head and ruffling your hair as he walked past you, “Good to have you back, kid.”

The bullpen was busy when you walked back in, suitcases in hand, striding your way over to your old desk. It’s scary how little had really changed in the year since you’d been gone. Aside from Spencer’s semi-annual hair evolution, everything was the same; the smells, the sights, even the comforting clack of Garcia’s heels against the floor. It was comforting, almost painfully so but, as you reached your old desk, you noticed something was wrong.

“Whose stuff is this?” You asked, gesturing to the stacks of files and piles of paper scattered all over the surface.

“Mine,” Emily said, not even looking up from her work.

“But...you have a desk,” you pointed out.

“And now I have two,” she replied simply, “you can sit somewhere else.”

She was being stubborn and you felt a lick of irritation flare up inside your chest. Emily Prentiss had been one of your closest friends for years and, when you’d left the BAU, she’d taken it the hardest. Any other time, you would have understood her resentment but, given the circumstances, you weren’t feeling particularly generous.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “And where do you suggest I sit?”

Emily shrugged and gave you a sickly sweet smile, “You can share with Reid.”

You felt yourself flush with heat. Emily had known about your feelings for Spencer, she’d even encouraged you to act on them. You knew she’d never actually betray your trust, but even that subtle dig was enough to make you want to argue. You opened your mouth but, before you could say anything, Spencer interrupted.

“Here, Y/N,” he smiled, patting a spot beside him, “I’ve got space.”

You pressed your lips together, but relented when he took the time to pull an empty chair over for you to sit in.

“Thanks, Reid,” you said, taking the offered seat.

“So, did you and Hotch figure anything out?” Spencer asked.

You shook your head, “Nothing we didn’t already know. Rossi thinks it might be some kind of stalker?” You offered.

Spencer frowned, “A stalker? That doesn’t make any sense, what kind of stalker starts off their pursuit with a murder?”

“A very, very desperate one.” Emily offered.

You wanted to snap something like; ‘oh, so now you’re talking to me?’ but you bit your tongue. You knew you were on edge, and now wasn’t the time to lash out at the only people who could really help you.

“Or very deranged.” Spencer suggested

You shuddered, picturing a faceless man in all black running his blood soaked hands across your walls, drawing a jagged smiley face above your bed, memorizing the faces in your pictures. You exhaled and pushed the thought away.

“Does this even count as an escalation?” You asked, “I’m not sure there’s really anywhere to go from here.”

You were met with stony silence as Emily and Spencer inspected their respective files. You knew what they were thinking, what everyone was thinking; whatever this was, it was bad news.

“Do we know who our victim is, yet?” Spencer asked.

“Nope,” you sighed, “the UnSub burned off his fingerprints and removed several of his molars before he dumped the body, the ME is doing her best to get a DNA match, but it’ll take time.”

“The mutilation is odd, considering there wasn’t any evidence of torture on the victim before they died,” Spencer said.

“It’s gotta be a forensic countermeasure,” Emily agreed, “but it’s extremely sophisticated. Our UnSub must have experience with law enforcement.”

“But as a perp or a cop?”

You sighed and buried your head in your hands, letting the familiar back and forth wash over you like white noise. You’d had this conversation before, many many times, and it never got any easier. Usually you lived for the puzzle but, now that you were the one under scrutiny, it felt like your brain was rebelling against you.

“Y/N/N?” Spencer asked, touching your shoulder gently and snapping back to reality.

“Mm?” You replied.

His face softened as he took in the exhaustion radiating off your body.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, “Just a little drained, that’s all.”

The clicking of heels against the floor drew your attention and you looked up just in time to see Garcia swooping in with her purse.

“You ready to go, crime fighter?” She smiled.

“Go where?” You asked,

“Home!” She smiled, “I have the honor and privilege of hosting you tonight.”

“Garcia-“ you started.

“No! No arguing.” She insisted, “I’ve already found us a lovely little Thai place for dinner, and there’s a bunch of episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer lined up on my DVR.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes fondly, “I hate how well you know me.”

She smiled devilishly, “Sounds good, right?”

“It sounds incredible and you know that because you’re a super genius who knows literally everything.” You teased, pushing yourself onto your feet, “Okay, Wonder Woman, let’s go.”

As you made your way out of the office, you cast one last look over your shoulder, smiling when Spencer met your eye and gave you a small wave.

————————-

“Okay, Sugar Plum, spill,” Penelope pushed, handing you a full glass of wine, “how’re you really doing?”

“With what?”

Penelope shot you an incredulous look, “With, you know, all of it. The murder, the mystery, being back at work, the Spencer Reid of it all.”

You spluttered through a sip of wine, “The what? ‘Nel, you can’t be serious.”

“What? I’m just asking,” she insisted, “he followed you out earlier, you’re sharing a desk now...it wouldn’t be crazy if maybe your old crush came creeping back in.”

“Penelope” you started, “some creep dropped a dead body in my bookstore and broke into my apartment and you think I’m thinking about Spencer?” She didn’t answer, just raising her eyebrows and you sighed, sliding down the couch, “Okay so I’m pathetic.”

“No you’re not!” She insisted, “You guys were like two peas in a pod, back in the day. Plus, you’ve seen like a thousand dead bodies, you’re probably just desensitized.”

“Still,” you sulked, “I can’t believe I’m still thinking about Spence.”

“Naaaaaaaaw,” she swooned, squeezing your knee, “you called him ‘Spence’, you haven’t done that in ages.”

“Fuck off, Nel” you said without any real malice, burying your face in your hands and sighing again, “please tell me I’m being ridiculous.”

Garcia smiled, a knowing glint in her dark blue eyes as she sipped her wine and watched you squirm. She’d kept in touch with you when you left the BAU, insisting on weekly brunch meetups and girls nights and a million other things that you’re not sure you would’ve survived without. She’d been like a lifeline in those first few months and, because of that, she was the only one who really knew how hard leaving had been for you. She’d been the one who sat through the hours of crying and panicking and wondering who you were without your job, who’d held your hand when you went to get a small business loan, who’d sampled your cookie recipes and helped you design uniforms. Penelope Garcia had been there for all of it. You had a photo of the two of you together at the bookstore next to your bed. It was one of your most treasured possessions.

“Now, Sugar Plum, you know I’ve always had a soft spot for you and the Boy Wonder. He’s lovely, you’re lovely; he loves you, you love him, I love you both, it’s a match made in FBI heaven as far as I’m concerned-“

“But?” You prompted with a rueful smile.

“But,” Penelope agreed, “he took it really hard when you left, and I’m not sure how he’ll handle losing you a second time.”

You frowned, “He never lost me. None of you lost me, I just got a different job! It’s not my fault that basically no one bothered to keep in touch.”

Penelope’s face softened and she smiled at you sympathetically, “Pumpkin, you know it’s not like that. When you’re in the BAU, it’s like we’re living in our own little crime bubble, everything outside just kind of….fades, you know?”

“I know…”

“And with Spencer, well, you know he’s never been the best at dealing with abandonment, the poor thing’s been through so much already,” Penelope continued, “he tried to keep in touch. He really did, and he talked about you all the time.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She sighed, “I don’t know. I guess I just-“ she shrugged and squeezed your knee again, “I don’t want you to think that he forgot about you, that’s all.”

You felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips, and you gripped Garcia’s hand.

“Thanks, Nel.”

You knew she was right. Life in the BAU wasn’t like life on the outside; you lived by different rules, took different risks, valued different things. It was strange and intoxicating and you really couldn’t fault your teammates for continuing to play the game the way they always had. You’d chosen to leave and you had to live with the consequences of that.

“Can we talk about something besides boys now, please?” You asked, “I want this girl’s night to pass the bechdel test.”

She smiled and clapped her perfectly manicured hands, “Oh do not fret, ma Cherie because I’ve got so much to catch you up on-“

You listened with rapt attention as Garcia filled you in on the last twelve months of FBI gossip. You laughed together, ate Thai food and just relaxed together. With every Perfectly Penelope story, you felt a little more of your tension slip away and, by the time you made it to bed, you were feeling almost normal.

Penelope had made up the couch for you, complete with pillows and blankets and a homemade quilt. It was comfortable, too comfortable. So comfortable, that your brain had way too much time to mull over what Penelope had said earlier.

Spencer hadn’t just forgotten about you. What did that mean? He’d taken it hard when you left...the questions bounced around your mind like wasps, keeping you awake. Without meaning to, your mind started to drift, sifting through the years worth of memories you’d kept locked away in a box in the back of your mind.

————————

“You are the most insufferable person I’ve ever met,” you laughed, “I’m fine, Spence.”

“You’re not fine, Y/N, you got shot.” Spencer reminded you, his eyes still sparkling with the relief of seeing you alive and in good spirits.

You were sitting in the back of an ambulance, a throbbing pain resonating from the wound in your shoulder as the police searched through the nearby crime scene and Spencer inspected your face. It was cold and dark, but the sirens and flashing lights meant that it was anything but peaceful, and you knew it would still be many hours before either you or Spencer got any sleep.

“Yeah well, we’ve all been shot,” you pointed out, “and, statistically speaking, we have a 100% survival rate.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he was smiling so you knew he wasn’t too mad.

“You’re bastardizing my beautiful statistical analysis and using it for evil. Remind me why I’m bothering to check on you, again?” He teased.

“Because you loooooove me,” you teased back, jostling his shoulder with yours, “and because I just took a bullet to the shoulder for you.”

He chuckled but avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes, “Yeah that would explain it.”

Something in the atmosphere changed and you looked over at Spencer, noticing the way he worried at the inside of his cheek with his hands in his pockets. His brow was furrowed too, like he was sad, and something in your chest pinched.

“You alright there, doc?” You asked.

“Don’t do it again,” he said, looking up and catching your eye.

You paused, “don’t do what?”

“Take a bullet to the shoulder for me,” he explained, “get hurt trying to protect me. Promise me you won’t do it again?”

You pressed your lips together, recognizing the same feeling of fear and guilt in Spencer that you, yourself, felt any time someone you cared about was in danger. You reached out, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket and giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. Spencer held on for a second longer, his dark eyes filling with something as he took you in.

“You know I can’t promise that, Spence,” you said gently, “if we’re ever in a situation like this again….no way I’m just letting you die to avoid a couple of stitches.”

“No, you don’t-” he paused, getting himself worked up, “you don’t get it. I watched my girlfriend get shot right in front of me, I-I’ve lost so many people that I care about, Y/N, and I can’t lose anyone else. Not for something as stupid as my own life.” 

“Your life isn’t some insignificant thing, Spence,” you insisted, “it’s important! To me, to the team, to everyone. We’re a family, Spencer, families have each other’s backs. Always.” 

He took a deep breath and nodded, carding his fingers through his hair like he was agitated. 

“Just-” he started again, “just promise me you won’t do it again.” 

“I can’t.” you insisted, “I can’t make that promise. 

He turned to face you, looking more tired than you’d seen him in weeks, “Then promise you’ll be careful. Promise me I won’t lose you too?” 

Your heart ached, and you longed to reach out and wrap him up in your arms, but you restrained yourself. 

“How about this; I’ll promise that you won’t lose me, if you promise that we’ll always be best friends, and that you’ll try to start valuing your own life as much as you value mine or Morgan’s, deal?” You offered, extending your hand for Spencer to shake.

Spencer frowned, opening his mouth to argue but, before he could, an agent interrupted.

“Agent Y/L/N? Dr. Reid? Agent Hotchner is looking for you.”

———————————-

You snapped back to reality with a jolt, and realised you were lonely. So much time had passed since that night, but you remembered it all perfectly, every detail. It wasn’t an especially meaningful night, there were a million moments just like it, but something about it had stuck. Maybe it was the potential, the wondering, that thing that he never got to say. You wish you’d gotten to hear it now.  

You fumbled around in the dark for your cellphone, typing out a message and pressing send before you could think better of it. It was short, and to the point, and you would be shocked if he responded but, once it was done, you felt something in your chest loosen, like maybe you’d been wanting to send that message for a really long time.

To Spencer Reid:  Hey, Reid? I’m sorry I left, I never meant to break my promise. 

With the heavy weight of remembering suddenly lifted, you realised how tired you were, and you let sleep drag you under. If you’d stayed awake a little longer, you might not have missed the way Spencer kept typing, typing, typing away some message he never sent. Or the eventual response, which only came in three hours later: 

You never broke your promise, Y/N. I broke mine.

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

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless​, @reidloversisforever​, @ashookykooky​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​, @shilohpug​, @tangerinenotions95​, @petitchatonbleu​

[astermacguffin]

Fan edits and Intertextuality

Since we all love talking about AMVs and fan edits here in the deancas tumblr hivemind, I would like to share what is probably my favorite Destiel fan vid ever (because I'm a slut for angst and this checks all my boxes).

I know we've discussed these kinds of transformative art already (e.g. the clicky noises dean winchester vid, the strawberry blonde vid, etc. I believe it was @lesbianyuugi who made a post on this before but please correct my citations if I'm wrong).

Anyways, what I love about fan edits like this is that they reveal the intertextual discourse that's always happening within any piece of media. A song, for example, contains an inter-dialogue between the lyrics and the music. Media is inherently discursive; it is always talking with itself and with other pieces of media.

Films and TV shows are more complicated, because they contain more "interlocutors" or texts that are in discourse with one another: we have the visuals (what is happening on screen), the dialogue, the sound design (background noise, sound effects, etc.) and the sound track (music). The editing is the manner of arranging these texts in such a way that they would discourse with one another in a way that the creators intend to.

Film is a lot easier to analyze because it's just one singular piece, but TV series consist of multiple episodes (or mini-films), which means that a series is actually a collection of discourses which are in themselves discoursing with each other.

Good fan edits exploit this feature by extracting one text (e.g. sound design) from one discourse (e.g. TV show) and making it interact with another text (e.g. music) within another discourse (e.g. song). For example, the clicky-noises AMV takes the clicks from the sound effects in SPN episodes and lines them in sync with the beats of the song, making the discourse between the texts more evident.

When we talk about fan vids, we often use the term "recontextualization", because by changing the editing (a.k.a. the mechanism that arranges the structure of the discourse), the intended discourse is inevitably changed. While the term truly is useful, I don't think that the term should be applied to every single instance of fan edits.

I argue this case because a lot of the times, what is actually happening is a mere extraction of discourse; instead of recontextualizing, what the fan edit does is to make explicit the underlying discourse happening within the piece.

In the Falling AMV, the editor arranges different clips from SPN (particularly scenes from the Destiel Divorce Arc) and makes them dialogue with the song, both musically and lyrically. The entire SPN series (as with any series) is one big and complicated discourse; it consists of different texts from different episodes trying to talk with one another.

When we talk about consistencies (and inconsistencies) in the series, it's because we are aware that the entire series is intended to be taken as a singular, cohesive text. The tensions and contradictions that happen within the series (an unfortunate result of being a decade-long series with multiple minds that worked with it ever since) make us aware that Supernatural (as well as any series) can never really be one cohesive text.

I don't remember who said it here before, but someone here once said that SPN fans love blackout poetry because it's the same way we engage with the show, and THEY'RE RIGHT. Because it's the only way to engage with a text that long (with internal discourses happening within the text that are so complex and intertwined) without losing our fucking minds.

In a way, fan edits are a perfect instantiation of the mental mechanisms that we perform when engaging with dense (and often contradictory) texts like Supernatural.

When we look at a song, we examine the sounds, the lyrics, and the way the overlap and contradict. No piece of media is quiet and solitary, because it is always talking with itself, about itself, and with other texts.

Even this entire post is a discursive text; notice how each paragraph of this post can be removed or rearranged into new permutations. Is this an essay about fan vids? About the incoherency of SPN? About the inherent self-dialogue within any piece of media? Well, it's about ALL of them, because this post consists of multiple essays happening all at once. These paragraphs are in dialogue with each other and YOU, dear reader, are trying to make sense of their discourse.

Anyway, this is my favorite Castiel fan edit which still makes me cry every time I watch it. Maybe I'll make a post about it in the future when I'm clear-headed enough to analyze it w/o crying (which will take me Some Time).

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summery: Tom gets sick, you try to help. There’s also a pub quiz, some bed sharing, a broken AC and a hot barista.

Themes: Bartender!Tom, singer!reader. Sort of frienemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual attraction but they are both too dumb to realise. General dumbness all around. Idiots in love. Lots of banter.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Drinking and swearing. Smut in future chapters, just general hornyness and pining in this one. Some jealousy, but it’s all harmless.

R E A D    P A R T   O N E    H E R E

When Tom wakes that morning, he swears on all that is holy that he is dying. Every muscle in his body aches and the inside of his throat feels like it’s covered in nettles. Moving hurts, couching hurts, and damn it, fucking breathing hurts. He makes it as far as the kitchen before he collapses on the floor. Indignantly, he admits himself defeated. And so, he crawls back into bed and calls Harrison.

“Yeah?” He hears his best friend yawn on the other end of the line, evidently still half asleep.

“Haz” Tom croaks.

“You alright mate?” Haz asks, and Tom can hear the ruffling of bed-sheets in the background.

“Think I have a cold”

“You sound like a dying seagull.”

Tom snorts, but then winces. Snorting hurts as well. “Yeah, well, feel like one too. So, what we gonna do?”

“What do you mean, what we gonna do?”

“About today, I can’t come in, but maybe one of you can come over with the paper work and I’ll do th-“

“Oh, fuck off Tom!” Haz manages to sound both aggravated and amused as he scolds his old friend. “We can do without you for a few days, yeah? Just fucking rest up for once, will you?”

Tom wants to thank him, wants to say he appreciates his friend looking after him but speaking really does hurt and it’s too early for sentimentalities, so he settles for an ‘yeah, yeah’ and a ‘fuck off’ instead. Harrison just laughs at him and they hang up.

It takes him less than one minute to fall asleep again.

*

He waves with his arms and legs around him, wildly disorientated, but his limbs seem to have tangled up in the sheets and before he knows it, he rolls out of the bed, and lands face-down on the hard floor. Tessa barks at the door and Tom concludes that this must have been the noise that woke him. He untangles himself from the sheets and stands up, before quickly sitting down again. The world around him spinning in a nauseating way. Slowly he makes his way across the bedroom and through the living room.

Holding Tessa back, he opens the door, but when the dog sees who it is she tears herself free to great you.

“Hi Tess” you say, in a voice so sweet it makes Tom want to whimper. You scratch Tessa behind her ears and she licks your cheek in a thank you. Laughing, you stand up to great him, less sweetly.

“Sicko”

Tom huffs, “be nice to me, everything hurts” he says and honestly, he meant it to come out a lot manlier and a lot less pouty.

“Poor baby” you coo mockingly, and he huffs again.

“What do you want?”

“I’m here to be your fairy godmother, but, you know, wearing a miniskirt”.

Automatically he looks down at what you’re wearing. “No, you’re not” he says, and he can’t quite keep the disappointment out of his voice. “You are wearing sweats”. Marine blue sweats in fact, that look unusually loose on you and very much familiar to him. “Actually, you’re wearing my sweats!”

And what a sigh for sore eyes you are in them.

You smile at him, mischievously. “Borrowed them from you when you let me stay over”.

“Is it technically borrowing if you never ask for them and then never return them? Is that not just theft?”

“Is it technically a good idea to accuse me of stealing when I’m here to play hot nurse?”

And Tom wants to answer something witty back, but he’s too tired and the room is starting to fade at the edges. He hears you swear and then your arms are around him, and he leans against you as you lead the way back to his bed. Helping him lay down on it you pick up the sheets from the floor and you lay them on top of him, tucking him in. You lean in to pull a lock of his hair back, feeling his warm forehead. Your skin feels cool and soft against his burning skin, so he reaches up his hand and wraps it around your wrist, keeping your hand in place.

“Have you taken anything?” you ask, and your voice is softer now, less teasing. He shakes his head, too tired to even keep his eyes open. “Alright” you say. “Well, I’ll go get you some Ibuprofen and water and then you can rest.” Tom hums in content.

“Honey?” you add, and he hums again. “Sweetheart, you need to let go of my hand or I can’t leave”.

He wants to say that that is precisely the point, but his fever really isn’t high enough for those kinds of confessions. Instead he lets go of your wrist and listens to you walk away. Some minutes later your back, helping him into a sitting position and when he sticks out his tongue you place the white pill on it and he swallows it down with the water you serve him.

You place the glass on his bedside table but when you try to stand up to leave Tom’s arm tighten around your waist. “No” he whines, sounding very much like a disgruntled child. He leans against your shoulder, his body warm and his hair soft against your cheek. He sighs happily. Your heart flutters in your chest and you have to remind yourself that this is just because he is sick. He’d be just this clingy if it was Harry or Sam coming to check up on him. You place the back of your hand against his warm and clammy forehead again and he sighs in relief.

“Tommy, I have to walk Tessa”.

He groans, and you can’t help but smile. Your heart keeps on fluttering in your chest. With a gentle but firm hand you remove his arm and he whines as you help him lay down again. You stroke away stray another stray curl from his clammy forehead. “Be right back” you say, and almost unable to stop yourself you press a kiss on the top of his head.

A very grateful Tessa  happily struts alongside you through the park, tail wagging and nose sniffing after squirrels. The early morning air is crisp and cold and you’re grateful for the stolen borrowed hoodie you’re wearing. When you come back to the apartment you feed Tessa before heading back into Tom’s bedroom. At first glance he looks to be asleep and you turn to leave him alone, maybe even to head to the bar for a few hours and then come back later to check on him. But his voice stops you in your track.

“Stay” he says, and his voice breaks. He pats the spot next to him in bed. “Please?”

And it’s the whiny way he says that last word that does you in. So, you climb into bed and you lay next to him. He’s looking at you now, warm and sleepy brown eyes gazing into yours and your heart stutters in your chest. This is unfamiliar territory. Soft and tender and strangely intimate and so far removed from your normal sarcastic banter. He sighs happily and snuggles up closer to you. Taking in a deep breath. “You always smell so nice” he says, voice raspy but content. Your heart keeps on fluttering in your chest and you remind yourself that he only says these things because he is sick. These are not his real feelings. This is the fever speaking. “And you can keep my hoodie, it looks better on you, I like on you”.

“Go to sleep, Tommy”.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He sounds so unsure, so unlike himself and something uncomfortable tugs in your chest.

“Yeah, I’ll still be here” you say and you kiss his forehead again.

He sighs one last time, seemingly relieved. “Okay then”. And he drifts off to sleep

*

Three days pass and you nurse him and you take care of Tessa. Every now and then Sam, Harry or Harrison calls to leave an update on the pub, reassuring Tom that nothing has in fact burned down. Yet.

You call Sam occasionally, as you try to cook for you and Tom and with the patience of a saint he guides you along and he even manages to not make any sarcastic comments when he finds your cooking skills especially lacking.

“But, it’s toasts” he says after an alarmingly long silence.

“Yes, well, I grew up on a tour bus and in hotel rooms, the only thing I know how to make is instant coffee and watery tea.

“But it’s toasts” he repeats, still stunned. 

“Yes Sammy, darling, I know.”

He sighs “well, you know the toaster?” And you’re impressed that he manages to keep sarcasm out of his voice as he asks, a feat Tom never would have managed.

“Yes, the toaster. The thing you shouldn’t throw into a bathtub if someone’s having a bath. Excellent murder weapon. You telling me it makes breakfast too?” You’re only joking of course. Sort of.

Stunned silence again and then,

“Yeah, that’s the one”.

Later when Tom thinks back on those three days he remembers soft hands stroking away hair from his forehead, a soft chest where he rests his head, an arm slung around his waist slowly stroking patterns on his back. He remembers the scent of you, familiar and lovely. He thinks back, and he thinks of comfort. He thinks back, and he remembers the feeling of deep content and

Love.

So, the following few days he tries to put some distance between you two. Tries to stay away until he can remember how it feels to not love you. But he wonders if that’s ever been the case. He can’t think of a single moment when he hasn’t at least wanted you.

So, he keeps in the back, does the paper work and lets Harry handle the bar, fuck, he does any job, even the inventory, just to keep out of the main room. It changes nothing, if anything it just makes the longing in his chest grow.

But a few days later, he finds he needs a new tactic.

The phone wakes him that morning and it’s Harrison, with a voice so hoarse it sounds like it’s been mangled. He’s sick. Tom tells him to take it easy and rest up. Not even five minutes later Harry calls, sounding just the same. When he tells Tom that Sam too isn’t feeling well Tom wants to scream. But he doesn’t, because it’s up to him to keep it together. So, he tells Harry to rest up and that Sam should do the same and then he hangs up.

All the way to the pub he thinks things over, desperately trying to come up with a plan. When he arrives, he finds you on the doorstep, soaking up some early sunshine, looking happy and content with life. When you see his face however worry settles over your features.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sam, Harry and Harrison are all sick” he grunts, locking up and letting you inside first.

“Oh” you say, and your frown deepens. “Can you keep it open on your own?”

Tom sighs, pulling a hand through his hair. “Maybe? Not the kitchen though, and that’s where we make most of the money”.

“What if I cooked?”

Tommy snorts, feeling genuine amusement for the first time that day. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Sam told me about the toaster. Seriously Pop princess?”

You glare at him. But then lightning strikes you. “One second, I might have the solution, I need just make a call” and you head out on the street again.

A few minutes later you’re back, with a big grin on your face. “Okay, so I called my old tour chef, he lives here in London, and he can come in and help out for the day. So, he keeps the kitchen open and you handle the bar and I act waitress, sounds good?”

Tom just stares at you in disbelief for a second before answering. “Yeah, sounds grand. You goddamn miracle worker. Just one thing, have you ever been a waitress?”

“No, of course i haven’t” You snort. “I’ve never had a job in my life. I’ll figure it out though”.

And so, the next few days goes. Tuwaine is an excellent chef and he and Tom get along like a house on fire from the start. Tom handles the bar with his usual expertise and you drown ungodly amounts of coffee to keep up with the orders.

“How many have you had?” Tom asks, alarm in his voice, late on the evening on the third night as the orders to the kitchen starts to drizzle out.

“Three” you answer, your foot tapping the floor as you stand behind the bar next to Tom.

“That can’t be true” Tom says accusingly. “I’ve seen you drown at least four cups since this morning”.

“Three litres”.

Tom stares at you, genuine horror on his face. “Jesus Christ” he mutters under his breath. “How are you even alive?”

“Would you rather I drink vodka?”

Seemingly dumbstruck he just stares at you for several seconds before answering. “Those are not the only two options? Have some goddamn water for a change, yeah?”

“You know, you were a lot more agreeable when you were sick” you pout.

“Where do you even get the coffee? I know for a fact that you can’t make it”.

“Jake’s” you answer with a smile.

Tom snorts, trying to hide his annoyance. Jake’s Coffeehouse  is the very cool, very hipster coffee place just next door. Jake himself looks like a hipster yoga instructor with his bulging muscles and his manbun and perfectly groomed beard. He can also talk to literally anyone about various coffee beans for longer than should quite frankly be legal.

“So that’s why you drink so much coffee, it’s to meet Jake”.

You roll your eyes at him. “No, it’s because the coffee’s good. Peruvian coffee bea-“

But you’re interrupted (and Tom thanks his lucky star because he’s about as interested in going into a conversation with you about coffee beans as you are to enter a chat about golf) by a customer at the bar, ordering a whiskey.

“Sure thing” you tell the man with a smile and bend down to pick up a bottle from under the bar. Tom tries not to look, honestly, he does, but you bend over right in front of him and he would have to be super human not to.

He’s certain that the perfect form of your ass hugged tightly by your black waitress skirt as you lean over will be imprinted on his mind for the rest of his miserable life.

He shifts uncomfortably and looks away.

*

“I want you to un-ban me from quiz night”

“No.”

“Please”

“There’s literally no way.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“Nope, haven’t the faintest, not a single clue”.

“Oh, really? Really? You’ve forgotten that you got so upset over someone not knowing who A.A Milne was that you shouted ‘you joyless, fucking clown’ at him, and he, looking like an extra out of fucking Prison Break didn’t take too kindly to that and when he threatened you, you challenged him by saying, and I quote ‘fucking fight me then, you illiterate prick’ even though -”

“I have no memory of this what so ever.”

“- Even though, and I think you will agree with me on this one, you have the fighting ability of the average bumblebee with a damaged wing – “

“You must have confused me with another gal, mate”.

“- And then, and this is the most unbelievable part, you walked over to him, like you were actually going to fight him, and you challenged him in a fucking gun duel.“

“You sure you weren’t dreaming this?”

“I think the exact words you used were ‘you and me, pistols at dawn, babe’.”

You blink up at him.

"You don’t remember that, do you?” he asks, half teasing, half annoyed.

“I remember you very gallantly saving me from myself and carrying me off before I could cause myself or him any serious damage and then banning that bloke from your pub, yes. But, I admit to no wrongdoing whatsoever and I’d like to be un-banned from quiz night.”

“Do you remember 'that bloke’ breaking one of my tables in protest?”

“Well, what’s a pub without a brawl every once in a while, besides, I did pay you back for that”.

“No way are you allowed to come”.

“Please?”

“Never gonna happen”.

“Oh, you know I’ll just pester Harrison until he lets me in otherwise!”

“Not a chance.”

“Please, Tommy” You beg in a soft voice “I’ll sing you a song? I’ll sing it just for you.”

*

It’s quiz night and Tom has a headache before it even begins.

You are, however, overjoyed. Having joined Harry, Paddy and his mother’s team, with a pint in your hand, you’re all ready to go. Tom and Harrison are over at the bar, serving drinks to enthusiastic guests queuing up. Tom’s father is getting ready to host the quiz, reading through his questions, excitement in his steps as he strives backwards and forwards behind the bar, getting in his sons' way. The pub is packed and a buzz of excitement fills the air.  

“Relax” Harrison tells him. “She’ll be fine, she’d never cause a scene in front of Paddy, you know”.  

“Yeah, I know” Tom mutters and pour a pint for the man next in line. “It’s just, well it’s just hard not to worry about her.”  

Harrison rolls his eyes but somehow finds it within him not to take the mickey out of his friend.

*

“What is the capitol of Iceland?”  

All around them the various teams put their heads together to discuss the answer.

“Easy” Paddy announces.

“Yeah? What is it then?” his older brother asks.

“Reykjavík” Paddy answers, proudly.

“Sure” says Harry, “but how on earth do you spell that?”  

Paddy looks taken aback at that and his mother laughs before spelling it out for them. You smile at them all, and take a sip from your pint. It's nice, being around a family, hearing everyday chit chat and bickering. So normal for them and so unusual for you. Your phone vibrates in your pocket for the 30th time that night and you know it’s your manager, pestering you with questions about the upcoming, so far non existing, new album. You ignore it.

“Alright, and the next question, which year did the first episode of EastEnders air?”

“1985” you answer immediately and Harry stares at you in disbelief.

“How on earth do you know that, and for the love of god, why?”

You just shrug and down the rest of your pint. Harry shakes his head in disapproval but jots down the answer.

“And the next question is, and ladies and gentlemen this one is a bit obscure” Dom smiles before continuing. “Henry VIII introduced which tax in England in 1535?”

“A beard tax” you answer immediately.

Harry stares at you in disbelief again. “Why do you know that?”

“Look” you say, looking him dead in the eye. “The more absolutely useless and random facts I can memorise and use up storage for in my brain, the less I’ll be able to remember about my own life”.

“Sometimes” Harry starts, pointing his pen at you. “Sometimes I feel like every five minutes I spend talking to you I need to add fifteen minutes of therapy”.

You stick your tongue out at him and Paddy laughs. Over at the bar Tom observes your table, a fond smile on his face as he pours another pint for a costumer.  

“Hi, do you have any Pabst Blue Ribbon?”

Tom looks up at the next person in line to the bar. It’s fucking coffee-Jake.

“Sure” he answers and hands him a can.

“Thanks, mate” Jake answers with a smile. Then he sees you and waves at you with an even bigger grin on his face. You wave back, happily smiling.

“Prick” Tom mutters under his breath, following Jake with a murderous glare as the hipster makes his way across the room, squeezing himself in the booth beside you.

Harrison rolls his eyes again.

*

“See” you tell him as you help clean up after the quiz. Harrison and Harry have just shown the last pub guests out and are now helping Sam with the washing up in the kitchen. Tom’s parents left with Paddy moments before. “I didn’t get into a single argument!” You say proudly as you stack the chairs up on the tables.  “And!” you add excitingly “I even remembered to say mother duckling instead of mother fucker!”

Without looking at him you can tell he’s rolling his eyes at you. “I mean, no one else started a fight either, but sure, congratulations”. Tom answers and you hear the amusement in his voice.  

“Ha! I just meant to point out that you were overreacting in the way you tried to ban me in the first place”.  

“Sure, sure” he says and helps you with the last chair. You try very hard not to stare at his bulging biceps as he lifts it almost effortlessly up on the table. You fail. He’s standing so close to you, and all you want to do is reach out and touch him.

”Want me to walk you home?”

“Sure” you answer, looking away.  

He goes to the kitchen and you can hear him telling the others that it’s their turn to close the pub and that he’s leaving. You hear a ‘fuck off then’ from Harry. Tom comes back, and he helps you with your coat and then you walk out into the night.  

There are no paparazzi out tonight, but the streets are not empty. Some 20 meter in front of you a gang of youth are occupying the stairs to a building. They’re smoking and sharing a bottle of liquor. They seem harmless enough but Tom wraps an arm protectively around your shoulders as you pass. He leaves it there for the rest of the walk and when you get to your door you kiss his cheek and thank him and you want to invite him inside, but before you get the chance to say the words he’s hurried back out into the night.

***

“Oh, come on! You must have a pickup line, everyone has!”

Tom shakes his head in disbelief and amusement. “Really, pop star? Everyone? What’s yours then?”

He’s refilling the bar and making sure everything is stocked for the day. Sweat is gleaming on his forehead as he carries in a heavy box filled with bottles of Irish whiskey. He had come in that morning and found the air-condition to be out of order, and today was predicted to be the hottest day this summer.

You’re sitting on your regular bar-stool in a vintage summer dress, looking like you belong on the cover of Vogue, sipping on an ice-cold milk-shake. He thinks you’ve never seemed more out of his league.  

“You don’t want to know, believe me” you reply him, a teasing smile on your painted red lips.

He looks up at you then, interest written all over his face. “Oh, come on now, unburden your heart, what’s your chat-up line?”

You meet his curious eyes and smile around the straw as you drink some strawberry milk-shake before you answer. “It’s really bad” you warn him.

“Alright, so I’m not to expect Shakespeare then. Well, what is it?” He watches as you hollow your cheeks and suck in more milkshake. He wipes his forehead with a rag.

God it’s hot in here.

From your handbag you pick up a cherry Chapstick and put it on your lips. You smack them together and giggle. “Oh! My lips taste just like cherries!” you exclaim. Then you look him straight in the eyes and in a low voice you add. “Want a taste?”

Toms eyes fall on your red lips and he can’t seem to be able to look away. Not until you laugh, a light and airy and joyous laugh. Then he snaps out of it. “Still got it” you tease and wink at him playfully. Then your cherry red lips wrap around the straw and you suck, all the while looking at him, eyes sparkling.

Tom makes a mental note to stay well hidden behind the bar for a while.  

“Fucking hell!” Harry exclaims as he and Sam enters the pub. “Christ Tom, mind turning the AC on?”

You see Tom rolling his eyes and you can’t help but giggle.

“Nah, personally I like working in a sauna”

Harry takes a look at you and smiles at Tom. “Oh, I see, it’s the old classic trick, innit? You’ve turned up the heat so she’ll take off her clothes, honestly Tom that’s so-” But he doesn’t get to finish the sentence, for Tom has picked up a dirty rag and thrown it at his little brother, and with perfect aim it hits him square in the face. “Show I bit of respect, won’t you?”  

But you’re not offended. You know he’s just joking. But Tom chews his brother out and then orders him to call maintenance to have a look at the AC. Harry looks completely unfaced by the telling off, but the fact that you’re smiling at him behind Tom’s back so that he knows you are not upset probably has a lot to do with it. He walks off to do as he’s told. When he walks pass you you hear him mutter “such an overprotective arse” under his breath.

***

THIS IS NOT REALLY THE BEST, BELIEVE ME, I’M AWARE. FEEDBACK Is VERY MUCH APPRECIATED

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 3:

“Okay, so that’s about it.” You smile brightly, pressing a band-aid into the  boy’s skin. “Thanks for being so brave for me!”

“Mhm. I’m the bravest!”

The child before you beams, all teeth gaps and kicking legs as he bounces in his seat. You’d just given him a few routine vaccinations, and true to your praise, he had been very brave about it. All he’d done was sit there, holding his breath until his face went red, and trying not to grimace. It reminded you of someone else you’d recently treated- someone else who was currently blazoned in all his snarling glory on the little boy’s shirt.

“Oh, I’m sure! Just like Dynamite!” You agree enthusiastically, gesturing to his clothes. You turn your head, catching his mother’s eye from where she sits next to him. “Isn’t that right, mom?”

“Oh, not if I can help it.” She smiles something a little exhausted, but ultimately fond as her son starts making explosion noises. “Not if I can help it.”

If you’re being completely honest, you sort of agree with her. Just a little bit- actually, on second thought a lot.

“If that’s everything and you have no other concerns for me, then we’re about done here.” You say gently. “Do you know where you’re going? I can point you toward reception again if you need it.”

“No, we’re alright, thank you!” 

You nod, holding the door open for them as they leave. 

When the door closes, and you’re swept back up into silence, you can’t help but think of that interaction as just more proof- more proof that no matter where you were, no matter what you were doing, you absolutely could not escape Bakugou.

When you weren’t actively thinking about him, then you were seeing his face everywhere. He was on television, and he was on the cover of newspapers, and as evidenced, he was printed in perfect grumbling, snarling accuracy on children’s t-shirts. It didn’t help either that every day brought another civilian who was saved by him, and every night brought another small-time criminal who was beat to hell by his fists. You swore he was responsible for a solid 70% of all of your hospital’s traffic- it was pure insanity when you really started paying attention. 

You quickly come to realize that Bakugou is a plague; and a horrifyingly effective one at that. You’re not sure how you never noticed it before. 

Still, you can’t help but find yourself worrying a little bit. When you think of him, all you can see is his face covered in blood, the pallid hue of his skin under the hospital’s sterile lighting, and the deep-set bags under his eyes. You remember the way he practically fell asleep, laid out and injured on a hospital table. The way he was drifting while you were digging a needle and thread through his skin. 

Thinking back on it always makes you a bit sick. No one who wasn’t absolutely exhausted would ever fall asleep in a hospital- especially not in the middle of being sewn up. When you match that to the anger and terror you’d felt, that very first night you’d ever met him, it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. You come to realize that even if Bakugou was an asshole to you, you still wouldn’t wish that kind of mental torture on anybody. 

Your rest of your week goes by quickly after that, and by the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve gathered quite a few bones to pick with him. It seemed the amount of criminals you were patching up was only increasing, and their injuries were only getting worse too. Each passing day only brings more lowly criminals and thieves flooding into your hospital, all covered in the same scorch marks, broken bones, and dark bruising. It was overkill, plain and simple, and you knew exactly who the culprit was. 

You began to think that, even if it was Bakugou’s job, he really shouldn’t have been digging graves for people who were just stealing purses. There was a massive difference between a super villain and a petty thief, but he didn’t seem to understand that. Dynamite punished everybody just the same. You saw that first hand.

Still, you try to shake off those lingering frustrations. You were on your way to take out his stitches, and you didn’t want to accidently bring them up. Bakugou only mildly tolerated you the last time around, but you were sure that generosity would cease the moment you criticized anything about him. True to his quirk, Bakugou had proven himself to be a teetering powder keg- just a little bit of friction, and he’d explode on the spot.

“On your way to help his majesty?” Your superior remarks, smiling sardonically as you pass her. “Good luck, I’ll be praying for you! Try your best to come back with your head still intact, yeah?” 

You nod, smiling uneasily, but your stomach turns a little bit. 

That had been another reoccurring theme that week- jokes about how your impending doom was imminent. Apparently, Bakugou had been making a name for himself for years now- a name that was a lot less loved by your hospital then it was the rest of the outside world. You’d been hearing horror stories for days now; tale after twisted tale of nurses and doctors getting chewed up and spit out by his bad temper. It always read as a little strange to you though; in every story you’d heard, he was either hardly injured or on his death bed- no in-between whatsoever. You figure that it didn’t really matter though, the result was always the same. Relentless, explosive anger. 

Which you sort of begun to think you were in for, when you opened the door to his scowling face.

“Hey!” You greet unsurely, trying to walk into the room with a confidence you didn’t really feel. Moving past him, you rinse your hands, drying them and then slipping on a pair of latex gloves. You then pull the medical cart over to him, taking out the blood pressure cuff. Just like his last visit. “You ready to get those stitches removed?”

“Yeah. Obviously. Why the fuck else would I waste my time here? Witch.”

Yep. There it is- just what the other nurses and staff were warning you about. His attitude.

“Oh. Okay, so I see we are still using that nickname. Great.” You mutter wrapping the cuff around his arm. You fall back, crossing your arms as you wait to jot down his vitals. There’s angry tension rolling off of him, and you smile uneasily, trying to discharge it with a subject change. “On an entirely different note, though, I did want to congratulate you.”

Bakugou just scoffs, turning up his nose. A beat passes and then he folds, minutely nodding at you to continue.

“You’re not covered in any blood this time! Congrats!” You say breezily, unwrapping the cuff from around his arm. “Guess the third time really is the charm for us, huh?”

Bakugou just looks away, hardly even acknowledging you as he rolls his eyes. You think you see his lip twitch though- just a bit, and it only lasts half a second, but you count it as a success.

“So, any worries about the stitches? You been cleaning them as instructed?” You ask, gently taking his forearm in your hands. You remove the bandages and gauze with feather-light touches. “Wow, you must’ve been. They look pretty good to me.”

When you look up at him, he’s got that same prideful smirk you’d seen before; it doesn’t distract you from his condition though. His skin somehow looks paler than before, skin purple and darkened under his eyes. You see the cut on his head, still hardly healed and scabbed over. He’s overworking himself, but you didn’t need to have any medical background to see that.

“Obviously they look good. You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” He says.

“No, but I really did think you would’ve exacerbated them by now. Especially with all the hero work you’ve been doing. Which, believe me, I know is a lot.”

“What- you stalking me now or somethin’?”

“Not exactly. Me or somebody else here always end up treating all those people you save.” You tell him, setting his arm down on the empty surface of the medical cart. You try to keep your voice light, keep it entirely void of anything accusatory, but you can’t help your next words. “And every person you beat into the ground.”

Bakugou’s eye twitches when you look at him. He breathes deep, eyebrows creasing.

“Oi- somethin’ you wanna fuckin’ say to me?” He utters, eyes glinting like blistering wildfire. He leans forward, flipping his palm up towards you as it begins to crackle. “Better choose your next words real fuckin’ carefully.”

It’s his tone that catches you off-guard.

You knew it was a stupid move, your comment, but the pure poison in his response surprises you anyway. His voice is dark and angry, smoldering like a low heat as he stares you down. The words are vicious thing, a gripping threat that drips from his mouth, seeming to bite back around his teeth as he speaks it. It makes you shrink. You think that it would probably make even the strongest people shrink.

“No. It’s- I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” You apologize professionally, pasting on your best appeasing smile even as you fight off the anxiety. There’s nothing left to do but try to defuse the situation- so you turn away from him, busying yourself with grabbing a discard tray and your stitching kit. “It’s really wasn’t my business. Shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.”

Bakugou just huffs at that, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He somehow looks even more annoyed than before and you don’t know what he wants from you. Doesn’t he know how intimidating he is? Why does he even bother acting surprised when people fold for him? Especially if he chooses to address them like that?

You wish you were the sort of person who could stand up to him- the sort of person who could put him in his place. After all, there was no room for arrogance in a hospital, and you’d always thought egotism to be a selfish waste of valuable time. But, even so, you just couldn’t be that person this time. There was a lot you could power though, but you’d never seen hot-and-cold anger like his before. He wasn’t like any of your other difficult patients- none of their threats ever sounded like promises. 

There’s tense silence as you start removing the stitches, only the sound of your scissors and Bakugou’s own breaths. You try to keep your hands steady, try to keep focused, but you’re finding it hard to keep still under his intense gaze. You feel he’s looking right through you again, waiting for any excuse to blow up again.

You’re almost done removing them entirely when he huffs, rolling his eyes as he shifts uncomfortably.

“You’re so fucking sensitive, you know. It’s pathetic.”

You stiffen.

There’s a lot you’re willing to put up with- being underappreciated and overworked was pretty much your entire job after all- but Bakugou was really wearing on you. He wasn’t the first patient to insult you, and his comment was far from the worst thing you’d ever been told; but it’s something in the way he spits the insult. Sly and challenging like he knows something you don’t. It makes you look up at him, and all you see are his sharp canines. His smirk and the way he looks down on you.

He’s picking a fight, but there’s no threat. He’s testing you.

It makes your blood boil.

“If you don’t like me, and the way I do my work,” You bite out, staring right back and speaking through own clenched teeth. “Then you shouldn’t have asked for me. No one made you come back.”

“I told you, witch. No cutting corners. You put the fuckers in my arm, you take them the fuck out.”

“Why are you fighting with me?” You ask, swallowing as you try not to shy away from his glare. “I told you last time, if this works better for you silent, then just say that.”

He flares his nostrils at that, setting his jaw. When he goes silent, you go back to snipping away his stitches. At this point, you just wanted to finish as quickly as possible.

“Silent is fuckin’ boring.” He grits, flexing his fingers. It makes the skin on his forearm shift, throwing off your work. When you look at him in frustration, you can see he did it on purpose. “It’s wimp shit.”

“Pardon?”

“I said-” He leans in close, voice low and venomous. It feels like he’s trying to paralyze you with his stare alone, sitting up straight until he’s glaring down at you. “Silence is boring. You’re fucking boring.”

You’d had a long day- you’d had a very long day and he was being extremely rude and your patience was wearing thin hours ago. That’s why you let him break your careful composure- at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Oh yeah, I’m boring?” You ask in frustration, entire face warming in fury. “I’m boring? Really! At least I don’t spend my entire day blowing things up and beating people half to death!”

Bakugou blinks. He blinks, sucks a breath, and then you watch his smirk crawl slow and sure across the entirety of his face. He got you. He got you to break, and he won, and he knows it.

He knows it and he settles back on his good hand, leaning away to get a better look at your flustered face. He cocks his head to the side, studying and analytical for a moment. He nods.

“There. We’re fuckin’ even.”

“Excuse me?”

“Even. You shouldn’t have fuckin’ pried around in my head and not expected me to pry in yours.”

“That’s what this is about?” You sigh incredulously, putting your scissors down on the medical cart. “Really? You’re still on that- how- how does this even tell you what’s in my head? You’re just insulting me. It doesn’t!”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you so fuckin’ pissed right now? Hah?” He squints his eyes, voice smooth and dripping with arrogance. “It’s cause I’m right. You’re so fuckin’ boring when you play nice all the time.”

“Play nice? What the hell are you even on about? You don’t know me.”

“I know that you piss me the hell off bein’ fake. If I fuckin’ irritate you then say so. Don’t put on your fuckin’ kid gloves and try and be professional. It’s weak.”

“No. It’s how I keep my job. Which you know, you wouldn’t understand, because you literally pick fights for a living!” You huff, pushing the medical cart off to the side and stepping back from him. “Actually- you know what, no. I’m done with this. This conversation. Your stitches are out, and you can leave since you obviously can’t stand me and would rather be anywhere but here.”

You watch him flare his nostrils again, a snarl ripping from his mouth. He slams his closed fist down on the hospital bed, eyes like blazing conflagration. Bakugou looks pissed, but more than anything he looks vulnerable. Worn raw.

“I can’t.” He grits.

“Yes! You actually can! Just walk out! Literally just walk out an-’

“God, you’re so fucking dense! I can’t leave without figuring out how the fuck you do it!”

“Do what?” You nearly scream, your owns hands beginning to clench into fists.

“I need to know.” He repeats again, hopping off the hospital bed.

His feet hit the ground, steps like rolling thunder as he nears, broad shoulders and muscular arms casting an intimidating shadow. Bakugou looks like an angry bull storming toward you. Like he’ll obliterate you given even half the chance.

“Take your fucking gloves off.”

You’re scared now, eyes darting over to the door. You knew nobody was doing rounds in the luxury wing right now, and sound didn’t pass through walls that were made to ensure silence. Heart racing in your chest, you size him up, try to think of a way to escape but he’s so close to you and he’s built like a linebacker and-

“Jesus christ. Not like that. Fuckin’ idiot.” He growls, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He stops a few feet in front of you, sneering. “You’re not my fuckin’ type, so don’t flatter yourself. Now, grow the fuck up and take them off before I do it for you.”  

You’re not sure what makes you listen, maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s something else, but either way you listen. You pull a glove off, just barely dropping it on the counter before Bakugou speaks again.

“I’m gonna touch your hand- but do not use your quirk. Don’t even think about using it. Just fucking stand there. And don’t freak the fuck out and put up a fight about it. You’re just gonna waste time.”

You nod, hand shaking as you extend it. Bakugou seems to roll his eyes at that, but he surges forward anyways, fingers meeting yours. 

You feel it almost immediately. Your heart speeds up, but just slightly, beginning beat against your chest where it had just barely been grazing it before. You breathe deep, close you eyes, focus in on the buzzing of your skin- the way your bones sing of subtle fire. It’s barely there but it feels like warmth. Reminds you of that night, with Bakugou, when you were burning alive. Reminds you of how your bones felt too large and your skin felt too small and there somehow wasn’t enough room in the entire world to hold the weight of your rage.

“You ambient fucking bitch.” Bakugou swears under his breath. When you look at him, he’s fluttering his own eyes open, dropping your hand like it burned him.

Then he steps back and you’re gasping for air. It’s not entirely back again- but it’s reminiscent. There’s an inkling of that bone-deep exhaustion. That weariness that so often stole the air from you lungs and the ground beneath your feet. 

“Your quirk. It’s ambient. Through your skin.”

You shrink back even more, blinking owlishly up at him. 

“What? You didn’t fucking know? Jesus, how clueless are you?”

“It’s-I-” You drop your head, running a hand through your hair. “I never- I always wear gloves. Always. And long sleeves. Since I was little. Never wanted to take the chance- how did you even know.” 

Bakugou seems to turn his nose up at your question. He steps back, further and farther until his back hits the hospital bed. There’s distance but somehow he keeps the air just as charged, averting his eyes when he speaks next.

“Went to sleep. A week ago. When I saw you-”

“What? Bakugou that doesn’t- you’re not-”

“If you’d let me fuckin’ finish,” He glares down at you again, trying to beat you into submission with eye-contact alone. It works and you fall silent, holding your breath as he resumes. “You put me to sleep. Then and three months ago. I haven’t slept peacefully like that in fuckin’ years. So obviously you used your quirk on me. It’s easy. A fuckin’ moron could’ve figured it out.”

“No- but I didn’t touch you! Well, the first time, yeah, I did, but not a week ago. I was wearing gloves and I-”

“When I told you to do the splint over, the sleeve of your coat rode up.” He grits out, cheeks slightly flushing as he averts his eyes. “Then I almost fell asleep. Not like the first time, but still. Asleep. So obviously it’s your fuckin’ skin.” 

Suddenly, the ground is ripped out from under you.

Your entire life you’d always been tired. Day in and day out, constantly dragging your feet like you could never get enough sleep. Like there wasn’t enough hours in the day for you to live and be rested. 

Was it your quirk this entire time? Were you somehow ambiently draining people of their pain- even if you just accidentally brushed their skin with yours? 

You don’t know how you never realized it. How you never put two and two together. 

You’d spent your entire life purposefully using your quirk to help people-  had then sacrificed days and weeks of your life afterwards tucked away in bed and sleeping off the exhaustion. When you used your power on purpose, depending on the severity of someone’s pain, it would debilitate you. But you still did it- over and over and over again because you wanted to help people. Because you knew you could and that became the only reason you needed. 

You’d always just assumed your constant exhaustion to be aftershocks of how often you used your quirk- you never even considered the possibility that it was something you were doing unintentionally. That you were draining yourself with every hug and handshake and high-five that should’ve made you feel better.

You’d always sort of disliked being touched. Somehow always walked away with your skin prickling uncomfortably for as long as you could remember. You just never knew why until now. 

“Oi- I thought I told you not to freak the fuck out.”

“It’s- how the hell am I not supposed to freak out about this?” You gasp, hands braced behind you on the counter. “I didn’t know! My entire life! And you met me like, what, twice and you figured it out and- Are you falling asleep right now?”

In your spiral Bakugou had somehow ended back up on the hospital bed. He was still sat up, but his shoulders were completely slumped over and his eyes were half-lidded. He looked completely drained of all previous anger, swaying slightly as he blinked himself back to perfect alertness.

“Yeah. Probably.” He grumbles. “It’s your fuckin’ fault.”

“You barely touched me! How the hell is-”

“Don’t ask me, you fuckin’ leech.” He yawns, hand closed into a fist as he rubs at his eyes. “You’re the one with the stupid goddamn quirk. Not me.”

“That’s- sorry. I didn’t know. Holy shit,” You curl arms around your stomach, eyes widening. “Have I been doing this shit to everyone? My entire life?”

Bakugou groans. Audibly. Loudly.

“You’re the stupidest goddamn idiot on the face of the planet. Swear to fuck, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“You’re not helping!” You exclaim. “It was rhetorical question! Excuse me for freaking out right now- I’m sure you’d freak out too if you suddenly found out you were osmosis-ing people’s emotions your entire life!” 

“Heh.”

“God, and just what the hell are you laughing about? This isn’t funny!”

“Osmosis.” He reiterates, mouth drawn up into a shit-eating grin. “Change your quirk name. To osmosis. Alleviate is shitty and stupid and it makes you sound fucking dumb.”

You bristle again, suddenly shaking any and all tiredness, rounding on him as you seethe.

“You- you are a goddamn asshole! You know that?” You start, stopping just a few feet in front of him. “You come in here, and insult me. Call me boring! In my own fuckin’ workplace! While I’m literally taking your stitches out! And then you tell me how my quirk works- somehow have the audacity to be fucking right about it, and now you’re insulting me? Again?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just sitting there, completely fine, smiling like there’s something funny! This isn’t funny! I’m not funny! This is my life- which you literally have been bulldozing through for months now- are you falling asleep? Again? No! No! Not in my- wake the fuck up! Asshole!”

You’re snapping in his face, just inches away from his eyes, and Bakugou hardly even blinks. He just sits still, calm and sated as you seethe just inches away from him. You huff in absolute hatred and that finally shocks some life into him. He smiles. Tiny and barely-there, but he smiles.

“See, not so nice anymore. Knew you weren’t. Fuckin’ liar.”

You want to scream. You want to tear your hair out and maybe take Bakugou’s too, and scratch and claw until you’re bathing in all the rage you’d accidentally stolen from him. You can’t though- you can’t because suddenly the sun starts to set. It falls behind the horizon line, seeping the gold from his skin and drowning him in sterile, white, artificial pallid-ness. His skin goes translucent and the only color in the entirety of his image are the bags under his eyes. Well, the bags under his eyes and the stark red of the barely-healed slice on his forehead. 

You curse your own heart. Nearly collapse under the weight of your own sympathy. Bakugou was an asshole, an absolute, irredeemable dick, and you still wanted to heal him. Help him. Somehow. Miraculously.

So then you’re centering yourself, rubbing a hand down your face to soothe your wound-up features.

“God, you actually do look pretty bad.” You say, all attempts at grace and keeping it professional completely gone. “You really weren’t kidding about needing to sleep, huh?”

“No shit. Leech.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. That’s fine. Trade one mean nickname for another- I mean, hey, at least this one’s accurate right?” 

Bakugou does actually exhale a laugh at that remark, limbs a flurry of chaotic movement when he throws himself back on the bed. His head hits the pillow and it’s only seconds before he’s shutting his eyes.

“So, what, you’re just, like, sleeping now?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“This is a hospital, Bakugou.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He mumbles, yawning into his hand. “‘m fuckin’ Dynamite. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“I’m sorry- do you, do you actually think you can ego your way out of rules? Seriously? You can’t sleep here! Not unless you’re critically injured and need like, round-the-clock care.” 

He stills, breath evening and you think he’s fallen asleep. Then he’s lazily bringing a hand up, pointing it loosely at his head.

“I’m critically fuckin’ injured.”

“No- you’re not. That’s a cut and it’s already healing and-”

“I need round-the-clock care.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?”

“No.” He grunts, flopping as he turns away from you. Then he’s facing the wall, nuzzling into the pillow. “I’m tired.”

“It’s-” You start, but then you’re once again falling victim to your own empathy. One look at his translucent skin is all it takes. “Fine. You know what? I don’t give a shit. Do what you want, I guess. Nobody else is using these rooms.” 

“Okay. Leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get the fuck out.” He slurs, cheek pressed up against the pillow as his eyes flutter beneath his eyelids. “Bein’ too loud. Leave.”

“Fine. Enjoy your sleep. Jerk.”

“Leech.”

You nearly punch him in frustration- until you realize that would probably only relax him more; because apparently this really is Bakugou’s world and you were the unlucky one just living in it.

He’s out before you’re even finished packing up. You’re wiping down all the surfaces either of you had touched, just about to leave, when he starts snoring. It’s a soft, almost kitten-like sound, just barely audible over your own breathing. It pisses you off. Boils your blood in your veins because it’s so goddamn humanizing even when he acts like the anti-christ with an even worse temper. It’s stupidly endearing and ridiculously sobering and incredibly, incredibly irritating. 

That stupid sound is why you double back upon leaving the room. Why you’re suddenly choosing to reverse instead of moving forward, why you’re suddenly reaching into the cupboard instead of shutting the door behind you. 

When you carefully unfold the blanket, settling it gently over his sleeping form, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Fuck being an empath.

--/--

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness 

[emmerrr]

Jordeclan going to an amusement park or a fair? They both just honestly need a break and some fun!!

anon i’m so sorry this took so long but hey i made it valentine’s day and there’s lynch bros content and i hope you like it (also on ao3)

-

Declan wakes up on the morning of Valentine’s Day not really aware that it’s Valentine’s Day.

It’s Saturday, so he doesn’t need to go into work, and he trundles down the stairs into the kitchen and makes himself a coffee. Matthew and Ronan are still asleep, the latter of whom spent the night after driving up the previous day to go to an art show with his brothers. (Ronan had been less than subtle about his disdain for the ‘art’ in question; Declan had dragged them out early to go to a diner for some burgers. Brotherly bonding at its finest.)

He sits at the breakfast bar with his coffee and checks his emails on his phone like he’s reading the news. There’s a few work things, but not too much, all things considered. He sends a good morning text to Jordan, knowing in all likelihood she won’t read it until at least noon. The thought of her brings a smile to his face, and he wonders if he’ll get to see her later. They don’t have any solid plans in place, but their relationship has never been one that follows a rigid structure anyway. She’s been a breath of fresh air in every possible way.

An hour or so later, Declan hears Ronan moving around in the guest bedroom upstairs, probably throwing his stuff together before he drives back to Singer’s Falls. Not long after that, Matthew comes down the stairs, golden curls matted to his head on one side from where he’s slept on them.

“Mornin’,” he says through a yawn, and takes a seat. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever you want.”

Matthew hums. “I want eggs.”

Declan nods at the fridge. “Go on then.”

Matthew sighs but gets up again and opens the refrigerator, standing solemnly in front of it before slowly removing a carton of eggs.

He puts them down and makes a good show of looking lost as he meanders around the kitchen finding everything he needs. Declan knows he’s doing it on purpose, but goddamn if it doesn’t work. “For crying out loud, how do you want them?”

Matthew grins; he’s won this round. “Scrambled, please. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. You can make your own toast, though. And go and ask Ronan if he wants any.”

“Yes, sir!” Matthew salutes, and runs off to the hallway to yell up the stairs at Ronan.

A mountain of breakfast later, Ronan disappears again to have a shower, and Declan makes Matthew wash the dishes. He sits in the living room and turns on some nature documentary just for background noise, but only a minute or two passes before Matthew comes in and sits down.

“You cannot possibly have finished the dishes yet,” Declan says.

“They need to soak,” Matthew insists, eyes skating guiltily from Declan’s face to the TV screen. “Oh, is this the one with the penguins?” He sits down, and Declan resolves himself to finishing the singular chore he asked Matthew to do later.

“Yes, half a job Bob, it’s the one with the penguins.”

Matthew smiles indulgently and settles in to watch, but they both get distracted a moment later when they spot Ronan walking past, carrying a lot more than he originally had with him.

“Why do you have a big teddy bear?” Matthew asks.

“Is that a boom-box?” Declan asks.

“Is that a heart-shaped balloon with Adam’s face on it?” Matthew asks.

“What are you doing?” Declan asks.

Ronan leaves everything in the hall by the door and comes to stand just inside the living room, hands in his pockets. He shrugs. “Just gonna make a pit-stop at Cambridge, that’s all.”

Declan sighs. “It’s not exactly on your way. Does Adam even know you’re coming?”

“No, it’s a surprise. It’s a funny inside joke Valentine’s surprise.”

“What do you mean, Valentine’s surprise, it’s not Val—oh my god.” Declan puts his head in his hands. “Oh my god, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, Declan,” Ronan says, the smile evident in his voice. “Forget, did you?”

Declan lifts his head. “It was a busy week at work.”

“Don’t worry, bro, I must have got all the romantic genes, it’s not your fault.”

Declan scowls but there’s little heat in it. He checks his phone and Jordan is yet to reply, which could mean nothing, but doubt now niggles in Declan’s mind. What if Jordan was expecting some kind of gesture and is now massively disappointed that Declan is so useless?

“What do I do? It’s too late to make any reservations.”

“Reservations are for chumps anyway, just go and do something fun,” Ronan says.

“Like what?” Declan snaps. All that’s running through his head is that he got Jordan some tyrian purple at great cost and at very short notice for their very first date. If her expectations for Valentine’s Day are high, he has no one to blame but himself.

“I’ll leave that up to you to figure out,” Ronan says. “I have to hit the road.”

Matthew laughs and elbows Declan playfully. “Ronan is a better boyfriend than you.”

“No he isn’t, shut up,” Declan says, which just makes Matthew laugh harder.

After Ronan hugs Matthew goodbye, Declan helps him carry the ridiculous gifts he has obviously dreamt up out to the car.

“Text me when you’re with Adam,” he says when he’s closed the trunk, “so I know you got there okay.”

Ronan opens the driver’s side door and levels Declan with a put-upon look. “Fine, I will try my very best to remember to text you when I arrive.”

Declan manages a smile. “Appreciate it. Drive safe.”

Ronan moves to get in the car, but hesitates, and turns back to his brother. “You’re not really worried that you forgot about today, right?” At Declan’s shrug, he continues, “Come on, Jordan’s cool, she’s not gonna care. Everyone knows Valentine’s Day is bullshit.”

“Says the guy who’s driving several hours out of his way in honour of said bullshit day,” Declan says pointedly.

Ronan shakes his head. “Look, the day’s irrelevant; I’m driving several hours out of my way because I miss my fucking boyfriend and this is as good an excuse as any to go see him.”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing. Jordan likes you, for some unfathomable reason. She’s not gonna dump you because you didn’t remember to plan some posh, soulless valentine’s date.”

Abrasive as he is, Declan can’t deny that Ronan’s right. “When did you get so wise?” he grumbles, and Ronan smirks.

“Hey, statistically I’ve gotta be right about some things.”

“Once in a blue moon.”

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here.” Ronan gets into the car, but Declan stops him before he shuts it. “You really think Jordan is cool?”

Ronan laughs. “Way too cool for you.”

Declan’s unwarranted fears about Jordan ignoring him fade as soon as she texts him back an hour or so later. She doesn’t mention the dreaded V-word, but she says there’s a fair in town, and asks if he wants to go.

A fair date sounds pretty perfect actually, and when he agrees, Jordan tells him she’ll pick him up at seven. She always does like to drive.

“I still haven’t got her a gift, though,” Declan tells Matthew. “Is it bad that I don’t have a gift?”

“You’re going to a fair,” Matthew points out. “Plenty of opportunities to be all manly and shit and win her something.”

“Language,” Declan says, and Matthew rolls his eyes.

“You should get her a card, at least.”

“Valentine’s Day cards are always so terrible, though,” Declan complains.

“So make her one. Jordan’s arty, she’d probably like that better anyway.”

Declan doesn’t like that both of his younger brothers are being smarter than him today, but nevertheless, Matthew is right, and Declan ransacks his office supplies to see what he can come up with.

He uses some high-quality photo paper to print out a picture of a pretty flower that he found online, then carefully cuts it out and glues it to the middle of the front of some card he’s folded in half. He frames it by cutting out strips of purple card and sticking them around the flower. Then he gets irritated with how shit it looks and considers throwing the whole fucking thing away and starting from scratch, when Matthew peers over his shoulder and says, “Aw, that looks really nice.”

So Declan keeps it, writes his message inside, and finds an envelope that is only a little bit too big to put it in.

Time’s getting on, so he goes to get ready. He has no idea what to wear for a date at a fair, and takes two tie options out to the living room to get Matthew’s opinion.

“Which tie is more appropriate?”

“Neither.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“I don’t need to. Don’t wear a tie. You’re not going on a job interview. Plus it’s February and you’ll be outside, put a sweater on.” Matthew does finally look at him now, and he sighs at Declan’s blue button-down and grey slacks. “This is what you wear for work, put some jeans on. You’ve like, met Jordan, right?”

“Alright, smartass, point taken.”

When Declan’s changed again, Matthew decrees his outfit of jeans and a fairisle sweater in navy tones boring but ultimately acceptable, which Declan figures is the best he’s going to get. He also thinks he’s going mad if he’s asking Matthew of all people for fashion advice.

He just has time to slip his coat on and put the card in the inside pocket before there’s a knock at the door, and Matthew runs to open it.

“Hiya, squirt,” Jordan says to him, which is funny because Matthew is taller than her.

“Hey. Declan tried to wear a tie.”

Jordan laughs, throwing her head back, and Declan finds there’s a dopey grin on his face even though his girlfriend and his brother are bonding over making fun of him. “Of course he did. Never fully dressed without a tie.” She meets Declan’s gaze over Matthew’s shoulder and winks at him.

“Hey, I’m right here,” he says, faux-wounded, and makes his way over to the door as Matthew heads back to the living room.

He kisses Jordan. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself. You ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Have fun, guys!” Matthew yells, and Declan hesitates, poking his head in to look at his brother.

“What are you doing tonight? You can come with us if you want?”

“No way, man, I’m not third-wheeling on your date. Also it’s cute how you think I don’t already have plans, I’m extremely popular.”

“Uh huh,” Declan says, worries evaporating. “Modest, too.”

They leave, finally, and Jordan drives them to where the fair is set up, filling Declan in on any little anecdotes he’s missed since they last spoke. He’s happy just to listen to her talk; sitting in her presence is like recharging a battery, and he feels lighter than he has all week.

Parking is easy to find, and they huddle together as they walk towards the entrance, the lights from all the rides and the heat lamps looking bright and inviting beyond. Jordan slips her hand into Declan’s, and he tucks them both into his pocket as Jordan leans her head against his shoulder.

“I missed you this week,” she says.

“Did you?” Declan smiles. He likes being missed by Jordan. “I missed you too. I always miss you.”

“Well you say that now, but I’m going to destroy you at fairground games, so you might change your mind.”

Declan’s doubtful, but he grins at her amenably.

She holds up a finger. “But first, we need to go on a couple of super fast, spinny rides, because if we go on them after I’ve had something to eat I might just throw up all over you.”

“Yeah, let’s avoid that,” Declan says. “Lead the way.”

Jordan, practically vibrating with excitement, drags Declan straight to the ride she keeps calling ‘the whirligig’, because it takes you round and round, faster and faster, while the carriage you sit in is also spinning. So it’s double the amount of spinning, and when they get off, Declan has to stop for a minute with his hands on his knees while Jordan lovingly laughs at him.

She takes pity on him and they go on the ferris wheel next. They kiss when it stops when they’re at the top, which Declan knows is cliché as hell, but he’s certainly not complaining. He pulls back a little, his thumb gently brushing along her cheekbone.

“I made you a card,” he says, a little embarrassed. Jordan’s warm brown eyes go wide and pleased.

“Oh yeah?”

He pulls it out of his pocket and starts to hand it to her nervously. “It’s not very good.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she says, taking it from him. She opens it and smiles when she sees the flower. “So pretty.”

“It’s called a Middlemist red camellia. It’s like the rarest flower in the world. Or so Google tells me.” He knows that Jordan will know why he specifically chose this flower. He’s telling her something about who she is to him. She won’t miss the significance of that.

She brings Declan’s hand to her lips and kisses it gently, before letting it go and looking at the card again. “I love camellia’s,” Jordan says, “but I’ve never seen this one before.” She opens the card and reads the message Declan wrote inside, a soft smile growing the more she reads.

Jordan sighs and holds the card to her chest with her eyes closed. When she opens them again, she says, “I made you a card, too.”

She pulls it out of her own coat pocket, and Declan opens it. On the front is a colour pencil drawing of him, perfect hair, non-smiling, boring suit, but with the fanciest shoes he has ever seen; a more exaggerated version of the ones he was wearing when he and Jordan first met.

Declan laughs in joyous surprise. “Your card is better than mine.”

“My card is funnier than yours,” she says. “It’s not better.”

“Thank you,” he says, earnestly, looking at the portrait and cracking up again. “I think...I think I’m gonna frame this.”

“You should. It’ll be worth a fortune some day.”

Of that, Declan has no doubt. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Absolutely.”

“I forgot it was Valentine’s Day.”

It’s Jordan’s turn to laugh, and she leans in to kiss Declan’s cheek. “I forgot, too. I didn’t realise until I went to grab a coffee and there were Valentine’s specials going on all over the place.”

“Ronan of all people reminded me. He drove up to surprise Adam at Cambridge.”

“Bless him, Ronan really is a gigantic softie.”

Declan grins. “Well he told me he thinks you’re cool. Too cool for me.”

“Aw, babe, he’s right!” Jordan says, laughing at his sad pout. “Unfortunately for me, I love you anyway.”

Declan shakes his head, smiling. “You’re a dick,” he says. “But I love you, too.”

The ferris wheel starts moving again, and when it stops, they go and try their hand at some games. Jordan comes out on top at ring tossing, duck hooking, the coconut shy, and the buzzwire, but Declan does pretty well at the mini laser quest and a balloon-popping darts game.

They end up at the shooting game stall, where you have to try and knock the cans over to win prizes. There’s a cute stuffed stegosaurus that Jordan has her eye on, and Declan pays for them both to have a go to try and win it.

They each manage to knock a couple of cans over, but there’s some that are way more stubborn and don’t seem to budge even when clearly hit.

“Another round,” Declan says when his go is finished. He sighs in frustration when the results are the same.

Jordan puts his hand on his arm. “You know these things are rigged, right? They’re weighted, it’s almost impossible to win the good prizes.”

The rational part of his brain understands this to be true. The monkey part wants the prize. “Yes, but it’s Valentine’s Day and I have to win you this stupid stegosaurus. My manly pride is at stake.”

Jordan snorts. “Well how about we take your manly pride to that stall over there and I’ll let you buy me a churro, I’m starving.”

“...Churros sound good.”

Jordan links her arm through Declans as they follow their noses over to the churro stall.

“I really would’ve won it with one more go,” Declan feels the need to say.

“Sure you would,” Jordan says easily. “Maybe later.”

“Fuck later, it’s freezing. You wanna come back to mine? I’ll make you a latte.”

Jordan grins up at him. “I thought you’d never ask. Churros first though.”

“Oh, that’s a given.”