#practically impossible to beat certain bosses without them

[strange-mystery]

Watched a ykw video awhile ago and I can’t stop thinking about how the mouse cursor (they were playing on an emulator) was just hovering over the items button during boss fights, like yeah that’s how you play

[razieltwelve]

Does FR have Virtual Reality MMO games in it like Sword Art Online?

I imagine they would be good for training students without the accidental murder thing.

Yes.

However, the main problem is that these cannot replicate the physical advancement required for high-level combat. In other words, if your mental and physical abilities in combat don't match, you are more likely to end up dead. The rigours of actual real-life combat are generally required to progress beyond a certain level since simulation does not allow the body to improve the way actual combat does.

Simulator training is more useful as a means of acclimatising students to what kind of threats they might encounter or helping them learn to recognise certain specific features or characteristics of particular opponents (e.g., some Grimm can be distinguished from related subspecies with enough practice).

As an aside, a little-known fact is that some of the 'bots' students run into during Beacon simulation exercises are actually controlled by the lab's hamsters who find the whole thing kind of funny since it gives them a chance to beat people up.

Even more trollishly, there are 'impossible' exercises where certain professors take control of boss characters.

[crusherthedoctor]

Can you list anything you unironically like in the games (and cartoons and comics) that you don't like?

I won't bother mentioning music, since that goes without saying and is to be expected for a Sonic game... unless you're Chronicles.

Sonic Adventure 2 (mixed gameplay-wise, annoying story-wise) - While I prefer Sonic's SA1 levels for a number of reasons, I still think his and Shadow's gameplay in SA2 is fun on its own merit. I also don't mind the treasure hunting gameplay returning or how big the levels are this time around, since Knuckles and Rouge are still fast and not '06 levels of slow. It's mainly the gimped radar that creates the unfortunate domino effect of making them a problem.

- Introduced Rouge, one of my favourite characters for how playful she is and how she's a lot more nuanced and intelligent than you'd expect.

- Some genuinely good scenes, like Eggman's trap on the A.R.K and Sonic escaping from the G.U.N. helicopter.

- Had some good ideas going for it, like the Pyramid Base and the Biolizard as a scientific monster instead of an ancient one.

- Despite my thoughts on the backstory itself (or rather, its execution), Shadow has enough depth and subtle qualities and occasional unintended hilarity to stand out from the typical dark rival characters you see in media.

- The Last Scene's music in particular is one of my favourite cutscene tracks in the series.

Sonic Heroes (mixed gameplay-wise, loathed story-wise) - The gameplay is fun when you're not being screwed over by repetitive combat, overly long levels and/or ice physics.

- Boasts some of the most consistently Genesis-worthy environments in the 3D games, up there with SA1's and Colours'.

- The in-game dialogue that isn't the same tutorial drivel repeated ad nauseam can be interesting, funny, etc.

- Reintroduced the Chaotix, which provided me with another character I quite like in the form of Vector.

- Bringing Metal Sonic back in full force and front and center in the plot after a long absence (not counting cameos and the like) is a perfectly fine idea. Just... not like this.

Sonic Battle (decent yet repetitive gameplay, mixed story-wise) - Emerl's arc is compelling, and it earns the emotional weight of having to put him down at the end.

- While some characters are iffy (read: Amy), other characters are extremely well-handled. Shadow is probably the prime example.

- Gamma's belly dance healing animation is fucking hilarious.

- When I was young, and the game was first announced, I was really excited about being able to play as Chaos. This proved to be my downfall when it turned out he was arguably one of the worst characters in the game due to being slower than me during the writing process, but I still recall that excitement fondly.

Shadow the Hedgehog (comedy classic) - The sheer amount of legendary stupidity this game has going for it makes it practically impossible to actually hate. It helps that it's not quite as white-knighted on the same level as '06... usually. You know you're in for a unique experience when you hear a gunshot every time you click something in the menu.

- By extension, Black Doom never gained an unironic fanbase like Mephiles/Scourge/Eggman Nega did, which means I'm a lot more willing to take Doom's dumbass brand of villainy in stride. He even has a unique design... a terrible one that rips off Wizeman granted, but alas, even that is a step-up from Fridge Shadow and Bumblebee Eggman.

- Despite being... well, Shadow the Hedgehog, some of the environments would fit right in with any other Sonic game, like with Circus Park, Lava Shelter, and Digital Circuit. Even the Black Comet levels look pretty cool.

- This game understands amnesia better than IDW does.

Sonic '06 (what do you think?) - The obvious one: Shadow's character was handled pretty well, even if it came at the cost of everyone else being a dummy and being forced to interact with Mephiles.

- Like SA2, there are some good moments, like the Last Story ending sequence with Sonic and Elise.

- In the greatest form of irony ever, I like Solaris as a concept and design(s), and its backstory has potential to serve as a parallel with Chaos without being a complete ripoff. Iblis sucks, Mephiles sucks, but I'm fine with Solaris.

- Introduced legendary characters like Sonic Man, Pele the Beloved Dog, Hatsun the Pigeon, and Pacha from The Emperor's New Groove.

The Rivals duology (apathetic outside of Nega-related grumbling) - There were some cool zone ideas in both games that were sadly let down by the restrictive and limiting gameplay. I particularly like Colosseum Highway for thus far being the only full-on Roman level in the series instead of merely having a couple minor hints of Roman, and Meteor Base for the unique scenario of the space station being built into an asteroid. These level concepts and others deserve a second chance IMO. (At least Frontier Canyon got a second chance in the form of Mirage Saloon, amirite?)

- Ifrit has a better design than Iblis. Not saying it's amazing, but the Firebird motif it has going on is a lot more interesting for a fire monster than the Not-Chaos schtick they had with Iblis.

Sonic and the Secret Rings (a very frustrating gaming experience) - Erazor Djinn, A.K.A. Qui-Gon Djinn, A.K.A. Dr. N. Djinn, A.K.A. I'll Take It On The Djinn, A.K.A. Not From The Hairs On My Djinny Djinn Djinn, is one of the best villains not associated with Eggman in the series. He's a Mephiles-type character done right, and there's actual weight and reason to his actions, however sinister or petty.

- I don't have strong opinions either way on Shahra as a character, but the Sonic/Shahra friendship is sweet and well-handled.

- The ending is one of Sonic's greatest moments. The sheer contrast between how ruthlessly he deals with Erazor and how comforting he is towards Shahra speaks volumes... Still gonna make fun of the mountain of handkerchiefs though. (Before anyone lectures me, I understand the significance of it and can even appreciate it from that angle... doesn't mean I'm not allowed to poke fun at it. :P)

- Another game with some redeeming environments. I love the aesthetic of Night Palace, and Sand Oasis looks gorgeous too.

Sonic Chronicles (my personal least favourite game in the series) - Uh...

- Um...

- Er...

- I like Shade's design?

Sonic Unleashed (overrated game and story IMO) - The obvious two: the opening sequence and the Egg Dragoon fight deserve all the praise they get.

- Seeing Eggmanland come to life was an impressive moment to be sure. While part of me does feel it didn't quite measure up to what I had in mind (ironically, the Interstellar Amusement Park ended up being closer to what I had in mind), it still looks badass and works well for what it is. I also don't mind the idea of it being a one-level gauntlet... key word being idea.

- Obviously, the game looks great. Not a fan of the real world focus (real world inspiration is fine, but copy-pasting the real world and shoving loops in it is just unimaginative), but it can't be denied that the environments look good.

- This game pulled off dialogue options a lot better than Chronicles did, since they didn't rely on making Sonic OoC.

Sonic and the Black Knight (just kind of boring all around) - Despite my gripes with the story (Merlina wasn't nearly as fleshed out as her unique anti-villain status deserved, which ends up severely undermining the ambition of the plot in more ways than one, and the other characters go from being useless yes men for King Arthur to being useless yes men for Sonic), I will admit it provides interesting insight into Sonic's character.

- Like '06 and Secret Rings, the ending is very nice... well, aside from Amy being an unreasonable bitch ala Sonic X at the very end.

Sonic the Hedgehog 4 (apathetic) - The admittedly few new concepts sprinkled within had promise. They may not have been as fleshed out as they could have been, but level concepts like Sylvania Castle and White Park, bosses like Egg Serpentleaf and the Egg Heart, and story beats like the Death Egg mk.II being powered by Little Planet, all could have been brilliant had they been better executed.

SatAM (apathetic outside of SatAM Robotnik-related grumbling) - I'm not a fan of the environments on the whole due to them looking too bland or samey, but there are some exceptions that look pleasant or interesting, like the Void.

Sonic Underground (apathetic) - The character designs make me feel better about myself.

- Does "large quantities of unintentional meme material" count as a positive?

Sonic X (mostly apathetic outside of Eggman's handling) - Helen was a better human character and audience surrogate in her one focus episode than Chris was throughout his entire runtime.

- Actually, most of the human characters not named Chris were legitimately likable. Including everyone in Chris' own family not named Chris. Hilarious.

- Despite arguably having the most Chris in it, I actually don't mind the first season that much, partly due to slight nostalgia from seeing it on TV when it was new, but mostly because Eggman actually acted like a villain for the most part, and certain other characters weren't quite as flanderized yet. It's season 2 and onwards where things started going off the rails IMO. (Incidentally, Helen's episode was part of season 1...)

The Boom franchise (apathetic) - Along with Chronicles, the games provide yet more proof that just because someone isn't SEGA/Sonic Team, that doesn't mean they're automatically more qualified to handle the series.

- The show had some good episodes here and there, and Tails' characterization was probably the most consistently on-point out of the cast.

- Despite not exactly being favourite portrayals for either character, even I'll admit that many of Knuckles and Eggman's lines in the show on their own were genuinely funny.

Archie Sonic (pre-reboot is mostly terrible, post-reboot is mostly... bland) - Whenever I doubt myself as a writer, I think back to Ken Penders, and suddenly I'm filled with a lot more confidence.

Sonic the Comic (apathetic) - Fleetway isn't a comic I tend to recall much of aside from how much of a loathesome cunt Sonic is, but IIRC, Robotnik's portrayal is pretty good. Different, but good.

IDW Sonic (stop pissing me off, comic) - Putting their handling aside (and being too obviously "inspired" by MGS in the latter's case), Tangle and Whisper are good characters IMO.

- Same goes for Starline, before he was killed off-screen and replaced with Toothpaste Snively.

- Execution aside (noticing a pattern?), the zombot virus was a fine concept on its own and an interesting new scheme for Eggman.

- I get to remind myself that I've never drawn scat edits and posted them publicly on Twitter.

[kannra21]

Sniperhaul fanfic

ˡᵐᵃᵒ ᶦ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵉˡᶦᵉᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶦ'ᵐ ᵈᵒᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᶦˢ

Overhoe finally broke out of Tartarus after a very long time. However, he couldn't have done it without the help of a certain villain mistress. 😏 Who's she and why did she choose to help this terrible (x2) man? Find out bellow.

characters: overhaul (chisaki kai) x sniper lady

word count: 3k

warnings: angst, past memories, handless overhaul, hurt, comfort, gangs, yakuza, just girl taking care of her mans

notes: I'd like to thank the person responsible for proofreading this work bc I'm supposed to keep their identity a secret. 😎 Thank you once again! And of course, the manga and characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi. @meefal you were excited to see the final product so here you go, hope you like it. 🖤

✂-------------------------------------------------------

Overhaul couldn't remember how long he'd been there, he'd lost count weeks ago. The only thing he knew was that he was in "Tartarus", a prison located 5km off the coast of the Mainland. It may function like a conventional prison, but in reality, those who're deemed a severe threat toward the safety of the nation were locked up and monitored closely, regardless of whether their sentence has been decided on yet. The facility was divided into 6 levels, where the potential threat level of criminals was deemed "higher" the further underground you go. It's a prison where, once you enter, there's no chance of leaving.

He sat there in his cell, B10 being the lowest level in solitary confinement. It was too cold for his head to function and too dark for his eyes to see, with the small window above the prison doors being his only source of light. There was also an opening where prisoners received their meals, but considering that he lost his hands, the guards could easily enter without worrying too much for their well-being. They'd leave whatever they offered that day and give him a disgusted look before locking the doors after themselves. He couldn't see his reflection nor touch his face, he probably looked like crap by now. His skin was itching and he felt disoriented from all the germs occupying this space, it's been a while since he's gone out for some fresh air. 

He was practically Quirkless and yet they locked him out in the worst, most dreadful place the isolation block had to offer. He couldn't even feed himself properly, he couldn't do anything by himself whatsoever. But there was only one thing left to him; he spent days and days thinking about pops, Chrono, yakuza and everything he could have if it weren't for those stupid heroes-- no, if it weren't for his plan that so grandiosely failed. It made him feel miserable, desperate even, and with grief soon followed acceptance. It was all his fault, and he needed to live with this burden for the rest of his life. Because of him, pops is still handicapped to the bed somewhere, wherever the heroes might have taken him. 

He stood up and started beating the cell with his leg, curing his frustrations. He didn't know why he was doing it, it was irrational and he's hurting himself unnecessarily, but for some reason it made him feel lighter. At least he could transfer some of his inner pain to the outside world. Other criminals laughed at his patheticness, especially since they knew why the guards were allowed to enter his cell. They shouted that it was impossible to escape, but he wasn't trying to. He knew that it was useless a long time ago. 

Midnight came and all the prisoners mostly fell asleep. Overhaul, however, couldn't sleep a wink. Because of the dark room he spent most of his days in, he lost his sense of time so he was pacing around, deep in thought. He couldn't dream of anything nice anyways. 

"Can't fall asleep either?" a feminine voice could be heard from the other side. Wait. They allowed women here? What could she have possibly done to deserve such punishment? 

He leaned his back on the doors and slid down to the floor, trying to find the right words.

"Yes." he sighed, enthusiasm lacking in his voice "But it's not like I need you to talk about my problems." 

"Hm, whatever. Go beat your head against the bars. Fall unconscious, loser."

The man snorted, which might as well be his first time he ever did that. 

"Well, this certainly sounds effective. It's not like I have anything to lose anyways." 

"Hey." the tone of her voice was earnest, and it aroused further questions in his jumbled up head. 

"What?"

"We're going to get out of here." 

Is she being serious now? "Really? Because as far as I know, we're locked out here for good. We don't even know the severity of our sentences. They can do whatever they want with us."

"Not quite. You know that they're being supervised by 'The Hearts and Mind' party offshoots. They can’t do a thing to us as long as they have their heads to the pikes." 

This might be true, but he didn't believe in anything the government's been telling them lately. It's only a matter of time before they switch their plans and play by their own rules, because stabbing people in the back was the only thing they've ever been good at. 

"How did you end up here?" 

Oh the long-awaited question. She wondered when he'd ask. 

"It's not like I need you to talk about my problems."

He smiled, he liked this vicious side of hers. But he also realized that she could be nice as well because if that wasn't the case, she wouldn't spread promises of the escape. At least that's what he thought. 

"Sorry about that." 

"It's okay. We've all been here for a very long time, now weren't we? We lose our cool and act like total assholes."

"Direct and straight to the point I see." his deadpan voice could be heard from the other side of the bars. 

"'Been raised this way, for the better or worse." it didn't sound like she was bragging, yet it felt like she was just talking about herself, honest and confident, to cover up what she felt was wrong. The incoming topic which she'd rather avoid. 

The villainess didn't want to open up about her past, so she just answered his question. 

"I killed people beyond counting, following AFO's orders. He always wished to become the world's greatest demon lord and thus promised us enormous change in the hero society. So in order to achieve that, he needed his underlings. And that's how I ended up here."

"You were loyal till the end."

"You know what they say; there can be no progress nor achievement without certain sacrifice."

Wise beyond her years and just as sad. He wondered how her face looked like, how the world's been treating her. 

"I had my own sacrifices as well."

"Do you regret them?"

...

"I do." 

Now it was her turn to snort "Really? And I thought that people situated this low couldn't have regrets. You remember what they said about us. 'Beasts in human clothing', 'Simply dreadful beings'." 

He felt insulted, maybe the things she said were true but it's not like he was anything similar to these pigs he shared the same air with, unfortunately.

"I regret hurting the person important to me. The old man who once took me in when I was very young. He was the infamous boss of Shie Hassaikai." 

Something clicked in her, it's such a small world they're living in, "Yakuza? I know you guys. We used to trade with you back in the days."

"Todou Gang?" 

"You said it."

"But... you were a force to be reckoned with. One day you just collapsed and not a single trace could be found. According to certain sources, there was no way anyone could determine the exact cause of your downfall. So what happened?" 

"I killed them all." 

... 

"AFO told me to kill them to prove my loyalty to him and, of course, to make sure that there was no one I could turn to other than himself." 

For some questionable reasons, and he didn't dare to admit that it was empathy he felt towards a random stranger and a former gang member he shared some history with, Overhaul wanted to fill the silence that lingered between them. Perhaps, because he felt guilty for making her reveal more than what she initially intended. 

"I used pops' niece, a 6-year-old girl who had an extraordinary Quirk; it allowed her to rewind a person's body back to a certain state. That means she could put a body back to before it was injured or before the person even developed a Quirk. With that, I wanted to create a Quirk-erasing drug to get rid of the Quirk society altogether and to make sure that yakuza could rise once again. I cut her skin every day to take blood samples and to test her regenerative abilities. However, pops didn't approve of it, so I handicapped him to the bed and planned on waking him up the moment I realized my plan, to make him proud of the achievement. Unfortunately, it didn't play out as I wanted and I never reached him."

The silence followed and the woman wore a disheartening smile on her face. It's not the answer she expected, she didn't ask for another sad story from another messed up person she's met in her life. But the intentions were pure and for her, it was good enough. 

"We both fought for something only to lose it all, huh?" she laughed, but it was prominent in her tone that it was bittersweet. 

"At least you're brought here in one piece." 

"At least you can still revive your parent."

Were they comforting each other? Were they jealous of each other? Were they wallowing in self-pity? They couldn't tell. The only thing they certainly could was the embarrassment they felt from the moment they realized that some of the prisoners were eavesdropping and making fun of their vulnerabilities. See? That's what they hated the most about opening up about themselves; they were worried about their feelings being perceived as a joke. The only way to protect themselves was to rise up the walls and never let anyone get closer, except they didn't regret exchanging a word or two, as long as it was the two of them. 

The next day, 8:34PM Mainland-side entrance, the guardians of 'The Bronze Gate' announced a code red security lockdown. Panic and shouting could be heard from across the hall and the security alarm announced the potential danger. 

"Close any and all passageways on each floor. All workers are to enforce strict measures to maintain order."

"The surveillance system is down! It seems like we've been hit by some sort of EMP attack!"

Static waves were spreading around the metal frames and the prison doors of the isolation block unlocked. Overhaul could hear the commotion outside and the villains leaving their cells in a hurry, but as much as he tried, he couldn't push the heavy doors open.

"3 seconds until we're back online- wait... What the... With the system down we can't monitor the inside!"

"Nice, 3 seconds be damned." he beat the door with his legs, pushed the surface with his shoulders, leaned all of his weight on the godforsaken thing just so it could finally open. Nothing. It seems like he lost a couple of pounds during his stay here. He couldn't believe his eyes, this couldn't be happening to him. After all this time of patient waiting and hoping to meet pops once again, it turns out he'd be the only one still trapped and all because he didn't have any hands. He panicked, he really couldn't decide on what to do next. But then he remembered-

"Go beat your head against the bars, loser."

That's it! This might be his only chance to escape! He didn't have much time left though, he could hear the shooting nearby so he definitely needed to hurry.

"The system won't come back on!! The ones in solitary confinement are breaking out!! Inside!"

"Control unit's on site!! Execute lockdown in the isolation block!"

"Follow procedure! If even one of them steps a foot outside their cell-"

"Fire!! Open fire!!"

Muscular threw whatever he could find in this messed up place back at them, excitement prominent in his big smile "You ain't gonna kill me with those puny toys! So how about you show me the exit already?!" 

Other villains were joining him, still overwhelmed by the sudden freedom they've been given "Dammit... After all that time..."

"Meat..." Moonfish mumbled as he cut his opponents with his blade-like teeth. 

The villain lady joined them in the run, still carefully examining her surroundings in case they were tricked into something, "The system isn't responding to my Quirk. 'Guess Tartarus really is falling." 

As she was running down the corridor, she could hear beating noises coming from one of the doors. It sounded dull so the person must have been using their head. 

"Eh, don't tell me the idiot actually listened to my advice. He must be desperate." 

She came to the doors and turned the circular lock in a hurry. She really didn't want to stay in this place any longer, but she couldn't leave him behind either. It's not like she could use him for anything since he was basically handless and Quirkless so why was she doing it? She didn't have an answer. Maybe it was their talk from the other day, maybe because they were both gang members with a history, maybe because of her regrets and her wish to do something right for once. Or maybe because she was just this kind. Nah, this couldn't be it, she never did anything in her life that didn't require a certain purpose. She cast her heart aside a long time ago and did what was necessary for the accomplishment of the mission. It would be weird if she suddenly started using her heart again, now wouldn't it? She was AFO's personal assassin, there was simply no way. 

He came out of the room with eyes wide in puzzlement. He was finally free and ready to find pops so he could possibly revive him and try to fix things as much as he could.

They looked at each other for the first time. They never said it aloud, godforbid, but they liked the other's eyes. And perhaps the eyes were a window to a person's soul, their broken souls, tormented by the life's temptations. They were still so young, probably in their twenties, and yet they looked older at the same time. Maybe because of the seriousness in their faces, their stronger stance, the way they defied their fate. They were destined to fall apart, no one would argue with it, but circumstances drove them to take action and rise from the bottomless chasm. And now they had each other. 

"We need to get out of here," she stated and pulled him by the sleeve that hung loosely from his shoulder. They escaped Tartarus and raided a small shop near the coast to change clothes and to mingle into the public unnoticed. She quickly picked out a dress and threw herself at work while Overhaul was still standing by the shop display, looking out for the potential intruders.

He couldn't erase the thought of this being some sort of a really weird first date; the girl coming out of the stall and the guy examining her looks. He shook his head, he never had this kind of thoughts in his entire life. He needed to pull himself together. 

The bob-hair came out and adjusted the ammo on her utility belt. He looked at her from the corner and she was stunning; intimidating with a tad bit of femininity in design. He stood there and watched how good it fit her curvy form. The thoughts wandering in his head sounded so wrong, terribly wrong. He needed to bring himself to stop. 

"Oh right, I almost forgot." she took a shirt off the shelf and came to him, showing him the garment in her hands "You need a little help, right?" 

"Sure.'' his voice was small and he stood still while she undid his buttons. Maybe from the outside he looked completely calm, but from the inside he was a complete mess. He looked at her face and wondered if she knew, the kind of effect she's having on him. She raised her head and he looked to the side, there's no way he could look her in the eyes at this point. He hoped she didn't notice. 

"You like this one, don't you?" she asked, filling the awkward silence. 

"Looks don't matter, the most important thing is to change and avoid getting caught." She looked annoyed. Great. He wanted to shove his head though the wall. Wait… Why was he thinking that? 

"I choose the clothes I like. It makes me feel better in my skin."

"You look good in it."

She looked at him surprised and he quickly corrected himself "the dress looks good."

"Sure." she trailed off and put the new shirt over his shoulders. She could feel his muscles tensing. This was probably because of the cool air, she assured herself. 

"Why did you break me out of Tartarus? It's not like I could be of any use to you." 

She buttoned up his shirt and fixed the wrinkled parts on the garment, hand accidentally brushing over the left side of his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

Well... that was a surprise.

"I thought that maybe you could be of some use to the demon lord. Not Quirk-wise, but you may offer a valuable set of information. Something that the demon lord would appreciate greatly." she could feel it slowing down and her heart dropped just as much.

"But also because I... liked you."

He looked at her incredulously and she smiled. She pinched him to bring him out of the trance and he complained. "Don't be awkward, say something."

"I like you too... I, this is my first time I ever said this to anyone. It's weird."

She slapped him gently on the shoulder and he reached to take it but, yea, no hands.

"What the hell?"

"You're the one who's weird. But I guess that I like you this way." she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek "Ew, you should definitely shave though. No doubt about it."

The former yakuza boss swore; he'll never understand women. But for some reason he couldn't deny that he was particularly drawn to this one. He wondered if pops would approve of her.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of August. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Move Out | Explicit | 1525 words

Harry and Louis are moving in together, so they might as well make the most of Harry's apartment.

2) Take Off Your Business Suit | Explicit | 3082 words

“Yes, let me get another chair.” Louis said, leaning up off of the desk. He stood up but before he could leave the office to get another chair, Harry was grabbing his hand.

The words that came out of Harry’s mouth made Louis’ knees weak and heart beat quicken. “Just sit on my lap.” Harry said. Whatever he said afterwards didn’t make it into Louis’ ears as he was moving quickly over to Harry and placing himself on Harry’s lap.Louis would take anything Harry wanted to give him; hand touching, lap sitting, all of it.

Louis hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a quiet sigh. “Okay so th-this one will be slightly different right?” He asked as he pointed at the sheet of paper in front of him.

3) So Good, It's Making Me Drool | Explicit | 3364 words

He kept his back turned to Harry, whispering the few words he knew that would make Harry go absolutely wild. “If I’m only yours, maybe you should take me to bed and teach me who I belong to.”

4) What I Like | Explicit | 4245 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Harry gets tired of the "older women" jokes and the incessant teasing from Louis.

5) ll Belong To Your Creation | General Audiences | 4349words

Louis had always thought it was impossible to do so. Thankfully, upon doing research he learned that he still can as long as there are no complications throughout the whole pregnancy. He also stumble upon a birth vlog where a mum was able to give birth naturally even after going through c-section with her first and second pregnancy.

6) An Axolotl and the Fake Date | Explicit | 5976 words

Harry runs a stall at a farmers market every weekend and Louis comes by one day with an odd request.

7) Feels So Right | Explicit | 8804 words

The one where Louis is Troy, Harry is Gabriella, and we find out what really happened after karaoke at that ski resort...

8) Giallo! | Mature | 9776 words

Louis was a mess. A stuttery mess of weak knees and grass stains on his fresh linen clothes, his cheeks blooming a natural pink that matched his sunburnt nose. Upon his return from University, his family abandon the bustling city of London to bask in the comfort of their summer villa. With such a property came maintenance, Louis' father hired a strapping young fellow with tanned skin littered with ink and a charming smile aided by dimples in both his cheeks. Between reading, baking and painting, Louis stares at Harry, he couldn't help it. They grow close under the sun of Greece in 1989.

9) Interlude: One Night in March | Explicit | 10671 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Harry let his hands roam over Louis’s bare back, his muscles rippling with that same frenetic energy he always had, swirling just beneath the skin, just beneath Harry’s fingers. “May come a time I’ll have to carry you again.”

Cupping the back of his head and burying his fingers in Louis’s hair, he pulled Louis back into another deep kiss, moaned a bit when Louis squeezed his chest again, harder this time, like he wanted the shirt off. But instead he drew his hand down Harry’s side and tugged at the hem, as though to say best keep this on, before he licked into Harry’s mouth, drew Harry’s tongue out to play only to pull back enough to speak.

“May come a time I’ll actually fucking let you.”

10) Hate To Smoke (Without Me) | Mature | 12164 words

Sleep. Harry just wants one good night of sleep. However, his neighbour has a thing for headboard-banging-against-the-wall-sex every night. After a secret set-up and a bet, Harry may finally get the sleep he so much desires.

11) Call You Mine | Explicit | 12755 words

“I have a request.”

That’s what Louis Tomlinson says to Harry when he opens the front door a bit too aggressively. The latter feels justified after a round of annoyingly incessant knocking that was much too loud in the drowsy sludge of early Saturday morning.

“Zayn’s asleep,” is Harry’s tired, hoarse reply, irritation prickling at his skin. Less than a minute ago he was in bed, feeling perfectly content sprawled out on the mattress with the chilled air from the fan cool against his bare skin. And now he’s leaning up against the wooden door frame in nothing but his briefs because Zayn’s best mate decided that showing up unannounced at seven in the fucking morning was a brilliant idea.

“I’m not here for him,” says Louis curtly.

12) A Vivid And Wistful Melody | Explicit | 13128 words

"Slowly, he takes his violin out of its case, listens for a few more minutes to Louis’ flute, before joining him as best as he could. The flute stops for a few seconds, and Harry imagines Louis blinking cutely, taken aback, before huffing with a smile, and starting to play again, on a suddenly far happier tune. Harry closes his eyes as he twirls around the living room, violin in hand and music filling the air. He pictures Louis doing the same in his own flat while being careful as to not step on his cat.

Somehow, even with heavy eyes and tired limbs, this is the happiest Harry has ever felt in years."

In which they are neighbours stuck at home and they happen to start talking through a wall with a piano, a violin, and a flute. They end up writing the soundtrack of their own love story.

13) Until This Blood Runs Cold | Explicit | 13685 words

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.

14) A Road To Hope | Explicit | 18280 words

Note: There is no explicit smut but its implied BL.

“We’re far from the people and their issues, don’t hold back. Please.”

It’s true. They are far away from anything that could stop them, the middle of nowhere being the safest place on Earth for them to fall in love. The sacred land where sacred love is created. However, Louis is certain that even if they weren’t safe, he wouldn’t resist the sight of Harry, his pleading eyes, his warm skin beneath his touch.

15) Your Eyes Of Blue, Your Kisses Too | Explicit | 21785 words

When they get out onto the streets away from the crowds Niall turns to walk backwards, “So did you get any leads?”

“Well- uh.”

Niall shakes his head, “Too busy kissing that pretty boy onstage, I see. Gonna blow the whole case for a piece of ass?”

16) Thinking About Peaches | Explicit | 23724 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #18 on this list.

Eight smutty drabbles following the events of bruise you like a peach.

17) Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds | Mature | 38065 words

Broadway shows were one of the few things that could keep Louis’ attention for a full two hours without needing to move about. But not tonight.

The alpha next to him was both infuriating him and practically turning him on at the same time. He needed to leave. The alpha, that is. Louis was staying.

18) Bruise You Like A Peach | Explicit | 40694 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #16 on this list. 

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

19) Falling Out Of Fashion | Explicit | 42123 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry Styles has been the established face of the Grimshaw House of Design for two years. It’s a prestigious and coveted modeling contract Harry took away from once-famed supermodel Zayn Malik. With the model transition Grimshaw’s designs went from a more urban, Zayn-forward aesthetic, to a Harry-favoring flowery, flowing femininity in the Grimshaw designs for men.

So when Harry sees a dress Grimshaw made for a famous Marvel actress, “only a tease”, Nick says, of the evolving look, Harry knows Grimshaw is shifting his aesthetic.

Harry wonders if he can pull off the look.

Or could Grimshaw be looking for a new face?

20) Secretly Dating | Mature | 43615 words

Lottie groaned, looming over Louis with a glare. “If we’re late, Mum and Dad will never let Harry see me – ie. see you.”

It was the first time they openly addressed the fact that Harry saw more of Louis than Lottie on their supposed ‘dates.’ He supposed he knew as much, but it still startled him. “You’ve been setting us up!”

Lottie snorted, cocking out her hip and brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Honestly, Harry. You’re so dense. To be fair, it was at Louis’ request.”

Louis’ mouth gaped like a fish as he jumped to standing position, wobbling only slightly. “Don’t sell me out!”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Come on lovebirds.”

21) You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) | Mature | 95417 words

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

22) The Healing Song | Mature | 111851 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[gothhisoka]

𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 18- 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Ships: Chrollo x Reader, Leorio x Kurapika, Hisoka x Illumi

Genre: romance, dark academia, royalcore, university AU

Word count: 3k

Background: This is from my (gothhisoka) fanfic on Wattpad and AO3 called Hunter University. It is Chrollo x OC, but I decided to change it around for Tumblr. Both Chrollo and y/n are hiding things from each other but are both feeling the same attraction. A masquerade ball is held at your university. You don’t know if he even wants to dance with you, but apparently he does. He wants to do even more than that.

Tags: Fluff, first kiss, sfw

The masquerade hall was astounding. The high stone walls were adorned with scarlet silk banners. Golden fabric streamers hung from every banister of the second-level balconies. As in the entrance, symbols of cherubs and mythical creatures were splashed across the ceiling in a dizzying array. The light was dim, for all the chandeliers were set low in the traditional style of Venetian masquerades. Candelabras were scattered on every table and upon every wall.

Symphonic music was emanating from the open stage in the front of the room. A live orchestra was playing a gentle concerto as the students poured in. It was only 7:10, so not many were on the floor. The true dancing would start in another couple of minutes.

It was a scene out of a fairytale. The hundreds of breathtakingly dressed students only added to the general fervor of it all.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Chrollo said as he looked towards you. It was unclear whether he was talking about the room or how you looked tonight. Your bright eyes shone out underneath a bronze mask, which was catching the candlelight within its shiny material.

Still entranced, you were led by Chrollo to the table they had reserved. The troupe followed behind, engrossed in their conversation while you both remained in your own little world. He put his hand on the small of your back, simply aching to touch you once again. The feeling was mutual.

On the table, there were glasses already set up accompanied by a lavish bouquet of flowers. Uvogin pulled out a couple of bottles of champagne he clearly swiped from the restaurant. Everyone dropped off their bags at the table.

It appeared as if not all of the troupe members would be dancing. Franklin was already seated with his arms crossed. You looked at him questioningly, after which he said, "I have to guard the stuff." It was clear by his tone that he actually meant "I don't like to dance."

You smiled placidly and nodded in understanding. He was an unusual sort of guy. She was beginning to like him already. In fact, the whole Phantom Troupe was becoming gradually more likable as the night progressed.

You looked for Kurapika to bid him one last warning before he got whisked away by Leorio. By the time she spotted him, it was already too late.

You watched as Kurapika scratched at the back of his head, suddenly unaware of what to do with his arms. He was apparently awestruck by his dance partner's appearance.

The two made their shy greetings. Kurapika reached for his hand as any chivalrous partner would do. 

Soon a waltz commenced, floating around the room. A subtle violin and cello duet beckoned people out onto the floor.

You watched as Kurapika led Leorio out, their suit jackets glimmering synchronously as the lights passed. They took position still near their group's table, but far enough to have room to dance.

The wide floor soon filled with numerous other couples. Hisoka led Illumi out alongside Uvogin and Nobunaga. Hisoka and Illumi were practically professional dancers from the very start, moving to an elaborate step that drew the attention of all the students. People nearly cleared the floor to make room for them. This annoyed Illumi to no end, while Hisoka displayed a wild grin. They twirled, dipped, and did intricate step sequences, unquestionably rehearsed to perfection.

The rest were not as remarkably polished. Still, they appeared to be equally enjoying themselves.

Leorio and Kurapika laughed as one of them accidentally stepped upon the other toes or missed a movement. While they lacked coordination, they surely didn't lack chemistry. This was a good sign.

You could see their mouths moving but the music drowned out their voices. Kurapika attempted to guide Leorio in the basic box step, turning him once in a while. 

Most ignored the cameramen or simply didn't notice them lurking in hidden spots. You had some otherworldly feeling that sensed them under the shadows in the balconies. 

"Are you done watching?" Chrollo asked, holding his hand out to you just as Kurapika had done with Leorio.

You hadn't realized you were still staring out towards the masked partners on the floor. The ball was entirely overwhelming; the sound, the rapid movements, and the room itself were causing your head to spin.

Nonetheless, you snapped out of it and processed what Chrollo had just said. You just got offered a dance. A dance with him. 

You knew his indicative gestures were leading somewhere. That somewhere was here, into his arms. 

In front of hundreds of students, not to mention journalists itching to get a photo of the boy who was so famous. Not to mention his dance partner, who was no more than a low-level hunter wannabe.

Now's not the time to get nervous. This is what you wanted. Isn't it?

You stared down at his hand as if to ask "for me?"

You peered up to see the most gentle face slowly becoming riddled with doubt.

"This is what you want, isn't it?"

Is it? 

Now that you are actually here, in the position that used to be visible only in your imagination, you feel immense pressure.

In these weeks past, you didn't even question what you were getting herself into. To be fair, you weren’t sure what this night would be, exactly. Would you be met with a closed-off boy whose coldness warded you away or the courteous man who would rather teach you nen lessons than see you fail?

Is it even safe to get this close?

Chrollo's personality had shifted in the span of the night. It became full of genuine interest rather than his usual impassive curiosity. He, as a person, was becoming all the more real.

Real was dangerous.

This stream of consciousness only took a second. It took one look into Chrollo's eyes to know what your answer would be.

"This is what I want."

It was the first step. No, rather it was your first leap off a skyscraper.

You were falling. Hard.

His grip was delicate, holding your hand as if it was made of glass. Chrollo felt strange, being so unsure. He was normally an expert at figuring out people– what they felt and why they acted the way they did. 

You, on the other hand, were a labyrinth. He had always been so hesitant for this reason. Chrollo needed to be able to figure out a person in order to get close to them. With you, there was something buried deeper than you let on. It was virtually impossible to uncover. You put up almost as good of a front as Chrollo.

Or perhaps it was Chrollo's own mind that was muddied at the thought of you. His intentions versus yours, his morals versus yours. It all began to matter very much. What would he think in the end, after he got out of your what he so desired?

Nevermind that now. For Chrollo was feeling a mutual enthusiasm that you were plainly exhibiting. He led you out to the floor.

The Phantom Troupe watched with apprehension. They weren't used to their boss being so amiable. He couldn't be swayed by a simple person, and yet here he was.

"Can you dance?" Chrollo turned to you, putting an arm upon your shoulder. You already almost melted under the single touch.

You had reached the middle of the floor, far from the troupe. Was he that confident in his own dancing? The center could be viewed from all sides and balconies. You were sure to stand out.

"Not well," you said candidly.

Chrollo began a light step, swaying from side to side. This newfound tenderness was surprising. He was treating you as if you were a queen. And you couldn't get enough of it.

Wanting to grasp for more of this certain side of him, you said, "I can do more than this."

"As you wish," Chrollo said with a gracious smile.

He immediately followed a more complicated step, falling in line with the other couples on the floor. You pretended to ignore their whispers.

Just as you thought. He is an incredible dancer.

Every time you struggled to keep up he would adjust his pace. You worked like hands on a clock, moving as if set to one another's rhythm. The music now was a quicker allegro beat.

Your attire fanned out as you turned: your right hand in his, your arm on his shoulder. 

Now it was the students' turn to stare at Chrollo and you. It was unclear if it was because they recognized the boy under the mask, or they were observing the electrifying chemistry.

You couldn't help but beam as you sailed across the floor. Chrollo did not break eye contact and you did your best to do the same. 

A feeling overcame you as you continued to hold his hand in yours. It couldn't be described as fireworks or sparks, as often depicted by the romance novels she's read. It was more of an awakening.

Despite the weather turning cold, you felt as if it was spring. A revival. Things were blossoming, the rain washed away the grey of winter.

He was your spring.

It was odd. For Chrollo could be explained more effectively as ominous and intimidating, unlike a bright spring day. He should've been cold stone walls, closed doors, secret passageways.

But no, he was warmth itself.

If only you would turn away for a second you would notice a coldness settle that hadn't been there before. 

The way he looked tonight in his dazzling suit and mask, the way he said all those uncharacteristically gracious words: these were the things you would have etched in your memory for a very, very long time. Now, without Chrollo it would feel as if something were missing.

You would not realize this yet, as you were still in a state of pure elation. It was only the beginning.

But this was the connection you felt. Having it defined opened up a world of possibilities. 

Who would've known, it all came into fruition at a masquerade ball.

                                          ━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━

After a couple more songs, you left the floor. Sweat prickled at your brow. You were left panting after a rapid final dance.

Several students couldn't help but clap. You hadn't even done a thing. You were sure it was Chrollo's dancing that gained all the attention.

"You're better than I expected," you said.

Chrollo brushed back his hair which had fallen in his face with all the movement.  "I would say the same to you, y/n." He smiled, sizing your up.

You didn't dispute his return of the compliment. He was right. 

At the group table, Kurapika and Leorio were sitting drinking glass after glass of the bootlegged champagne. It would've been inappropriate to bring alcohol to such a prestigious event if many other tables weren't doing the same. Apparently, the students here did know how to have a good time.

Chrollo went to talk to Franklin as you sat next to Leorio and Kurapika.

"You both were amazing!" Leorio exclaimed as you approached. 

You grinned, "Where have you two been?"

"We were on the floor too, didn't you see us?"

You tried to laugh it off, "No... I was a little distracted." 

To be fair, you didn't notice the cameras, the students, or the other dancers either. 

"Sooo are you two going back out?" Leorio asked, leaning on his hand. His words slurred slightly.

You looked over your shoulder at Chrollo. He looked serious as he talked to Franklin. "I'm not sure. Are you two?"

"Yes, we plan on trying the group dance. Just like we practiced," Kurapika said, giving you a knowing look.

The synchronized dance was the signature of the ball. All those who learned it were allowed to participate. It was the last dance, so they would still be sitting for a while. The time was now around 9:00 and the hall would be closed by 12:00 a.m.

Before they could converse any further, Chrollo gently put a hand on your shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt, but I have something to show you, y/n."

He held his hand out again. This time you took it with no hesitation. 

"Ok," you leaped up, flattening out your dress.

You were all too willing to go wherever Chrollo pleased. There wasn't even a point where she needed to remind herself who this man was. His charm had influenced you too far already. There was no going back.

Kurapika gave you a warning look. You threw him back a smile. This did nothing to reassure him.

Chrollo interlaced his fingers slowly with yours, hesitating as you crossed under the balconies. You could've dissolved right then and there. It only further confirmed his gentlemanly attitude and respect towards you.

You couldn't even look at him. You felt your face growing hotter by the second. Thank god for a mask and several layers of foundation.

To your surprise, you were led far from the dance floor. You ended up at a small door in a quiet corner of the ballroom. The spot was underneath the alcoves and not a soul was in sight. Moonlight poured in from the tiny stained-glass windows.

"It's through here," Chrollo said, his voice barely audible over the orchestral music.

"Do I get to know where you're taking me?" You stopped in your tracks. You were thinking of what Kurapika would say. Even though you would follow him at the drop of a coin, you weren’t that stupid. He is a man, before all else. 

Something flashed in Chrollo's eyes. Was he hurt by your sudden distrust? 

"I'll show you. I promise you'll like it," Chrollo replied, creaking open the door.

There was nothing at first, only darkness. But stepping through the door bestowed an even more enchanting sight than the ballroom.

You gasped, "I didn't realize there was a courtyard out here."

Chrollo looked at you as if he were seeing you the first time tonight again. The profile of your face was highlighted by the moonlight. your jawline was your only feature that stood out, the rest of your was soft under the haze of darkness. The surrounding blue contrasted against your fading red lipstick. your hair had grown significantly more disheveled but it still looked utterly smooth. If Chrollo was bolder he would've run his hand through it and took you by your waist and done things he surely would regret for initiating too soon... he wanted to savor the moment when it inevitably came.

He smiled, despite himself. Neither of you noticed the cold, still warmed from dancing only moments ago. Chrollo watched as your eyes soaked in the scene before you.

It seemed as if the bushes and trees saved their last breaths for this space alone. Fall leaves hung over a gravel path. Ivy snaked up the surrounding structures, all encapsulating the tiny yard. A small table sat in the center of the path upon which a lantern was placed. He had come prepared.

The whole night: he had anticipated it all. He had realized your love, and, at this moment, you realized his. What he had yet to figure out was the depth of those feelings or where they came from. Or, most importantly, what was tucked underneath those feelings. That was what tonight was for.

The orchestra still echoed faintly through the ancient walls.

"Shall we dance? I never did like dancing in front of a crowd,"

You redirected your eyes to an equally beautiful scene. You were still in reverence. It was obvious now that he had planned it all.

Your heart swelled like an ocean wave, but all you could manage to get out was, "Are we supposed to be here?"

Chrollo looked at you dangerously, "To remind you, I'm not supposed to be anywhere." 

Before you could say another word, Chrollo stepped forward and lifted both his and your own mask off of your faces. 

"There."

Chrollo's undivided visage was in view now. The curve of his nose and tops of his cheekbones caught the light of the moon. His downcast eyelashes were full, framing his silver eyes.

As for Chrollos view, he simply needed to see your whole face to be sure that what you felt was really true. When he saw the arching of your lips and widened eyes, he knew it was.

He grasped your hand in preparation to waltz, deliberately intertwining his hand with yours. 

Timed perfectly, the music slowed. It was a couples' number. Inevitably, this had also somehow been planned by Chrollo.

This dancing was quite different than before. It was full of significance.

The song picked up with a violin. Chrollo pulled you close, your bodies almost touching. Your heat radiated off of one another. You felt almost giddy with attraction. What you wanted to do to him was far past your confidence, but you wanted it all the same.

His eyes didn't leave yours. A slight smile persisted on his lips. He hadn't enjoyed himself so much in years. And the last time he felt something like this, it wasn't nearly as genuine.

You swayed from side to side with only the moonlight and distant concerto guiding your steps. You made a move to rest your head on his shoulder. It was so that you could not look into his eyes as you spoke your next words. You snaked your arms behind his neck while he placed his around your hips. It felt good to be so close. You felt secure in his arms.

You really hoped this was going where she thought it was. But you needed to be certain.

"I want to know if this is true," you whispered, breaking the tranquil silence. Your breath was hot against his neck. It drove him absolutely mad. 

Unknowingly, you had echoed back the words Chrollo had been retracing in his head throughout the night. Is this true?

He feigned ignorance of the meaning behind your statement. "What's true?" Chrollo whispered back.

"Is all this premeditation for something else? Another scheme?"

Chrollo suddenly turned serious, "I will never do that to you again. This is for real."

You pulled back to look into his eyes, "But what is this?" 

Your face was lined with apprehension. After all that happened tonight, it still wasn't clear. Chrollo needed to change that.

He looked down at you, attempting to convey what you meant to him in his eyes. They overflowed with tenderness, admiration, and worship, even. 

You hadn't realized that he had these emotions in him. Now you understood. It was all because they were reserved for you.

His movement was swift. He lowered his face to yours, soaking in your divine scent. You didn't anticipate what was about to happen until his lips delicately brushed against your own, asking for an invitation. He clearly didn't need one, for your body responded immediately. Your hand trailed up to the side of his face. Chollo pulled your hips towards him. Your eyes fluttered shut.

And you kissed. 

It was intoxicating.

The taste of him nearly silenced your thoughts. It was a tang of wine and sweetness. You tried to let the feeling seep into your bones, agonizing over its ephemeral nature. 

Your surroundings dissolved into the inky night. You focused on how soft his mouth felt, how his hands upon your hips made you want to yield to all he could offer, and, in turn, all you could ever desire.

Seconds later, you unwillingly pulled apart. Your whole body tingled, edging for more. Both of your heartbeats were fluttering a rapid cadence. Remaining there for a moment– foreheads touching, breath tickling one another lips– you savored each other's presence. 

Your kiss was unlike anything either of you had experienced before. It was born out of lust but resulted in something deeper. Floating to the surface was an unbound attraction sparked by one mouth on another.

You both were left smiling with flushed cheeks. Goosebumps prickled on your arms.

"I hope that made it clear," Chrollo said pulling away at last.

The warmth disappeared and you were left in a state of longing. You could still feel the touch of his lips upon yours, a ghost of his sensitive movements.

You smiled lightly at him, "It did."

Chrollo held out an arm for you. "We best be getting back now."

You were frozen in place, coming to your senses. Holy shit.

The enormity of what that kiss meant came crashing down upon you. What would this mean moving forward? Everything had seemed so temporary with Chrollo, coming in and out of your life as he did in the past month. Was this temporary as well?

There was no time to dwell upon the future of their relationship. Although the promise of privacy in the courtyard tempted you to stay, there was still one more number to dance. 

                                      ━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Now Complete

Over the last three months, I have dedicated a huge chunk of my limited free time to writing this piece. What started out as a possible kinktober one-shot was side-tabled as I realized it had potential to be an actual story. Now, twenty chapters and 103,723 words later I am thrilled to say that this installment is complete.

I’ve already begun a second installment of this series which will pick up at the start of John’s retirement. I’m hoping to have the first chapter out within the week.

Thank you so much to everybody who liked, commented, and supported me during this story and a huge thank you to @meetmeinthematinee​ for helping me edit and review this beast.

AO3 Talk Link

Chapter 20 Link

 A new start.

 That was what she had deemed it. For both of them.

 John went around the city. Closing accounts. Transferring mountains of coins into actual money. Saying silent goodbyes to the places that had defined him for a lifetime. And stashing markers, money, and weapons. Just in case.

 He hopes he will never have to use them.

 And, while he does that, Helen packs up her house.

 The decision to move in together came approximately two days after returning from Vermont. They’d wasted enough time, they both decided.      “And,    ” Helen had teased,      “God forbid we decide to spend a night apart, I already know you’ll sneak in to watch me sleep.    ”

 Minx.

     “I’m more than happy to sell my place.”    He had told her.

     “You’ve given up your entire life for me.    ” She had argued, gently running her hand through his hair.      “I’ll give up the house. Besides, if you think I’m giving up your hot tub, you’re fucking dreaming.”  

 And that had been that.

 They’d driven to her house, stopping to pick up boxes and tape and bubble wrap, and started packing up.

         She made some calls around the city, looking for charities to donate some of her furniture to. John’s bed, she had discovered, was far more comfortable than hers. And they didn’t need multiple dining room tables or sets of cookware or dishes.

 John borrowed a truck from Aurelio and, with his and Marcus’ help, started dropping things off across the city.

 In the remaining days of her “recovery”/vacation, they manage to empty most of her little house. And while      their     house (he will never get used to the sheer joy that fills him at that descriptor) is now a mess of boxes and suitcases, it has never felt more like home.

 He laughs at the three boxes of shoes Helen has to unpack, only to have to dodge a high heel used as a projectile.

 He revels in the way she unpacks her sweaters and dresses to hang across from his clothes.

 He also takes a great deal of pleasure when he finds the small box, once hidden away in the back of her closet, containing a number of delightful little toys. He gets another shoe thrown at him as he practically begs for details.

 Helen laughs and offers a private demonstration… once her books are shelved in the library. John scrambles to fulfill her every wish.

 One of the benefits of Helen having her own practice was that she could really do whatever the hell she wanted. She had reached out to all her clients first thing on Monday to apologize for her absence, reporting that she had been the victim in a hit-and-run, leaving her in a coma for the better part of the week. While she was doing much better, she told them, she still needed another week for recovery.

 Of course, the Underworld had bought out half the cops in the city. A quick call from John Wick and shit was being filed      exactly     how he demanded it to be. Doctor’s notes were forged, along with hospital ‘records.’ That part was easy.

 What had been much more complicated, John discovered, was dealing with the missing person’s out on Helen and it throws his world off kilter, yet again.

 Her family had been terrified. While Helen wasn’t exactly in constant contact with them, the police had reached out after a concerned associate of Helen’s reported her missing. Unable to contact her, her parents and sister had been in a frenzy.

 Using the phone that John had paid for, insisting that he buy her a new one since it was his enemy who had destroyed hers, she reluctantly calls her mother.

     “Mom, I am begging you, stay home. I’m fine.”  

     “We’ve been so worried!” John hears her mother sobbing on the other side of the line, “A hit-and-run, oh, sweetheart!”  

 And if      that’s    her mother’s reaction from a hit-and-run, John doesn’t want to know what her mother would do if she ever found out the truth.

 Kidnapped, held hostage, marked for death…

 The poor woman might have a heart attack.

     “You’re still recovering! You need someone to take care of you!”  

     “I have someone taking care of me.”    Helen had said, and at that moment, John had indeed been massaging her shoulders. His lips had twitched in response.

 He was the one taking care of her.

 He would be the one taking care of her forever.

 It made him giddy to think about.

     “Who?”  

They hadn’t discussed labels. It all seemed sort of unnecessary after all they had been through. But when Helen makes the executive decision and says, “my boyfriend” John wonders if he’s the one having a heart attack with the way his own is beating so hard it feels like it might burst at any moment.

 Boyfriend.

 He’d never been a boyfriend before. He’d never had any interest in being a boyfriend before. A term he’d never imagined being applied to him but now that it was…

 He was a boyfriend.

 He was      Helen’s    boyfriend.

 He’s filled with pride and affection and so much love he doesn’t know what to do. She leans into him, reaching up to where his hands have stopped massaging as he attempts to process her words. And because she’s Helen and she knows him better than he knows himself, she squeezes his hand.

 Grounding him.

 But, of course, her confession to her mother opens another avenue of questions.      What boyfriend? How long have you been seeing each other? Why haven’t you mentioned him before?  

 To which Helen answers respectively       his name is John. We met seven months ago. And because who I date and when I decide to share that information is my choice    .

 It’s another half an hour of questioning before Helen manages to talk her way off of the phone after wrangling a promise that her mother would      not     fly to New York. In return, Helen was to send her daily text updates on her health.

 Her sister was another matter. Living only an hour away in Trenton, her sister insisted on driving up. It ended up working well, however. While he had testified without a single problem, John hadn’t had the time to meet with Tarasov.

 So Wednesday, Helen agreed to meet her sister for lunch while John had gone to meet with a mob boss.

 John arrives at Tarasov’s compound and, once again, finds himself subject to stares.

 They had always been there. The Baba Yaga was the focal of fascination for a great many, but most had always tried to hide the attention they paid to the man, the monster. But since Helen’s existence had been made known, he’s found himself front and center everywhere he goes.

 And it had only become worse after being questioned by the High Table on the DeLuca’s and their involvement. While John had repeatedly stated he would not answer questions regarding his relationship with Helen, it didn’t stop the questions from coming.

 During the trial and afterwards, members of the High Table had tried to push. John had given them nothing.

 John is silent as he walks up to Viggo’s office.

 The last tie to sever.

 While Abram was scared enough of John Wick to let him go without a fight, John was certain that Viggo’s ambition would rise to the occasion.

 After all, hadn’t John Wick done the impossible? He had brought down Syndicate and saved the girl with every odd stacked against him.

 And now Viggo wanted a piece of that.

 The impossible.

 And John will do it. Of course, he will do anything if it means being released.

 Retirement is so close he can taste it as he steps into the familiar office, closing the door behind him.

 Viggo Tarasov sits at his desk, setting his paper aside as John takes a seat in front of him.

 “John.” Viggo greets, “I was surprised to hear from you.”

 John inclines his head. Viggo was full of shit.

 Lorenzo had shared with his children that he had released John Wick of his contract following the trial. The rest of the Underworld knew by sundown. John was certain that Viggo was well aware of John’s intentions in this meeting.

 “I’m retiring.” John says, truly not in the mood for games.

 Viggo nods in response to the news, clearly expecting John’s announcement. “Very few people retire from our world.”

 “Because most are dead long before they reach my age.”

 “I’m older than you.”

 “You have a desk job.” John points out, aware that his status is the only reason he can get away with saying such things to Viggo Tarasov.

 Viggo waves a hand vaguely, “You’ve never had interest in a desk job.”

 “Nor do I now. However, I still intend to live a while longer. In peace.”

 “Peace.” Viggo says, testing the word on his tongue, “That must be a foreign concept to a man like you.”

 A year ago, John would have agreed with him.

 Hell, eight months ago, John would have agreed with him.

 And while his experiences were still limited, he already had a glimpse of peace. In the weekly visits he had paid to Helen’s office. In the quiet of the night as he meditated to each and every intake and exhale of breath.

 Now, John knew peace in the moments before his alarm went off and he held Helen close to him. He knew peace in the way she wrapped herself around him as he made her coffee. He knew peace in the way her head rested on his shoulder or in the soft flips of pages as Helen read by his side. He knew peace in the moments where she held him.

 “I’m aware you hold my contract,” John says, ignoring Viggo’s comment. “I am more than willing to buy it out.”

 A longshot, John knew.

 Viggo tilts his head to the side, like he’s considering it. Yet John knows, from that single action, that Viggo already has something in mind. Something he wants done that only John Wick can manage. John just fucking wishes he’d get to the point instead of treating this like a game.

 “At this time, your contract is not for sale.” Viggo says, “However, there is a task I have in mind. A bit… difficult, to say the least. But, should you complete this for me, I would be more than willing to release you from your contract.”

 There it is.

 “What do you have in mind?”

 “It’s a bit of an impossible task…”

 …

 When John arrives home and he’s relieved to find Helen’s car parked out front. He makes a mental note to install a garage opener in her car as soon as possible.

 John quickly goes inside, not wasting any time. The desire to set eyes on her is overwhelming and he wonders how he managed to      only     see her at night for months on end.

 He’s not certain he can ever again go longer than hours without seeing her, touching her.

 Helen has become an addiction.

 When he doesn’t find her in the living room or the kitchen, he goes upstairs. Sure enough, she is in the library, kneeling in front of a bookcase as her fingers trace over the spines.

 “How was lunch?” He asks and Helen’s lips twitch.

 With anyone else, he might have scared them. Even in his own home, he tends to walk lightly so as not to be noticed. But she’s always had that sixth sense about him. It brings him an absurd amount of happiness to know that she understands and sees him.

 “It was fine.” She reaches a hand up. John takes it and helps tug her back to her feet. “Got a bit of the third degree but I suppose I can’t blame her for being curious, all things considered.”

 On tiptoes, she gives him a quick kiss. “How was Tarasov?”

 “As expected,” John says.

 Helen hums as she looks him over, “Indirect answer.”

 “It could be worse.” John tries again.

 “Now you’re being evasive.”

 She had warned him life would be like this. She’s spent the better part of her life learning to read people and despite being an enigma to most of the world, John Wick is an open book to Helen.

 He can’t bring himself to be upset when they both knew this was exactly how it was going to be.

 “He wants me to complete a rather difficult task.”

 “How dangerous is this going to be?” She asks, folding her arms over her stomach.

 She did that when she was worried, John had noticed. He hates that it’s him causing her such stress but comforts himself with the fact that this will be the last time.

 “Fairly.” Helen’s face is that unique mix of impassive and empathetic that he was used to seeing in her office. He steps forward, catching her chin in his hand and drawing up her face. “I’ll be fine.” He promises.

 She gives him a small smile and nods. She’s scared, he knows. And he is too. He’s never had so much to lose.

 “What does he want?”

 He wants to shake his head and tell her not to worry about it. But he knows exactly how that conversation will go if he tries.

 “There are a few rival Russian gangs that Viggo wants control of.”

 “A few?” Her brows shoot up.

 Maybe he should have phrased that better.

 While he’s unsurprised by Viggo’s demands given the opportunity to manipulate the Baba Yaga, Helen worries. She used to joke that it was her job to worry—that he paid her good money for such. And he would smile and promise to see her next week.

 But things had changed so much since DeLuca.

 She understood a little bit more just what John was capable of. In the moments when she had been in DeLuca’s grasp,      John     had learned a bit more of what he was capable of.

 But in understanding that, she grew more worried. When it came to her, they both knew that he was capable of      anything    .

 And that made him reckless, to a degree.

     “It goes both ways, John.”     She told him when he had first explained what it would take to actually retire, what he might need to do to be released by the Tarasov’s.      “You worry about me constantly, but I worry about you too. Do you really think I would be okay if something happened to you?”  

     “You could move on.”    He had replied,      “I know you would hurt, but you could go on living your life.”  

     “For one of the smartest people I know, you’re an idiot, John. I would be    devastated       if something happened to you, if I lost you.”  

     “It’s different.”  

     “Like hell it is. Do you know how many nights I used to lie awake until you would get to my house because I was so paranoid, so scared that something would happen to you?”    Helen had shaken her head,      “Or that I used to spend my Friday’s in an anxious blur, terrified that one day you just weren’t going to show up. That you’d just… be gone.”  

     “It’s different.    ” John had maintained, “      Hels, you’re—you’re all I have.”  

 And that was just a fact. Without him, Helen would have her family, her friends, her work.

 But without her… what would he be?

 “It will be fine.” He promises, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair back from where it had fallen in her face. It assures him that she is real and safe when his thoughts start to overwhelm him, “This is more of a point-and-shoot kind of gig. Just with a lot of moving targets.”

 An impossible number of moving targets. He forgoes saying as much, still trying to formulate a plan in his mind on how he’s going to pull this off.

 “Is there a timeline?”

 Technically, no. Viggo hadn’t given him any sort of indication of when he wanted it completed, but John was strongly in favor of doing it as quickly as possible. The sooner the task was completed, the sooner he was free.

  And, oh, what a thought that was.

 “Friday.” He answers aloud. Two days away. It would give him the time to prepare, because once he started, he could not stop until he was done.

 She nods, leaning her head against his hand.

 He hates that he is responsible for making her worry. John pulls her into a hug, wrapping her in his arms securely.

 “Come on,” he kisses the top of her head, “Let’s go pack some more of your books to bring over.”

 She brightens visibly at that and they make another trip to her house.

 While Helen desperately needs the distraction, John realizes it’s just as beneficial for him. It reassures him, just as her touch does, that she’s real. That this is actually happening and not just some coma dream, which he felt might be more realistic.

 They spend Thursday much the same way. While he’s tried to tempt Helen to take another week of vacation, she only shakes her head and says,      “It wouldn’t be fair to my clients    .”

 Marcus comes over to help.

 “Helen, if he’s blackmailing you into moving in with him, I can get you help. Blink once.”

 The older assassin dodges multiple projectiles from multiple directions, laughing all the while.

 “I’m serious! You can do better!”

 It’s a joke, and John      knows     that, but he still appreciates the extra affection she shows him. Like she knows that John still lays awake at night, wondering if he was good enough for her. But she slips under his arm, resting against his chest while she shoots back, “Forgive me for not taking advice from a man who’s still in a committed relationship with his daddy issues.”

 He makes a sound of pain even as he grins, “Low blow, Kingston.”

 “Come at my man, I’ll come for your life.”

     My man     echoes around in John’s head for hours after that and Marcus’ teasing was soon forgotten.

 After that declaration, his hands, which were impossibly steady when aiming a gun or striking a blow, were shaky. He had to talk himself through wrapping up her décor so as not to break it.

 They loaded up the borrowed truck, driven by Marcus, as well as stuffing her SUV full.

 “Hope you don’t change your mind about him, because I am      not     doing this again.” Marcus complains after he and John manage to get her loveseat into the back of the pickup.

 “I’m not concerned.” She says and the conviction in her words and her tone leaves John all the more in love with her.

     Good    , he thinks. He is no longer strong enough to let her go.

 John watches with fascination and awe as he hears a dog bark and watches as her eyes light up. An older man approaches with a golden retriever pulling on its leash trying to reach Helen. He recognizes the dog from the neighborhood, having seen it be taken outside late at night from a few houses over.

 The dog breaks free of the owner, tearing the leash from his hand, bolting towards Helen.

 Grinning, Helen drops down low and braces for the contact. “Hey, Buddy.” She says, scratching the pup behind the ears as the dog pants excitedly.

 “Sorry, Helen!”

 “No worries,” She calls back to the owner, “You know I’m always down for a Buddy-snuggle.”

 Marcus snorts and mutters to John, “How easily you can be replaced.”

 John rolls his eyes, smiling all the while as she coos to the dog lovingly. He thinks back to the first time she met, showing him pictures of her favorite dogs. He had been almost surprised that she didn’t have one of her own.

 With a final pet to the stop of Buddy’s head, she sends him back over to the owner with a wave, before climbing back to her feet.

 A part of him was reluctant to share her but he could imagine, maybe somewhere down the line, getting a dog with Helen. He thinks she would like that, the potential images flipping through his head and filling him with an unexpected warmth.

 “Should have guessed you were a dog person,” Marcus says.

 “Always have been.” She replies, slipping back under John’s arms. Even with moving furniture and boxes, it’s still cold outside. He tucks his chin to her head and wraps his arms around her.

 “Makes sense given your choice in partner.”

 She throws Marcus a look, but he holds up his hands defensively.

 “Not like that! No need to bring my daddy issues into this. Just meant he’s got some of those qualities. Unwavering loyalty, literally the definition of a dog with a bone when it comes to you. Protective, but a little bit stupid.”

 “Thanks, Marcus.” John says, rolling his eyes yet again.

 “I prefer dogs to people, anyway.” Helen says, patting his arm. “Far less complicated. They don’t make muddles out of things the way we do. And they’re far less self-interested.”

 “All this, coming from the only one of us who works with humans for a living.”

 She grins at that, “It’s why I can say, without a doubt, that dogs are better than people.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be hyper-empathic to the human experience?”

 “I can be. And there is a lot about said human experience that I admire,” Helen says, “We’re an incredibly resilient species. The mind can handle just about anything, which is remarkable when you think about it. And we’ve worked to build societies based on mutual respect and social currency. There’s drama and endless uphill battles, struggles and triumphs, and a capacity for healing unseen in any other creatures,” She shrugs, “But there’s something to be said for just      living    . Simply, at that.”

 He feels his arms tightening around her as he presses a kiss to her head.

 He loves her more than he’ll ever be able to express. Helen leans to the side so her face is just below his and kisses him once more.

 “I’m going to finish with my room.” She tells him and slips out of his arms. He watches as she walks back into the house.

 She’s giving it up for him. Her home, her space.

 It’s still so surreal.

 “She’s incredible.” Marcus says softly.

 “I don’t deserve her.”

 “No, you don’t.” His friend smiles, “Luckily, she loves you anyway.”

 It was strange to think that they had only declared their love for each other a week ago. A single week of verbally and physically expressing their love for one another.

 It simultaneously felt like an eternity and no time at all.

 John heads back into the house, following her path to her bedroom. Her clothes and jewelry had already been packed but her furniture, along with a handful of other things, was left behind. She had washed her sheets earlier and was packing them in a box marked      donations    .

 He takes one end of the sheet and helps her start to fold the next.

 The question pours from him before he can even think about it.

 “Would you like a dog?” John asks, “You know, someday?”

 She steps forward, collecting the sheet, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Would      you    want a dog?”

 John shrugs, truly uncaring. “I like dogs.”

 “But there’s a difference between liking dogs and wanting a dog. Would you actually want to have a pet? In your perfectly kept, immaculate house?”

 He feels like he shouldn’t say      I want whatever you want     because he doesn’t want to burden her with all the decisions, but truthfully, the only thing in life he wants is to make her happy. The little details don’t matter to him so much as giving her the opportunity to smile.

 “I wouldn’t mind either way,” he says as she folds it one last time and places it in the box with the others, “And the house is immaculate because I barely spend time there.”

 She considers it for a moment, and he feels his heart flutter with the twitch of her lips. “Yeah. Someday. Maybe we adopt an older dog. I’ve always had a soft spot for the rejects.”

 “Makes sense.” John teases and she rolls her eyes.

 “I swear, John Wick, if you make another orphan joke…”

 He grins, stepping into her space. He catches her face in his hands and draws her in for a kiss.

 Her soft lips yield to him and he will never understand what he has done to deserve such grace. But he swears to himself that he will never take for granted her presence or her touch or her love.

 This is happiness. It’s also only the beginning.

 …

 Friday comes, as it must.

 John had wondered if he would feel nervous or anxious for his final mission, his last task. Instead, he wakes up feeling eerily calm.

 He’s never been so grateful for something to end. But then, he’s never had a beginning to look forward to.

 Helen, he finds, is far more nervous than he is.

 “Should you be resting?” She asks as he takes down some of his own books so he can move the shelves around. He wouldn’t be leaving until sunset, much preferring to use the cover of darkness to hide his presence.

 “I’ll be fine.” He assures her. He’s gone on countless missions without sleeping or after only getting a few hours here and there to keep him going. Truthfully, having slept a full eight hours the night before is more than he usually gets.

 But he knows it’s not enough to stop her from worrying so John distracts her. First with planning out their new library. When that didn’t hold her attention enough, he switched to distracting her with his body.

 A sacrifice he was more than willing to make.

 He fucked her in the library before carrying her to the bedroom to take her again. And Helen was insatiable, much to his delight. But fucking her to the point of exhaustion took far more out of him than he anticipated.

 By the time she’s finally too tired to carry on, John finds himself closing his eyes and resting his head in the crook of her neck.

 Her fingers trace the back of his neck as she whispers, “Gotcha.”

 She really is brilliant, he thinks, as John finds himself manipulated into napping.

 He wakes up feeling far more rested and newly motivated to go out and come back home. To never be forced to leave her side again, so long as they both lived.

 It’s all so close.

 Helen runs her hand over his hair.

 “Thank you for making me sleep.” He teases softly.

 “I don’t know what you mean.”

 “Liar.”

 Helen grins at that, leaning forward to kiss him.

     This    , he thinks, this is what waits for him on the other side of the night.

 It motivates him anew.

 John showers and dresses. His traditional three-piece, he hopes to never wear again. For her sake, he leaves the tie on the bureau.

 John slips a small gun into his ankle holster, a knife into his sock. He chooses his weapons carefully as he prepares for the night ahead of him.

 One last time.

 Leaving is so very different than it had always been. Rather than heading straight from his room to his car, he detours to find his partner. To see her, to kiss her before he goes.

 He can hear conversation flowing from the kitchen as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and blinks in surprise.

 Marcus.

 He slips into the kitchen and watches as Helen rummages around in the fridge before pulling out and handing Marcus a beer.

 Marcus, he thinks, is probably the person he would miss the most. One of his oldest friends. One of the first people he ever learned to trust.

 Someone he would soon have to say goodbye to, along with everyone else.

 A large brown paper bag sits in front of him on the kitchen counter.

 “Marcus.” John greets as he steps into the kitchen.

 “John.” Marcus uses the edge of the counter to pry the bottle cap off. “Everything in place?”

 John nods. He had weapons stored around the city and Santino would be assisting. John had been reluctant to make a deal with the mafioso when he was so close to retirement but there were too many moving parts for what Tarasov had asked for John to accomplish it alone.

 Santino swore, so long as John stayed out of the Underworld, he would not use the marker John had promised him. But, should he ever step foot back, he was fair game.

 He almost felt bad for Santino. He would never go back to that life. Not while he had Helen.

 “Didn’t know you were coming over.” John comments, watching as Helen opens a bottle of wine for herself.

 “Somebody’s got to keep your girl from losing her mind.”

 “It’s an important job.” Helen jokes, smiling up at John. “I was afraid I was going to go stir-crazy waiting here at home.”

 He can understand that. He had nearly gone insane in hours after she had been kidnapped.

 John holds open an arm for her, and she wraps around him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 “What are you two going to do?” He asks.

 “Marcus brought Thai food,” she gestures to the paper bag, “And we’re going to get drunk then watch and score kung-fu movies bloodlust, technique, and general sexiness.”

 John smiles down at Helen, wondering how he ever managed to make it day to day without her. “Sounds like fun.”

 “We’re starting with Enter the Dragon. Which I’m going to go get set up.” Helen stands on tiptoes and gives John a quick kiss, before grabbing her wine glass and heading to the living room.

 “Last mission.” Marcus says.

 John nods again, “It is.”

 “How do you feel?”

 “You’ve been spending too much time with Helen.” John jokes, thinking of all the times his girlfriend had asked him that very same question, “But I feel ready.”

 “Nervous?”

 “Not even a little.”

 “Good.” Marcus glances to where she had exited, “I worried in the beginning. That you weren’t thinking clearly; that she didn’t have what it takes to be involved with an assassin. I’m glad I was wrong on both counts.”

 John looks down because he really doesn’t know how to have this conversation. He’d said his goodbyes to Sofia, to Winston, to Charon. To the few members of the Underworld that mattered to him. But this is one he just doesn’t know how to say.

 Marcus has had his back for two decades. He’d been his friend and confidant. The only person on the planet John had felt he could trust Helen to when his life fell apart. The man who, even now, was devoting his time to helping Helen.

 “We know the rules,” Marcus says quietly, “That after tonight… we go our separate ways…”

 “I wish it didn’t have to be like that.” John says just as softly.

 He’s told Helen, explained it to her.

 She had been angry, at first. That John was being forced to give up his friends along with everything else. That the Underworld was so unwavering and rigid with their rules and expectations. Then, she had been sad. Then guilty.

 She promised she would love him whether he left the Underworld or not and he believed her. But the life he wanted… it was for both of them. And it didn’t involve looking over their shoulders every moment of every day. He wanted to take her to dinner and not worry that the man two tables over was packing. To go to the farmer’s market without wondering if someone was going to attack.

 He told her again and again that this was      his    decision. That he was the one deciding to part ways in order to have the life that      he     wanted.

 And he has no regrets.

 There was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for that life.

 “Me too. But… you’re making the right choice, John.” Marcus assures him. “And I know that we won’t be able to go get a beer or hang out but write to me now and then. Send me the announcement if you ever convince that beautiful woman to marry you.”

 John nods, “I will.”

 “Good.”

 And maybe it’s because it’s goodbye, or maybe Helen has made him completely soft, but John walks across the room and hugs his friend.

 “Thank you. For everything.”

 Marcus nods, “Just… live well. Take care of each other.”

 “We will.”

 They part and John leaves Marcus to sort through the takeout he had brought with him. John follows Helen into the living room. She is using the remote to type in a password, standing barefoot in the middle of the sunken section.

 John takes the two steps down. Helen glances up as he does. He watches her swallow.

 “Time to go?” She asks softly and he nods.

 She tosses the remote to the side and throws her arms around him. Her grip is impossibly tight, but he doesn’t mind. He’s never felt more loved than when her arms are around him.

 “You’ll be careful out there?” her voice breaks a bit as she asks the same question, she asked every single week before he left the safety of her office. Right before John went out to venture into the Underworld.

 “I promise.” He kisses the top of her head.

 She breathes a soft sigh of relief. Helen leans back, looking up at him even if she doesn’t release her arms. “Because if you’re not back by morning, I’m coming after you.”

 “I’ll be back.”

 Partially because there was no way in Hell he was ever letting her become involved with the Underworld again but mostly because she was his home. The only one he had ever known.

 John catches her jaw in his hand and angles her face upward and teases, “It will be over soon. This time next week, you’ll be so annoyed with me, you’ll be wishing you could send me back.”

 “Never.” She says even as she smiles. “I love you.”

 “I love you too.” He kisses her lips, giving himself a moment to be completely consumed by her. To memorize, once more, her smell and touch and taste. He’ll take her with him everywhere he goes and hold on to the memory to guide him back home.

 With a final, soft kiss on lips he releases her. To leave her side one last time. He walks back up the steps to the leveled floor. He reaches out for the handle to the garage door.

 “John?” She says and he glances back, “Come home to me.”

 His lips twitch as he opens the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 With the morning comes their promise of forever.

[myblueeyedbuggers]

My Boys

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7  Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11  Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairings: Reader x Steve Rogers (Platonic) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1918

Warnings: Language, A tiny bit of Angst

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change.

So, Hi again, I know I said that the next chapter would be shorter but I kinda got carried away with the story, hopefully you guys don’t mind XD As mentioned before All requests and imagines are open, any constructive criticism is welcome. Enjoy Everyone! (I just noticed I linked the wrong page for Chapter 1, not a very good tech student am I? XD)

A few days later-

The right side of my face felt like it was on fire, a constant ache reminding me of what happens when I fail my task, boss handed my ass to me in more ways then one. The damn beatings from the boys made me too weak to stop the bastard named Greg from running off and calling the police, the dick decided to hand himself in instead of spending time with yours truly, which in all honesty is understandable, any sane person would turn and leg it away from a small lass looking like she went 5 rounds with a bear.

Perhaps walking around in the middle of the day isn’t the best idea when your face looks like the rear end of a smashed-up truck, people were stopping and staring at me, it was really doing miracles for my self-esteem (Notice my sarcasm there). I’d already managed to screw up this “mission” anyway, staying undetected with a face like this is nearly impossible, my decision of winging it this morning coming back to bite me in the ass within the first 5 minutes out the house. Safe to I was royally buggered, both literally and figuratively.

My mind was buzzing with different techniques and plans I needed to get the next target, maybe I could break into his house and dig up some dirt on this guy, from what I’ve been told that should be easy considering the dirt bag’s cheating on his wife with the maid from the apartment be- whatever train of thought I had was completed obliterated, somehow my ass hand ended up on the floor. Again. Irritation flooded my veins, whoever did better be ready to dig themselves an early grave, looking up my eyes made contact with the one person who I wished to never see again. Bucky f**king Barnes. “Why is it every time I see you, you’ve somehow managed to piss me off? Is that how you greet everyone or am I just that Special?”, I was met with silence. Not unnerving at all, glancing at him I noticed he was staring at my face with wide eyes, immediately I pulled myself from the floor and ran like hell in the opposite direction.

 This is not an ideal situation, to anyone else it’d look like I was running for the bus, when I was actually running for my life, “y/n! stop!” like that’s gonna bloody happen ya moron there’s a flipping reason I’m running, cause I ain’t doing it for fun!I already know I’m gonna regret doing this, my feet changed direction and guided my body down a small but familiar ginnel, two lefts and a right later I was approaching a wall, adrenaline was rushing through my body as I launched myself at the wall. Surprisingly I didn’t faceplant and managed to get a hold of the top of the wall, the lower half of my body erupted in sharp pains, but I needed to ignore them, quickly pulling myself up and leaping off to the other side. As soon as my feet touched the floor I was off, I didn’t really wanna know if Bucky saw what I did or where I went, I might not like the guy, but he doesn’t need to get tangled up in with a hopeless case like me.

Once I was certain that I’d lost him, I crouched down behind some bins and attempted, key word attempted, to catch my breath. I’ll admit that was way too close, anyway why does he care? I was and still am being a complete dick to him, does he not get the hit that I’m not his number one fan? Eh, when’ve I cared?  it’s just me against this bullshit world and I’m pretty sure that ain’t gonna change anytime soon. Now fully recovered, I emerged from my hidey hole and… walked right into Bucky. “What the Hell?! Are you some form of f**cking ninja or something, did you not get that don’t wanna talk or do I need to give you a formal letter?!”, he just stared at me with raised eyebrows and let me finish my rant, cocky bugger.

 “You done running now? Wanna try telling me who the hell did this?”, okay who the hell crapped him is cereal? “Nobody, I simply fell of a bike earlier on this week avoiding the village idiot”, giving me, an incredulous look Bucky sighed and covered his face in exasperation. Seeing an opportunity to get away, I slowly started edging away and to be fair, I nearly got past him before he grabbed my arm, “do you really expect me to believe that y/n?”.

The glare I sent him could have made Satan himself piss his pants, but Bucky didn’t even flinch much to my frustration, “Believe it, don’t believe it all in all I couldn’t give a shit, now let go of my arm before I rip it off “I’m pretty sure I just growled at him. And of course, the dick does the opposite and tightens his grip on my arm, wait is he dragging me?! The hell! do I look like dog on a leash? “Fine then don’t tell me, but you’re coming to my house to get cleaned up” his tone was final and left no room for arguments, but it’s me, when have I ever backed down from a challenge? “Nope, nah, not happening I can take care of myself thank you very much, now I’ll ask you one last time. Let. Go. Of. My. Arm.”

My voice held so much spite, I hardly recognised it as my own, “No” and with that he picked me up, ignoring my protests, and started carry me to his home

.-40 minutes later

How the hell Bucky managed to carry me for this long, I have no idea, for a lad of 14 he’s impressively strong and that’s the annoying thing, I’ve been trying to get off him for the past 40 minutes and even my hardest punches and kicks just seemed to tickle him. At one point he even started laughing at my threats, which added to my burning rage, the urge to smack this cocky son of a gun was hard to contain at this point. I’ve no idea what neighbourhood were in, it resembled a perfect suburban hub, the ideal place to settle down and raise a family, I wonder what it’s be like to be apart of a fully functioning family coming home to people who loved you…it must be nice. 

 Unknown to Bucky, a single tear slid down my face, my heart longing for a family to call my own, but that’d never happen, hell according to my parents I wasn’t even supposed to exist, by the time my mother realised she was pregnant it was too late to get an abortion. I was a curse that ruined their lives and their relationship, I’ve got the scars to prove how much of a waste of space I am, “You okay back there? You’ve been quite for more than two minutes” Bucky’s voice cut through my thoughts, for a minute I’d forgotten where I was. Okay that’s enough of feeling sorry for yourself y/n, pull yourself together you’ve managed this long without anyone, “Hello? Are you asleep of somethin?” I swear down this guy is more annoying then my conscious sometimes, “Nope I was thinking of all the different ways I can kick ya ass later buddy boy”, his body vibrated with laughter as Bucky let out a load laugh at my reply. 

Do you see what I’m dealing with here ?!, “Good to know you’re back to the you’re ever cheerful self doll”, what in the name of ever loving fudge?! “Since when did I become your doll Barnes? last time I checked slingin’ a girl over your shoulder and carrying her off isn’t the way to get a girl!” all the bugger does is laugh, laugh I tell you! this boy is gonna be the death of me. “You sure about that doll face? cause it worked for me”.

I could practically see the stupid smirk on his face, also can someone explain to me why I’m blushing? For once I had nothing say, my sarcasm failed me…damn it. A low chuckle brought my attention back to the annoyance with legs, more commonly known as Barnes, “We’re almost home Doll, Mama should be able to clean you up in no time” oh no, no, no I don’t do well with parents, or any adult now that I think about it, they always have this look of pity in their eyes when they see me. It’s like they’ve just found a homeless kitten on the street and feel the need to adopt it and take care of it until they get bored, it’s infuriating and embarrassing, “Oi! Barnes, I ain’t telling you again I can look after myself, your mama doesn’t need to trouble herself with me I’m perfectly capable of cleaning myself up!” he let out another frustrated sigh, he must be going for a record it’s the 20th one, before ignoring me completely and walking up the drive.

“Yeah you keep saying you okay by yourself but look at the state of you y/n! you’ve got a busted-up nose and lip, a black eye and a cut on you’re eyebrow! How the hell is that taking care of yourself?!” for once he did have a point, but hell’s gonna have to freeze over before I admitted that, “Not that you’d know this Barnes, but this is what happens every day, I have to make my own livin’ I ain’t got anyone to rely on and it’s been that way for years, it’s how I like it! now put me the hell down before I kick ya ass to China!”.

The sound of an opening door stopped Bucky’s reply, “JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING LUGGIN’ THIS POOR GIRL AROUND LIKE A SACK OF POTATOS?! PUT HER DOWN NOW!” holy mother of all things holy I do NOT want to be on the receiving end of this lady’s anger! I think my ass is attracted to the floor, one minute I’m being held captive by an annoying pillock and the next I’m on the floor nursing a bruised behind, “Jesus Christ talking about letting a girl down quickly!” hands grabbed my upper arms and pulled me to my feet, Bucky’s apologies faded into the background when a shocked gasp silenced the conversation. Slowly I raised my head, Bucky’s mother had tears falling down her cheeks, her brown eyes were filled with the two emotions I hated the most, pity and sadness.

 Not being able to keep eye contact any longer, my gaze shifted to the porch floor, her shadow slowly started to move towards me, she was being cautious as if she were approaching a wild animal and I hated it. I hate seeing people treat me like a basketcase, I can’t stand it “I’m very sorry for disturbing you ma’am, I’ll leave” I quickly turn around and start to walk away, about 3 steps in a gentle hand grabs my shoulder and stops me. “Sweetie, you don’t have to apologise for anything, come inside I’ll get you cleaned up, Bucky, honey Steve’s inside with your father and sister” and with that Bucky’s mother guides me inside with a comforting hand and a gentle smile. 

Soooo..yeah this happens, I’m not gonna lie I felt really bad writing the sad bit about the reader, I may have teared up a tiny bit, anyway YAY chapter 2 is outta the way!. Hope you all liked it  :)Rose xx

[nyrator]

Random updatess

Been in a weird spot mentally, lately...

I think it’s safe to say I’ve been single again for a long while, but lots of concerning stuff related to that has been going on which has me concerned- not much I should probably say publicly, but nothing I can really do about it except suppress my anxiety over it and hope for the best. People are complicated and impossible to understand.

Or maybe I should speak up about it a bit, since he’s gone and nothing really holding me back, but it’s a weird and long-going situation. In short, I’m not comfortable around people and am an extreme introvert, but he was someone who really latched onto me.. but he couldn’t stop needing me even after we stopped being together, a dependency in my eyes but maybe I was just assuming, and I had to force space between us in hopes he’d stop focusing on me so much. Too kind, too overbearing. Seems it worked, and now he’s almost completely vanished from everything before I could start up communication again. Maybe he just removed himself from anything that reminds him of me, or maybe it’s a sign of something worse. He has a lot of things he’s dealing with I can’t help with, and all I can do is just hope for the best I guess. But ultimately, I don’t think we were healthy for each other. I still consider him a great person, at least, and it’d be nice if we could have a semi-normal connection sometime in the future still.

I did get the RN site off of him before he vanished a few days ago, which was kind of him (he made it and paid for it, but I’m paying for it now), neither me nor any of our other friends have heard from him since. We’re apart, and he doesn’t owe me anything, but it would be nice if he communicated what he was doing and why with people more. Guess all we can do is see.

Anyway, I guess that’s enough about that. I know too many people with tough lives that weigh my own heart down too much.

In other news, I’ve been dealing with my “complex” again too much. Complex, personal issue, childhood trauma, whatever it is. It’s bothering me a strong amount, but I know most of it is in my head- I just can’t escape reminders of it. I don’t feel comfortable talking about it in detail in public, either. I’m starting to express it in RN, but I have fears that I’ll end up repulsing and alienating people around me because of it- like it’s sullying anything I involve it in.

It’s linked very much to self-hatred, my depression, and a lot of things in my life in general- and I’m given constant reminders of it from the moment I wake up, it’s controlling me, it feels like, and I don’t know how to cope with it properly. I have a private vent Twitter dedicated to venting about it at this point, but it doesn’t feel like it’s helping at all.

Otherwise- Life is dreadfully uneventful. I started playing No More Heroes to kill time- beat the first game again 100% on Bitter, and beat the second game on Bitter as well (didn’t do that boss rush mode or unlock Special in BJ5 game, though). First game is much better than the second game, by far. I’ll have to get back into TSA and then 3 someday, took a break to draw some Lave in pajamas.

I really like sleep aesthetics, but my complex is so interwoven with that too that I feel like it’s corrupting it. But Lave’s an autobiographical-ish character, after all, so I guess it’s okay to have it woven into them as well- I still feel like it’s going to drive people away from liking them, though, and probably fairly so.

Still haven’t even tried looking for a job, and I haven’t been moving much at all lately- treadmill’s just collecting dust. Only today did I finally get rid of about half of my mother’s things, and only because there’s an inspection on Friday and I’m embarrassed by how packed all this junk still is. It wasn’t a far or even stressful of a drive to the donation bin (it’s right by my grocery store), but my nerves still almost made me wet myself again. I can’t stand it. Part of me wants to drive my friends to an arcade for my birthday and see if I can better adjust, but that’s almost three hours away, there’s no way I can see myself making it reasonably.

It’s really hard, living without drive or purpose. I still have no urge to work on any of my projects at all, it’s like I’ve completely given up on myself to do anything.

It’s really nice hearing from friends on here from time to time, even if I do nothing to show my appreciation or make an effort to return the feeling. Tumblr’s been pretty inactive for me, but there’s still some familiar faces I always like seeing.

I really don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I have no energy to do anything nor any real reason to feel a need to. I can’t even keep the apartment clean from my cats, or stay on top of garbage or laundry.

The one thing I want to do is practice talking more and maybe stream, but it feels like a dead end, honestly. I want to train my voice to be more professional and to a certain standard I have for it that I’m not even sure I can reach, but I have no real way of practicing. Maybe get some nicer clothes as well, but I don’t even go anywhere. I just feel weird with how I dress and worry about embarrassing my friends by being seen with me or something, as silly as it is.

I apologize for the depressing Ny-rant-y stuffs, just one of those kinds of times lately. I haven’t had anywhere to vent lately, and I don’t want to keep bottling it all up, either.

[heyitsbugette]

Heart and soul

Not even everything in training that Damian Wayne was subjected to in the league of assassins nor the eccentricity of living as the only biological son of Bruce Wayne have prepared him for his greatest threat.

Luka Couffaine.

Anyone with eyes could see that there was a certain attraction on behalf of the heir for the sweet daughter of the best bakers in Paris, who with her kindness and charms she captivated the cold heart of the Prince of Gotham. And more than once Jason Todd joked with Tom Dupain about how it made a lot of sense for such a sweet girl to come straight out of a bakery, occasionally amusingly saying that the Dupain-Cheng kitchen was magical.

It was really confusing when the Robin was puzzled and stressed by feel tamed in the presence of his angel and surprisingly with the famous heroine Ladybug as well. Of course, he was teased until it all made sense to them, when together they find out the identity of the spotted heroine by Raven's deductions, his closest friend and ex-girlfriend. 

Raven, annoyed by the cowardice of her best friend, motivated him to go after his beloved right away. The youngest of the Wayne clan then did not know whether to feel grateful or offended when in the end he decided to heed the advice of the young woman of serious features.

His angel through his eyes became more and more perfect after the revelation, she knew how to fight and he did not need it to defend herself, Damian Wayne undoubtedly loved strong women. Such was their surprise when The Jagged Stone invited them by Marinette suggestion to reveal his pupil to them, the very one musician who he secretly hid under his wing for an entire year to prepare him to his debut, a boy with the ferocity of a pirate and the intelligence of a predator to words of the number one rocker in lists.

— Luka is somewhat shy at first, but when my little starlight introduced us I knew that the boy was born to succeed... Come on, dude! I mean-... Bruce, I guarantee that our collaboration between Wayne Enterprises, Rolling Stone Company and MDC will be legendary.

— I trust you, Jagged.

The fierceness in the artist's words could be seen for miles, convincing everyone with his confidence, and if the boy turns out to be as talented as they claimed, the launch of Anarka's son could generate a few million if his strategy worked. Bruce, by the way, looked amused despite the fact that his facial expression did not help at all to demonstrate it, always with his expressionless face and a curious gaze direct to his new partner.

But he could not speak in the same way for his children and how they were inusually calm, the ones who had always admired the singer were nervous with his presence, to the point that they were strangely silent behind him as they followed them, which was suspicious for the family's patriarch, they were not so well-mannered, but always noisy.

Damian, on the other hand, although he found Jagged's company pleasant, he had little mind in the older man's new human toy, he did not have time to be interested in another spoiled child with ambitions of glory and fame, because he only agreed to accompany his family for two reasons.

First and foremost, Marinette would be there. Second, he wanted to visit Fang, he had a great appreciation for the playful crocodile.

— Hey B! So will we finally meet the star boy they all were talking about so much?

— Indeed, Jason. Marinette arranged everything with Miss Rolling and they agreed on a small presentation to close the deal.

— Oh, cool.

The youngest of the clan hid his smile at the mere mention of his muse, heading to the recording studio where they took a seat next to some investors while Luka Couffaine was in front in his maximum glory on the stage, being assisted by a small French-Chinese girl who arranged his clothes meticulously between whispers that were dedicated, they seemed close. They laughed together as they whispered, as if they shared a local joke that only the two of them could understand, but it was when she blushed that the frown of Bruce Wayne's son became more noticeable.

No one with eyes could deny the obvious, Jagged's protegé was conventionally handsome; his seductive blue eyes that saw through his lens, a winning and playful smile. Although the boy was tall and slender, it was obvious that he was not a weakling at all, he had the figure in slim-fit, quite strange cause Couffaine had not exactly the kind of the lifestyle of an athlete.

Along with it, dark hair dyed in turquoise tips and aesthetic piercings adorning his ears up to the side of the helix. The guy in question have quite the look, dressed to impress in a grunge outfit designed precisely by MDC especially for him, he had a style that Jason Todd would say "You got it, brother!".

— Marinette, honey, stop. I think Luka looks handsome already.

— Oh, Miss Penny. He doesn't even need my help for that.

After so tender flirting, the aforementioned blushed noticeably in the same red shade that the heir saw in his furious vision. Did his angel flirt with another boy? But, It's not like he could demand explanations from her and he knew it, they weren't a couple or anything remotely similar. Yes, they were close and they spent a lot of time together, but if he saw it objectively she was not his.

Without option he was able to recover his composure ignoring the mocking smile that his older brothers gave him, he looked uncomfortable. But surely Marinette just wanted to be nice and give her friend a compliment to brighten his day only, that's the kind of person she was.

— Come on, Luka!

His mentor indicated as he launched himself into his couch while Penny sat next to him taking his hand. Both saw themselves as a pair of proud parents attentive to each movement that the guitarist made to prepare, the latter meanwhile looking out of the corner of his eye attentive to the little French girl with tender freckles inadvertently present, since of course she was his motivation .

His actions were unnoticed by everyone except for a certain green eyed boy who still did not trust the musician. He knew his kind, womanizers who went from girl to girl breaking hearts left and right, of course he only wanted to protect his angel from a guy who didn't even deserve to breathe her own air.

The punk man was... Like his father, sure. Or so he wanted to believe.

Oh! Yeah, Alright… Mmmm.

Gather 'round guys

It's time to start listening

Practice makes perfect

But perfect's not workin'

There's a lot more to music

That knowing where your cue's gonna be.

Okay, okay. The guy knows how to sing without the need for auto-tune, he gives it to him. But he wouldn't admit it, flattering the enemy is something that would never be available; he would not dedicate him the mere weakness of raising his ego.

Marinette deserves the best, which is indisputable to the dark-haired teen, and such was his victory when his angel realized the same thing when she moved on off the spinleless coward who was Adrien Agreste. Luckily Luka Couffaine would not last a day.

You can play all the right notes

But that don't mean you're movin' me

But if you can jump like David Lee Roth

Or pump your fist like you're Bruce "The Boss"

Bruce was perplexed at his mention, watching amused as the teenager endorsed the stage listeing with pleasure the laughter of the iconic artist who was stroking the crocodile that was rubbing on his legs. Marinette held back so as not to shout in support of Luka with the same passion with which he cheered her up when she triumphed, a star-shaped sparkle in her eyes was present with no intention of leaving.

If you got a heart and soul

You can rock and roll                        

Rock and roll

The American tried to no be disappointed when he noticed that she was not even aware of his presence, but would not allow anyone else to know it, he would be weak to allow the rookie musical to affect him because of how well he grabed the attention of his beloved heroine.

He wouldn't give his annoying siblings the pleasure of driving him out of his box, although Dick was close enough to get him by keep looking at him with pity. No, he don't need anyone's pity.

Strum it

Drum it

Slide across and run it

The stage is your home

If you learn how to own it

Like the greats did

There's no way that you can fake it

Just when he thought the half asian girl would continue to ignore him during the entire performance, he didn't count on her swapping seats with the pesky Drake to position herself next to him. Being impossible for the vigilante not to melt before her happy smile and with her gaze outlining that perfect silhouette that he would be fascinated to paint, he would not deny that she was his art, his source of inspiration.

— I'm so happy for Luka, Dami. You have no idea how hard he has worked.

— He's a lucky guy... I suppose.

She took his hand, pressing it a little against hers as she tried to suppress the emotion of seeing Luka start his career, how shes sitll as always emotional and enthusiastic when someone she loved achieve them goals, crying with them with joy when them dreams came true.

Such was the youngest of the Dupain-Cheng family, Damian experienced it first hand with each accomplishment that he got culminated. His angel always received him with some well made dessert and words of encouragement to encourage him to continue working hard.

That's the type of person she is.

You've got to feel the beat before you can move

Even though you're not wearing blue suede shoes

Makin' mistakes, but that won't matter

If you can swagger like old' pal Jagged

If you got a heart and soul

You can rock and roll

You can rock and roll

If you live and you die

For the music inside

If the one for five never gets sold

Then you can rock and roll

Rock and roll

Luka playfully looked at his idol when he made reference to him in his lyrics, and this one who just left his seat at once to raise his hands in celebration, exclaiming proudly pointed out with determination, as he pull out a Bruce Wayne before the amused gaze of the brothers. He then gave way to a guitar solo finally performed with great technique, heating up the meeting in which investors fully convinced to invest in the musical prodigy.

— That's my kid, you lil shits!

Instead, unsurprisingly, the only one unimpressed was the legitimate heir to Wayne Enterprises. He rolled his eyes thinking that the oldest was a stocking sucker, a mere flattering of cute words and empty feelings.

Someone like that couldn't make his ladybug happy.

However, seeing her so delighted now releasing her hand to take herself putting bot hands in her own cheeks by giving them little taps to lower her blush was the final blow for him to declare his total displeasure to the amateur musician. Wayne hated that feeling of bitterness, so he huffed angrily.

Alright, now take it low.

Now I need my sunshine girl, right here, as the crowd starts to cheer.

Don’t take it personal, mate. Don’t get too emotional.

You know how It is...

"How dare you?! Do you want to die young or what?!" He saw red, of course, the fuckboy is flirting with his marigold in front of him, the nerve. And of course, the musician smiled when he saw him getting angry, it was clear that this was just a game, a provocation on how he was playing with him, only as a Couffaine could when fooling around with the object of his entertainment. 

He loved being loved and hated, it was fun.

— Uh ... We'll soon bury him, right?

— Yup.

Jason whispered to his brothers when they noticed the contained fury of the minor among them, they knew that once provoked the assassin prince there would be no human power to stop him.

Rest in peace, Luka Couffaine. Good friend, good artist. We will remember you for what you were, champion.

If you can scream like Axl Rose

Or sing like Christina show after show

If you've got a heart and soul

You can rock and roll

If you've got a heart and soul

You can rock and roll

You can rock and roll

Ooh, yeah

You can rock and roll.

The performance ended with an innocent smile and an expectant look on behalf of the vocalist as soon as his fingers finished with the last chord of his guitar, so when he took it off he received the energetic baker's daughter in his arms who embraced him warmly when the high command of the label gave their approval of him.

Luka Couffaine would be the next star, the exotic apprentice of the living rock legend and MDC designs' most precious jewel.

Get moving, Austin Moon! Who knows you, XY ?!

— I told you! You did It, you idiot!

— Oe, oe! I must learn better than to doubt your trust in me, ma mélodie.

Tender giggles were heard from the girl's mouth as she hid her face in the teenager boy's chest, aggressively grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket in a desperate attempt to hide her blush at such a loving nickname. Then when looking away and raising her face to meet the relaxed features of the French guy, both succumbed to sharing a giggle at the moment when in a change of position the aspiring soloist kissed the back of the young woman's hand, who he regarded her as his most ingenious symphony.

Little did they know that a certain person burned with anger looking around him in red, after all he thought that he was the only person who made her smile like that. The green-eyed felt weak from falling to something as gross as jealousy, but no one had prepared him to endure a suave musician.

— Heya, pixie pop! Would you mind introducing your friend to us?

—Ah, Jay-Jay! I longed to present you all for a long time.

Luckily, it was the albino tuft guy who intervened to sneakily separate the couple, putting himself in the middle of both while embossing a charming smile and a relaxed expression on his face.

— Sup kid! Here's Jason Todd. You know, the cool one. And these idiots next to me are my brothers...This one at my right is Tim Drake, the coffee rat. And the other one with the stupid face is Dick Grayson, the dick. Oh, and the dwarf is lil D-...

— Damian Wayne.

Suddenly the mentioned one appeared, narrowing his eyes challengingly during the brief exchange of glances he shared with the artist in a non-verbal competition. Too bad the guitarist didn't know he was competing.

— Enchanté, guys. Mon trésor told me a lot about you.

"Ma mélodie? Mon trésor? Yah, this guy is asking for it… ” He chattered his teeth in anger and even without trusting the intentions of the stranger man, as he said before, he knew the ones of his type. Young rock stars were all the same.

— Guys.. This is Luka Couffaine ... My boyfriend.

Has anyone heard that? It seems that something broke slowly inside the american heir as how Damian could almost hear Kagami Tsurugi whispered on his mind: "You hesitated."

Heart and soul - The Jonas Brothers

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part seven Word count: ±5570 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part seven summary: Zoë goes undercover to find out more about the murder she saw in her dream. Little does she know, that Sam and Dean do the same. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​ and @deanwanddamons​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     Confident, Zoë bends down in order to fit under the yellow ‘crime scene - do not cross’ ribbon. She takes out her federal agent ID and flips it open before the officer guarding the perimeter can ask her about it. He steps away respectfully and lets her through. 

     It’s about 10 AM and the sun is already out on this relatively warm November day. Marching up the driveway with her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete, Zoë unbuttons her black suit jacket to let in some air. The Stars and Stripes hasn’t been taken down yet and still flutters from the top of the mast, located in the center of a perfectly landscaped garden. The fallen leaves drape parts of the neatly mowed lawn in different tones of orange and brown. Not only does this particular estate look amazing, the entire street is brochure perfect. It is obvious that the families living in these homes on Reynolds Park Road, are wealthy ones. However, the ambulances and police cars blocking the street and the officers scanning the area, indicate that something is terribly wrong. What would seem like the last place on earth for a murder, is indeed a gruesome crime scene.

     Two officers are having a conversation by the front entry. They pause the discussion once they notice the unfamiliar face approaching them. She captivates them instantly. Determined strides, head held high, clearly a woman who stands her ground in the men’s words that is law enforcement. There’s not a single trace of doubt noticeable when she flashes her ID once more.      “Agent Evans, FBI,” she states.

     “Detective Lee. This is officer Sanchez,” a tall man, with a serious case of a receding hairline, introduces his colleague a little reluctantly, clearly not happy about the presence of a fed. He holds out his hand anyway and Zoë makes eye contact, giving him a powerful handshake.      “I didn’t know the Bureau was involved,” he comments with an Upper South accent, common for the region.

     “Well, if you had paid attention while investigating the crimes in your own county, detective,” the specialist returns without missing a beat, facing the two man with enough arrogance to shut them down immediately, “- you might had noticed that there has been a murder similar to this one, making this a serial killing.”      “Still don’t make this a federal case,” Lee returns, standing his ground.      “What does, is the fact that there’s a whole string of deaths leading from Alabama up to your lovely little town.”

     Of course she just made that up on the spot, just to back up her reason to be here, but no one would be able to tell without doing some solid digging first. She is so convincing that the two men fail to counter her.      “Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. If you could be so kind to show me the way, that would be neat,” she requires, throwing them a fake smile while narrowing her eyes.

     The two officers glance at each other, it being clear as day that the detective is not amused by the way he’s spoken to. Nonetheless, he gestures to the FBI agent to get into the house. She seems like a person not to be messed with.

      They enter the villa with Zoë in tow, who nods approving while taking a look around. She glances up to the high ceilings, which are decorated with beautiful alto-reveilo, carved into the white plaster. Roman pillars support the level above, and in the back two staircases circle up to the second floor. Every square inch of the floor underneath their feet is made from marble. Renaissance paintings, portraying country sides in the 19th century and battles from the Civil War hang from the walls, a gold plated chandelier floats overhead. Flower pieces, amongst them an expensive bouquet placed on the mahogany round table in the center of the main room, gives the house a finishing touch. Zoë knows the lifestyle of the rich and famous, but this place looks more like a palace than a principal’s home in a town called Paragould.

     “As you can see, Mr. Van Dyke lived the good life. His father owned a Dutch shipping company and made millions,” Officer Sanchez explains, having noticed the federal agent’s impressed expression. “We believe the fortune he passed on to his son might have something to do with Van Dyke’s death.”

     As they climb the stairs, Zoë chuckles, but doesn’t say a word. These oblivious bastards... they have absolutely no clue, do they?      “You think something else is going on?” Lee questions, noticing the sarcasm in her little laugh.      “Money is not the motive,”  she returns, curt.

     An awkward silence follows and Zoë can feel the hostility between her and the two police officers. She has experienced it before, especially in smaller communities. Most cops despise the feds, simply because the cases they work quite literally hit close to home. The FBI is no stranger to barging in and taking over entire investigations, without sending a ‘thank you’ card. A lot of hard work for the local coppers, without any credit. Zoë can’t say she blames the police for being reluctant.

     “This way.” Sanchez beckons them after climbing the stairs to the second floor, where he turns left on the vestibule.      The closer they get to the crime scene, the more crowded it gets. The Crime Scene Unit has already arrived and forensics dust for prints, take pictures and search for evidence. When Zoë enters the room and finds Mr. Van Dyke, she frowns. 

      In the corner lies a man, probably in his mid fifties, half into a shattered exhibition case, his eyes open, death evident. It’s not the first time Zoë has seen a dead guy, but she wasn’t expecting such a violent killing committed by a ten year old. Apparently his head got smashed into the showcase; glass is scattered all over his body. He has bruises and cuts on his arms and face, but most peculiar is his probable cause of death. His neck is broken; the head at a 90° angle. 

     Zoë scans the room, which shows several signs of a struggle. One thing is certain; Van Dyke really got his ass kicked before he died. As she takes a look around, a woman wearing white latex gloves updates Lee and his partner. Zoë glances over, notices the CSU logo on her jacket, and walks over to tune in.      “- time of death was between 6:30 and 7 AM. No prints found so far,” the forensic states.      “Look at this place. There must be something,” Detective Lee ponders, his gaze panning over the crime scene.      “Not even a fiber,” she sighs. “I have to admit; I’ve never seen anything like this.”

     “Seems like the suspect has left no trace,” Zoë intervenes, mixing into the conversation.      “Someone just did a good job covering up,” Sanchez scoffs, not finding her remark relevant. “We’ll find something.”      Dude, you have no idea, Zoë thinks to herself, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. She doesn’t cut in on him, although she has about a dozen smart curve balls ready. Never get too smart around cops, who knows what she might need them for later on.

     “There’s one thing, though, but it adds more confusion than it clears up.”      The forensic walks over to the body of Mr. Van Dyke and points out the way his sweater is pulled down. It uncovers his left shoulder, the sleeve seems too long at the end by the force that was used.      “Looks like someone pulled him down. As if the killer wanted to level his victim with him or her,” she clarifies.      “The murderer was shorter than the victim,” Lee concludes.      “Not just a little shorter, I’m talking about round 4 ft. 5 here, looking at the angle and location of the bruising,” the forensic adds up.      “About the height of a ten year old, right?” Zoë fills in, as the clues sum up.      “Yeah, that would be correct, but that’s impossible. Even if a ten year old could be capable of doing such a thing, they wouldn’t have the strength,” she rules out.

     Impossible isn’t in Zoë’s dictionary, but she has seen enough. The forensics might be on a dead end, Zoë is a hundred percent sure of who Van Dyke’s killer is. She is dealing with one furious ghost child here, but two questions remain unanswered: why isn't Laura at rest and how is she able to relocate?      A cursed object is the first thing that comes to mind. Being on the clock, Zoë decides to leave and have a talk with the family.      “Thanks very much, I’ve got everything I need.” She gives both the forensic and the members of the PPD a nod, before she exits the room.

     While Zoë walks down the corridor towards the staircase, the undercover huntress goes through the things she just learned. It almost seems like Laura is trying to put her victims through the same horror she experienced before she died. She simply shows them who’s boss, just like her father used to teach her. It’s violent, not suited for viewers under the age of eighteen, and yet a girl of only ten years of age, is behind these murders. 

     Back on the first floor, Zoë can hear soft wailing coming from the dining room. For the third time this morning she shows her ID, this time to the officer guarding the shielded off private space. The door is slightly ajar, when she pushes it open further in order to enter, the investigator finds the Van Dyke family, gathered together. A woman in her early fifties with blonde pixie hair has her arms around a teenage girl, who Zoë presumes to be the principal’s daughter. The son, a few years younger than his sister, stares outside, his empty eyes gazing out over the lake, quietly grieving in his own way. Instantly, Zoë feels sorry for the family. She wouldn’t wish this upon anyone.      “Mrs. Van Dyke?”

     The woman looks up with tears in her eyes and lets go of her daughter, but not before sweetly stroking her hair. Zoë shows Mr. Van Dyke’s wife her identification.      “I’m Special Agent Evans, you can call me Sharon. I would like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.”      The mother of two nods her head as she wipes away her tears. “Of course.”      “Your husband’s passing took place between 6:30 and 7 O'clock this morning. Where were you at this time?” Zoë questions calmly.      “I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast,” Mrs. Van Dyke replies, having crossed one arm over her chest, her hand covering her mouth as she breathes out with a shudder.      “And you heard nothing?” the huntress wonders, her voice gentle, not wanting to upset the poor woman even more.      “Not a sound,” she shakes her head. “Heather was in her room next to Bill’s office, she didn’t hear a thing until the dog started barking, that’s when she found him.”

     Zoë nods at that, aware that dogs have a better sense of the supernatural than humans have. She glances past the woman before her, noticing the kind Australian shepherd, who has laid his head in Heather’s lap, watching up at her with worried eyes while trying to comfort his owner. The dog seems calm now, a good indication that Laura isn’t anywhere near.      What the huntress does find strange, though, is that their daughter didn’t hear a thing. The article in the newspaper yesterday about Robert Shire’s murder comes to mind. His family was home during the incident as well.

     “That will be it for now, thank you for your time,” Zoë notifies, smiling sympathetically. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”      Mrs. Van Dyke turns back to her family with half a nod, still in complete shock after this morning’s events which turned her world upside down. Zoë would like to take more time to talk to the children, but she simply doesn’t have a minute to spare. Hastened, the huntress exits the house, stepping out into the warm sun as she takes out her shades and puts them on. 

      It all makes sense now. Laura isn’t just getting even with the people who are directly or indirectly connected to her death. She’s recreating how she died. What Zoë remembers from her flashback, the poor girl was a punching bag for her father’s fist on a daily basis, but it’s not just that. No one around heard a thing, not even a single sound, like the victims were isolated from the outside world. The vision of Laura’s mother stoically continuing her dinner while her older brother watched TV. As if they couldn’t bear the abuse and therefore shut out the sounds that came along with it. 

     Pondering, Zoë strides down Reynolds Park Road, back to her bike, which she parked near the water. Unlike the police, the huntress is everything but stuck, she knows exactly where she needs to go. Next stop; The Shire residence.

     “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

     Dean has been complaining ever since they pulled away from the In-N-Out, when Sam came up with his newest masterplan. Their usual jeans and several layers of plaid have been replaced with black suits, the sharp dressed men now approaching Arkansas Methodist Medical Center, leaving the Impala in the parking lot.

     “We are doing this, so get used to it,” Sam returns, getting tired of his brother’s whining. “You have the ID’s?”      Dean takes out two leather wallets and flips them open, showing him the fake identification. Sam stares at the ID’s, his jaw falling open.      “FBI? Are you nuts, Dean?”      “Dad and I do it all the time. No sweat,” Dean shrugs, not that worried about getting caught.

     “What if they look up our badge numbers? This is suicide!” Sam hisses, keeping his voice down when they pass people at the entrance of the hospital.      “You wanna know what’s suicide? Meddling with Zoë’s case,” Dean counters.      Sam huffs. “Oh, come on. How bad can it be?”      “You should have seen her in Rochester when she found out we rang Cliffer and blew her cover. That wasn’t even intentional, and now you actually choose to get involved?” Dean argues.

     He gives his brother his new identification, which Sam studies carefully as he mumbles his fake name. Dean watches his brother closely, curious if he will detect the little gimmick in their aliases, them being Angus and Young. But Sam doesn’t know enough about rock music to notice that the two names combined is the full name of AC/DC’s lead guitarist. Nonetheless, Dean is proud of the inside joke.

     “She might get a little annoyed, but she won’t get mad. We’re helping her,” Sam assures, hoping his brother will stop being dramatic.      “Exactly! I’m dressed like a fucking penguin while I know she won’t ever thank us, even if we have a major breakthrough.” Dean loosens his tie a bit, smothered by the tightness of his collar.      “Look man, we can sit on our ass and waste this day or--”      “- I prefer that actually,” the oldest intervenes.      “Or--” Sam continues, sternly, “- we can do something useful.”

     With that being said, he walks through the revolving doors of the governmental facility, followed by Dean, who mutters something unintelligible; stubborn fucker. Dean might be the older sibling here, but when Sammy has got his mind set on something, he can’t be reasoned with.      Heading straight for the main desk, the Winchester brothers get into character. Sam especially looks somewhat young to be a federal agent, thankfully his height makes up for that. They both need to sell this in order to gather new information on the case.      Confidently, Dean flashes his FBI identification to the woman behind the counter. “Agent Young, this is my partner Agent Angus. We’re here to see a dead body.”      “You came to the right place,” she comments, apparently not impressed by their badges.      She calls for an older physician in a long white coat who just passed by.      “Dr. Hughes? Could you escort these two agents to the morgue?” she asks him.      “Of course, I’m heading over there anyway,” he agrees, beckoning Dean and Sam to walk with him.

     The hunters follow the doctor through the long hospital hallways. White ceilings, mint green vinyl floors and random photos and Picasso rip offs on the walls every now and then; the typical hospital decor the Winchester brothers are more familiar with than they would want to be. They’ve been inside medical centers plenty. To investigate a case, but also as a visitor whenever someone in their close circle got hurt on the job, but also as a patient. Hunting isn’t just a profession prone to injury, it’s worse than that. It’s a profession prone to death.

     Dr. Hughes eventually breaks the silence when they reach an elevator. “Who are you here for?”      “Ronald Shire,” Sam informs.      Unpleasantly surprised, Hughes looks up at the tall agent. He halts by the elevator, calling it down to the first floor. It takes a second to arrive, the doctor uncomfortably shifts from one foot to the other. Dean and Sam have noticed it, however, exchanging a look.

     “I’m sorry,” the physician apologizes when he realizes how his behavior might come across. “Ronald was a colleague of mine, but he was also a close friend.”      “Our condolences,” Dean says, knowing all about Shire’s death after Sam filled him in earlier.      Hughes pushes the button to call the elevator down, accepting the sympathy offered by the agent. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? We see death every day and yet when it hits close to home, you never see it coming.”

     Wise words, applicable to everyone. He has been there on many occasions when the final hour struck; of hunters, of people they were trying to save. One would expect all this experience to give him thick skin, since he’s used to the violence and killings. But when Jess was murdered, it hit him harder than a wrecking ball.

     The younger Winchesters train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the bell, announcing that the elevator has reached their level. He clears his throat and directs his attention to the doctor again. “Do you have an idea what happened to Mr. Shire?”      “I did the autopsy myself; it left me stunned,” Dr. Hughes tells them as they enter the elevator.

     Again the doctor presses a key and the doors close. As they slowly move down to the basement, Dean tries to find out if Hughes knows more about the case then he’s willing to let go at this point.      “We think his death might have something to do with the murder that took place in the Van Dyke residence,” he fills in.      “I heard about that on the news. CSU is still on that, though”, the physician says.      “We have one of our agents at the scene,” Sam returns, with the short statement explaining their suspicion.

     The doors open and the three enter the morgue of the hospital. It’s cool in this section and an unpleasant scent fills the area, chemicals almost masking the lingering smell of the dead. The doctor walks over to the furthest wall of metal drawers. He pulls out one of the many trays and puts on a pair of latex gloves before he zips open the body bag.      “What’s so stunning about this case?” Sam wonders.      “See for yourself.” Hughes unfolds the bag and both boys raise their eyebrows.      “Ouch,” Dean comments.

     The body of Laura’s father is badly bruised and battered, as if he got beaten up by a street gang in a bad neighborhood. His jaw is demolished, his neck broken; this is some serious abuse. The ‘Y’ shaped incisions on his torso indicated that a full autopsy has been performed on Ronald Shire, but the large stitches barely stand out between the black and broken skin.

     “That’s not all,” the doctor adds as he takes out the file. “I searched every inch of his body on the in and outside, but there is not a print, not one single fiber on him that  could point you fellas towards a suspect.”      Dean gives Sam a look without the physician seeing it. Dr. Hughes might have never seen this before, the hunters certainly have. Ghosts never leave any trace on their victims, unless they want to.

     “This caught my attention, though.” The doctor points out the bruises. “See how they run out upwards? That indicates that these injuries were caused from a lower angle. Or the killer was on its knees - which would be most unlikely - or the injuries were inflicted by someone shorter than 4 ft. 7. Someone with a growth defect, dwarf syndrome. That’s the only way I can clarify this.”      “Have you considered a child?” Sam questions, carefully.      “I have for a brief moment, but it’s theoretically impossible for a child to throw punches like this, even when it would use an object to create some kind of leverage, which I found no indication of,” the doctor explains. “Honestly, I’ve never seen damage done like this, not even by trained fighters. The evidence doesn’t add up in the slightest. This shouldn’t be possible.”

     The boys exchange another glance; the evidence adds up just fine for them. Sam tilts his head and nods to the door, giving Dean the signal that they are leaving.      “Thank you for your time, doctor.” he rounds up their visit. “If there is anything else, let us know.”      “You’re welcome, I hope you’ll get this one,” Hughes mentions while he cleans up.      “We’ll do our best,” Sam ensures.

     The two hunters leave the morgue and step back into the elevator. As soon as the doors close, the oldest of the two turns to the other.      “Laura, definitely,” the youngest brother states, determined.      “Unless this town is haunted by two frustrated mini spirits, yeah, it’s Laura.” Dean agrees, watching Sam take his phone out of his pocket as they arrive at the first floor again. “Who’re you gonna call?”      “The other Ghostbuster,” Sam replies, as he looks up Zoë’s number and presses the green button as soon as they step outside the hospital.      “Shouldn’t we get to the bomb shelter first?” the oldest suggests, snarky.      “This information could be useful”, Sam replies, but before Dean can respond to that, Zoë answers her phone.

     “Sullivan.”      “Hey Zoë, it’s Sam. Listen, I’ve got some info on Ronald Shire for you,” Sam cuts to the chase.      “Why would you have info on Laura’s dad?”      Sam cringes slightly, detecting the suspecting tone in her voice. Oh well, here goes nothing.      “We went to the Medical Center to see Shire’s body.”

      Complete silence, but Sam can almost hear Zoë’s blood boil on the other side of the line. Dean pulls his sleeve and gestures at him, frustrated.      “What are you including me for?” he hisses, making sure Zoë can’t hear him.      Sam waves him away, without making a sound he hushes his brother to be quiet, turning away from him in order not to get distracted. He takes a breath, gathering his courage. 

      “Zoë?”       “I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood you. Did you just tell me that you deliberately messed with my case, even though I told you VERY clearly not to get involved?”      The huntress’s voice trembles with anger, Sam can hear she tries to keep calm.      “We figured we could spare you some time by going ourselves--”      “- You FIGURED?!”

     Sam cowers, her voice so sharp and loud that he doesn’t have to put her on speaker for Dean to pick up on the conversation. He did move closer to his brother, invading his personal space in order to tune in.      “Better take cover,” Dean advises his brother.      Annoyed, Sam pushes his brother away and focuses on Zoë again.

     “We didn’t mess anything up if that’s what you’re worried about”, he states defensively.      “I wouldn't give a flying fuck if you solved the fucking case! You didn’t listen!”      “You’re not my boss!” Sam makes clear, not having her raging attitude, no matter how intimidated he feels by the fiery woman.      “I am the boss when it comes to MY cases, damn it! This is not a fucking candy store I’m running, Sam! You can’t go do my job without telling me, you almost got me killed last time!”      “It was an innocent morgue visit!” Sam exclaims while making a wild gesture, even though Zoë isn’t there to see it. “And honestly, would you have said ‘yes’ if I asked you first?”

     “No of course not, you fucking asshat! That’s the fucking point!” she returns, clearly furious. “I swear to God, Sam, if you and your brother cross my path again…”      “What? You’ll kill us?” Sam huffs. “Listen, Zoë. Ronald Shire was attacked by Laura, without doubt. He was a mess, his jaw was wrecked and his neck was broken, all injuries inflicted from a lower angle. That’s all the info I’ve got for you, you do with it whatever the hell you want.”

     Before Zoë can return an answer, Sam ends the call. It’s only now that he notices Dean opposite of him, his arms crossed in front of him. He nods, appreciating.      “No more Mr. Nice Guy. I like it,” he comments, then continues his way to the Impala.      Without responding to his notification, Sam follows and catches up with him, still angry with the ungrateful attitude of the huntress. He cannot believe he saved her at least an hour and a half and this is what he gets in return; so much for gratitude. 

     Together they walk over to the classic Chevrolet without speaking about it further. Yet Dean can’t help but  smile as he opens his door. Sam notices the grin and rolls his eyes.      “Just say it,” he mutters.      “Say what?”      “You know what.”      Dean looks at him over the top of the black Chevrolet and ponders, still deciding if he should say the words which he longs to say. He can’t help himself, he has to enjoy the moment and rub it in.      His smirk grows even wider. “Hate to say I told you so.”      “No, you don’t,” Sam sighs, sits down and closes the door.

     Dean does the same and turns the key, starting up the Impala’s V8 engine, which lets out an enthusiastic roar. People Are Strange by The Doors is playing on the radio while Sam stares through the windshield, still bummed about the call.      “Why doesn’t she just drop the act?” Sam wonders.      “I’m not sure if it’s an act, Sammy.” Dean checks in both directions before steering his precious car onto the road. “I sincerely think her soul is pitch black.”

     But Sam shakes his head, not buying it. “This can’t be her persona. You said it yourself; she was different when you first met her.”      “So? People change,” Dean simply declares, shrugging his shoulders.      “Maybe, but this is just stupid. We’re in town, bored out of our skull while she is working her ass off to finish up on time. It can’t be that hard to accept our help.”      “Apparently she’s socially disturbed, Sam. Let it go already. If she can’t appreciate a helping hand, she’s not worth the effort,” the older brother suggests, not wanting Sam to be bothered by the matter. “Let’s go to Texas and hunt some wolf, huh?”

     He considers the advice for a moment as they drive by Linwood Cemetery. As soon as he spots the place, he glances across the road at the Hampton Inn, but there is no sign of Zoë; she must be at the crime scene.      As they pass through, he decides he wants to stay. “No. We agreed to stay in town till tonight. Zoë will leave, case closed or not. It’s almost midday, so what difference will it make if we leave now or tonight?”      “Half a day,” Dean answers smartly.      “Denise? Or did you completely forget about the fact that you are meeting up with her later?”

     The driver of the black car raises his eyebrow at that, contemplating, because Sam is right; he did forget about his ‘date’ later today for just a second. Dean doesn’t like to admit it, but Denise is a very big plus to stay in town just a little while longer. A silence follows after Sam’s mention while his brother thinks through his options.

     “Point taken,” he gives in. “But I’ll tell you one thing. Zoë is not gonna come around.”      “She will, believe me. She’s not as bad to the bone as she pretends to be,” Sam states, sure of his words. After all, last night she was friendly for letting him crash in her room and transferring all that lore to his computer.      “I know her better than you do,” Dean weighs up.      “I don’t believe that's true,” Sam counters, shaking his head.      “Wanna bet?” Dean looks aside as the argument is starting to turn into a ‘do not, do too’ fight. “Burgers for a week.”      “I rarely eat burgers. How’s that gonna benefit me?” the younger sibling brings to mind.

     “Okay, well… If I win, you buy me burgers for a week. If you win, I won’t give you shit for ordering a salad in every fast food joint we eat at.” The green eyed hunter wiggles his eyebrows, his arrogant grin confident, spread wide on his lips.      “I’m not settling for that.” Sam huffs and shakes his head. “You can buy me whatever I order for the next seven days if I’m right.”      “Deal.”

     Before Dean can assure him that this is a bet he will win, his brother’s Blackberry rings. Surprised, he checks the screen for the number, his long chestnut hair falling in front of his eyes when he looks down, then he raises his eyebrows and smiles. Victoriously he shows the screen to Dean; it’s Zoë. Sam picks up his phone and puts her on speaker.      “What?” he snaps, still mad at her.      “What are you up to?”      The youngest of the Winchesters isn’t sure if she’s asking him if he’s still intending to mess with her case or that she’s asking if he has some spare time.      “Depends,” he answers, curt.      “You said Shire broke his neck, so did Van Dyke.”      “So?”      “Might be something.”

     Sam keeps his mouth shut, warning Dean to do the same with only a look and a slight shake of the head. An unpleasant silence follows. Obviously, it irritates Zoë.      “C'mon, Sam. Knock it off!”      “No, Zoë! We’re helping you out and this is what we get?” Sam returns.      “You two nosey dickwads went behind my back! How can you expect me to be--”

     They can hear her sigh and swallow down the rest of the sentence as she collects herself, trying to keep her temper in check.      “I don’t like working with others and I certainly don’t want to abandon this case. I’ve never passed up a job, it’s not my style. But if I don't finish up by tonight, I don't have another option.”

     “I get that, but wouldn’t it be better if we just work together now and make sure that you’ll make your deadline?” Sam suggests, calmer than a moment ago, now that the woman on the other end of the line has done the same.      “Look, Zo,” Dean interrupts, adding his two cents. “I know you’re not particularly happy about teaming up - and hey, neither am I - but you’ll be able to cover more ground that way. You can’t expect us to leave town knowing you might have to face a dilemma. The sooner you close this case, the sooner we can go our separate ways.”      “I don’t know...”      Again a sigh while Zoë considers her next move. Sam allows the silence, granting her the time to think it through. The way he sees it, she doesn't have much of a choice. The Winchesters are the best option she’s got.      “Okay, fine,” she eventually gives in. “But this is still my case. I call the shots and might we stumble on trouble, we stick to the plan. I can’t settle for anything less.”      Dean has already opened his mouth to object, but Sam elbows him hard, shooting him a warning glare.      “Agreed,” the youngest quickly answers, ignoring the quiet muttering from his left.      “Dean?”

     The older Winchester brother grinds his teeth. Shit, he does not want to bow down to her, because he knows the second he does, she will without a doubt step up to become Evil Queen Bitch. He’s never going to live it down. One case, he tells himself. One fucking case and he will never have to deal with her again.      “Fine,” he utters, barely audible.      “One other thing. I need to leave town tonight, case finished or not. We have to try or take care of this today, okay?”      “We will,” Sam assures. “And if we run into trouble and can’t manage to wrap up, you don’t have to worry about this case. We’ll make sure to have it covered and that Laura will be put to rest.”      “So, do we meet up or what?”      “Yeah, sure.”      “Where are you at?”

     Before Sam answers he checks the name of the road they are on.      “W. Kings Highway, going west. We’re staying at the Ramada Inn,” Sam tells her.      “Shit motel.”      He scoffs a chuckle, glad the tension has lifted. “Tell me ‘bout it.”      “I'll see you at In-N-Out,” the huntress decides. “I want an Animal Burger.”      “Have you had that 4x4 burger?” Dean says, his mouth watering. “The amount of meat, hmm.”      “Are you kidding me? I grew up in California; In-N-Out is my jam!”      “Their food is fuckin’ amazing, ain’t it?” Dean agrees.      “Oh my God, yes! How they grill their cheese—”

     Stunned, Sam stares from the phone to Dean and back. Did the unthinkable just happen? Did Zoë and Dean actually agree on something? Remarkable, but truly, here is the one subject they can’t fight about; food.      “Zo?” he interrupts.      “Yeah?”      “See you at In-N-Out.” He chuckles and hangs up.

     The Ramada Inn shows up in front of them and Dean pulls up into the parking lot, turning off the ignition once he has found a spot close to the entrance. Before he gets out of the car, he registers Sam, who’s wearing a boyish grin on his face. His eyes sparkle through the curtain of his bangs, his pearl white teeth on display; it’s clear he’s very much amused.      “Hate to say I told you so,” Sam nags victoriously, and pushes the passenger door open.

     With a confused expression upon his face, Dean gets out of his car himself. He then glares at younger Winchester over the top of the Impala, the words sinking in. Fuck, he lost a bet; Zoë came around.      “No, you don’t,” he mutters, following his sibling inside. Looks like he’s going to have to live through the embarrassment of ordering and paying for salads the coming week. Oh well, at least he doesn’t have to eat them.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).   

Read part eight here

[meandnotyou1001]

I keep reading Irondad fanfics (because it's almost life) and so many of them are centered around Peter and his emotional problems, which is all well and good, but it gave me an idea. Here is my first ever one-shot to be posted on Tumblr. (I have others on Fanfiction.net.)

Ask For Help

An Irondad fic. Part 1.

Summary:

Someone needs help and it's not who we're expecting. How are Karen and Friday going to get them the help they need when it's impossible to ignore certain protocols?

Warning: Attempted Suicide. Not a lot of suicidal thoughts, because it’s from someone else’s point of view. If this is going to trigger you, please don’t read. I’d rather you be safe, than have one more reader. Everyone please take care of yourselves and call for help if you need it.

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

Peter didn’t notice it happening. He’d never seen it happen before. Hell, he didn’t even think it could happen, but with hindsight (being 20/20 and all) he kicked himself for how stupid that thought was. Mr. Stark was human, of course he had problems like that. But, all in all, Peter was just a little busy. It was finals week. He was doing EOC’s, AP exams, and finals. It was so hectic and stressful he’d even cut his Spiderman hours by nearly two-thirds.

Peter didn’t think much of it when Mr. Stark had texted, repeatedly throughout the last month of school, asking if he’d be by the Tower that day and he answered that he couldn’t, he was busy.

He didn’t think much of it when Mr. Stark called and told him Pepper was going on a business trip to Shanghai and they should get together for a guys’ night. He couldn’t, he was busy.

He didn’t think much of it when Mr. Stark said the Exvengers (or Rogues, Peter prefered that name) had settled back in the Compound to mooch off of him and use him as their punching bag once more. He was sorry, Mr. Stark, he would love to hang out and meet the Avengers, but he was busy.

So, Peter wasn’t really concerned about anything but his stupid AP Litertature exam one Thrusday night when he sat down at his desk to study. He was ten minutes in, when his phone dinged an alert. Looking up, Peter saw a police report about a mugging gone wrong, ending with two injured and one dead. The teen frowned, but reluctantly put his phone down. Aunt May had been very clear about him Spidermanning during finals month.

Ten minutes later, on the dot, Peter’s phone dinged again. Looking up, Peter saw another police report. A jewelry store robbery with nearly four million dollars in jewels stolen. Peter frowned again. Mr. Stark said education came first, before Spiderman. He put the phone down.

Ten minutes. A report on a drug bust that ended in a shoot-off with six dead. Peter stared at the report. “Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?” his AI answered from his phone.

“You know I’m supposed to be studying for my AP final right?”

“Of course, Peter. Stay in School Protocol states you are not to go out as Spiderman, when you are studying for an exam.”

Karen’s response seemed innocent, but why on earth was she sending Peter police reports. She knew how much it irritated him, not being able to help, but unable to disobey Aunt May and Mr. Stark for fear of the consequences.

“You are studying very hard, Peter, perhaps you should reward yourself.” His AI’s voice was kind.

Peter hummed lightly, feeling just a little, like he was being played, but staring at the police report, he found he didn’t care. “This is giving me a headache anyway, maybe an hour or two will give my brain a break.”

Pulling on the suit, he was surprised when Karen automatically stated, “Peter, you are supposed to be studying for your AP exam, I will have to inform Mr. Stark that you are going out.”

“What?” Peter demanded. “You’re the one you said I should go out.”

“I would not do that, Peter,” Karen countered, “as it goes against my Stay in School Protocol.”

Peter blinked. “Screw my homework giving me a headache, all your mixed messages are giving me a headache. Fine, tell Mr. Stark, but while you’re at it, tell him it’s  just for a little while and cause I need a break.”

“Message sent.”

Peter sighed, shaking his head at his AI. “You’re as confusing as any human girl, Karen, but I still love you.”

“Thank you, Peter. I love you as well.”

Peter didn’t respond as he climbed out the window and started his patrol.

It was nearly ten o’clock in the evening, just as he was turning to go home, hoping for a full night of rest and at least part of a chance to actually pass said exam, when Karen sent him an alert.

“Peter,” his AI addressed him, “Friday says there seems to be a problem at the Tower.”

“What?” Peter was suddenly on high alert and the AP exam far from his mind. “Is Mr. Stark there?!” Peter didn’t wait for an answer as he quickly began to throw himself from building to building, as quickly as he could.

“Friday states she is unable to give Spiderman Mr. Stark’s status, as it is against the Boss’s direct orders.” Karen told him.

Peter faltered just for a second. “That isn’t what I asked.”

It wasn’t a question, but Karen answered, “I know, Spiderman.”

Peter’s mind shot to their weird conversation just before he’d gone on patrol and something in his stomach sank. What was going on with his AI, and now Friday to. He pushed himself harder to get across New York City faster. Something was up, something neither Karen or Friday could tell him, something that had Karen loopholing her protocols to get Peter on patrol, because now that he thought about it, now it made too much sense.

Peter slammed into the Tower, crawling as fast as he could up the side of the building aiming for one of the less occupied floors. “Karen, can you ask Friday to open a window?”

“Friday says the Boss had ordered no one to disturb him.” Karen responded, seeming to completely ignore Peter’s question once more. “She also says, any and all defensive protocols are prohibited from being used on Spiderman.”

Peter’s mind faltered again, as he continued his frantic climb. “You two are giving me whiplash with your weird-ass answers,” he remarked. Peter wasn’t stupid though. For whatever reason, Mr. Stark didn’t want him to know what was going on, but Friday wanted him to anyway. Friday was telling him, without breaking any protocols, that he needed to break into Stark Tower, to help Mr. Stark. Or he was going insane as two top-of-the-line AI’s glitched out.

So, he did just that. Busting through a window in Mr. Stark’s lab, Peter let himself in, crouching on the ceiling ready for a fight. “Where is he?” He asked, not caring which AI answered.

“I am prohibited from giving Spiderman the Boss’s location or state of being,” Friday remarked, Peter could have sworn she sounded frantic, and pissed.

“Karen, where is he?” Peter begged, not even wanting to know why the two had suddenly taken to calling him Spiderman, instead of Peter.

“There is a heat signature in the penthouse, in Mr. Stark’s suite, the bathroom,” Karen answered, showing Peter on his HUD. “The temperature of the body is extremely low.”

Peter’s stomach dropped to his feet and suddenly he felt like throwing up, but he pushed it it a side, deliberated only for a second, before diving back out the broken window, to launch himself up the side of Stark Tower, crashing into the penthouse, and tearing toward Mr. Stark’s suite. His heart was pounding, his head at war as desperation told him he was imagining things, but logic told him he was right on the money.

Peter burst into the bedroom, making a beeline for the bathroom. Not even bothering to knock on the door, Peter tore it off its hinges and tossed it aside. “Mr. Stark!” Peter froze upon seeing his hero, his mentor, his father! slumped against the bathroom counter, pale as a ghost, just as still and in a pool of his own blood. It was Uncle Ben! It was Uncle Ben all over again! But worse! It was worse! Way! Way! Way! WORSE!!!!

“Peter, the best course of action would be to put pressure on his wounds, secure his airways, and get him medical care immediately.” Friday’s frantic voice cut him out of his spiralling panic attack.

“Y-yeah!” he gasped, dropping to his knees, trying not to hurl as he splashed blood everywhere that it already wasn’t. He latched onto Mr. Stark’s bleeding wrist, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding, without accidentally hurting Mr. Stark more. “M-Mr. Stark?! Tony! Can you hear me?! Don’t you have those Iron-medic-bots, Friday?!” he demanded as he laid Mr. Stark on his back, practically in tears when he realized the man was breathing. He couldn’t clam his own heart long enough to hear if Mr. Stark’s was beating, but it seemed to be, if he was breathing.

“I do, Peter, but without an override of the Boss’s orders I cannot use them.” Peter didn’t have time to think about what this could mean, regarding how the two AI’s had gotten him to the Tower in the first place, all he cared about was his mentor.

“Mr. Stark! Tony! How do I override your stupid protocols?! Please! Don’t leave me! Please?! How do I override them, Friday?!” He screamed.

“Ms. Potts.” Friday stated.

“Call her then!” Peter cried.

“Boss’s protocols--”

“Karen!” Peter was desperate, bordering on hysterical.

“Calling Ms. Potts,” Karen responded.

At the same time, Friday said, “Peter, there are towels just above your head. Be careful of your strength, you could hurt Mr. Stark if you hold too tight.” Peter scrambled for the towels, using his web-shooters when he couldn’t reach them without letting go of Mr. Stark.

“Mr--Tony! Please, don’t die one me!” Peter didn’t quite know how in the hell he wasn’t bawling his eyes out, but his eyes remained dry, almost as if his body was aware of how desperately he needed his vision clear.

“Tony, Babe, I love you but seriously, if I’m going to do this stupid share-holder meeting for you, you can’t call me in the middle of it, using Peter’s AI isn’t going to change that. You’re lucky we’re on a lunch break right now.” Ms. Potts' voice suddenly spoke in Peter’s, making him visibly jump.

“M-Miss Potts!” Peter exclaimed. He was honestly surprised it came out, rather than the sobbing mess he felt like he was inside. “Mr. Star--”

“Ms. Potts, Friday needs a direct override of the Boss’s protocols.” Karen interrupted in an urgent voice.

“Friday, directly override every one of Tony’s protocols that you want. Access code: Even when I’m wrong, I’m right. ” Ms.Potts answered without hesitation. “Peter, what’s going on? Where’s Tony?”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was breaking down. There was an adult present (sort of) he no longer had to be strong. He choked on a sob as his eyes blurred, but hardly had time to really get into it, before several loud crashes echoed through the building and two Iron Man suits erupted from the floor.

Peter shrieked as Mr. Stark was ripped from his hands and placed into a silver and red suit with the American Red-Cross symbol on it. He had very little time to do much else as he too was encased in a suit, though this one was the typical red and gold.

The two sets of armor shot out of the building with a blatant disregard for property damage and shot through the sky toward the north, gaining speed and going supersonic in a matter of minutes, going only as fast as was safe for Mr. Stark.

“I am transporting them to the Compound,” Friday announced in Peter’s ear. “Helen Cho is being contacted. I am sending Happy for Mrs. Parker. Your plane is being prepped and will be ready for take-off by the time you arrive, Boss Lady. Emergency Level: Yellow. Guardian Angel Protocol activated. Rhodey has been notified and is inbound in the War Machine armor. EAT: Five minutes.”

Peter’s mind seemed to blank. One minute he’s shooting toward the Compound at a speed that made his insides turn on each other, the next, he was in a long white hallway surrounded by the Avengers. There was frantic, yet hushed whispers as everyone but Vision questioned Mr. Stark’s wounds.

Distantly, he heard a voice calling his name, but all he could think about was Mr. Stark’s cold prone form on his bathroom floor. Emergency Level: Yellow. He knew what yellow meant. He understood what had happened. He understood now, why the AI’s had been acting strange. He knew everything!

Aside from: why?!

He couldn’t understand! Why would Mr. Stark do it?! Why would he feel that way?! He was Tony Stark! He was amazing! He was always so strong and confident! He was always ready with a snide remark and a smile, teasing Peter, but never lacking in his praise! He was always perfectly put together and understanding and patient!

But you've seen a mask like that before, a voice in his head defended. You knew it was possible.

"But not for Mr. Stark!" he wanted to scream. He never imagined it could have happened to his perfect father-figure, who never so much as faltered.

“Peter!” He jerked out of his thoughts and into his aunt’s arms. Happy appeared behind her, face grim as he went to Vision and Colonel Rhodes, who stood whispering in the corner near the door. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, Baby,” his aunt tried to sooth in his ear.

“Why?” he asked, his voice sounded so dead he almost flinched. Was that really his voice?

“After everything?!” May demanded. “I...no one should have to see someone they love like that, especially a child.”

“So, is someone going to tell us what the fuck is going on?” All eyes turned to Sam Wilson.

“Language!” May and Happy snapped at the same time.

“This is no time for games,” Natasha Romanov countered coldly.

“There is a child present!” May snarled, not even a little intimidated by the assassin-spy turned Avenger.

Before any of them could continue the war, Ms. Potts came sprinting down the corridor barefoot and frantic. “What the hell happened?” She begged. “Nothing has changed!”

Colonel Rhodes and Happy shook their heads looking lost. “Not in the last month, Boss,” Happy said. “Coffee every morning with me.”

“I called at lunch,” Rhodey supplied.

“We had dinner together,” Vision agreed.

All four sets of eyes turned to Aunt May and Peter. Peter flinched in confusion, but Aunt May spoke. “It's a month before school lets out. They've started EOCs, AP testing, and finals. He's been busy, but he texts him all day.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Wanda Maximoff asked, looking particularly at Vision.

But Peter had put the pieces together and he understood exactly what changed. “It’s my fault?!” He gasped, suddenly feeling like the world, already wobbly and confusing, was jerked out from under him. He was free-falling.

“No!” Aunt May turned to him. “No! It’s not!”

“Yes, it is!” Peter cried, tearing away from her as the world spun. “I’ve been blowing him off! I kept telling him I was busy!”

“No, Pete! Baby, he knew you had finals! You text him all the time!” His aunt tried to reassure him.

“It doesn’t matter!” Peter cried, suddenly unable to breath. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think! He couldn’t think past the image of Mr. Stark slumped in a puddle of his own blood! “It doesn’t matter! He comes first! He should always come first!”

“Pete! Peter, breathe! Breathe, Sweetie. Follow me. In, 2...3...4, out, 2...3...4.” Peter tried his hardest to follow his aunt’s words as his mind continued to bake up cruelty after cruelty at his failure.

He’d driven Mr. Stark to suicide!!

“Attempted suicide?” Falcon asked, a conversation having happened during Peter's panic attack.

"That is a coward's way out," Scarlet Witch snarled.

Several things happened at once. Ms. Potts, Colonel Rhodes, and Happy all jerked forward ready to rip the girl a new one. 

"I agree," Steve Rogers stated.

Vision took on a sad sort of disappointed look, Black Widow had no reaction toward the words, but Falcon looked pissed.

Aunt May froze.

Peter...Peter stepped forward and faster than any of them could think, let alone see, a SLAP! and CRACK! resonated through the hall.

And the door at the end of the hall opened to reveal Dr. Helen Cho.

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Second Love

LoganLight, AO3

Summary:

Adrien isn’t one to fall in love slowly. So, when his heart pulls him in a new direction he goes all in.

Notes: Written for Week 3 of Adrien AUG-reste.

————————————————–

Adrien parried Kagami’s strike and launched a counter attack. Kagami was ready however and dodged easily while landing a hit.

“Sloppy, Adrien,” Kagami commented as they retook their positions.

“Oh, you know,” Adrien replied with a teasing lilt. “It’s hard to focus when your opponent’s so pretty.”

Kagami missed her lunge and Adrien scored a hit. She lifted her mask so he could see her narrowed eyes. That was the first time Adrien called her pretty. Your underhanded tactics won’t be enough to secure victory!

“Is that why I beat you so easily?” Kagami asked.

Adrien lifted his own mask to reveal a smug grin. “You don’t need a handicap for that.”

 Kagami felt a blush forming so she resumed her stance. He did likewise and they crossed swords.

Kagami was grateful for these one-on-one practice sessions. Even though they saw each other at many mutual high-class events it wasn’t the same. They were expected to act a certain way while representing their parents. But when they were fencing?

Adrien mirrored her movements perfectly. Her skill forced him to fight with everything he had. Kagami brought out the best in him and Adrien grinned at the challenge. There were no illusions when they were fencing. He could glimpse the parts of Kagami she kept hidden. Adrien was sure she could see him more clearly, too.

Kagami understood what it was like to be held up to impossible expectations. In his opinion, Kagami did it much better than him.

Which is probably why he was on his back at the moment.

“You let yourself become distracted,” Kagami accused while pointing her foil at him.

“Guilty,” Adrien admitted, embarrassed.

He got back on his feet and they started again. Kagami was always impressive with a sword; her movements fluid and sure like the Dragon she was. Especially motivated by his teasing to show him who’s boss.

But Adrien had motivations of his own. Recalling the move D'Argencourt used on him, Adrien twisted his foil around Kagami’s and shot it out of her hands. He could feel her surprise through the mask.

Removing his mask he smiled at her. “How’d I do?”

Kagami took off her own mask. “That was new.”

Adrien’s smile morphed into a grin. “I’m full of surprises. Some find it, disarming.”

Kagami stared at the self-satisfied look on his face. “… I’ll give you that one but you need better material.”

Adrien pouted.

Kagami turned away to hide her blush and the small smile tugging on the corners of her lips. “Anyway, we should get changed.”

 They went to remove their sweaty gear. Adrien thinking of ways to make Kagami laugh. Kagami thinking of Adrien’s compliments and if they meant what she hoped they did.

 ——————————–

“What made you decide to switch targets?”

Adrien missed the intended keys and the piano clanged in protest. He gazed at her with wide, startled eyes then looked down. “I… I realized something recently.”

“And that is?” Kagami prodded gently.

Adrien took a deep breath. “That it’s not enough to choose someone. They have to choose you, too. And she didn’t. It took me a long time to accept that.”

Kagami was silent as she thought over her words. “You are sure this time?”

Adrien gave her a rueful smile. “You’re an incredible person, Kagami. Honest, brave, loyal. And you picked me. That… I’d like to make it work. If you’ll give me another chance?”

Kagami felt her cheeks heat up at his hopeful look. “I would like that very much.”

Adrien’s whole face lit up and this time it was Kagami’s turn to look away. She smiled at how Adrien wore his heart on his sleeve. For his part he admired Kagami’s rare, shy smile.

Adrien reluctantly pulled himself out of the gentle gaze he was giving Kagami. “… Do you want me to play anything?”

Kagami blinked as she came out of her own thoughts. “Pardon?”

Adrien rubbed the back of his head and gestured to his piano. “I do have to practice. Just thought you might want something specific?”

“I’d like to listen to your favorite, actually,” Kagami said. “You haven’t told me what it is.”

Adrien grinned and started playing an upbeat tempo that reminded him of black-and-white American cartoons and barroom brawls. Kagami wasn’t expecting that but what surprised her most was Adrien himself.

Kagami had never seen him so into a song before. She’d only heard him play a handful of times, true, but he didn’t smile then. He seemed to bounce with the melody and Kagami soon found herself tapping her feet to the rhythm.

The song was so unlike everything that was expected of them. It wasn’t the sterile so-called perfection that permeated their families. Kagami understood what this meant to Adrien without him having to say a word.

They smiled at each other as the joyful tune filled Adrien’s empty room.

—————————-

“No, no, no!” Vincent cried. “I need emotion! Like when your maman serves fresh made spaghetti!”

“Mother doesn’t cook,” Kagami replied stiffly.

Adrien smiled placatingly at the exasperated photographer and placed a gentle hand on Kagami’s shoulder. “Let me try.”

He turned Kagami away from the demanding cameras so they wouldn’t see her struggle. “How you holding up?”

“I’ve done photo ops before. Those photographers weren’t nearly so demanding,” Kagami admitted.

They were at a photoshoot to promote the Agreste and Tsurugi families’ joint venture.

Adrien gave her a sympathetic look. “Yeah, Vincent always gets the best photos but he’s not easy to satisfy. I remember how awkward my first time modeling was. It took me a while to relax.”

“You were quite awkward in the photo you showed me,” Kagami pointed out, a question in her voice.

Adrien rubbed the back of his head, blushing slightly at the memory of his first photo-shoot. “Father intervened.”

Kagami gave him a small smile. “It’s endearing.” Kagami took pleasure in watching his blush darken. “… I’m unsure I’ll be able to perform what’s expected of me.”

Adrien dropped his hand from her shoulder to lace his fingers through her’s. “Think of it as a fencing match. How do you prepare for those?”

“I imagine my opponent prostrated before me after I have defeated them,” Kagami stated seriously.

Adrien blinked then his lips curled up in a smirk. “Well, then think of that with Vincent,” he stage whispered.

Kagami’s eyes took on a predatory glint.

Things went more smoothly after that and they made good progress. Adrien was happy to have someone to talk with; it made the usually boring shoot fun. Kagami gained a new respect for Adrien. His schedule was filled with so many of these! It wasn’t like fencing really but thinking of that gave Kagami something to focus on.

As the photographer wrapped up the young couple wondered when they’d have time to go on their first proper date.

 —————————-

Adrien and Kagami ran through the crowd hand in hand. They flew as though being pursued. Which would only happen if they’d made a mistake in sneaking away from their respective guardians.

Planning the date without telling either of their parents turned out to be harder than expected. The convention may last all week but their schedules didn’t align for most of it.

Still. Adrien had never cosplayed before and Kagami had never been to a convention. Neither was going to miss the first one dedicated specifically to the Guardians of Paris.

Not for the first time Kagami thought about how unfair it was that he’d chosen her alter ego. Ryuko’s colors looked good on him. For his part Adrien thought the same thing about Kagami choosing to cosplay as Aspik. Especially since Viperion was much more popular.

Needless to say, both were blushing messes. Pretending they weren’t a romantic tension filled moment away from melting into a puddle of goo… Kagami was better at pretending than Adrien.

“Tell me again about this akuma video game?” Kagami asked. Adrien was very excited when he heard Max would show it off since he hadn’t gotten a chance to play it yet.

“Max designed the game himself! It’s got all the villains up to Gamer 2.0 and he’s thinking of adding the new ones eventually.” Adrien led her through the miling crowd of superheroes.

Mostly everyone dressed up as Ladybug and Chat Noir, with a few of the other heroes thrown in. Which was part of the reason Adrien insisted on coming as anyone besides them.

That and he didn’t want to see Kagami as Ladybug. That was just asking for trouble.

They found Max’s stall filled with people playing on a half dozen consoles. The line moved quickly as every pair was only allowed a three fight round. Max himself was engrossed in a fierce battle; Adrien didn’t want to break his concentration.

Kagami observed the unusual battles with interest. If she was going to beat Adrien she’d need every advantage. Finally it was their turn.

“I may not have played the game before but Max says the mechanics are similar to UMS III. And I’m still the second best player in our school,” Adrien boasted playfully, purposefully stoking her competitive side.

“Only second best? My victory is assured then. I may be rusty but my proficiency in gaming will be more than enough to destroy you.” Kagami would not let his smug smirk go unchallenged!

Adrien’s grin widened and he picked M. Pigeon, eager to see if the villain would be as effective as last time.

Odd but then so was her date; Kagami chose Riposte.

Adrien gave her a questioning look. Kagami straightened her posture in determination. “He doesn’t control me,” she said simply.

Adrien nodded, he was always in awe of Kagami’s strength and this small display was no exception.

Adrien and Kagami fought furiously for dominion. Learning the controls on the fly and trying to one up each other.

M. Pigeon’s victory caught Kagami by surprise. “Since when can he do that?”

“M. Pigeon used Meteor Strike! It’s super effective!” Adrien leaned into her space. “Say, what do I get if I win?”

Kagami leaned in. “I suppose you’d get to kiss me.”

Adrien turned bright red.

“And if I win I get to kiss you,” Kagami continued.

Powering through the thought of a kiss he could actually remember Adrien focused. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

Kagami gave him a predatory look. “Not at all.”

Adrien swallowed and met her charged gaze with his own. “Guess I better win then.”

Kagami won the next round.

“Why’d you pick Reflekta?” Kagami asked curiously.

Adrien sighed at the Mime’s victory pose onscreen. “I rock a mean pair of high heels.”

Kagami blinked in surprise, then she smiled. “How bold of you.”

Adrien rubbed the back of his head shyly.

Kagami picked Darkblade for the last round. Adrien thought of choosing Troublemaker like Ladybug had but decided to go with Kung Food.

The last fight was much more balanced as both of them had gotten used to the controls. Kung Food had greater range but Darkblade had better defense. Adrien threw cheese bombs as Kagami dodged and blocked. She managed to get close enough to make Kung Food pull out his sword.

Both were on their last sliver of health as they attacked. Their characters charged and hit each other simultaneously. Both fell as the screen proclaimed their battle a tie.

“… Max!” Adrien exclaimed.

“That was unexpected,” Kagami pulled Adrien out of the way of the next pair of players.

“He would put a mutual K.O. in his game!” Adrien grumbled as they walked to a less crowded corner.

“Are you upset because you think you don’t get to kiss me?” Kagami asked.

Adrien reddened slightly. “Well, we don’t have a winner and… What do you mean by that?”

Kagami turned to face him, her cheeks tinted pink. “In a certain sense we both won.” She let that sink in for a moment.

Adrien’s eyes widened and then he was giving her that soft look again. He stepped closer and Kagami did the same. Heedless of the noise of strangers surrounding them.

The kiss was gentle and tentative. Adrien was as soft as she imagined him to be. Kagami as warm as he knew she could be.

They pulled apart slowly and as they stared into each other’s eyes Kagami said the first thing that came into her head. “You smell like Camembert.”

Adrien’s face burned. "I’m sorry! I can’t help it! There’s this, um-“

Kagami placed a finger on his lips. "I like Camembert.” Adrien got even redder if that was possible and she swore she heard someone stifling their laughter.

“You do?” Adrien’s face was an odd mix of relief and chagrin.

“But I’m not sure I want a boyfriend that smells like cheese all the time.” Kagami teased stepping out of his grasp.

Boyfriend! “Yeah, hate for you to tell our friends your boyfriend stinks and give them the wrong idea.” Adrien reached out and grabbed her hand. That was the first time Kagami had called him her boyfriend!

“As opposed to the right idea?” Kagami decided that a blushing Adrien was well worth the effort. Even if he did get used to most of her teasing by the second go around.

Instead of answering immediately Adrien reached up to remove their masks. They didn’t get in the way of the game so they’d been left on.

“I’m sure they already know what my girlfriend got herself into.” Adrien was gratified to see Kagami’s blush darken to match his.

“Return my mask, Adrien. It completes the look,” Kagami said to distract herself.

Adrien complied. “I like being able to see your face. When I first saw you I thought: Wow, she’s cute!”

Kagami smiled shyly as she looked down at her mask. Adrien was always so liberal with his compliments. She had trouble in that department. “When you returned my saber to me I realized how honorable you are. Not many opponents would insist on a rematch after being declared the winner.”

“… You didn’t have to comfort me that day,” Adrien said. “But you did. You were gentle with me. Kind. And I-”

“You’ve already apologized for that,” Kagami interrupted. “And I will not have my boyfriend under a self-inflicted debt.”

“Well. Why don’t you humor me and let me take you ice skating again?” Adrien asked. “A proper date. Just the two of us this time.” He clasped her hands between his as he looked into her eyes.

“As I recall I took you ice skating,” Kagami corrected. “But I’m not opposed to the idea.”

Adrien laughed lightly. “I’ll take that as a yes!”

The young couple redonned their masks as they went to explore the rest of the convention. Wandering anonymously and aimlessly to whatever caught their eye.

And as they walked among superheroes Adrien realized that he hadn’t reacted to the red and polka dots once.

Kagami squeezed his hand and he returned the gesture. They were both making this up as they went along and neither was sure of where it would lead. But Adrien knew they’d figure it out together.

————————————————–

Notes: Basically I took that soft look Kagami got at the end of Oni-chan and ran with it. Also needs more puns. (Written before Desperada)

[cecilspeaks]

155 - The Heist, part 3

Leave no stone unturned. Leave no rock unpivoted. Leave no pebble untwirled. Welcome to Night Vale.

My brother-in-law, Steve Carlsberg, is still in jail, wrongly accused of the recent bank heist. But I am happy to have my husband Carlos back home. The Sheriff’s Secret Police had only taken him in for some questions regarding the robbery of the Last Bank of Night Vale. Sheriff Sam had deemed Carlos a person of interest, which I’ve been saying for years, but Sheriff Sam meant it differently.

Carlos said while he was being questioned at the police station, he saw the other bank employees who were there the day of the robbery. Genevieve Daly, the new bank teller, was being asked if she saw anyone other than Steve Carlsberg near the vault that day. Carlos said she was stone faced, unhappy with the interrogation. Susan Willman was there, crying, as the police asked her who else, other than Steve Carlsberg, could have a key. And security guard Jesse McNeil was there looking quite ill, almost seasick, according to Carlos, as the police tried to badger him into implicating Steve Carlsberg.

Carlos has been home for a couple of weeks and in a terrible funk. He said Steve has a nearly impossible case. The police are convinced of Steve’s guilt and all their evidence points directly to him. Carlos hardly has any energy or emotion to work, or even leave the house. I feel awful for Steve too, and we are doing our best to support him and our family.

I tried cheering Carlos up by telling him my favorite science jokes, like two chemists walk into a bar and one tells the bartender, “I’ll have an H2O” and the other says “I’ll have an H20 too,” and the bartender says and sighs.. [fed up] “It’s been a long day guys,” and then the two chemists nod and say, [embarrassed] “Yeah oh god yeah sorry, just a couple of waters thanks.” And then later they make sure to tip very well. But Carlos didn’t even crack as mile, let alone laugh, and I asked him how his doorless fridge experiment was going and he’s welcome to work on it here, in his home laboratory. I don’t even mind if he keeps staining everything green with that weird gel he’s been using. “I ran out of gel, Cecil,” he said, prone on the couch not opening his eyes. “I couldn’t work on that, even if I wanted to. which I don’t.” Hm. I wanna curl up on the couch too, stay home from work. But I know that would be terrible for Carlos. There are many times I’ve felt flat or depressed, and Carlos has been there for me, keeping me company, taking in my sadness and reflecting back not a false smile but attentive eyes, a listening posture that makes me feel heard and understood, and that’s what I want to be for him. Besides, I think Steve can beat these charges. Steve may have been the only one with a key to the vault, but they cannot prove he opened the vault, as he was locked inside his own office during the robbery. And besides, Steve keeps very detailed accounting so they wouldn’t be able to find the stolen money, not even if he had taken it. Steve Carlsberg is… [moved] the nicest man in Night Vale. He’s a good boss, breaking his foot to get free to try to protect his employees. He’s a fine father. A loving husband. And a perfect brother-in-law. It’s just not... it’s not possible. You know, if someone on the inside did this, it was probably Susan. Susan Willman is the least trustworthy person in that bank, if not in this whole town. So if you’re going to…

[loud scary noises] Station Management just slit a memo under my door gently, reminding me about libel laws. The memo is written in fire on a sleep tablet, and there’s a snake curled around it so, uhh.. I’m going to leave my Susan WIllman theory alone. But. Let’s just say that there was an untrustworthy person in that bank, and that her name was Su..anne Wilt..son. Yes, Sue-Anne Wilson, yes and this hypothetical jerk was always complaining at PTA meetings about her own personal problems, rather than focusing on the agenda, let’s just say. And this Sue-Anne Wilson once accused Steve Carlsberg of censoring her, when Steve was just trying to finish the meeting in a timely manner so that the basketball team could se the gym for evening practice. This person might well hold a grudge against Steve Carlsberg and want to not only steal from him, but frame him for the crime. 

Or, what if the Sheriff’s Secret Police… [loud scary noises] was doing a really great job, so great that they didn’t have a lot of arrests to make because the town was so safe. And of course, [chuckling nervously] they would never need to frame someone for robbery! So they would look like they were solving one of the major crimes in recent memory. Or maybe it was space slugs. Some distant aliens from across the galaxy somehow found our solar system and spotted our Earth, and then randomly chose Night Vale, and for whatever reason, they really wanted our money, so they went down inside the bank vault while the building was on fire, and without the safe key they entered the locked room because these space slugs can crawl through walls, and then they stole all the money. I don’t know! I feel helpless.[loud scary noises fade out]

Reading the news and getting angrier and angrier, but you know there’s little I can do about terrible things that keep happening. I’m sure you can’t relate. Maybe a community calendar will cheer me up.

This Saturday, the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex opens its annual Haunted Halloween Hayride. There was complications this year, because Ghost Union Local 31 went on strike for an increase in pensions and maternity leave. Teddy Williams, owner of the Desert Flower, argued that ghosts cannot retire nor get pregnant, but the union countered with vaguely human faces muttering in the shadows while Teddy screamed, and eventually, a deal was truck.

Sunday morning is the pie eating contest at the Night Vale fair. Contestants will be competing for a top prize of a 1991 Buick Le Sabre, autographed by former US presidential hopeful and Illinois governor, Adelai Stevenson.

Tuesday afternoon is a tedious song. Wednesday night is the high school dance team’s statewide semifinals at the rec center. Our own Night Vale High School is competing that night. Their top rival is Red Mesa High School, who will be performing a jazz routine called Tommy Tunes Broadway: an upbeat medley of classic show tunes. Night Vale’s dance team will present (--) [0:09:21] postmodern masterpiece (-): contemplative blend of sculpture opera and dance defined by its explosive physical bursts, chanting, and (contra-) movements born of a 22-member ensemble, who express the human body as a multidimensional art installation. Good luck to all dancers!

And finally, Thursday is sick, so Friday will be covering Thursday’s shift. Eh, except for the part about the haunted hay ride. That did not cheer me up.

I’m getting word that the Secret Police have made a breakthrough in their bank heist investigation. Or maybe they found the real thief and can let Steve Carlsberg go? [clears throat] Sheriff Sam said the lab reports came back, the fingerprints were inconclusive as their top suspect Steve Carlsberg worked at the bank, so his fingerprints were everywhere. But the lab reports did detail a strange goo police found on the vault walls. This goo, a light green gel, was also found on the walls of the cells that the other robbers had escaped from two weeks ago. So maybe my theory about space slugs is correct. No wait. The lab reports showed that this unusual chemical can render certain metals intangible, allowing people to reach through walls without breaking them. [stutters] Police believe whoever used this greenish goo used it to rob the bank’s vault and to free the prisoners inside the abandoned mineshaft outside of town. The Sheriff then said they discovered this exact same chemical on Steve Carlsberg’s property. They discovered it inside the shed behind the house, and that this is the final piece of evidence that links Steve Carlsberg to the robbery of the Last Bank of Night Vale. They believe that, oh no… Um, that Steve did not act alone, that he had an accomplice, a scientific mastermind who created this chemical for him. Who generated a complex concoction that enabled them to walk through walls stealing whatever they wanted. They have a warrant out now for Carlos’ arrest. I’ve gotta call Carlos. I- Oh, it looks like he left a voicemail.  

[beep] Carlos: Hey sweetie, it’s um me. So listen, I have um, I so-so I’ve just been arrested. No biggie, no biggie, I’m fine. This is actually good news, because I wanted to talk to the Sheriff anyway about all this, so that-that’s great. And um, I do have some new thoughts about what happened at the bank, and they’re really interesting, so they’re driving me downtown to meet with uh ooh, ouch, those cuffs are a bit tight there, officer… officer (Q. Fortier). Ah, that is a beautiful name. I-i-is that Franchian? If you don’t mind, Officer Fortier, I’m going to just finish my voicemail to my husband. So Cecil. When I get downtown, I’ll explain everything to them, Steve and I clearly did not do this and that’s what I’ll tell them, they’re police! [chuckles] You know, they just wanna know the truth, and uh ooh uh, oh Officer Fortier, I am not done with my call yet. Uh sir, what-what are you doing with my pho- [beep]

Cecil: I… I… Let’s go to the weather.

[Good Luck with That” by Fathom All the Animals https://fathomalltheanimals.com]

Cecil: Listeners, we now go live to Steve Carlsberg’s press conference at City Hall.

Steve: This has been a difficult month for me, and for my family. I thank you all for hearing me out today. I’m glad to know that these criminal charges are behind me, and I think Sheriff Sam and their secret police, as well as their Overt Police, for listening to reason and overturning the charges against me. [sadly] But of course, I’m sad to learn about their most recent arrest. Breaks my heart to know that such a dear friend of so many years, someone who’s been in home many, many times, someone I consider family, could betray me, my bank, my town in this way. I don’t even know how to talk about such a breach of trust by someone so close. [crying] Carlos! Oh Carlos. Thank you Carlos, for your brilliant and thorough evidence that put Jesse McNeil in jail today. Our security guard of nearly 50 years committed a heinous crime, and he nearly sent the two of us to prison for it.

When Carlos arrived in my cell this morning, he was all smile saying he had figured it out. He called the Sheriff over and said, “Check Jesse’s skin for the same chemical they found on the doors.” Carlos had been experimenting on the gel that allowed him to reach his hands into refrigerators without opening the door, and thus lowering the temperature of the food inside. He’d developed this chemical. He’d developed this chemical in his temporary lab in a shed behind our house. The problem with the chemical wasn’t its effectiveness and intangibility. He had been able to make that work. No, the problem with the chemical is that it stained everything it touched a dull green, including skin. Carlos showed me his own hands, which were green from the fingertips to about halfway up his forearms. He said the last few times he had seen Jesse, Jesse looked ill. Not like a flu or cold, more like seasick: queasy, green in the face. Carlos didn’t put it together right away, because we all felt sick about not only the robbery, but the false charges against me.

The police report also showed that none of the cash tills on the teller wall were affected by the fire that broke out during the robbery last month. Which means the fire had to have started on the opposite wall, which is by the front door, Jesse’s usual station. The smoke from the fire and the three robbers waving guns provided a distraction for Jesse to cover himself with Carlos’ intangibility gel, sneak downstairs past my office, where he had locked me in earlier than day, and then unload the cash from the safe and carry it into the alleyway behind the bank where his car was parked. When the fire trucks arrived, Jesse ran deliberately in front of their hoses so that the gel would all be removed from his body before the police began questioning those of us who had been inside during the robbery. But, as Carlos pointed out, the gel stains the skin for a long time, water alone won’t remove it.

Sheriff Sam brought Jesse back in for questioning based on Carlos’ statements, and found Jesse’s skin was the same dull green as Carlos’ hands. But unlike Carlos, the green stain covered Jesse’s whole body, not only his hands, indicating he had used it to walk through walls, rather than merely reach to a door.

Carlos explained that he had Jesse in his lab many times, Jesse and all my employees come to my house regularly for dinners. Like I said, they’re family to me. Jesse had taken an interest in Carlos’ science projects, so Carlos showed Jesse his doorless fridge experiment. Not long after that, Carlos noticed that the rest of his intangibility gel was gone. He thought he had just run out, even though he had made plenty of it. Never occurred to Carlos, until he saw Jesse’s green face a few days ago, that Jesse had stolen it to remove the money from the vault and his criminal colleagues from their jail cell. While I was the only person with the key to the vault, Jesse as a security guard was the only person with master keys for the rest of the building. My office door is never locked, so I don’t carry a key for it. Jesse knew this and locked me into my own office. Then his three collaborators Richard, William, and Emma created a fake robbery of the cash tills to distract from his heist of the vault. Sheriff Sam was impressed with Carlos’ explanation and arrested Jesse McNeil on the spot. Jesse turned to Carlos and Sam and said: [very deep voice] “I guess I’m going to jail now.” Sam said: [Sheriff Sam voice] “Don’t flatter yourself!”

Anyway, I finally get to return home, thanks to my brother-in-law Carlos. Thank you Susan Willman for managing the bank in my absence. Abby, Janice, I’ll be home in a few. Can’t wait to see you both again. Oh, oh, maybe I’ll bake some scones tonight! Carlos showed me a way to do it without letting the butter too warm. Oh-oh yeah!

Cecil: I’m so relieved and so glad they put the right person behind bars. And I have never been so excited to try one of Steve’s scones. That really is neat.

Stay tuned next for someone playing on a saw. No, ahem, (-) that, with a saw. It’s just someone playing around with a saw. Enjoy.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Wisdom ages like fine wine. Knowledge ages like Boston lettuce.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

You can do better than that; Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x reader

*Author’s note*

Alrighty my dears, this one was a bit of a challenge because apparently I don’t do well with ‘play hard to get’ so I apologize in advance if some of the dialogue or writing is too cringy but I tried my best cause I got too deep into this fic. So I hope to the anon who wanted this request ends up happy with the result and I thank you for being sooo patient with me :) Not really any big warnings just swearing, mentions of being played, but there’s mostly fluff.

_______________________________________________________

*March 1st, 1971*

It wasn’t easy but I managed it.  Making the big jump from moving out of my home country of America to here in England was tough and of course the homesickness hit after the first couple of weeks but somehow I managed.  I knew I needed to be here in Britain because it had so much more potential for me than America ever did.

That is of course when my noisy neighbor isn’t banging away at what sounds like a drumkit at the early stages of the night.  I never really got to meet them because for the past several weeks, I’ve been trying to get interviews for some record companies so that one day I can become the first ever female record producer since I’ve had an ear for talent. But until then I’m stuck with two jobs in order to pay the bills, by day I work as a waitress at a nearby restaurant then twice a week by nightfall I work at a local bar—or I guess I should call it a pub since that’s what they call it here in England, as a bartender near the University.

I had just gotten in from a seriously long shift at the restaurant since one of my coworkers thought I would be the perfect candidate for covering for him while he takes his girlfriend out on holiday for their anniversary or some shit. So 12 long hours instead of my usual 9hr has made me not only exhausted but irritated and hangry.

After finding me some cookies to chow down on, I collapsed onto my bed, not even bothering changing out of my uniform and tried to sleep.  Just when I thought I could finally fall into a deep sleep; my noisy neighbor once again began banging on those blasted drums.

“That’s it! I can’t take this anymore!” I got out of my bed and left my apartment and went over next door.  I banged on the door to give this guy a piece of my mind.  Because for the past few days they would be drumming till the but crack of dawn which made it impossible for me to try and go to sleep, especially when I would have a double shift to work at.  I banged my fist to the door and cried out, “Hey! Open this damn door right now!! I’ve got just a couple things to say to you yah bastard!!”

The door opened and standing there was a cute—okay handsome man around my age maybe a year or two older with long blonde hair that went past his shoulders, and he had the bluest blue eyes.

*Roger’s POV*

I was practicing my solo for Brian’s new song ‘Keep yourself alive’. I’ve been trying to perfect this solo for weeks now and just the other day I managed to get the solo to the point where I was happy with it.  After practicing it a few times around, I knew the crowd was going to like this.

But as I was practicing, I heard several hard knocks at my door and I heard a female voice say.

“Hey! Open this damn door right now!! I’ve got just a couple things to say to you yah bastard!!” I set my drumsticks down and hurried over to the door and opened it. But I was shocked to see that such a beautiful woman was standing before me.  Her long (h/c) hair gently waved past her shoulders, she wore a waitress uniform that looked like she worked at “Bill’s coffee shop”.

It then also occurred to me that she also served as a bartender at the pub where my band plays.  I’ve always admired her from a far but never once got the balls to go over and say hello, well now it looks like I get the chance to do it now.

*My POV*

As I kept staring at this guy, it suddenly hit me that he was the drummer for that band that performs at the pub I work at.  I think their name was Smile?

“May I help you?” I snapped out of my daze and said.

“Yes I would like to file a complaint.”

“Ahh I see, and what may I ask is the complaint in regard to?” he said with a grin as he leaned against the door.

“The noise. You do realize it’s 12:30 in the morning and some of us are trying to sleep.”

“My apologizes love.”

“Listen buddy. It’s late, I’m tired and all I want to do is fall asleep. So can you please try to keep the noise down. I don’t want to come back here and argue at this point.”

“I’ll try. Though I hope you don’t mind me asking, you’re not from around here are you?” he asked me.

“No I moved here a few weeks ago from America.”

“Ahh an American girl.”

“Yeah now I got to get back to sleep so can we please put this discussion to an end?” I snapped not wanting to get into a discussion about this when I had to be up by 6am for my 7:30 shift tomorrow.

“Alright love, I promise I’ll keep it down.”

“Thank you.” I then headed back into my apartment and fell right back asleep.

*Roger’s POV*

As I watched the cute girl go back into her apartment, I knew that now I had to talk to her at my next gig.  Maybe I would suede her to go on a date with me.

*My POV*

A few days later it was now my double shift at the bar.  I was getting drinks for people when the band soon came up and following the curly-haired guitarist was my noisy neighbor.

“Hello everybody, we’ve got—we’ve got a few fresh faces here. This is John Deacon our new bass player. And our new lead singer Freddie Buls-Bulsara. Freddie Bulsara.” I then took notice of the long haired bass player and the new lead singer who didn’t look like he was from Britain, he looked Middle eastern, maybe from India or something.  But there was just something about him that looked right about him.

“That’s right.” The lead singer nodded.

“And of course Roger, biggest member of them all.” The guitarist spoke into the mic and I could hear a girl cry out.

“Hi Roger!” Some of the students cheered and that’s when Freddie spoke into the mic.

“Hello, all you beautiful people.” Of course one asshole had to be a racist as he cried out.

“Where’s Tim!? Who’s the Pakkie?” I rolled my eyes.  See it was people like this that made me leave America, especially when you live in the Southern states, it was even worse.  Some of the crowd agreed with the guy and that’s when the band began playing their set.

Freddie seemed to struggle with the microphone stand and I cringed as it made that horrible feedback sound.  I hide my face for him until he finally just broke the mic off of it’s stand and the song began.  I’ll admit hearing them all play together and Freddie’s voice, it was—unlike anything I’ve ever heard from any band.  I bopped my head along to the song and kept my eyes on a certain drummer, without having him notice of course as I kept serving the drinks.

The band kept playing for about another hour or so, and I’ll also say that Freddie the new lead singer has made everyone in the room feel important, it was like he was reaching out to everyone in the audience, no matter who they were and made them feel important, even I felt that pull and would sometimes drift away from the bar and just stand amongst the crowd (which didn’t make my boss happy).

After the show I was cleaning up the bar when I heard a familiar voice say.

“So what did you think?” I stopped mid-cleaning and turned to see my neighbor leaning against the counter and I said.

“The band or are you just asking about you?”

“A little bit of both.” He smiled as he leaned further in towards me. “I saw you watching me.”

“How do you know I wasn’t looking at your lead singer?”

“Please love, if you were you’re head would’ve been moving around too much, you stayed standard right on me.” I rolled my eyes and said.

“You have quite an imagination.”

“Only when it involves you.” He said. Okay I get what he’s doing. He’s trying to smooth talk me, charm me and woo me till he gets his way with me.  I grinned and leaned towards him and said.

“You know what?”

“What?” he said as he leaned closer towards me.  I decided to toy with him a bit placing my hand on his bicep which was pretty buffed probably from years of drumming but I tossed the thought out of my head as I continued.

“You should come back later when you’ve learned a better pickup line.” His grin vanished as he looked like a kicked puppy as I leaned away from her and continued my work.

“So southern girls have a more fight to them, I like that in a woman. I find respect in that.” He said as he came around toward me.

“I hope you’re not trying to insult me.”

“Not at all, just making conversation. How long have you been here in London?”

“A couple weeks now. I only just started working here last week.”

“Does my southern bell have a name?” I looked up at him and he just looked at me with a gentle tilt of his head, like a golden retriever puppy.

“Why so keen on knowing my name?”

“I just figured since we’re neighbors and all, and since I was so rude as to not notice it before and not give you a proper British welcome, I would like to know the name of the cute neighbor next door.” I tried to hide my blush as I said.

“(Y/n) (l/n).”

“That’s a beautiful name, I’m Roger. Roger Taylor.” He said as he extended his hand out for me to take.  Even though I was playing hard to get, it’d be rude if I denied a handshake so I took his hand, but instead of a handshake, Roger kissed my knuckles and I swore I felt my heart skip a beat, but of course I wasn’t going to tell him that.

A couple years went by and in 1973, I finally heard back from EMI about a position for their company, however the downside was that I was nothing more than a secretary to the main producer Ray Foster.  So that meant just organizing papers, getting the coffee, boring stuff, never really get to touch anything music related, unless its passing him the records.

I was currently going through some papers at the front desk outside Ray’s office when I got buzzed in and the boss’s voice soon spoke up.

“(L/n), John’s bringing in my new signing band coming in today, make sure they’re all present before bringing them up to my office.”

“Right away sir, I’ll send them up once they’ve arrived.” I got up from my desk and walked towards the elevator and pressed the down button.

“Hold the elevator!” I held it and in walked in my good friend Mikaela.  Now as I’ve stated before, I despised racism so when most of the people at EMI mostly the men never gave Mikaela the light of day, I decided to reach out my hand in friendship.  

Since we’re both women in the workforce we might as well stick together.

“Thank you (y/n).”

“Anytime Mimi, so what have you got to do.”

“Gotta get these checks mailed out, how about you?”

“Boss man wants me to bring up a new band that EMI has signed up with.”

“Any idea who they are?”

“No idea, but they must be good if Ray signs them up, or if they come straight from John Reid himself.”

“Really?” I nodded as I hummed.  Soon the elevator dinged as we reached the ground floor and as we walked out she said, “So we still on for our Happy hour?”

“Absolutely. After the week I’ve been having, I deserve a few drinks.”

“Alright, see you Thursday night.”

“Will do, pick you up at 7?” She nodded and then we went our separate ways.  As I walked along the lobby I saw John Reid sitting at the lobby with a group of familiar boys.  “Oh god, tell me this isn’t happening.” I muttered to myself.

Because amongst those boys was none other than Roger.  Ever since the pub performance all those years ago, every day whenever he could whether it was at the pub or even when we would pass each other in the lobby or the hallway, he’d try to flirt with me trying to make me swoon like every other girl he’s screwed around with.

Of course every chance I turned down all his pickups and advances and now it seems like I’ll never escape from him.  But not wanting to risk getting fired for keeping Mr. Foster waiting, I sucked it up and approached Mr. Reid.

“Mr. Reid.”  He turned to look at me and I said, “I’m (y/n) (l/n). Mr. Foster’s assistant I was sent down to collect you and the band.”

“Ahh yes Miss (y/n).” He stood up from the chair and the two of us shook hands with each other.  “Pleasure to meet you, I’d like to introduce you to Queen, EMI’s new signup.” I waved to the boys and that’s when Freddie spoke up.

“Wait, weren’t you a bartender at the pub near the University?”

“Yeah I was.”

“Oh darling you have got some explaining to do because this boy would not shut up when you had left the pub! Could not get him to stop talking about you.” Freddie spoke as he pointed to Roger.

“It was sickening.” Piped in John Deacon.

“Bugger off the lot of you.” Roger muttered.

“Alright enough you four, now then let’s not keep Ray waiting any longer, we’re ready to meet him when you are Miss (l/n).”

“Right this way gentlemen.”  As we headed toward the elevator, my attention turned to Roger.

So he’s been talking about me huh? Never did I think he’d still be on me even to his bandmates.  He’s definitely persistent I’ll give him that, but at this point I’m just not looking for a relationship at the moment.

Once we reached Mr. Foster’s office, he allowed me to come in saying that it was important that I stay for one big announcement that involved me.  At first I thought it would have to do something of a promotion, like finally being able to work the controls of the booth but instead I got the news that I would be Queen’s assistant, which meant I had to check in on them day to day along with some guy named Paul Prenter.

My heart dropped but I swear I thought I saw Roger’s face perk up as he turned toward me.

“Sir are—are you sure I’m capable of doing something like this? I mean surely Queen doesn’t need two assistance……”

“I think it would be a wonderful idea.” Exclaimed Freddie.

“I surely wouldn’t mind it.” Brian soon spoke up.

“It’d be nice to have better company than these lot all the time.” John Deacon spoke up.

“In fact—she can be my personal assistant.” Roger piped in.  Oh hell no.

“Seems the band agrees. You start tomorrow Miss (l/n).” John Reid said.  Internally I was deflated more than anything of what I was hearing but I knew better than to cause a scene as I said.

“Can’t wait.” But it was spoken with a hint of sarcasm.

A few months go by and if I’m being honest, it wasn’t half bad being with the boys. I got to know them as they truly were and they were a bunch of really cool guys.  John or as I’ve been allowed to call him, Deacy with his knowledge of electrical engineering, Brian’s love for astrophysics as well as animal rights especially for badgers, hedgehogs and foxes, Freddie I envy him because he’s given me such beautiful sketches and I wish I could draw half as good as he can.

And of course there’s Roger.  Who continues to try and flirt with me but thanks to Deacy and Brian I can get back at him due to his major of being a dentist.  But I’ll admit one thing, Roger does have his moments when he’s not trying to be Casanova like this one time when I was helping the boys get ready to preform on Top the Pops for their newest hit song ‘Killer Queen.’

I was with Deacy adjusting his jacket.  Once I saw it was good enough I said.

“Alright, you’re all set.”

“Thanks (y/n), we’d be lost without you.”

“Oh stop it. Save that for Veronica.” Besides Fred, Deacy’s opened up more to me when it comes to relationship and lately he’s been seeing this girl named Veronica and I’ve wanted to hear every single detail of how they met and how each date has gone.  Sometimes I even give him advice on how to act around her since poor baby he’s so terrible shy when it comes to dating, especially since he’s told me he really, really likes her.

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t told you about her.”

“Oh come on then who would you go to for advice?”

“Touché, you make a good point.”

“Listen chaps it is going to be playback. Lip-sync is all that is required.” One of the BBC producers spoke up.

“We do know how to play our instruments.” Roger spoke up.

“You want me to lip-sync?” Freddie spoke up as he got in the producer’s face which made him back up just a bit but still hold his ground.

“I just don’t understand why we simply can’t perform live?” asked Brian.

“The audience will never know the difference.”

“We’ll know the bloody difference.”

“This is the BBC that’s how things are done around here. Don’t be a nuisance.” He then walked away.

“Well then you lads will have to make sure no one can tell if you’re faking it.”

“The way things are done here. We’re bolly old chap.” Roger mocked the producer as Brian then mocked out in a posh, snotty tone.

“This is the BBC.”

“I’m relieved.” Deacy spoke up.

“Yeah you would be.” Brian muttered.

“Like perfect performance.”

“Oi (y/n) if you’re done playing groupie get off the stage, they’re about to start filming!” Paul cried out.  I turned towards him almost about to snap back a retort at him when Roger beat me to it.

“Prenter! You outta look into the mirror and say that to yourself, cause if anyone here is the groupie it’s you yah wanker!” At that comeback I actually laughed softly at the insult he gave to Paul.  He turned his attention toward me and he bragged, “A smile and a laugh. Guess I’m getting close huh?”

“Please Taylor. One chivalrous deed doesn’t suede me to admit anything.”

“But I still managed to get you to smile, I count that as a win.” I rolled my eyes at him and said as I got off the stage.

“Just play your fake drums drummer boy.” And even though it was beyond my control, a light blush came across my face.

Even with it being a ‘fake’ performance, the boys gave it their all and the song became a huge hit, especially in Japan where the boys did their tour there. Then there was the tour of America which the album ‘Sheer Heart Attack’ hit the charts back home.

I told the guys about my hometown and they tried to convince me to let them see my home but I told them that we had too tight a schedule but next time when there was time, I would show them where I grew up.

Now came time for another album to be recorded and after getting the approval from Foster about the new idea that Freddie had for the ‘A Night at the Opera’, we were on our way to a nice secluded recording studio out in Wales by the summer of 1975.

A few days after getting settled in, I was walking along the outside of the fields, having flashbacks of my grandparent’s farm when I heard a piano playing inside the studio.  I walked in and I saw Deacy playing an electric piano and I could hear him softly mutter to himself.

I leaned by the door and kept quiet so that I wouldn’t disturb him as he kept muttering the lyrics and writing them down.  Even though Deacy’s always said he’s not a singer, I can’t help but admire what he was humming and muttering to himself.  I guess he must’ve seen me because next thing he did, he jumped up startled.

“Sorry, but you don’t have to stop on my account.”

“Just how much did you hear?”

“Heard about enough. It’s beautiful Deacy.” I walked inside the studio and sat down beside him and said, “What’s it called?”

“‘You’re my best friend’. I wrote it for Veronica.”

“Awww.” I awed as I placed my hand over my heart.

“But I doubt the lads will want to play it. Not really rock and roll enough for them for what I imagine it to be.”

“Don’t say that. Maybe they will, hell you play this for Fred and he’ll be on your side and make it go on the album.”

“Thanks (y/n).”

“Plus I know that once Veronica hears this, she’ll fall even deeper in love with you.”

“Oh come off it….”

“I’m serious. Sure some people think it’s cliché and maybe corny but to some girls that just proves a guy really cares about a woman. Especially if that guys a talented songwriter like you.” I said as I sat down beside him and playfully shoved his shoulder with mine.

“I just—wanted to do something for her. I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend to her, especially being away from her this long. I just want her to know that I’m always thinking of her.”

“And she will.” I sighed deeply.

“Okay what’s on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“No one sighs like that unless there’s something bothering them, so c’mon out with it. You’re always getting me to spill my guts, now it’s your turn missy.” I playfully scowled at him but caved in because I can never say no to Deacy’s adorable face so I said.

“Okay, there’s—actually it’s been going through my head for the past few years now. I mean I don’t know whether it’s this place, being away from the city but I……” my heart raced and my palms felt sweaty as I finally muttered, “I—I think I love Roger.” Deacy remained silent before finally saying.

“About bloody time you said it.”

“What now?”

“(Y/n) no offense love but you’re not as discreet as you think you are. There’s been so much sexual tension between you two that it’s unbelievable about how thick it is.”

“Well I can’t just get up and tell him how I feel?”

“He’s been trying so hard to get with you since day one, even before we met you last year he’d always talk about the cute neighbor next door to him. Why can’t you just put the poor boy out of his misery.”

“There’s…..there’s more to it than that.” I said solemnly as I fiddled with my nails. Deacy’s eyes became concerned and he said.

“He didn’t do anything wrong to you, did he?”

“No it’s just—” I sighed heavily and said as I fully turned to face him, “Okay, you know how I told you guys the reason why I moved to America was because of the problems going on?” he nodded and I said, “Well—what I’m about to tell you, I’ve never told anyone else, so you have to promise me you won’t tell a soul. Not even Veronica.”

“You know you don’t have to tell me,”

“I know but—I’ve been holding it in for so long, and you’re the most trustworthy person I know. So promise me Deacy.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” I sighed deeply and said.

“Okay. Back in college I…..I once knew a guy that was exactly like Roger. He loved to flirt and give out pickup lines. He wasn’t bad looking either, dark brown hair and green eyes. Well, one day during a break in class he came up to me and started flirting with me. And not having a boyfriend before, I—I fell for the pickup lines and the flirtation and soon we started dating.”

“And then he cheated on you?” Deacy asked.  I scoffed out a laugh and said.

“I wish, what happened was way worse.”

“Oh god he—he didn’t……”

“No, no not that worse. Don’t worry Deacy.” He sighed with relief for a brief second before listening once more, “Well we dated for about a year and a half and it was our anniversary so I decided to make him some cookies. I went up to the frat boy house he was in and just before I knocked on the door, I heard him and his friends talking.” I trailed off as tears filled my eyes.

I tried to keep them in as I looked up and laughed out icily as I continued,

“Apparently they were all having a contest to see who could get the biggest loser on campus…..and he won. My picture was plastered everywhere all over campus. He stopped talking to me and turned on me by calling me ‘desperate’ and ‘naïve’ for not seeing it earlier. He never loved me; I was nothing but a joke to him.”

“Oh (y/n).”

“The entire student body was against me. So much so that I had to drop out of college and I had to move here. Because even when I wasn’t in school, the teasing and harassment still happened whenever I was out in public. So I moved here where no one knew who I was.” I felt Deacy wrap his arms around me as he lent his shoulder for me to cry on. “Since then, I’ve vowed to close my heart to any flirting or any guy that would try to hurt me again…..and knowing Roger with his groupies I—”

“I get it. What that bastard did was unforgiveable and I can understand where you’re coming from. But you do know that not all guys are like him, right?”

“Of course I do. You, Bri and Fred are the proof of that. Sometimes Rog is also in there but, I’m just—afraid that, even if I do admit to him my real feelings for him……”

“I know. Sometimes Rog can be—a bit much, but when he sets his mind to something he won’t ever stop. No matter who or what gets in his way. Like remember the day you got the stomach flu?” I nodded recalling when he came over and helped take care of me, “Well you may not have known this, but we were in the middle of recording with Reid checking in on us. He actually fought to try and leave just so he could take care of you.”

“He seriously did that? He—he just told me you guys were rehearsing, not recording.”

“Well we were. He may not seem to want to appear soft on most days, but when it comes to you, he’ll drop anything just to make sure you’re okay.” I softly smiled and wiped away my tears and said as I separated from him.

“Thanks for listening Deacy, you’re the best.”

“I know.” He said with a shrug. Before grinning cheekily and chuckled softly which made me chuckle.

“Now you promise not to say anything to the guys?”

“Say what?” He had this twinkle in his eye that told me that he was only playing and I smiled and thanked him once more before leaving the studio to tell him that I needed to get dinner started if the guys were gonna eat on time before they dove too deep into the recording and they end up missing another meal.

About a week later I was sitting outside on the porch swing looking out into the field. It was a nice cool summer day after all the rain we’ve been having the last three days so it was a nice change of scenery weather wise.

“May I join you?” I turned around and there stood Roger.

“I don’t mind.” He then sat himself down just a couple inches away from me on the swing.

“I’ll admit I at first didn’t like this place but it’s growing on me.”

“That’s the thing with you city boys, you just don’t get it.”

“And what would you know country girl?”

“My grandparents owned a farm down in Arkansas. I used to always visit them every summer and Christmas before they both died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss (y/n).”

“It’s fine. It was over 10 years ago when they died, but I appreciate it Rog.”  The two of us sat there for awhile softly swinging on the swing until I finally broke the silence, “Hey Roger,” he turned to me and I said, “I—I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Well ever since I moved here, I feel like I haven’t been all that nice to you. And I…..I just want to make sure that you’re not mad or anything.”

“No, no in fact, I wanted to come out here and apologize for some of the things I’ve said to you. It wasn’t right of me to just flirt with you right out of the blue. Also I apologize for keeping you up all night with my drums.”

“That apology I can accept.” We both softly chuckled and I said.

“So do—do you think we can start over?”

“I’d like that. I’m Roger Taylor, nice to meet you new neighbor.” I smiled at him and said as we both shook hands with each other.

“(Y/n) (l/n).” With the hatchet buried and a new bond forged, I thought it was safe to say that Roger and I were now starting a new relationship.

We stayed outside for a good while when I finally turned around to look at him and just like the night we first met, my heart raced at seeing his blonde hair shine like the sun.  It was like if Adonis and an angel had a baby, then Roger Taylor would be the end result of their bond.  As he turned toward me, I quickly looked back out toward the field and I heard him softly laugh.

“I saw that.”

“You’re so full of it Taylor.” The two of us softly laughed and I broke the silence, “But you are right earlier. This view, this place it’s just so beautiful. I’d love to live in a place like this. No noise from the city, perfect view of the sunrise and sunset. And nothing but greenery for miles and miles ahead.”

“You know I’d be willing to buy you a house like that.” I turned to him and we looked at each other.

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“Why not?”

“Well the well earned money is yours, and I’d rather not take what you and the boys have worked so hard to get.”

“And I can do whatever I want with it, and if I want to buy a country house for a dear friend of mine, then I’ll do it.” I smiled softly and said.

“Thanks Rog, I appreciate it.” I then felt his fingertips softly touch mine and I looked straight into his blue eyes and he looked back at mine.

“(Y/n) I—I know I’ve been hounding you for years on the subject, but that’s because I—I’ve never really known how else to talk to a girl. I know you must think of me as some pigheaded flirt but—I just never knew how else to talk to you. So I…..I hope I don’t ruin this newly formed friendship by say that…..I like you. I really, really, really like you (y/n). These past few years with you have just been…..a blessing to me. And—god now I’ve gone and fucked this up hadn’t—”

I stopped his rambling by placing my lips against his.  I felt his right hand go to my waist while his left cupped the side of my face as we deepened the kiss.  I slowly lifted my hand and allowed my fingers to comb through his soft blonde hair, we gave each other a couple more pecks and I said.

“Congrats Taylor, you finally got me the right way.”

“You mean—”

“Truthfully I’ve had a crush on you since the night we met.”

“So I was right?” he teased.

“Now don’t go getting a big head drama queen. I just….Can you promise me something Roger?”

“Anything.”

“I—Can we please just take this one day at a time? Back home there was something that really hurt me, I’d rather not talk about it to you just yet, cause I feel like I won’t be able to be stable as I say it.”

“I won’t pressure you for anything (y/n). We can take this as slow as you want.”

“Also, I know how you are with your hookups with groupies. I—I just need to know that you won’t cheat on me or break my heart.”

“I promise (y/n). The only girl I want hanging around my arm is you. I wouldn’t be this persistent if I didn’t want anything more than a hookup with you.” I leaned my head against his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around me and I felt him kiss the side of my head. “I love you so much (y/n).”

“I love you too Roger.”

[mistressarafax]

KaiJou Week - Day 3: Fantasy AU

“Jounouchi, you’re doing it wrong.”

Jounouchi scowled at Kaiba, feeling defeated. They’d been practicing the entire day, Kaiba insistent that he needed to control his flames better if he stood any chance of receiving the council's blessing to become a full-fledged mage. “You can’t serve His Majesty if there’s a chance your power will get out of control,” he’d reprimanded severely.

“I’m tryin’,” he griped back. “It ain’t easy tryin’ to just light the one candle.”

Kaiba crossed his arms over his chest, irritation on his face. “I will not stand for my pupil to be lacking. You will do this until you get it right.”

Jounouchi snapped his fingers, lighting a flame on the top of Kaiba’s head, his hair catching fire. Without even flinching, Kaiba extinguished it, drawing water from the air around him to douse the flame. “Use that precision on the candles, idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah. Easier to focus on you since you're pissin’ me off.”

Kaiba's eldest Blue-Eyed dragon snorted from behind them, seeming amused. Her white scales glistened, reflecting the blue of the sky as she sunbathed. “It’s not funny, Kisara,” Kaiba said without looking at her, but she didn’t seem to care, flapping her wings, before shaking herself out and settling down in the clearing once more. “I need you to concentrate, Jounouchi. There are other lessons to teach you that require precise control. You can’t just incinerate everything in your path.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” Jounouchi said cockily.

“Except when you need to target one enemy amongst your allies with precision.”

Jounouchi rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why I got partnered with you as an instructor. Our abilities aren’t even remotely the same.”

“I am not privy to all of the choices His Majesty makes."

"You're his cousin, and you're one of his advisors. Ya shoulda had a say since ya hate me just as much."

Kaiba huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Enough. Ignite the candle so we can end this ordeal as quickly as possible."

Grumbling, Jounouchi returned his focus to the candles in the distance, stretching his hands out and letting the fire wick in his belly. He closed his eyes, imagining the heat trickling from him to the middle candle, a tendril of fire he could only see behind his closed eyelids.

"Good," Kaiba said, breaking his concentration.

Jounouchi peaked open an eye, seeing the middle candle burning from across the clearing. "Yes!" he cried out in victory.

"It takes focus, Jounouchi, which you are able to do when you put your mind to it. You need to spend more time meditating."

Jounouchi frowned. "God, I hate meditatin'."

"If you want to maximize your abilities, you must. It's not as though I want you to fail."

"Coulda fooled me," Jounouchi said bitterly. "With how ya treated me during our formal trainin'."

"You're still a nobody," Kaiba said with a shrug. "But you're a nobody who also happens to be one of the strongest fire mages I've ever seen. His Majesty befriended you and wants me to help hone your skills."

Jounouchi scoffed. "I'm already skilled."

 "You can't rely on raw power alone. Which you do. Our enemies want you to burn yourself out. You would quickly cease to be any kind of threat and turn yourself into an easy target."

Jounouchi glared at Kaiba, but he didn't argue. It was exactly what his instructors had harped on. His energy, his magic wasn't infinite. The key wasn't to overpower his opponents but to out smart them. Play to his own strengths and capitalize on their weaknesses. He knew that. It was just hard to put it into practice. He knew that was the reason he was working with Kaiba, a strategic genius. Kaiba was powerful, as well, strong enough that he'd advanced from water mage to ice mage, which was impressive for someone only a year into adulthood.

They stood in silence for several seconds before Jounouchi sighed. "I guess you're right. What's the next exercise, masteri?"

Kaiba raised an eyebrow, devilish smirk on his face. “You’re either going to do this right, or you’re going home naked.”

Without further explanation, Kaiba had frozen Jounouchi in a block of ice. 

Ass, Jounouchi thought to himself. This is impossible.

"It's a challenge. It won't be easy, but it's certainly possible. You'll just have to keep your flames under control as you melt your way out.”

Jounouchi could barely hear him through the ice. He let the fire burn inside of him, feeling himself get more and more room in his icy cell as it melted. Feeling impatient and unable to breath, he fanned his flames hotter, redder, melting the ice rapidly. His clothing was soaking wet, and he felt disgusting. He hated being wet. It reminded him of a time before he’d discovered his magic, trying to stay out of the rain when his father wouldn’t allow him to come inside at night. Cold and soaking wet.

Angry at the unbidden memory, he clenched his fists, increasing the power he was pouring out.

“Careful, Jounouchi,” Kaiba warned.

It was too late though, fire erupted from Jounouchi, engulfing him in flames. His clothing incinerated instantly, and he stood in the clearing, burning the swath of grass around him. He was too angry to rein himself in, burning with rage, and even Kaiba’s half-hearted attempt to extinguish him with water didn’t work. He was burning so hot that the water evaporated in a puff of steam. A nearly impenetrable wall of fire.

“Control your emotions,” Kaiba barked at him.

Jounouchi launched a fireball at him, irritated. How dare the prick try to boss him around. “I don’t gotta do what you say,” he taunted in return. “I’m in charge of me.”

Kaiba sighed, holding out his hands, chanting to himself. Jounouchi realized that Kisara had moved, lurching closer to Kaiba and assuming a protective stance. What he wouldn’t give for a dragon of his own...

He didn’t have time to think about it. Water dumped on top of him, frigid and cold and dousing the flames. Steam poured from his skin, creating a fog where ice met fire. Realizing he was naked like Kaiba had threatened, Jounouchi covered himself, embarrassed.

"You're a fool, Jounouchi. Letting your emotions run unchecked like that."

"Better than bein' an ice cold prick like you," Jounouchi spat in return.

Kaiba sighed heavily, crossing his arms and allowing himself to get lost in thought for a moment. "What happened for you to lose control like that?"

A flush stained his cheeks, and he fidgeted in discomfort. "Nothin'."

Kaiba stepped closer, and Jounouchi felt ashamed for losing control. For standing in front of Kaiba naked. "It was clearly something, so stop lying. What happened?"

Hanging his head in defeat, he admitted, "When I was a boy, my pa regularly kicked me outta the house. So I got to wander around the streets in the cold and rain with nowhere to go. I got angry cuz bein' frozen in ice reminded me of all that shit."

With a single nod, Kaiba agreed, turning around and marching toward his dragon. He spoke to her softly, and she settled back into the clearing. He was gone for a few minutes before returning. He carried dry clothing in his hands. "My father often beat me. I was never going to be first in line to the throne, as His Majesty is older than me, but my father treated me as though I was. My lessons were rigorous, and the punishment for not doing then flawlessly was severe." He said nothing else, thrusting the clothes into Jounouchi's hands.

"I… wonder if that's why he put us together. Yuugi'd know about our similar pasts."

Kaiba grimaced. "You should call him by his title."

"What? 'King Yuugi'?"

"No. His Majesty."

Jounouchi shrugged. "We were friends before he got the title. I ain't changin' it up just 'cause he's king now." Jounouchi set to pulling on Kaiba's trousers. They were too long for him, but they'd do until he could retrieve his own replacements.

"You will be in his service soon. A loyal and faithful servant. You should use the correct title out of respect."

"Ehhh, if Yuugi don't mind, I ain't changin' it up." Jounouchi frowned as he pulled on Kaiba's shirt, which was also too long for him.

"The court will mind," Kaiba reminded. "I do, as well."

Fully dressed in Kaiba's dry clothes, he stuck his tongue out defiantly. "That's your problem then."

Kaiba's expression twisted sourly, and Jounouchi knew he was about to say something cruel. He'd call Jounouchi useless, idiotic, low-class, or a waste of oxygen, just like he'd said many times before. Kaiba's mouth opened, but he seemed to think better of it, snapping it closed immediately. He let out a hard breath, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I'll need to teach you some decorum. Being a full-fledged mage comes with certain expectations, and so far, you've been lacking. Did you not pay attention to any of our etiquette training?"

"Nah. It was boring," Jounouchi returned with a shrug.

"Then I have a lot more to teach you," Kaiba said with a sigh.

Jounouchi rolled his eyes. "Oh good. Just what I wanted," he said sarcastically.

"I'm not pleased about it either. I'm stuck with you until you've reached your fullest potential. Now… get back to training," Kaiba instructed. "Light only the outside candles this time. When you can do that, we'll try something more advanced. And don't you dare burn my clothing."

Jounouchi grinned deviously, but he turned back to what he had been tasked. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he would be done with his private lessons with Kaiba.

--

FYI, expect more of this universe from me in the future!