TThe lurzar is dead haha funny meme
Lurzar: 1A DA DA DA DA DA
Lurzar: 1T 1S GOOD DAY TO BE NOT DEAD
Zerzia: POW *shoots lurzar* You are dead
Lurzar: AAAAAAUGH 1 AM DEAD.
Zerzia: Hehehehehhhh
Olly: ba ba bum bum ba dum ba bum
Zerzia: Aw zhucks *throws gun on ground*
Olly: *GASP* the lurzar is dead!
Lurzar: YES, 1 AM DEAD
Olly: /why/ is the lurzar dead?
Zerzia: I dunno
Lurzar: 1 TH1NK 1T WAS-
Zerzia and Olly: Zhh you are dead
Lurzar: OK
Jay: whatsup you wankies! who's up for a rap ba- WHOAH! what the heck just happened?!
Olly: the lurzar's dead.
Jay: THE LURZARS DEAD????
Olly: correct! :)
*celebration and applause*
Jay: :D
Olly: so, did you see the murderer?
Jay and Zerzia: no, zorry mate
Olly: *smacks hand on table* i will find them, i will /capture/ them, and then NO ONE WILL EVER DIE AGAIN!
Jay: oh well that's nice *applause*
Zerzia: Damn proud right now *also applause*
Jess: AAAATTTTEEEEENNNNTTTTTIIIIOOOONNNN!!!! The Lurzar is dead!!!!!
Olly: we know
Jess: Who killed him ????
Olly: we don't know
Jess: I will find clues ! *sniffs on the ground like a fucking dog* what's that? *grabs a gun* a weapon! That thing is why the Lurzar is dead!!!!
Olly, Jay, Zerzia: THE LURZAR IS DEAD?!
Jess: YES!!!! HE D I E D
Olly, Jay, Zerzia: 😰😰😰
Susan: INCOMING! *runs over jess with ambulance* MOVE! NOW! *shoves everyone out of the way and kisses lurzar on the nose*
Lurzar: *starts rising* HAHAAAA- *dies again*
Susan: In my medical opinion, THE LURZAR IS DEAD!
Jay: doc? what happened??
Susan: My professional opinion; *slams table* THE LURZAR WAS KILLED!
Olly: oh god
Everyone: *general commotion*
Susan: I don't think it's anything to worry about.
Olly: well what now?
Lizzos: CLIPPITY CLOP MOTHERFUCKERS >:D
Jay: oh COME ON
Lizzos: look at THIS! the freaking lurzars DEAD!! >:0
Everyone:
Lizzos: what do you think of that? :}
Everyone:
Lizzos: um
Jay: yes, yes, lizzos?
Lizzos: yeah?
Jay: GO HOME
Romzis: *makes a funny noise with the car horn*
Lizzos: oh SERIOUSLY!!! PHHHHHHBT *gets in the car* freaking unbelievable seriously you guys all suc-
Romzis: *crashes the god damn car*
Jay: ok lets get back to the point
Lurzar: 1 TH1NK LURZARS DEAD
Everyone: THE LURZAR IS DEAD????
Susan: OH NO, LIZZOS, I'LL HEAL YOU- *EXPLODES*
Lurzar: SER1OUS1Y? WHO K1LLED LURZAR
Drizee: it w44s *sips beer* me!
Everyone: *gasp!*
Drizee: I did it *drinks more beer* like this! *shoots jay*
Jay: AAAAAAAAUGH
Drizee: WHOOP DE DOO!!
Jay: *really dead*
Olly: 😨
Drizee: *sip* th44ts 44 joke l44ds.
Olly and Zerzia because they're the only fucking people alive: 😂
Drizee: *LOUD BURP* it w44s- *burp* her! *points at zerzia*
Olly: *GASP*
Zerzia: How did you know
Drizee: I didnt *BURP* t44t w44s 44 joke too! *chugs beer*
Zerzia: .....Heheheheheh HAHAHAHAHA
Zerzia: Thatz right it waz me
Olly: you monster!
Lurzar: BUT WHYYYYYYYYYYY?
Zerzia: Cuz you're an asshole boy
Lurzar: WHAT!
Zerzia: And another thing youre Ugly
Lurzar: ZERZ1A STOP
Zerzia: What were you even thinking trying to play by yourzelf
Lurzar: ZERZ1A YOURE SO FUCK1NG RUDE! 1TS NOT FUNNY
Zerzia: A-
Lurzar: ZERZ1-
Zerzia: AWWH dammit Lurzar fuck off You are dead
Lurzar: NO YOU! POW *shoots Zerzia*
Lurzar: HAHA, YOU ARE DEAD! NO B1G SURPR1SE
Olly: well that was idiotic, off to fucking die! WATCH AND LEARN- *DIES*
Lurzar: 1 AM A11VE!
*everyone is dead around him*
Lurzar: 1TS N1CE
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What is it about animals that people want them to act like robots? Taking no joy in their world, ignoring all other living beings, invisible, out of the way, and with no personality.
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Into The Thick of It (1)
Loki x Female Reader
Chapter 1: The Cult
Series Summary: Her work as an agriculturist nearly takes the readers life is not for a stranger (and his weird looking dog) who later turns out to be the God of Mischief. Thrown into a completely different realm, you want to figure out a way home while trying to stay out of the way of this literal God. But fate has its own plans for the two of you.
Written for @tarithenurse and her #Taris1Kchallenge
Warnings: torture, sacrifice, undertones of rape
Word Count: I am on a break. It feels good to just breathe without dreading the rest of the day. Why is work so punishing?
MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)
One single machine whirrs in this dull laundromat. The light above you flickers at intervals so regular you have already made a beat out of it. The only other sound distracting enough is some old music playing on the radio at the front desk where no one sits at this hour. And that fan that seems to be breathing its last over your head.
"Yeah, it's unbelievably quiet here," you mentioned in a soft tone before looking around the empty space. "I guess I'm glad I only had to stop for three days here."
"What? Are you not going to explore this place?" your friend, Zaira's voice crackles through the phone.
You shrug despite knowing she cannot see you. "I don't know, Zai, this place gives me the creeps for some reason. I am only hanging around here because Prashant wants to revise the reports I sent him of the soil composition before he gives me a green light to leave this place."
"Damn! That bad?"
"Oh! You have no idea!"
You look around once again. The front desk guy has just come back in his old Chevrolet and the clock has struck nine.
"Zai," you whisper in the lowest tone possible, watching the man whistle as he gets out of his car without closing the door, "there are no kids in this village-slash-town."
He walks to the back to open the trunk of his car, whistling a somewhat familiar tune.
"That's...not haunting at all!" Zaira's sarcasm can be heard in her surprised tone.
"Well, what's more haunting is the fact that the youngest person here is an eighteen-year-old boy who keeps showing up anywhere I go and keeps staring at me funny."
The man shuts the hood with a loud thump and you can see a fresh bundle of store-bought rope, a baseball bat, a bottle of some chemical-probably for cleaning- and a pair of rubber gloves as he starts walking to the entrance.
"Allah-" Zaira takes the Lord's name in surprise- "no wonder they have The Sacrifice playing somewhere there."
The man sets everything on the front desk, still whistling the same tune, which you now come to realise is the song that is currently playing on the radio.
"The...the what?"
"The thing playing in your background," Zaira comments, "it's playing on a two strong instrument with a looping chorus. It's a pagan ritual song that is sung by some orthodox communities that still present a sacrifice to their pagan gods. We learned this in the summer session for cult studies, boo. Oh, wait. You were back home that time. The chorus basically says 'here's your sacrifice, now pay my dues'."
Not a word of what Zaira said is heard after the pagan ritual song because suddenly all the materials resting on the front desk are making sense. So is the creak of the back door that opens to let the only teenager of the town in.
Your body is frozen in place, your mind has gone blank. One moment you are running for the exit.
And the next, you are lying on the floor with the two men hovering over you while the song calling for your sacrifice slowly fades away.
.
It is the discomfort from the heat that wakes you up. The sweat and stickiness all over your body slowly registers in your brain that alerts of a throbbing ache at the back of your head with a bang.
Everything is a blur for a few moments; till the lights morph into fire beacons and the sun transforms into a bonfire, the figures moving around you become humans with faces smeared in blood.
Your clammy skin shines in the light of the bonfire, your hair sticking to any part of you. Tears are rolling down the edge of your eyes while your brain is registering this new pain altogether from the gag in your mouth.
You try to move your hand to touch your skull where it hurts, but are unable to do so.
My hands...I can't move them.
Your dizzy brain gives your body the command again but in vain.
"She's awake!" a raspy voice pierces through the air.
And within a speck of a second, all the memories start rushing in.
Y/N? Hello? Babe, can you hear me?
Adrenaline shoots up in your system and your senses are heightened. The smell of kerosene is heavy in the air along with the crippling stench of burning flesh.
You have been bound to a pole with your hands behind you, the bonfire in front of you, the forest surrounding you from every corner and the moonless sky on top of you.
The faces in the fire are all familiar. The residents of this town, all staring at you while you struggle to get out of the ropes cutting through your skin, stop their movement to pick up the bowls kept in front of them and drink its contents.
Your cries are muffled; partly because of the gag and partly because of the sobs that want to escape your throat just like your tears.
Your already broken body jumps when the oldest woman in the group starts shouting phrases in a language unknown to you. And just as she begins, everyone around her takes out a dagger and starts moving in your direction.
Your heartbeat seems to drop for a moment. They can see the horror in your eyes. But that does not stop their moments.
The woman's chants grow heavier as her hand moments grow more vigorous.
The youngest of them all skips a step or two to straight away jump on the platform where you are kept on display. He looks around once and turns to you to move your sweat laden hair strands away from your face.
His pale fingers are cold, almost icy to the touch.
"Don't worry, I'll get you out of here," he whispers close to your ears.
Your sobs turn to sniffs to hear his words and look into his eyes.
Those grey irises are trying to dig straight into your soul. "Trust me."
Your instinct- which has never been wrong in your life- is already moving your leg to bend the knee and get his balls. And you do. Watching him writhe in pain for one long satisfying moment as he curses you from heaven to hell.
But he gets back up, with the eyes of a madman ready to kill.
You are crying out still, for anyone who will listen, in heaven or hell, as he takes you by your throat. The venom in his hold is enough to take your life. "The only way out-" he says close to your face- "is through, you cunt."
One last prayer comes out of you as a whimper before you wait for his dagger to meet you.
In the next heartbeat, everything turns white.
.
Everything is blinded by a white light. It does seem to be the end.
Why did I have to die like this dammit?! A Buzzfeed Unsolved episode?!
But something does not sit right.
The white light should be the end, right? Then why can feel something wet under my h-
Before you realise you are tumbling down the steepness of the forest.
Your body can feel every rock and every pebble on the way down the seemingly endless slope. It seems like a long while when your limbs finally skid on flat rocky terrain, bringing the ringing pain to a halt before it can bounce all over your body a bit louder in the deafening silence.
The first thing your senses do is look for any sign of danger around you.
The forest is dark. And apparently different than the one you were in before. The trees are taller and with trunks that would not fit in your hugs. You cannot see their ends in the sky from where you lay.
Not weird at all.
The silence too sends your wounded heart into an anxious stir. Not even the cicadas speak here.
Am I...dead?
Now that definitely stirs something out there.
A twig breaks in the distance. You pause your breath and shush your racing heart.
A soft rustle of leaves can be heard somewhere that lets your sweat run cold all over the body.
It is hard to breathe through the gag as it is, and you are standing nowhere near a hiding spot, making your basic instincts run wild with any shadow you see in this treacherous night. So all you do is stand as still as a trembling mouse and wait.
And that wait isn't long.
Call it nature's mysterious ways or just a random event happening at the right time, a cool breeze stirs the air for the first time in this place. From where you stand, the breeze hits your back, tickling those sweat beads on the nape of your neck before letting you smell the odour of blood it carries with it.
All the neurons inside you make you turn around and face a familiar figure emerging from the shadows with a dagger in his hand.
The basic instincts inside you are already making your body break into a run in the opposite direction. The rush of the flight instinct is overpowering all the injuries and you forget for a second that your hands are still tied behind you as you speed straight ahead.
But that devil of a man is fast. He has already closed the distance and his hands are grabbing your hair, pushing you both to the ground.
He presses you down with his body, not giving you any room to get up or free your limbs. But he does untie your gag before turning you around and holding your neck in a choke-hold.
"Please, please, please..."
Nothing else is coming out of you at this point; except for hot tears streaming down the side of your face.
"Well," the bastard sighs, pressing down his pelvis on your abdomen while having the audacity to smirk when looking down at you, "we had to sacrifice a virgin. But surely it's going to work the same if I put that mouth to work."
The dread of his words does not set in till his free hand reaches for the button on his pants to undo it.
The more you try to push away from him, the tighter he grips your throat.
Oh, Gods! Just let me die instead.
He is halfway undoing his zipper when a sound cracks through the air. It almost sounds like a very quiet motor either just starting or just stopping. And the closer it gets, it starts taking the shape of a growl coming from the throat of an animal.
The man is distracted now; looking for the source of the sound. Loosening his grip a bit, he turns around to let his vision get as far in the dark as it could to look for anything out of the ordinary. And while he is busy, it is you who notices its presence and choose not to make a sound.
The man turns around to look right into red eyes gleaming at him from a distance of three inches, sending him jumping up and crawling back on the ground as far away from you as possible.
Huge white canines visible even in this darkness are on display as this four-legged creature growls in your captor's direction. A twisted horn rests majestically on each side of its head. Paws as huge as a lion's, but claws twice as big and dark as the night are resting on either side of your shoulder. The fur seems dark and dense except for where pointed bones are protruding out on its back.
The growl revving in this creature's throat is enough for the predator to crawl back further with his heart stuck in his throat. And before he can figure out what demonic hell this creature had walked out from, he comes to discover another wave of fear when he sees a shadow behind it in between two trees.
That shadow seems human. Human enough at the very least until he thought he was hallucinating that figure with gleaming green eyes.
"Wh-who's there?!" the man's voice starts in a scream ends up in a squeak. "Get that ugly dog away from here!"
The 'ugly dog' shifts from your side to take a few steps towards the bastard, metaphorically pinning him in between the roots of the trees he was sweating in.
"Hey!" he shouted again at the shadow, "can't you hear me?!"
You sit up, watching the creature slowly ready itself for attack mode. Turning around, you too are able to see a figure. It looks tall and is evidently clad in something heavy. Is that a sword in his hand?
But that sword is not as concerning as those illuminated green pupils.
"You son of a bitch! Get the fuck out of here before I stab you and your filthy farm ani-"
"Rífa hann í sundur," is all you hear in a low hum from that figure's end one second. The next, there are growls and blood-curdling screams emerging from behind you; haunting enough to make you jump and curl up where you sit but never move your eyes away from that shadow that still stands as still as a rock.
Tears still fall from your eyes; your legs pulled as close to your chest as possible. The screams continue to come out for a long time...long enough for you to notice a snowflake fall on your knee.
More snowflakes come after the first one. And once the screams die down, you feel something brush your hands, almost making your heart fall out, only to realise that creature standing right behind you nudging at your ropes to gnaw your hands out of them.
The adrenaline rush has diluted now. The pain and exhaustion that comes with it now lie heavy in your bones. Your eyes cannot take it anymore.
But they still want to see that figure which now takes the liberty to walk out of the shadows underneath the clear light of the nearest moon.
Your body is ready to fall but the creature provides some support to your lifeless limbs. Its fur feels so good on your cheeks.
And that pale face coming to a stop in front of you feels almost angelic. Those green eyes are looking at you with both concern and judgment but what your brain registers first is the moonlight falling on those otherworldly cheekbones framed with clean braids.
You want to keep looking at that face for a few more minutes. But there is only so much your wounded body can take before everything is a blur.
.
You have already hit deep slumber when the God comes to stand before you. He gets down on his knees to get a close look at your face buried in the hound's face.
"What do you think she's doing here, Agni?"
Agni huffs and shifts enough to let the God have a better look at the face marred with wounds and bruises. A face that still looks so serene after putting up such a fight.
The long pale fingers move those few strands of hair away that are blocking your features under the light of the moons.
Calculations have already been done in that mind. What's left is to figure out whether to leave you here in the depth of the endless garden or...
"Agni-" that voice commands with zero emotions, still studying your features- "call out for help. We are taking this one back to the camp."
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Black lace and property damage
Summary: With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side. Bucky’s officially starting to panic.
Characters: Bucky x Reader
Warnings: SMUT, 18+. Sweet sex, awkward sex, some dirty sex, some sex on a car. Basically sex. Swearing. Bucky wearing a white t-shirt and dog tags. My sketchy automotive knowledge.
A/N: This story is sort of an ode to anyone struggling to make time for your person. Life gets busy, so don’t be afraid to get creative. Also sometimes sex goes smooth and perfect, but often it comes with mishaps and giggles. Both ways are great, Bucky says just roll with it!
Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!
*****
The porch light above the front door is out.
Was he supposed to change that before he left?
--
“I’m not touching it Bucky, there are spiders up there. Big ones. The kind that give you rabies.”
“Spiders don’t have rabies.”
“No one’s ever proven that.”
--
Dammit. Yeah, he was.
Picturing you stumbling up the porch, using the pathetic flashlight on your phone to light the way, Bucky feels like a world class, Grade A jackass. He needs to make it up to you.
Good thing he has plenty of ideas for that.
“Please be home,” he mutters, “please be home, please dear god be fucking home.”
Fingers crossed, he kicks the door open and calls out a hopeful hello.
An empty echo returns.
Bucky blows out a frustrated breath.
Figures.
Slogging down the dark hallway, he slings his bag on the kitchen table with a thud. Grenade pins, bullet casings, fun size candy bar wrappers, and handfuls of beer bottle caps rattle loose in the army green canvas and he grimaces.
One of these days, maybe, just fucking maybe, he’ll convince Natasha to stop using his bags as her garbage bin.
Ignoring that disaster zone (a problem for future Bucky), he wanders over to the sink, where he spies a small tableau on the counter. Propped up beside his favorite coffee mug, the one with sparkly pink letters proclaiming “Bitch, I’m Fabulous”, is a folded piece of paper, his name scrawled across the front.
He flips it open.
“Hey Bucky Bear. Don’t let your sexy ass fall asleep before I get home, I have a surprise!”
Drawn under your bubbly letters, he finds two stick figures entangled in an outrageously lewd sex act. Tracing tender fingers over the very obviously male stick figure (you never were very subtle), he grins so hard his cheeks ache. Leaning on the counter, he sniffs the letter because he’s a sentimental sap and it smells like your Cherry-Almond lotion, and drops his head in his arms.
“So tired,” he whines softly, voice muffled against sleek granite.
Three weeks. That was the last mission. Three weeks, even though Steve guaranteed Bucky three days max. Of course, two days into the mission Bucky remembered that Steve Rogers is an accomplished liar, so instead he spent three exhausting weeks dodging bullets, rewashing all his underwear, and hysterically rationing his bag of fun size candy bars.
Finally home, he wants to forget everything and sink into the post-mission domesticity he dreams about when he’s stuck in some dank motel on the corner of Fuck This and No One Cares. The routine is simple. A scalding hot shower, burrito wrapping himself in the feather duvet, making out with you for a few hours, taking a break to eat some pizza, and then fucking you so hard he breaks the brand new headboard he made for you last month (actually the third headboard he’s made...a fact he smugly reports to anyone and everyone).
And after all that fun, he wants to sleep. Maybe two full days. Or five. Tops.
Is that asking too much?
“No,” he sighs out loud. “It’s not.”
Carefully folding the cartoon and your sweet message, he kisses the paper and tucks it in his back pocket.
No way he’s falling asleep before he sees you. Nope. Nada. Negative. Totally not happening.
Pepping himself up, he goes to work, whizzing through his homecoming task list.
Blood-stained tac clothes go in the washer with three cups of bleach. Guns and knives are wiped down and polished. The contents of the dirty green canvas bag are unceremoniously trashed. The spider infested porch light is changed (with only three furry sightings). The shower is set to a blistering temp and he hangs out in there for an hour, soaping his hair into a foamy mohawk, belting out a few showtunes with his shampoo bottle microphone.
Scrubbed fresh and clean, he flops on the bed with his Starkpad and opens up Netflix, searching for something to keep him awake. Several scrolls later, he finds Brooklyn 99 and settles in for a laugh.
Confident in his ability to resist the appealing pull of sleep scratching at his brain, he takes a slurp of the Super Double Big Gulp sized coffee on his nightstand and stretches his eyes wide open.
Staying awake. Piece of cake.
Ten minutes later, Bucky’s fast asleep.
*****
When his eyes pop open, the room is dark. He feels tipsy, sleep drunk on his first uninterrupted hours of rest in weeks.
Beside him, he feels the cozy pressure of another body. Glancing down, he finds you curled under the sheets at his side, your face smushed against his arm, steady breaths fogging the gleaming metal.
Asleep.
Bucky grits his teeth. Squeezes his eyes shut. One thing. You asked him to do one thing.
God. Dammit.
Furious with his lame old man ass, he almost wakes you up. Almost. But then he swallows that desire and thinks.
Before he got married, Bucky read every relationship advice book under the sun. He gets the importance of keeping the romance alive. He knows you need to cherish your person, make them a priority, shower them with love. He knows. He gets it. He watches Oprah, for fuck’s sake. Relationships take work.
But lately? This is life.
With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side.
Bucky’s officially starting to panic.
Although, he muses, eyes lingering on the innocent curve of your mouth, the chaos has forced both of you to get more…creative.
He grins.
It was you who instigated it the first time. He was lying in a dingy motel bed when you nervously offered.
--
“Hey, um…do think maybe you’d…like…would you…uh…”
“Spit it out babe.”
“Doyouwannatryphonesex?”
--
An anxious slur so fast, he nearly misses the question. He remembers that beat of hesitation, before you dove in headfirst, telling him in obscenely explicit detail exactly what you wanted to do to him. He was so shocked he dropped the phone and had to naked crawl under the grimy mattress to fish it out.
He must’ve jerked off five times that night. Replaying your filthy words. Remembering the quiet whimpers as you came on your fingers, gasping out his name. What a treat.
Sexting soon followed, accompanied by a plethora of nudes. None from you of course, because as you always remind him, you’re a lady, but Bucky? He gets irrational joy from sending them. They come in a variety of close-ups and poses, several which Sam accidentally discovered when he walked in on Bucky prancing around naked, searching for his best angle.
Sam always knocks now.
But sometimes words and pictures aren’t enough. Sometimes you need the soothing weight of someone in your arms. The scent of sweaty skin beneath your nose. Hot breaths of pleasure in your ear and the touch of a cool tongue licking across a heated body.
Sometimes he just needs you.
Could he wake you up? Sure. He knows you wouldn’t mind, you’ve told him a thousand times. But he also knows how tired you’ve been, and he can’t bring himself to shake you awake, selfishly stealing those bits of recovery you need.
So instead, he searches for something to keep him occupied.
He tries reading Game of Thrones again and gets nowhere. Thinks yet again someone needs to get George R.R. Martin an editor.
He flicks on his phone and covertly watches PornHub on mute. Seriously debates whether he can get away with jerking off while you’re sleeping because hey, Bucky Barnes is nothing if not stealthy.
He stares up at the ceiling and tries to see how long he can hold his breath. He gets 2 minutes and 8 seconds (a new record) before giving up.
In the end, he rolls onto his side stares intently at you. Wills you to wake up on your own. Come on baby, please.
But nothing works, and when sleep still doesn’t come, he decides to be productive. Crawling carefully from the bed, he smothers a laugh when you curl instantly into the warm mattress dip of his body, burrowing further under the blankets and unconsciously stealing his pillow. Most mornings Bucky wakes up hanging off the bed, no blankets or pillows to his name, while you’re swathed in comfort, cold toes shoved beneath his belly.
Maybe he should be annoyed. Except every time he looks at you, he forgets how to scowl.
Love is weird.
Rummaging silently through the closet, he unearths a threadbare pair of jeans and an oil stained t-shirt, slips into his worn leather boots. He drops a light kiss on your forehead, brushing a finger down the curve of your neck. Smiles to himself when you snuffle a quiet snore.
And he heads out the backdoor, down the weatherworn brick to the garage out back.
It was an added bonus when he bought the house. An unanticipated domestic perk. Hell, he never thought he’d find someone would actually date him, let alone someone who wanted to marry him and buy a house with him and accept his penchant for hoarding things in a rickety old garage (come on, I grew up in the Depression and I need this, he whines every time you take him to Target).
Thank god you said yes. He’s the luckiest jerk in the world.
Flicking on the garage light, Bucky still gets a little thrill. The entire place is an homage to eclectic, random artifacts, from the box of ugly 1970s vases he found at a flea market, to the fishing equipment he insisted on buying and has yet to use, to the sack of broken seashells you drunkenly collected on your honeymoon in Costa Rica.
In the midst of the swirl sits his pride and joy. Cherry red paint, black leather seats, a tad dusty, full of potential.
The 1969 Camaro looks like a teenage wet dream.
He remembers the day he brought it home, that surge of macho pride when your eyes lit up. After you slapped his ass and told him how sexy the car was, he reveled in your admiration for maybe 10 seconds, before hauling you back to the house and under the sheets. Took several hours before you both came up for air.
That was a good time, he thinks dreamily.
The car attracted his friends as well. Sam and Steve brought over a celebratory case of beer and stood by while Bucky explained the changes he had planned. Steve gave a few sage nods, while Sam helpfully threw out words like fuel injector now and then. Neither had a fucking clue what was happening, but Bucky graciously let them fake it.
Tony also saw the car once. Got a fervent gleam in his eye and started to say the phrase jet fuel, before Bucky ushered him out the door. Tony doesn’t get to see the car anymore.
There are still plenty of fixes to make, but for tonight he takes it easy. Flips on the ancient radio perched above the workbench and flops down on a rolling seat, sliding under the Camaro to tinker around. He goes to work, lets the crackle of the radio and the mechanical puzzle lull him into focus mode.
So intent on the task at hand, he barely hears the garage door opening.
The click of a shoe alerts him too late and he freezes, gripping his wrench tight. Muscles tense, garage floor plans and fight scenarios flooding his brain.
“Bucky? Do you have a sec?”
His breath whooshes in relief at your voice. A silly grin bubbles up because you’re finally awake, until he tilts his head sideways, peering out from under the car to see your feet.
Black high heels.
Stomach sinking, Bucky closes his eyes. Back to work then. Motherfucker. He missed his chance again.
Swallowing down the bitter disappointment, he croaks out a plea.
“Hey babe, do you gotta go back to the office so soon? Can you just - “
Click click and you step between his legs. Firm hands clutch the oil stained fabric at his knees and you pull. The seat rolls easily and he slides free, squinting up at you in the dim light.
The words die on his lips.
Black high heels, yes.
And.
Lacy black underwear, the sides held together with thick satin ribbons. A lacy black bra, your breasts threatening to spill out.
Gorgeous, devilish smile.
Fingering the wide satin bow between your breasts, you tease a light tug and Bucky starts sweating like a virgin on prom night. His wrench slips from numb fingers, thunking him in the nuts and clattering away.
“Shit,” he grunts. There’s a moment of confusion on whether the fresh ache in his balls is from the punch of the wrench, or tantalizing swathes of skin before him, but then you say his name and he figures it out pretty fucking fast.
“Hey Bucky Bear,” you purr, in that raspy voice he loves. “Still want that surprise I promised?”
Palming himself roughly, Bucky adjusts the suddenly tight front of his jeans, eyeing you with a lusty smile. Fuck yes, he wants his surprise. He wants everything about you.
“You bet your sweet ass I do. What’d you have in mind?”
“I have some ideas,” you say playfully. Stepping closer, slipping your fingers into his silky hair, he leans into the touch. “And I promise we’ll get to them. But first, how about you stay down there and maybe show me how much you missed me?”
Torn, Bucky looks down at his oil stained fingers. They spasm, clutching the edge of the seat so tight the metal bends. His voice drops several octaves.
“Babe, I - shit, I’m gonna kill the mood here, but my hands are all dirty, I should wash ‘em first,” he apologizes. Rolling your eyes, you shift closer until the edge of his nose is a mere inch from the delicate lace panties.
“I’m not asking for your hands, soldier. You have a mouth. Get creative.”
Bucky’s jaw drops. Sassy and domineering? And nearly naked?
Hell yes, his dick shouts. Here we fucking go.
Warm and cool, tentative fingertips press into the smooth skin behind your knees, stroking higher until he’s plucking the satin ribbons and pulling. It feels like Christmas morning when the knot slowly breaks apart, whispers of satin and lace floating to the ground.
Nosing against your core, he inhales, long and deep. A low growl rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips tight and heat explodes across your skin when his tongue presses into your folds, licking over your clit.
“God,” your moan is dark, desperately breathless, “keep - that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, please, been way too long.”
Bucky gives a fervent nod of agreement, strands of his dark hair tickling your thighs. When was the last time he did this? Nah, you know what? If he has to ask, it’s been too long.
From now on, the only correct answer should be every damn day.
He feels you moving his head, guiding him exactly where you need him most, and he hums hungrily. Shoves his tongue deeper. He adores when you take charge, using him, his mouth or his fingers or his dick, to get yourself off. He loves it, dreams about it, wishes you would let him film it just one time (because sometimes missions last three weeks not three days Steve).
But until then, he devotes himself to making it perfect because you deserve perfect.
Fast, firm flicks of the tongue. Long, leisurely strokes, licking you slow and sweet. Rough pressure, his plush pink lips sucking tight around your clit. So good.
Your eyes fall closed as his tongue moves faster, quicker, pushing you closer closer closer -
No, that won’t do. Cold metal lightly pinches your ass, a bid for attention. Chest heaving, you open your eyes.
Bright eyed and eager, Bucky gazes up from between your legs, looking thoroughly debauched. White t-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, dark hair mussed in your fingers, an obvious erection straining his jeans.
So close, you’re so close, right on the edge, just another second -
He knows, of course. Could always play you like a fiddle. He cocks a challenging eyebrow, sucks your clit between his teeth -
“Oh god, Bucky, fuck,” you moan. Weak knees buckle and his hands clutch your ass, keeping you upright and open. He never stops licking, swirling that talented tongue to draw out the bursts and shocks of pleasure until you’re gasping. When he’s wrung every drop from you, he kisses the sensitive bud and tips his head back with an arrogant smirk.
Legs like jelly, you promptly collapse into his lap.
The momentum of the fall sends the rolling seat flying. Busy being chivalrous and keeping you from tumbling headfirst onto dirty concrete, Bucky lets the wheels send him whizzing backward. His head smacks the door handle with a sharp thwack.
“Ow,” he grunts.
“Sorry,” you pant. Struggling for breath, wrapped in the haze of post orgasm bliss, you cuddle against him, soaking up his warmth. “Want me to rub it?”
Massaging his head, he wrinkles his nose. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re offering to rub.”
“Dealer’s choice,” you sass, and Bucky barks out a laugh. Wandering hands skim lightly over your shoulders, fingering the straps of the lacy bra, feather light trails along your collarbone, to the satin bow between your breaks. Tugging impatiently, he smiles when it unwinds, your breasts spilling free.
“Well, how about I take my pants off, we get in the backseat of this car, and you rub whatever you find.”
“Intriguing. What happens after I finish rubbing whatever…pokes my fancy?”
Bucky dips his head, takes your nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The feel of his wet mouth has you squirming closer until he pauses to offer an option.
“Maybe we fuck like a couple horny teenagers?”
“You’re killing me with the romance here, Barnes,” you say drily and he chuckles. “But I was maybe thinking something different.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
Licking a lazy strip between your breasts, he kisses up, up, up, until his tongue finds the hammering pulse of your heartbeat. Bemused, he hears your voice falter, before bravely offering your idea.
“I was thinking maybe I sit on the hood of your pretty red car, and – and you spread my legs and fuck me so good, I can’t walk for a week.”
Startled, Bucky pulls back. Excitement explodes in his chest.
“You - really? Seriously? That’s what you want?”
“Yep,” you confirm, palpable relief at successfully executing the dirty request. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Bucky plants a sloppy kiss on the tip of your nose. Wiggles his eyebrows and winks.
“Well god damn. You got it sweet cheeks.”
Wasting no time, he pushes off the ground and you kick your heels off, wrapping your legs around his waist. He huffs out a blissful moan when you suck a string of hickeys down his neck, grinding against you as he stumbles to the front of the car. Without thinking, he drops you on the shiny red hood and -
“Cold!”
Icy metal meets your bare ass. There’s a panicked scramble back into his arms and he manages to catch you, until your flailing upper cut cracks his jaw. It sends him off balance, tripping forward to smack his kneecaps on the Camaro’s fancy new grill. A grating screech tears the air and the grill rattles to the floor, the metallic clang bouncing off the walls.
Flinching, you peer up at him as it fades away.
Bucky’s nose twitches.
In all his fantasies (and there are many, because you are one sexy piece of ass), this shit never happens. Every sexcapade is effortlessly smooth, sensual and steamy, where you both look great, not a hair out of place, no oil-stained hands or unintended destruction of expensive vintage cars.
In reality, it seems like something always goes sideways. One of his nipples gets gouged by your fingernail or the silk from your negligee gets caught in the plates of his arm, or one of his perfectly aimed thrusts sends you both toppling off the bed. Sometimes he wonders if this is just the two of you? Do other people have perfectly orchestrated sex lives? Is porn not a true mirror of real life?
Is porn a lie?
Maybe he should watch more porn and form a more educated opinion.
For now, he takes in your crestfallen expression, vehemently shaking his head when you try to apologize.
“Buck, I’m sorry, I -“
Holding up a stern hand, he stops you cold. Sets you on your feet, gallantly whipping off his shirt, and spreading it on the shiny red paint. This time when he sets you on the hood, you lay back until the familiar scent of his cologne hugs you close. Bucky lifts your feet, propping each on the hood, spreading your legs open. He leans in close, a pink flush spreading over his chest, crawling up his throat, blue eyes turning dark.
“Listen to me. Don’t ever apologize, okay? You’re worth more than this old junker.” A crooked smile tilts his mouth, his voice as soft as the lips now brushing yours. “You’re priceless. You understand?”
“Okay,” you murmur. Fingers dance lightly up the hard planes of his stomach, wrapping around the chain of his old dog tags. “I understand.”
Bucky nods, watching your eyes drift down, drinking him up. He lives for that look. Sets him on fire, to watch you ogle him. When your eyes skate down his right side, he flexes his forearm a bit, because he knows it turns you on.
A swift tug of the chain and he dips easily, mouth slanting over yours. There’s a faint sound of teeth clacking together, and he stifles a laugh at your excitement. Deep kisses, stoking that simmering fire sitting right below the surface. Your lips part and he slides inside, curling his tongue around yours, pulling away to lick along the corner of your mouth, to suck your bottom lip between his teeth.
The thought appears, same as when he had his mouth between your legs. How long has it been since the two of you just made out like this? Same answer? Too fucking long?
This is definitely happening more often.
He feels your eager fingers reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open, slipping your hand inside. Cool fingers wrap tight around his cock, the other hand wandering down to squeeze a handful of his ass. Bucky hurriedly shimmies his pants to his knees, sets both hands on the car and leans forward, tipping his face down, touching his forehead to yours. Blue eyes flutter closed, breath hitching while he concentrates on the feel of your capable hands, slow strokes along his length, slicker with each tug.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he grits out. “Can you - damn that’s good - can you, there, bit lower -“
Ragged pants melt into a low groan when you slip your hand from the death grip on his ass to cup his balls, rolling them against your palm.
“Like that?”
“Yeah, yeah, yes, fuck yes, just like that,” he hisses, thrusting into your hands. “Can you - can you pull just a little-“
He stammers the question, ignoring your amused hum. It was a quirk, one he discovered early in the relationship. It came out of the blue, a bashful request during a romp in the sheets, but for some reason, Bucky has a thing for having his balls tugged. Not hard (which was also discovered after an unconsciously rough yank had him squealing in pain), but more of a soft squeeze, followed by a slow pull.
Like how you squeeze an overripe banana, he had explained later, gingerly massaging his balls. Not so hard it squishes.
Many entertaining attempts later, and he swears you have the move patented. Stroking his dick faster, your thumb presses over his balls, before a careful pull. Tipping his head back, Bucky stares glass eyed at the ceiling, lost in pleasure, pushing himself into your firm grip.
“Feel good?” you murmur.
“Yeah. Yes, so good, so god damn good ,” he chokes out. Faster, harder, faster - and then a strangled gasp and panicked blue eyes catch yours. “Wait, too good, it’s too good! Don’t wanna come yet, hang on! Need to be inside you first.”
He grabs your wrists, the thwarted sting of a denied orgasm obvious in the grind of his teeth. Both of you look down to where your hands are wrapped around him, one still kneading his balls, the other curled around the velvety hot skin of his cock.
“Okay,” you say, looking him up and down. “Fine, but - you’re so sexy, Bucky. And I love your balls.”
Bucky nods furiously, gulping a deep lungful of air. His ass cheeks are twitching.
“I love that you love them, I really do. But babe, I need you to let go of my balls or I’ll come all over your hand,” he rasps, wiggling away. Releasing him, your hands run up his chest, twining around his neck, dragging his sweat damp chest flush against you.
“If I must,” you agree, smiling into his lips. Bucky relaxes into you, the slow melt of tongues follows, the kind where a kiss bounces around, until it finds the perfect rhythm. His hands trace up the line of your arms, unlocking your fingers and pulling them free. Brushing his thumbs over your wrists, he bends close, kisses your knuckles.
And then he folds your arms above your head, pinning them down.
“Keep them there, alright? Don’t move until I say you can.”
“Kinky. Yes sir,” you breathe. He smirks.
“You’d better watch it, you little deviant. I might get used to that.”
“Sorry…sir.”
Pulling you further down the hood, he rubs his cock between your legs, sliding himself between your folds until a slick sheen coats his skin. It startles a grunt from you when he abruptly shoves inside, sinking deep until his hips press flush to yours.
He waits. Has to wait actually, because its been a long damn time and if he’s not careful he’s going to embarrass himself before he even gets started and holy shit, is this even real life? Is he dreaming?
Splayed out on the hood of his car, legs wide open, breasts wet from his tongue, black lace and crumpled satin ribbons. Arms pinned above the luscious skin bared just for him. Bucky stares between your legs, dry mouthed and dizzy.
“Come on, Bucky, please? Fuck me, please fuck me, I missed you so much.”
How could he ever resist this? You naked, writhing against the vivid red of his Camaro, moaning for him to fuck you, with his cock buried in your -
“Aw fucking hell,” he mutters. After so many weeks apart, he knows full well this won’t last long. It’s a damn good thing he has more than a few rounds in him.
Cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders back, he digs thick fingers into your thighs, pulls back nice and slow. He waits. Waits. Waits a bit longer because he likes to be an asshole and hear you beg.
“Bucky, come on -”
And he plunges into you, burying himself in the tight, silky heat of your cunt. Warm up over, no slow start. The pace he sets is rough, so deep he feels the pleasure licking down his spine and into his toes. Over and over, he slams into you until one particularly sharp thrust presses the tip of his cock against that perfect spot inside and you arch up with a broken cry. Hands scrabble above your heard, searching for anything to hold onto, finding something flexible.
With a plastic snap, the windshield wiper blade breaks off in your hand.
Bucky stutters to a halt, blinking sweat from his eyes when he sees the look of horror on your face. The apology is still forming when he snatches the plastic from your fingers, throwing it aside.
“Don’t care,” he grunts. Giving you no time to argue, he wraps his hands behind your knees and raises your hips, fucking into you faster. The filthy echo of sweat slick skin accompanies his breathless order. “Touch yourself. Let me watch.”
A frantic agreement and one hand slips between your legs, the other cupping your breast. Frantic circles over the swollen bud, trembling fingers plucking at a pebbled nipple. Bucky watches greedily, eyes flickering back and forth, memorizing those things that bring you pleasure, fantastically dirty memories to replay on a rainy day.
“Bucky,” desperate fingers rub your clit faster. “Keep going, please keep - keep doing that, I’m close, I’m so close, I’m -“
Sharp and sweet and unexpected, the orgasm crashes into you. Arching up, the low moan tears free, and Bucky slows, hypnotized by the sight of you shuddering beneath him.
“There you go, that’s it,” he urges hoarsely, before surging forward and capturing your lips in a wild kiss. Two more pumps of his hips and he stops, grinding against you until he comes with a heavy groan.
Silence fills the room, broken only with the sounds of harsh breaths and the wet rush of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He rests his forehead between your breasts, listening to the staccato beat of your quick breaths, until you struggle up onto your elbows, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face.
“So I broke your car.”
He says nothing, but a moment later his shoulders begin to shake and suddenly he’s laughing, great rushing wheezes as he struggles for breath. Raising his head, he finds you nervously squinting down at him. He stretches up, presses a kiss to your forehead.
“I got insurance. Just need to check my coverage for mildly destructive ‘I missed you’ sex.”
“You might consider expanding that policy. I’m just saying,” you suggest with a giggle and he snorts.
Quiet contentment blankets the stuffy garage, both of you basking in that tingly afterglow. Folding your hands behind his neck, you draw him close and Bucky nuzzles into the crook of your neck.
“Been tough lately,” he whispers, mouthing gently along your throat. “Trying to find time together.”
Nodding slowly, your smile turns wistful.
“Yeah…guess it makes any time we get even better. Right? It doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it together.”
Bucky feels a lump in his throat (the kind that could easily dissolve into manly super soldier tears), and he gathers you in his arms, tucking you against his chest. When he answers, his voice cracks just a bit.
“Someone’s a sentimental sap.”
He hears your muffled laugh against his chest, feels you bite at his collarbone and he chuckles.
“I love you Bucky. And I’m really sorry I murdered your car.”
“I love you too, babe. I’m glad you came down here. Especially in that outfit.”
“Yeah? You liked it?”
“Fuck yes I did. What spurred that idea, hmm?”
“I just don’t want to lose our spark,” you admit, snuggling closer. “When things get so busy, it’s easy to let things like this slide, and I don’t want you to - get bored, I guess. With us.”
Bucky thinks about all his relationship advice articles and the fact that he sometimes even prints them out and goes through with a yellow highlighter to capture the key points. Hearing your soft concern makes him fall even more in love with you.
Because this is important. This relationship, this love, this spark he was lucky enough to find with you, it’s the most important thing in his world. You are the most important thing in his world.
Brushing a knuckle down your cheek, he coaxes your chin up.
“I know it’s tough, always being on different schedules, but I want you to know, I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna want you. Nothing changes that. And if you ever doubt just how much I genuinely want to bang you all night long, then you say something. Deal?”
He boops your nose and you grin.
“Deal.”
“And honey, not that I’m complaining, trust me, but you don’t need to dress sexy to get me all reved up,” he shrugs. “You do that just by looking at me.”
“You do know how to charm the pants off a lady, Barnes.”
He throws his head back and laughs. Swings you up in his arms and calms your startled yelp with a kiss.
“Damn straight. Now how about we give that backseat a try. I think you mentioned wanting to rub something back there?”
*****
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The Boyfriend Tag [Calum Hood Edition]
Summary: an unfiltered interview featuring Calum Hood and his girlfriend.
Words: 4.7k
“Hello! I’m Calum Hood, from 5 seconds of summer” He greets to the camera.
“My name is (Y/n) and I am dating this guy. Today! we are going to be answering this tag thing” I answer in a more excited tone, as I point at the camera.
“The whole band has done it, it’s only fair I do it as well” He mentions “We’re currently at home, where we all should be” He says, looking at the surroundings of our sweet home “...so we have more than enough time to get to this”
I smile “And here it is”
_______
How did we first meet?
“Through friends” Calum explains shortly “it was nothing super special, sadly, she just happened to be friends with one of my friends and that’s how it happened” he shrugged.
There was really not much to tell, Our story simply happened in a very natural way.
“My friend invited me to LA and I met him in...If I’m not mistaken it was at a brunch party?” I explain.
“You’d be right” he nods “then a series of things happened and she ended up joining our team”
I smile to the camera “In case you didn’t know. I’m a music editor, I like producing and tweaking, so you could say we would see each other a lot” I shrug.
“And things happened, went on a couple of dates, did my magic…” he added, moved his fingers in front of the camera in a funky way and finished with a “...and here we are”.
Where was our first date?
“We went to a concert” I exclaimed, growing really excited at the memory “it was crazy, we literally started with a bang”
“Yep and it wasn’t planned at all” he laughs, rubbing his jaw with his hand as he spoke “I originally had the plan to go with Ashton to this Chainsmokers show, we wanted to take advantage of that to talk with Drew and Alex after, but Ashton got really sick and since I had the ticket and couldn’t just let it go to waste, I asked this beauty to go with me” he said, reaching over to squish my cheek.
I move away as an instinct, but I love it.
“It was awesome, those guys really put up a good show” I add, smiling as I spoke “I got really drunk that night”
Fun fact. I don’t know what came over to me the night of our first date, but for some reason, alcohol played a big part that night, it was embarrassing, but it was worth it. After all, we made a great memory out of it.
“Tell me about it” Calum said, rolling his eyes.
I blushed, but before he could say anything else, I swang over to him and covered his mouth “Shhh” I giggle, scotting over to his side “He kind of babysat me, sorry babe” I said, uncovering his mouth.
“Kind of?” he asked with a sarcastic tone “Geez, I can’t even answer to that. Next question, I don’t want to tell this story” he said, shaking his head.
I roll my eyes “Drama queen” I shrug “I got drunk and he had to take care of the rest, it was both fun and weird”.
“Next” he states, passing on to the next question.
What was your first impression of me?
I have to take a moment to answer this question, not because I don’t know what I like, but because I struggle remembering what exactly was that caught my attention. It only took me a few seconds to answer.
“My first impression of you was that you were really quite but still very present in the room” I speak first “it’s hard to explain, because we literally met in the middle of a conversation but basically” I try to explain, shifting a little in my place “I remember standing in one place and hearing stories from other people, I was completely not familiar with anything, I didn’t know any of them so everything they said was pretty much new, but you always had a fun insert to add, even though you barely spoken that was something that stood out for me a lot” I say, nodding towards him.
“Mine was more or less the same, actually” he says, acting surprised about my answer “because you’re always very quiet when being on a crowd and that stuff, you always stand back from having too much attention” he explain. “it’s funny because, the first day I met you I remember, I greeted you and all, we didn’t really talked to each other and I didn’t hear you talk either, however, when our food delivery came in the first thing I heard you say was ‘yo, I bet you can’t sniff of this paprika’” he says, a smile growing on his face, until full giggles starting coming out of his lips.
“Did you really had to say that on camera?” I sigh, acting annoyed, but I really wasn’t.
“It was hilarious” he says, still laughing.
I know this is a fact that kind of embarrass me, but watching laugh it off was completely priceless.
When did you meet my family?
“I met your family on the day you launched your third album” I start answering the question, as soon as he finishes reading. “it was such a big moment and you flew everyone in, it was the first time I ever got to interact with your mother and -well- everyone, as your girlfriend and not just a friend” I explain “also it was the first time I stayed over at your place for more than two nights”
“It was a extended pijama party” he mention, nodding at the camera with a serious look “no, uh, there’s a reason behind all that. When it came to this situations, I very much preferred for her to stay at mines while my family was in there than to have her alone at her apartment, so I took the chance” He shrugged, reaching over to pat my tight. “It was fun!”
“It was very fun” I nod agreeing “I love how your mom takes the lead in the kitchen and no matter what you say, she is the one in charge” I laugh, remembering all those discussion for who was the first cooking dinner at the house.
“Mom doesn’t love my cooking” Calum admits with a sigh.
I nod “I don’t know why, if I’m honest” I add“She makes some exceptional fish and chips though, it’s just...”
I have to close my eyes to add some drama into all these. I loved food, and that was definitely one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time. I knew Cal’s mom loved to cook, and it was an honour for me to try her meals, they were heaven on earth.
“Yeah I know” he chuckles “How did I meet yours?” he asks to himself and sighs “I didn’t”
My jaw tenses a little, I don’t know how I didn’t see this coming but I didn’t care at all.
“I’m an orphan, don’t cry for me, I’m fine, I don’t need to talk about it” I state, moving over to his side and hugging him “you are my family”
He smiles softly at me. “Yes I am, baby” he says kissing my forehead. “Next”
Who said “I love you” first?
“Eh...I did” I admit, with a shy smile on my face “guilty” I add, raising my hand.
“She did” he seconds, pointing at him. “it was adorable”
That phrase made me cringe for some reason. Not that I denied it wasn’t adorable, it was just some awkward moment that I came out of me and I still feel unsure of. I am not often the one who speaks up, so doing this was pretty ballsy.
“Was it?” I ask, unsure “It was too soon, I dont know...”
“It was alright, really” he says, shaking his head and going over to rub on my arm a little “we were having one of our famous, drink and watch, where we watch movies and every time something specific happens, we drink a shot” he starts telling the story, also making the fun add on of our usual date nights.
“And I was like, woooh woooh” I say, trying to imitate that very moment. I lean over him, and leaning my head too close to his, I press my head on his cheek and whisper “I loaf you, Cayum” making it coming out as a loud muffled sound.
“God dammit” he giggles moving away just a little “I mean, it did sound like that, but it was cute and I said it back” he says, rounding his arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer.
“At first I felt weird because I thought I shouldn’t have said it right there at that moment, but if I’m honest” I add “I was fine”
“We were fine” he continues, leaning in to kiss my temple “more than fine”
What dressing do I always wear?
I look at him up and down. It’s kind of funny, because with this whole situation, we both happen to be in our pajamas, so our dressing code has been turned around for the moment. My vision of what he could be wearing on the daily has been distorted.
“Pfff” I sigh “I don’t know, I really don’t” I confess. “You are very weird with fashion, I must say, I don’t think you often wear the same thing” I say, looking over at him.
“I sure do, I can think of a couple things” He says, smiling at me with a teasing smile, silently encouraging me to think.
“Well, you do wear hoodies often, at home mostly” I say, being the first thing I can think of
“Like this one, actually, it’s like your morning hoodie” I giggle, reaching over to tug on the hood.
He was wearing that very soft white hoodie he would reach over to every morning, if there was a little bit of a breeze out there. She loved it, it was a nice piece of clothing to hug him in.
“There you go, see?” He chuckles, shaking his head “Mine is easy because every day of your life you wear socks that reach your ankles and beyond” He smiles, looking down at my feet and staring at my socks.
“Ding ding ding!” I celebrate, smiling at him “You are so right!” I laugh.
He nods, he knows he was right.
“Show the public, please” he suggests, giving me the honours.
“I have pineapples today” I say, lifting my foot as much as I can and holding it up to the camera. “Yesterday I had dogs and I have all kind of patterns, I love collecting socks” I smile, looking down at the pretty pattern and admiring it.
“It’s a fun thing to collect, I like it a lot actually” He admits, staring at it too “Do you have your 5SOS socks already?” he asks, as I lower my leg to its previous position.
I roll my eyes “Oh, shut it” I groan, he breaks to laugh and he knows why. “you didn’t let me design socks for your merch, now I don’t want anything” I say, scooting away from him
“Right” he laughs, shaking his head and laughing “Next question”.
Weird habit of each other?
“I know one of yours” he says before I can even answer. He turns to me, looking at me with a mysterious smile. “I’m going to leave it at your choice, should I tell or should I not?”
I look at him with the same look he gives to me, trying to see in him what he had in mind. I might have some weird habits, I was just hoping he wouldn’t pull out the worst.
“Shoot” I say, glaring at him.
“Everything you do, you find a way to relate it to a meme” he says, looking straight at me and laughing as he speaks “I don’t even know how you do it, you just do”
“Oh man! that’s not that bad, but I wasn’t expecting that at all” I laugh as well, finding it kind of funny that we went in with this one “I don’t think you have a bad habit, but, if I must say one, I would say your silence” I say slowly, not really sure if that even count. “you are one quite soul, Cal” I add, bumping our shoulders together
“Am I?” He says, raising an eyebrow up as he spoke.
I nod “It’s like, sometimes I ask you something and you just do this” I explain, resting my head over my chin and looking straight at him, saying nothing but still saying much. “I’m not a mind reader, pal” I mumble, still looking at him.
He leans over and touches my forehead with his, looking at me straight in the eyes and mumbling. “You should know what it means”
I roll my eyes. “Uh huh”
He would never admit his silence was weird, but that’s okay, it was something of him that I really liked.
How long have we been together?
“Almost two years” Calum says, his voice sounding sort of surprised as he spoke.
“It doesn’t feel like two years, how scary” I add, leaning my head on his shoulder “I feel like time really flies lately, these past two years between working with you, having all these changes and moving to this city, I felt like it’s only been a couple months” I mention, reflecting about all of the little things that have led us to this moment.
“That happens when you’re having fun baby”
I smile, bumping my shoulder to his “It’s been the best two years, I hope you know that”
What was our first road trip?
“Here’s the thing” he says, taking the lead “We often do small road trips to little parts of the city, so I would dare to say our first road trip together was... Mexico?” he says, looking at me in doubt.
“I think so, I’m not sure” I say, thinking about it as well. “but I think our most special trip was not even a road trip, it was a full on trip, remember?”
He frowns a little, turning to look at me looking for more clues. I didn’t gave more information away, if he knows, he knows.
“Which one?” He asks, still thinking about it.
“The first trip we did together, we were around 8 months, I would say” I say, still maintaining the mystery, until I decided to drop it. “We went to Australia, made a stop for three days and then New Zealand” I explain.
“Oh that’s right! yeah, you are right” he nods energetically at my answer. “We went visiting my family and exploring, it was a whole deal” he explain, now with a smile on his face.
“I think that even counts as a road trip, we used your uncle’s jeep, visited some awesome places” I say, smiling as well “I loved it, I always wanted to go to Auckland and having the chance of exploring the city was the best thing ever”
He nods, agreeing with me. That particular trip was the first trip we ever did together as a couple and it was worth every second.
“I had fun too, it was a very special time” He agrees. “Fun fact, a song came out of that trip, and you would never guess which one, but if you do, let me know and I might tell a story” He states, pointing at the camera, and looking at it with a completely serious look.
“Please do, guess” I chuckle at that statement “That story is going to fuck me up”
First thing you noticed about me?
“Now this is a question I like a lot” Calum states, sitting up straight and getting excited about his answer “Here’s the thing, the first time I met you was on this brunch thing and it was... a private event” he starts “it was interesting because in this event they had like a whole dancing thing, musicians, a DJ... the thing is, there was a particular moment of the event where they were playing jazz and the way she lost it while listening to that... that was priceless” he noticed, smiling at me “the way you lose yourself with music it’s something I won’t ever get tired of” he said in honest words.
That statement made my heart warm up. Those were one of the most adorable things he had ever said to me.
“Thank you” I said, with a hand on my chest. “The first thing I noticed about you is how good you are with words” I said, as part of my answer “I think some people, especially guys, sometimes come out as assholes when they want to cause a good impression, but surprisingly, he was the first guy who when he first came up to me, I felt comfortable” I shrug, looking at the camera and smiling softly.
There was really not much to say, I felt like my answer said a lot.
Calum smiled softly at me and reached my place, and while he caught me in his arms he mumbled “Come here”.
And then we fall onto the floor, as we washes me in kisses.
Tell us a fun fact about you
We both stare blankly at different points as we think of an answer. It should be easier than this, but for some reason, it is being more difficult than we thought to come up with a good answer to fill in this question. We could say so many things, but none of them would be the most appropriate one for this.
“Fun fact” I start, after our moment of silence “the first time we kissed, very first time, I was really drunk, but I would say, it wasn’t that noticeable or at least that’s what I thought”
I see Calum notices what I am saying right away, because once I start my story, his face goes from a frown to a surprised expression very quickly. Suddenly everything taking a bit of sense for him.
“I know where you’re going” he says, shaking his head.
“He asked me how it felt, like the kiss, how I felt about it” I continue “and I said ‘Ew’”
I wish I could help it, but everytime I tell a story like this, I can’t help but breaking to laugh, without having enough control over myself. I almost have to lay back, because I am laughing so much I can hardly sit still, but I don’t do that, I just hold on to my boyfriend and do my thing. I was such a fun story, the embarrassing part of it worn off completely by how funny it was.
“That was the most discouraging moment of my life” He explains, joining as well into my little laughing fit and shaking his head.
“I know, I’m sorry” I said, cleaning a small tear off my eye “I didn’t mean it! I was drunk, plus, I think I say ew and ouch out of its context more times that I could count” I mention.
“Now, that is very true” he says, laughing as well as he turns his look back at the camera and mumbles “Next question”
Tell us a secret
“No” Calum says.
So we move on to the next question.
What am I good at?
“She’s excellent at cooking the best things in the worst times” Calum explains as soon as he’s given the chance “and what I mean by this is that, most of the time when there’s a storm or, just like a month ago, we were confined and she would do deserts like everyday, It was so good I would forget for a second about what was surrounding me” He admitted, looking at me for a second before going back at the camera.
“I’m glad you like it” I smile, suddenly feeling very excited. “I do instagram lives every time I cook, It’s a lot of fun” I add.
He nods “You see me in the back, like, ‘what’s that white spongy thing?’” he mentions, making a weird voice just for laughs.
I giggle. “What’s that white dust on the table?” I follow, completely being aware of the double-sense.
“Is that mint? Or cilantro?” He adds.
“Oh geez” I laugh, at that last one. “People roast me in the comments all the time, because I make stuff like, burritos, or maybe chicken teriyaki, and then you come over and can’t eat anything” I roll my eyes, shaking my head at the camera.
He presses his lips together at my mention and nods.
“I don’t eat meat” he mentions, shrugging “but I don’t mind at all, I don’t care if you eat meat”
I nod “I always prepare like one ratio and leave some for if you wanna try, but…” I shrug “I wouldn’t tease you into it”
“I know babe” He says, going to reach my cheek and pinch it.
I move away from his touch as I say “I’m not even going to answer this so… next!”
Favorite feature about each other?
“His face is the stretchiest ever” I say with excitement in my voice.
Without a doubt, I get up and walk right behind him, because I just need to do something. It's a necessity, this is something I do on the daily, showing the public was something I wanted to do so badly.
“Look at this” I said, placing my hands on his cheeks and squishing them…stretching… squishing… stretching… squishing… I had so much fun.
“I have so much fun doing this, it’s like playdough in my hands” I say, caressing my boyfriends face.
“Okay, alright” he laughs, taking my hands away from his face. “My favourite thing is this” he says, still holding onto my hands and suddenly tugging on them hard.
Before I even noticed, he was grabbing both of my arms together, and with great skill, he pulled my whole body over his shoulders, and as he got up from his seat and walked back.
“What?!” I yelled loudly “Put me down!”
He does as I said, and as he walked to the back of the room, he let me down right beside him.
“She’s so tiny” he laughed, ruffling my hair playfully “I can carry her in my bag”
I rolled my eyes “No, I’m not” I whined “Stop”
He laughed again, and as he lifted his arm, and rested his elbow on my head. “See this (Y/n) to Calum ratio” he mocks “I’m half a person”
“Perfect size” I giggle, pushing him aside playfully. “Now that you’ve exposed my height, can we keep going please?” I say, almost begging.
If we kept going with this, I could easily turn from funny to not so funny anymore.
What do we argue about the most?
Once again, we stay quiet for a good second, but not because we don’t know, it’s because there was really not an specific answer we could give. I don’t we even knew what to say.
“I would say, the majority of times, we argue for the most dumb things you could imagine” I say, answering for the both of us “But about serious things, it’s something very rare” I shrug.
“I think our trending topic when discussing about something, it’s about me misspelling words when writing, and her losing it” he says, pointing at us and totally throwing me a look.
“Dude” I sigh “Because then people will read and take it the wrong way, not cool” I argue.
“It doesn’t matter, you just explain” he shrugs, completely not caring.
“You need to listen, that’s what you need to do” I roll my eyes “Read a book, punk” I let out.
His eyes widen at my answer. “Oh is that it?” He says looking at me directly.
I crack a smile, going to hug him, before he thought I was serious about this. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding” I let him know.
I would never tell him something like that on purpose.
Nicknames for each other?
I sigh. “Sadly, I don’t have anything other than Cal, and all the regular sappy nicknames” I shrug “I know I’m terrible, sue me, I don’t care”
I speak honestly, all super creative nicknames were over thought and they could be weird sometimes. I was too classy to use anything overly new.
“That’s mean, because I do have a couple of names for you” he mentions “Sweetie pie, Baby… The others I can’t reveal” he says slowly, patting my thigh with his hand.
my nose scrunches “Why?” I ask.
“They’re very confidential, you should know that” he says, shaking his head.
I shrug. “If I’m honest, I don’t know” I giggle “But I’ll keep the secret if that’s what you want”
He smiles, and leaving kiss on my cheek, we move on to the next question.
Complete this sentence “You’re my……..”?
“Oh, this is the famous question” he says after reading the question out loud. A smile cracking on his face as he looked at me.
“Was there a famous question?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.
“All the guys were talking about this one, I’m sure you guys are enjoying this” he smiled at the camera and pointing at It. “Luke’s girl cried” he mentioned to me.
My eyes widen “Did she?” I say, my mouth forming a pout “Oh man, I haven’t seen that” I sigh “You first”
He nods, already knowing that he would be the one taking the lead first.
“You are my saviour” he says, going to grab my hand. “I know it might sound sappy and you hate it, but it’s the truth. Before you I was a lonely guy, even when I had friends, I still felt pretty lonely, and I really appreciate the fact that I found someone who I can talk to, share moments… someone who I can lean on, It’s something that really gets me thinking… If it wasn’t for you, I would be sad” he says, pressing his lips together as he looked at me.
“Really?” I asked in a whisper. He nods. “Cal…”
I wish I could keep it together, but hearing him say something like this… I’m front of a camera. It doesn’t seem like a big deal, we’ve been in these kinds of situations before, but right now, it felt different, and it felt special.
“No, baby, don’t” he chuckles when sees my eyes starting to Glow. “See?” He tells the camera with a smile.
“I don’t even know what to say…” I sigh, shaking my head “You’re my partner” I say smiling. “Probably sounds weird, because it’s obvious, but I mean it, you’re my best friend, I love spending time with you, I always look forward to be with you and have you by my side, I can tell you everything and I trust you more than anyone, I think being with you is without a doubt, the best decision I have ever taken in my life” I admit.
The grin on his face is a real one, and once I finish with my words, he gives a squeeze to my hands, and leaves a kiss in both of them.
“Come here, baby” he whispers, pulling my into his arms. “I love you, I love you, I love you” he says, kissing my cheek a lot.
“You’re squishing me” I laugh “I love you so much, a million times, more than you do”
And more than he could imagine…
_____
“So, this was our version of the girlfriend and boyfriend tag, I hope you enjoyed” I say first, as I smiled to the camera.
“We also hope this brought you enough entertainment during this time, we for sure had a good time doing it” He continues for me, waving at the camera. “Until the next time, and remember to stay safe, bye!”
With this, we both lift our hands, and wave energetically at the camera, we turn of the camera, and our version of this tag was completed.
It was a wrap!.
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How about jaskier is a dragon and determines that Geralt is very much his mate. He wants to make it official by fucking on the summer solstice, as dragons do to get married/bond. Geralt, not knowing that he's Jaskier's mate, is v. Confused when the bard starts pawing at his clothes and whining for his cock and that talk about "make me yours Geralt" but is Very Into It once he realizes just what's going on
ahh my first request!! thank you so, so much!! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!
Geralt was a witcher—a very good witcher. He could sniff out a bruxae from a mile away; he could track down a wyvern from only a few drops of blood. He knew the differences between rotfiends and ghouls and alghouls, he knew how many spikes were on a manticore’s tail, he knew how to identify and defeat hundreds of monsters, creatures, and beasts of myth.
So, logically, Geralt knew he was a dragon. Jaskier was sure of it. Right?
He didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. How anyone thought he was human baffled him. He hoarded songs and scents, with his precious lite at the center of it all. Notebooks filled to the brim with lyrics and lines—not all of them his. Bags, once he had settled in with Geralt enough to trust him with it, that were always packed with oils, bath salts, and ointments. His temper, too, easy to flare, but easy to forgive. His affinity for shiny, pretty things. And perhaps the most damning of it all, the way he didn’t always act human. The half-raw meat that he never had a problem devouring; the way he always managed to find his way back to Geralt every spring without fail, no matter where on the Continent the witcher was. His unchanged youthful looks, years and years after they met.
So, Jaskier was reasonably certain, Geralt knew what he was. He’d simply not said anything because it was easier—because Geralt disliked honest and open conversations like that. So Jaskier didn’t bother to bring it up either, content in his companion’s silent acceptance.
But truth be told, Jaskier wanted more.
So he asked for it. Subtly, of course. Geralt wasn’t an emotional man—going to him and declaring his love wasn’t exactly an option. So Jaskier started slow, poking and prodding, testing his interests through his kind’s courting traditions. And when his first gift—a pair of gloves made from his own scales, the proud jeweled red dulled and dyed purposefully to keep Geralt safe when he was out stalking beasties—was accepted with a huff, a tiny smile, a roll of the eyes, and Geralt taking awfully good care of them, Jaskier knew his affections were accepted. Perhaps even returned.
More gifts, more rituals followed. Ointments of his favorite scents, carefully diluted for a witcher’s nose, to sooth his dry hands. Intricate braids done during baths, telling stories in his hair; Dutch braids for devotion, crown braids for loyalty, fishtail braids for patience, lace braids for fidelity, with all of them begrudgingly left alone until the next time he desperately needed a bath. The vernal equinox celebrated together by getting awfully drunk on honey wine, procured from the fae themselves.
And lastly, a final gift that could be an equivalent to a human’s engagement ring, he offered to Geralt a plaited bracelet made up of his lute strings, worn and representative of himself, a piece of his prized treasure and a piece of himself practically along with it. And Geralt? Well, Geralt accepted. He wore that bracelet every day, even if he pretended, quite transparently, to be only humoring Jaskier and nothing else. And that was that.
They were mates.
And today was the summer solstice.
--
Jaskier was antsy. Then again, Geralt was of a mind that Jaskier was always antsy. Fidgety and twitchy, always moving. Like a hummingbird, he thought. It was as if Jaskier expected himself to die if he fell still for even a single minute. But no. This was a different kind of antsy. He’d been extra energetic all day. It was as endearing as it was annoying--though he’d never admit to it.
He’d been whining about leaving the city all day, too. The little bird, always ready to fly away when bored. Gods, Geralt had a hard time hiding his small smiles as Jaskier went on about the boring foods, as he tried to bother him into heading out to the next town as soon as possible. But he’d had to hunt, unfortunately; the city had been plagued with a manticore on its outer regions, and Geralt needed the coin. So he’d had the bard wait for him at the tavern, taken care of the issue, and came back in need of a bath. Jaskier, never one to turn down a bit of pampering whether it was for himself or other people, was happy enough to do so, and they left the city on Jaskier’s insistence in the late afternoon, Geralt’s hair pulled back into a dragon’s braid.
While he’d expected Jaskier to calm as they got further away from the city, the opposite quickly proved itself true. He became more agitated, more twitchy. It prickled at the sense of amusement and content that generally followed him when Jaskier was involved, and as the sun was setting, Geralt finally pulled to a stop, leading them off into a copse of trees. “Go get wood for a fire,” he told Jaskier, hoping getting the man to sleep early that night would fix the issue. “I’ll find us something to eat.”
Together, they set up camp. Geralt had a rabbit caught quickly enough, roasted it over the open fire, and the two of them ate. All throughout the meal, Jaskier jabbered as usual--but his foot kept tapping, his fingers kept rubbing together, his words kept stumbling over themselves. And as the sun disappeared beneath the trees, Geralt caught a whiff of burnt rosemary and sweat. For whatever reason, Jaskier was getting himself worked up.
With a frown, concern marring his brow, Geralt used the tip of his boot to push into the meat of Jaskier’s thigh. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t going to allow the bard to wriggle out of this--not when he’d been acting strangely all day.
Cornflower blue eyes turned up to his. “What? Oh--s’nothing.” Jaskier smiled. “Just a bit nervous, I suppose.”
The witcher’s brow arched. “Nervous?” he repeated. Yes, he could smell that. But he hadn’t expected Jaskier to give that feeling up so easily. “What about?”
“Oh, you know.” Jaskier waved his hand at the sky, his eyes catching--glinting--in the rising moon’s light. “Today was the summer solstice.”
Geralt wasn’t following. He blinked. They’d spent many solstices together. Not winter ones; not yet. One day… But plenty of summer ones. “Why?”
Whether it was the right or the wrong thing to say, Geralt couldn’t tell. It drew a laugh from his bard, slightly hysterical though, and he suddenly found himself with Jaskier’s full attention. He didn’t have that very often. The little bird flitted about here and there; he paid attention to Geralt, all the time, but to put all of his focus on him? To see those blue eyes turn focused and determined, to feel Jaskier staring into his very soul? Yeah, that was a bit intimidating.
“Silly witcher,” Jaskier replied. “This is why, of course.”
In the next moment, too quick for even Geralt’s senses to catch it--though that was likely due to surprise more than anything else--Jaskier was right before him. His breath got stuck in his throat--and then they were kissing.
Gods, Geralt had dreamed of Jaskier’s mouth on his for years. He’d wondered what it tasted like--sweet like the wine he was so fond of? Fruity and full from his dietary preferences? Deep and heady as the forest that Jaskier continued to force himself into with dogged determination? But no. He’d been wrong. It was, somehow, all of those things, and more.
He drew back a little for breath at one point, hardly registering that he’d lifted his hand to cup the nape of Jaskier’s neck, that his precocious little bird had pushed his way between his legs, on his knees before the log Geralt was sitting on. But Jaskier didn’t let him go for even long enough to open his eyes, dragging him back into another kiss. It was searing and hot, really hot, and he gave a soft, involuntary groan.
Finally, though, Jaskier moved back. It was only so he could tug and pull at the leather of Geralt’s armor, swearing under his breath as he pulled at the stubborn closures, swaying close to him and interrupting his own progress. But even with Geralt’s head still reeling from the sudden makeout session, even with him bemused by Jaskier’s usually smooth seducing capabilities turned into him fumbling with a jerkin, he didn’t miss the fact that Jaskier did not look like Jaskier.
Two horns, ivory, ridged in a spiral growing pattern, protruded from Jaskier’s head. They curved back and downwards towards his skull, before turning back up towards the night sky, the tips deadly sharp. Red scales were slowly emerging from his skin to smatter over his cheeks like rouge, like a glamor being revealed bit by bit, Geralt’s medallion not so much as twitching--ancient magic, powerful magic that slipped by even his detection. And he was fumbling, the witcher realized, because his nails had sharpened, those same jewel-toned scaled stretching up the backs of his hands, disappearing up the pale blue of his doublet.
“Dammit,” Jaskier whined, impatience thick on him, the nervous scent already beginning to fade away. “Just want you to fuck me, and this stupid--this--fuck!” He turned his eyes up to Geralt, cat-slit pupils just like the witcher’s own blown in the dark of the night, wide with his desire. “Geralt, please,” he begged, leaning in for another kiss--a kiss that Geralt didn’t refuse. And not just because he was caught off-guard by the novel sensation of being kissed with a newly forked tongue. “Please,” he continued when they broke apart, rubbing his cheek against his like a cat, like he was scenting him, the scratch of the scales not at all painful, instead kind of… Nice? “C’mon, help me, please, need you in me so bad…”
A lot of things clicked together in that moment.
Jaskier’s quick loyalty. His ability to walk hours and hours every day, nonstop. His music, the notebooks that he filled and then sent back to Oxenfurt to be kept safe. The bag of oils and creams that Geralt had not been allowed to so much as touch until two years ago, while they’d been traveling together for over a decade.
The gloves. The vernal equinox. The braids.
Fuck, the bracelet.
Jaskier saw him as his mate. And he’d been courting him, quietly, without drawing attention to it, for months now. And here they were--Jaskier believing him to have accepted his claim, Jaskier looking to seal their relationship by bonding on the night of the summer solstice, tying them together by the ancient magics of the earth for many, many centuries to come. No wonder the poor bard had been nervous.
Geralt was sort of glad he only realized now what was going on, because he knew he would have been nervous, too.
The revelation settled under his skin with surprising ease. Vesemir, should he ever catch word of how long it took him to identify a dragon that had been living side by side with him for years, would tan his hide. But all Geralt could feel was relief. His little hummingbird--or, he supposed, his little dragon, now--wasn’t going to suffer a mortal’s tragically short life. He’d live for hundreds of years more, thousands even, if he didn’t get himself killed first. And Geralt? Geralt could have every single one of those years if he accepted this. If he chose to become Jaskier’s mate.
It wasn’t really a choice at all.
Geralt’s calloused hand took Jaskier’s chin between his fingers. He dragged him up into another kiss, swallowing down the keen that fell between them, and nipped at Jaskier’s bottom lip as they pulled away. “Needy,” he huffed, a smile twitching at his mouth. He dropped his own hands to his armor; it got tossed to the forest floor quickly, Jaskier’s hands immediately setting upon the pale, scarred skin of his soon-to-be mate.
Feeling a bit vindictive for the years that Jaskier had never outright told him what he was, Geralt got hold of the bard’s doublet. He jerked the edges of it, eyes twinkling in satisfaction as the buttons popped off, no chance against his strength. “Hey,” Jaskier reprimanded, the seriousness he intended to put in his voice severely undercut by the breathy way it came out. “I liked this doublet.”
“I’ll get you a new one,” the witcher replied.
It brought a smile to his wicked, wicked mouth, and Geralt dove in for yet another bruising kiss. He pushed the doublet off Jaskier’s shoulders, the satin dropping into the dirt with as much care as his armor had gotten, and he managed to wrestle his chemise off between wet kisses. His mouth was red and wet when he pulled back; Geralt didn’t resist the urge to cup his cheek, to drag his thumb over the abused bottom lip. Jaskier, eyes dark, quickly sucked his thumb into his mouth. He had fangs now, Geralt noted absently, pressing the pad down onto his tongue until Jaskier was forced to open his mouth wide. He rubbed a small arc over the muscle, the dragon obediently still. It didn’t stop him from whimpering when drool pooled and dripped from the sides of his mouth, though.
His thumb was soaked when he pulled it from Jaskier’s tongue. He looked gorgeous--pupils dilated and wanting, chin glistening from the spit, the red of his scales seeming to bleed into the rest of his face for the way his skin was flushed with lust.
“Geralt,” Jaskier begged. “Please.”
So Geralt went.
He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and pushed him back, back, supporting his weight to keep him from slamming into the ground, but none too gentle otherwise. The roughness seemed to excite Jaskier; he moaned and wrapped his legs around the witcher’s waist, those clawed hands finding purchase behind his shoulders. Geralt didn’t mind the sting. He licked his way into Jaskier’s mouth yet again, and then let his mouth trail down, exploring the other parts of him. His scales were rough against his tongue and he had to be mindful of the direction he went to avoid getting scratched; his jaw and throat were velvety soft and tasted of sweet orange and a deep earthy musk. Jaskier’s pulse fluttered under his lips, and he paid special attention to the edges of the scales that had appeared along his collarbone as well, the dragon shivering with delight.
“Fuck me,” Jaskier pleaded. Geralt reached down between them; his hand was hot over top of Jaskier’s trousers, palming his cock underneath, making the bard’s babbling turn into high pitched whining, hips rocking up.
“Be patient,” he scolded, biting into his throat, watching a bruise blossom there. What was the use in having a dragon as a mate if he didn’t indulge in his own more animalistic urges? Yes, by the end of tonight, he’d have Jaskier claimed just as thoroughly as Jaskier had claimed him.
The bard stammered, bereft, when Geralt moved his hand. He forewent telling him to be patient again, instead hooking his fingers into Jaskier’s trousers and yanking them down, shifting until he could get them and his boots and his smallclothes off all in one go. More ruby scales wrapped around the outside of his thighs, dipped into the hollows of his hips--and his dick was definitely part of pieces of him that hadn’t quite stayed human.
Thick, red, ridged, and with a pointed tip, Geralt couldn’t help but smirk as he drew it into his hand. His little dragon cried out and he watched, fascinated, as a pearly few drops of precum beaded at the slit. It wasn’t anything like he’d fantasized about, when he’d taken himself in hand in his weaker moments when the bard was asleep, imagining what Jaskier’s cock might look like. But it was good, better than good, better than anything he could have dreamed of. Smearing his thumb into the wetness, he spread it down Jaskier’s cock, dragging his hand up and down the shaft. A few more drops appeared from the attention, and he did the same with those as well, slicking him up nicely.
He dropped his hand away, then, to get rid of the rest of his own clothes. Most people didn’t like to see him without clothes. Certainly, they enjoyed his figure, but the scars--the crisscrossing of monsters’ marks, the hunts that had gone wrong, the people that had hunted him instead painting a gruesome picture across his skin. But with Jaskier, it had never been like that. He’d never been bothered. And, considering he was about to fuck a man with scales all over, horns, and a dragon dick, Geralt supposed he wasn’t bothered, either.
Bare at last, Geralt dragged Jaskier’s hips up close. He wrapped his hand around them both, only just managing it really, and the both of them groaned at the sensation. Heat flourished between them and he jerked them off, stretching out over him to bite his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Yes, Jaskier would be a patchwork of bruises come tomorrow morning, and by the way he jerked into each one of them, Geralt had no doubt that he was just as enthusiastic about that prospect as he was.
But as good as this was, it certainly wasn’t what either of them wanted. So he let go soon, smirking again as he wiped the sticky precum on his hand onto Jaskier’s thigh. “Knees,” he commanded, leaning back onto his own so he could reach for Jaskier’s bag. Might as well use what he had there, after all. Being his mate meant being privy to his hoard.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Jaskier listened to him. He keened but turned over, propping his hips up onto his knees. His shoulders pressed low, nearly to the dirt, and he rested his forehead on his wrists, the upturn of his horns just barely above the ground.
Geralt came back to him with a vial of lilac oil. It was one of the ones he’d begun to create for Geralt--that was to say, the scent was heavily diluted, only just strong enough for a hint of smell in consideration of his nose, and perfect for their purposes. He uncorked the vial and used his knees to open Jaskier’s legs wider; his free hand pulled one side of his ass away, leaving him free to get at his puckered hole, where he then dripped the oil down onto. Jaskier gasped and lurched, the liquid no doubt cold, but the witcher held him firm. He lathered up his own fingers, set the glass to the side, and leaned over top of him, licking and kissing the dragon’s scaled shoulder blades as he slowly, slowly sank a finger inside him.
“Geraaaalt!” Jaskier cried. Gods, if he was already this desperate, panting into the dirt and shivering with a single digit, Geralt couldn’t imagine how he’d be once he actually had his cock inside him.
“Lucky this is what it is,” he huffed, dragging Jaskier’s ear into his mouth and relishing the cry that came from it. “Otherwise I’d gag you and tie you down, make you learn some patience.” The dragon’s response was to moan wetly, shoulders shuddering, his tapered cock twitching.
Geralt pressed in a second finger, then. He kept his attention with those bites, scissoring him open, loosening him up. A third joined swiftly after; gods, they were mating, not just fucking. He was going to make sure this was good for Jaskier.
Finally, finally Jaskier was loose enough. He pulled his fingers out and grabbed the vial again, using the rest of it to slick up his cock, the subtle scent sweet between them. His hands found Jaskier’s hips; the dragon’s stomach dropped down further, ass staying in the air. “Breathe,” he said kindly. He waited until Jaskier drew a shaky breath in, out, and then in again before lining up his cock and pushing inside.
The cry of Geralt’s name was more broken syllables than anything, too loud and desperate to pronounce much of it correctly. “Fuck,” Geralt himself said, bending over the dragon. “Fuckin’ tight, Jask. Godsdammit.” He was so fucking tight, so hot around him, his body giving way each inch to the witcher’s intrusion. Jaskier could only mewl in return, his nails clawing into the rich earth, his sides heaving with each panting breath.
He bottomed out, and stayed there for a moment. Being inside Jaskier was dizzying, wonderful; he swore he could feel the air turn lighter around them, easier to breath, sparks flickering underneath his skin. Was this the ancient magic, readying to bind them? Or was this just Jaskier, was it just the fact that finally, he could give in to the feelings he’d ignored for so long, the urges he’d repressed, now that he knew not only did Jaskier feel the same way in return, but that he wouldn’t have to face his demise in what would be, for him a blink of the eye? He wasn’t sure. And, well. Quite frankly, in this moment, Geralt didn’t really give a shit.
“Fuck me,” Jaskier finally managed to say. “Geralt, my mate, please, please! Breed me, fill me up, wanna be yours!”
The words shot through him and what little patience he had left quickly fled. “You want to be bred, little dragon?” he asked, fingers tightening, bruising Jaskier’s hips. “Fine.”
A single kiss to his throat, and then Geralt pulled out to just the head of his cock. In one smooth, brutal motion, he slammed back into Jaskier. It sent the dragon rocking forward a few inches--it sent him roaring, the mighty sound seeming to shake the very trees around them. It was fucking hot, Geralt had to admit, and he groaned before he did it again, and again, setting a merciless pace. He’d never been much of a talker during sex, but he found himself rambling now, bearing his weight down on Jaskier, driving into that tight, wet heat.
“Like it, don’t you, Jask?” he asked, breathing too hard himself to properly bite for the moment, little strands of hair come loose from his braid and before his face, making him look wild, animalistic. “Wanna be bred like the bitch that you are. Fucked in the dirt. Look at you. Such a noble, proud beast. Taking every inch of a beast-slayer’s cock.” Jaskier sobbed, the sound wet, but he kept rocking his hips back into every thrust. They’d traveled together far too long; after the nights Geralt had been forced to listen to through thin inn doors, he knew better than anyone how rough, cruel words could reduce the bard to putty in any man’s hand. The best part? Now they were his hands. And there would never be anyone else.
The thrill of the thought shot through him. Geralt wrapped his arm tight around his middle; his other hand reached up, grabbing onto the base of one of Jaskier’s horns. He used the leverage to haul him up, going back on his own haunches and making the dragon sit on his lap, his cock driving in deeper, brushing against the bundle of nerves so far inside him. Jaskier thrashed, his nails digging into Geralt’s arm, drawing blood; the witcher didn’t mind, holding him through it, keeping his head still even as he fucked up into him, unforgiving and fast. “You’re mine,” he growled. “All mine.”
Jaskier nodded quickly, gasping for breath, only just getting enough air each time to expel it in some noise or another. The tingling under his skin got stronger--definitely the ancient magic, then. Especially considering he watched as sparks of golden light glittering below Jaskier’s skin, barely noticeable, like the chaos was struggling to burst free at any moment. Geralt suspected he looked much the same.
“Gonna breed you,” he promised, tightening his arm around him. “Mate you. Make you mine forever.”
Without warning, he shoved them both to the ground once again. His cock drove into Jaskier and the dragon roared again; Geralt’s hands moved to grab his wrists, push them into the dirt. He used his weight, every inch of their bodies flush together, to keep Jaskier down. And, with the both of them getting closer and closer, he gave in to the beast side of himself. His teeth, sharp and pointed, sliced into the back of Jaskier’s neck. Blood welled up in his mouth immediately, copper and sharp, but he didn’t let go, Jaskier’s pained moan doing little but encouraging him, pinning him against the earth.
It was too much. Jaskier’s sounds got louder, more desperate, more unhinged, before he screamed, his whole body quivering with the force of his climax. His cock pulsed as he came, streaks of white painting the dirt below and flecking onto his stomach above, too. It made his walls tighten around Geralt--and that was it. He was done for. The witcher growled and bit down tighter, his thrusts growing erratic, wild.
With a snarl, he came. He rocked his hips down into Jaskier as he filled him, splashing hot cum inside him, the dragon whimpering. The tingling grew in intensity for just a moment--and then it faded away, leaving him feeling whole in a place in his very soul he hadn’t realized he’d been empty beforehand.
A few more little thrusts and then, with care, he slid his teeth from his neck and pulled his softening cock from Jaskier’s tired body. He grabbed a rag from one of the bags and wiped them both down, pausing for a moment to watch his own cum leak out of Jaskier’s red, loose hole and down his thighs, before getting them clean and, with effort, transporting them both into one of the sleeping rolls.
Face to face with Jaskier, the poor bard blinking slowly, languidly, he couldn’t help but smile and lift his hand. His fingers brushed over the scales on his cheeks, utterly gorgeous.
“Mm,” the dragon hummed, forcing his eyes to flutter open. “My mate.” Nothing could change that now. Not a mage, not a spell, not even destiny herself. Geralt was his, and he was Geralt’s. End of story.
The smile Geralt gave in return was soft, genuine. His golden gaze was gentle, and he gave a tiny nod. “Yes,” he confirmed, barely a rumble in the night air. “Sleep, now. You deserve the rest.” He let his hand fall to Jaskier’s side instead, holding him close. Jaskier gave a gentle hum, shifted a little bit closer, closed his eyes--and slept.
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Stupid Cupid (1/3)
This was supposed to be for Valentine’s Day, but then I freaked out about my exam and went on hiatus before I could be satisfied with it.
Series Synopsis: A mysterious supernatural baby appears in Wayhaven. As Unit Bravo tries to return the child to its parents, Avery is forced to confront her views about love. (Nate x Avery)
Warning: A PG-13 innuendo from Bobby Marks, but otherwise this is pretty tame.
Thanks to @keybleminded and @pearlsandsteel for letting me consult with you many months ago re: an appropriate insult for Bobby. :)
~
Avery couldn’t put her finger on what was different as she said goodbye to Nate at the station. Something heavy in the air, like a storm threatening rain, or maybe a promise, as made to the flowers. It was hard to tell the difference, sometimes.
“This is me,” said Avery, jerking her thumb at the station over her shoulder. As if he didn’t know, after having walked her to the station every morning for months. But she would say anything to prolong the goodbye, if she was honest. “Don’t have too much fun without me, now,” she added.
“I assure you that you will be on my mind all day,” said Nate, flashing her a warm grin. Brown eyes alight with sudden inspiration, he plucked a red tulip from a nearby bush and gently tucked it behind her ear.
“It seems almost cruel, to place it beside such superior beauty,” he mused.
She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at the gesture. “You know what’s cruel? Walking me all the way to the station, just to leave me for the whole day.”
Nate chuckled. “You’re quite right. There must be something I can do to make it up to you?”
Avery was sure that they had the same idea about how to answer that question, from the way his eyes dropped to her lips, but there was something almost too heavy in his gaze. So she quickly bent down to grab another flower from the same bush, and when she shot back up, she motioned for him to bend down. When he did, she tucked the flower in the elastic around his bun.
“Now, Morgan can make fun of both of us,” she teased.
“Do you mind it?” he asked genuinely.
“Yes, I very much mind how cute you are,” she said.
And, taking advantage of his being bent low, she kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose.
A smile blossomed across his face. And she was struck with something between appreciation and sheer terror, as she realized that he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life, with the most beautiful heart, and that he had chosen her.
She might have kissed him again, if she hadn’t been distracted by the loud, “Hey! Detective Lin!” that came from behind her.
Avery sighed as Nate turned to smile at Douglas. She followed his gaze to the sullen-looking teenager.
“A pleasure to see you again, Officer Friedman,” said Nate warmly.
The boy shifted his weight between his feet, blue eyes flicking between the two. “There’s an emergency,” he said finally, looking at Avery. “It really requires your attention, Detective.”
She bit back the urge to say something along the lines of ‘It must have been something you couldn’t handle, Douglas, which really narrows it down,’ and instead contented herself with a sigh.
“Duty calls, apparently,” she said.
“Then I shouldn’t keep you occupied any longer,” said Nate, bending to press a soft kiss to her lips, which she stood on her tiptoes to receive. “Have a lovely day, Avery. And give my regards to your father, Officer.”
~
Avery blinked at the coffeemaker, which blinked back angrily, and then at Douglas. “This is your emergency?”
“You’re the only one who can fix this thing,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I could tell you needed rescuing from him. Agent Tall and Handsome,” he scoffed.
She shook her head. “Laughing and smiling, the universal signal of wanting to get away from someone. Keep it up, Douglas, you might just make detective one day.” She unplugged the machine and shoved off the backing to begin repairing, the motion swallowing up most of her annoyance until she felt only a pang of guilt. “Kid, I’m sorry. That was mean.”
“It’s okay,” he answered brightly. “I know what you’re doing. Tina and Verda said that you use sarcasm to push away the people you like before they can hurt you.”
“Yes, because they know so much about---” She stopped, pursing her lips at her sarcastic tone.
“No matter how hard you push, I’ll always be here for you,” he continued. “Day or night. Whatever you need.”
She rubbed her temple. “Douglas, I appreciate the...dedication, but you have to understand. Nate is my boyfriend.” At this, Douglas scoffed. “And I’m...”
She searched for an appropriate word. Somehow, “happy” didn’t seem good enough, big enough, for the hold he had on her, how integral he had become to her. Or to capture her fear of losing him.
She touched the flower tucked behind her ear, feeling herself brighten instantly at the memory.
“...happy,” she finished anyway.
And for a moment, she thought that the mournful wail that rang through the building might have been poor Douglas’s reaction. But when she looked up from the coffeemaker---finally repaired---she realized that he looked just as confused as she felt.
She darted into the lobby, where Tina was rocking a screaming baby. Beside Tina, Bobby Marks’s mouth was moving a mile a minute, though his words were swallowed up by the cries of the child before they ever reached her.
“Avery, thank God,” exclaimed Tina. “Would you please take care of this loud, whiny, wrinkle-faced brat whose diaper is full of you-know-what?"
“I’m really not the best with---”
Without waiting for her to finish, Tina disappeared into the break room with the baby, leaving Avery to handle Bobby.
She snickered, before taking an exaggerated sniff of his overpowering perfume. “Oh, she’s right, I think you need a change.”
Bobby narrowed his eyes at the insult, before turning to her with a smirk. “Oh, you have no problem taking care of me, do you, angel?” he purred.
Before Avery could retort, Douglas stepped between them, arms crossed and scrawny chest puffed out. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
“Kid, I got this,” said Avery, surprised. She’d never seen Douglas take any sort of initiative in his time at the station. “Go help Tina, please.”
He threw one last puppy dog glare at Bobby, before giving Avery an eager nod. “Got it, detective.”
Crying continued to ring out from the break room, and Avery felt a dull pain beginning in the center of her forehead. It was not helped by Bobby’s smug presence.
He nodded at the retreating form of Douglas, smirking. “Nice to have someone wrapped around your finger, isn’t it?”
Avery bristled at his tone of voice. As if he knew the feeling. As if she had been his Douglas not too long ago.
(And hadn’t she been? Clueless College Avery, chasing after him with hearts in her eyes?)
“I have nothing to tell you, Bobby,” she said, in what she hoped was a neutral tone of voice.
It wasn’t, judging by the way his smirk deepened. “Have you even begun investigating the baby?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, we’ve taken fingerprints and have linked it to two cold cases on Sesame Street.”
He lifted his recording device, which blinked red at her. Dammit. “I’m so glad you think this is a joking matter, detective.”
Off the record, she could hear Captain Sung sighing at her. If you’re gonna be a smartass, do it off the record, Lin. “Of course I don’t---”
“Do you have an ID on the kid?” interrupted Bobby, taking a step towards her. “Do you know who the parents are? Is he from Wayhaven? Why was he wandering around the woods alone? Do you have anything to say to the scared parents and children in your community---”
“Yes, actually, I would urge them not to listen to little boys who cry wolf,” she interrupted.
Bobby smirked. “That little boy was right once...and I’m not so little, as you know. Or do you need a refresher?”
She shuddered, ashamed to have ever been involved with him. “Look, we just got this case, Bobby. I don’t know what you’re expecting.”
He took another step towards her, until there was hardly any space between them. “No, you don’t, do you?” he murmured, voice suddenly silky smooth. “I’m expecting you to come to your senses and get back together with me.”
She froze, not sure she heard correctly. “What?”
“No quip for me? Is it because you want me back as much as I want you?”
“Knock it off,” snapped Avery, taking a step back. “Whatever game you’re playing, it’s over.”
“I’m serious, angel. I want you back.” He almost sounded sincere, too, though Avery wasn’t sure she could ever tell. “We’ve been dancing around this ever since we broke up. Our banter, the long looks, that agent you’re dating in a transparent attempt to make me jealous...”
"Never going to happen, Bobby.”
“Happened once,” he pointed out. “And remember how much we loved each other then?”
Avery crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, I remember how much. You loved me enough to take advantage of my trust and steal my work."
He shrugged. “But you loved me. And angel...I’m ready to love you back.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
And why the hell was he saying it now?
“Hey!” called Tina, marching in from the break room and directly between Avery and Bobby. The baby in her arms had quieted and was now sucking happily on his thumb. “If you’re done with your questions, get out. Nobody wants to talk to you, you no-good, low-life...” She jabbed him in the chest once, twice, and then stopped, eyes suddenly wide as they gazed into his. “You...you...”
She looked at Avery with a horrified expression. “I’m...not feeling well. I’m going to get some air, outside.”
She pushed the baby---now quiet---into Avery’s arms and rushed out the front doors. The baby gurgled happily and grabbed a fistful of Avery’s hair. The flower in her hair tumbled down, and he caught it in his free hand, gray eyes glowing silver as he crushed it in his palm, then returning to normal.
She looked up to see how much Bobby had seen, but she didn’t find that familiar gotcha in his eyes. Instead, she found an imitation of genuine warmth.
“Need some help there?” he asked, reaching a hand towards her in such an uncharacteristically kind move that she almost let him do it.
But she smacked his hand away in time. “Get out.”
To her surprise, he did---whistling---leaving the lobby empty except for her and Douglas, who’d followed Tina out of the break room.
Avery rubbed her temples. “Did something happen to Tina in there?”
Douglas frowned. “I don’t know. I hope not. She handled that baby so well. And Bobby, too. She’s just...amazing.” He sighed dreamily, eyes fixed on a window that Tina passed by every few seconds as she paced outside. “I never realized before...how amazing she is... Maybe I should check on her!”
Without waiting for feedback, he scrambled out the front doors, leaving Avery alone with the child waging a painful war on her hair. A cute kid, she had to admit. He was maybe six months old or so, with blond, flyaway hair, chubby cheeks, pale skin...and eyes which changed from gray to silver.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked.
In response, the child’s bottom lip quivered, and he gave an echoing cry.
“You said it,” she muttered, already digging her phone out of her pocket to call Nate.
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A Walk In The Park.
Sunlight tries to penetrate the dark recesses of my mind, good luck. Blackout curtains cover my eyelids, ear sockets, nose pits and mouth hole. Ain’t no sunshine getting in here, ever. A low growl builds from outside the door. No Homie. Another growl followed by light whimpers and scratches. Homie chill out.
Anyway, sunlight penetrates the duct taped blackout curtains- no wait that’s not it. Sunshine tries to penetrate the dark- Bark. Damnit, Homie be quiet! The entire door frame rattles from the weight of the demon trying to get inside. Bark! Bark!
Fuck okay Homie hold on! The door swings open and the beast is on top of me before I know it. Homie get down! Saliva and slobber shoot from his mouth and land on my face. The smell is disgusting but I can’t help but laugh. Alright bro that’s enough come on. He’s laughing too, but his accident prone canines are getting a bit too close for comfort. It never really occurs to me how strong Homie actually is until I’m trying to get him off of me. Or whenever he sees Linda’s pomeranian.
I wriggle out from under him and roll off the bed to start my day, unfortunately he doesn’t get the memo. He lies on his stomach still as a rock, eyeing every movement I make, just waiting for his chance to pounce. Homie...Chill out. His tail starts wagging against the wall hard enough for my next door neighbor to think I were hanging up a picture frame. Shit. I’m careful not to make any sudden movements, slowly looking over to the dusty alarm clock on the computer desk. 5:09PM. Shit. The semi open journal on the naked mattress displays today's half baked attempt at poetry.
Something scary is happening,
And it will not be ignored.
I don’t know where or when it’ll strike
So I’m prepared to leave at any moment.
Knife, Rope, Water, Medicine.
These are my survival tools.
God I can’t believe I spent all day working on that. Alright Homie, my fault. I reach over to pet his head and he snaps out of defensive position to meet me halfway. Let’s get you outside before you pee the bed.
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It feels good to be outside. The air is crisp with that east coast pre-winter breeze, where it’s cold enough to see your breath but nice enough to smoke a blunt. I like days like this, brings back memories of cutting class just to hang out behind the school. Why didn’t we ever go anywhere? Homie’s loving it too but I don’t think the weather really matters to him, he just likes being outside. Kinda like those oldheads who always sit in front of the building. I'm pretty sure those lawn chairs they sit in have been there longer than them.
Homie peed already, 3 times to be exact. Now he just has to poop. I used to hate this part, our first few walks would take hours because he couldn’t find a good place to do his business. But that was like 2 years ago, before we really got to know each other. Now I usually just go in my head and let Homie lead the way. As long as we stay away from big crowds and he gets to sniff every inch of the sidewalk, our walks go off without a hitch. Sometimes he gets fixed on a leaf or something and we have to come to a complete stop, like right now.
Looks like Homie led us right to the block I usually try to avoid. He’s got his nose inside a crumpled paper bag, most likely smelled an old churro or something, We got food at home leave that shit alone. This area really isn’t too bad but I’ve got some bad experiences here. Come on Homie let’s go. Better safe than sorry.
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Alright once we get upstairs the plan is to shower, clean the room, make something to eat and finally finish today's poem. Poetry usually flows right out of me- yeah yeah gay I know- but for some reason this one is giving me some trouble. Kind of feels like I've been working on it forever now.
We get to the front of the building and Homie runs up to the door, waiting to be let in. I know buddy I know we’re almost there. Left pocket, empty. Right pocket, empty. Hmm. Left back pocket, crumpled paper. Right back pocket, empty. Oh shit. Left... right… aha! hoodie pouch… empty. No no no no no fuck… Homie turns away from the door and places his two front paws on my leg, jumping up and down. Dammit! Okay sit down and take a deep breath, deep breath… okay. Homie waits silently at the door. Come here… He walks over and nuzzles his head onto my lap. I’m sorry buddy, looks like we’re locked out.
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We’ve been locked out before, a few times actually. Memory is pretty shitty ever since the accident so I forget alot of stuff. Looks like I don’t have my phone either. Mom should be home soon anyway, we’ve just got to kill time until 7pm. Good thing it’s nice outside today. Homie is cozied up next to me watching the leaves blow by. Must be nice to not know why you’re here, or rather not care. The gps tracker watch mom got me for christmas reads 5:42PM UNKNOWN LOCATION. Well, might as well try and finish this stupid thing.
Something scary is happening.
I don’t know why or what,
But I know that it's real.
And I know that you can feel it too.
You try to pretend it’s not there.
You distract yourself with things
you think you like.
But you can never forget
Something scary is happening.
Homie lets out a few forceful exhales while nudging my shoulder. What’s up? He walks to the apartment door and begins jumping up and down. I’m sorry buddy we have to wait...- 6:05PM- at least another hour. He drops his head and lazily walks back over to our spot against the wall. Is there anything you want to do? Homie jerks up and begins panting heavily. Yeah that’s a good idea.
It’s weird being in the park during the day, we usually come at night when it’s dark enough to not see other people. I don’t hate people or anything, I don’t even really mind them most of the time, they’re just always trying to say something. I wish we had a limit on the amount of words we could say in a day, then people would really have to think about the things that came out of their mouth. Or maybe we could have point requirements for certain words, your sentence has to meet this minimum level of excitement to use an adjective. No more amazing dinners or great times. Unless your dinner starts with a magician pulling a scarf out of a chicken, it was just dinner. And great time doesn’t even make any sense, for something to be great it has to be of ‘considerably greater quality than the average’ but there is no more or less when it comes to time, it just is. Cheesecake can be great, time is inescapable.
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We’re a lot further into the park now so it’s just us. I don’t really know how we got here but the area feels familiar. There are a few yellowed packs of backwoods strewn around two big rocks, maybe I smoked here before. The area is spacious but not big enough to be noticed by someone who wasn’t looking for it. Homie seems to know exactly where we are, he’s sniffing around the outskirts of the clearing. What are you up to? He doesn’t pay me any mind, just keeps on sniffing around. I wonder what he’s looking for, probably gold. This rock looks comfortable enough Homie seems entertained for now so…
Something scary is happening-
Damn I wish I had some weed, I wonder if Naz is up right now. Hmm that’d be pretty weird though, it’s been way too long since i’ve seen her… Whatever happened between us? Ah whatever, probably best that I don’t cop. It’s not like I would even get high, the smoke just goes right through me whenever I try. Probably because of the meds, why couldn’t they just give me a weed prescription? Or maybe even some benzos, at least then I'd be able to share with my friends. Who the fuck wants to split a prozac with the depressed guy at the party? Whatever.
The me you see? He’s just the bait.
So that when scary things happen
I’m nowhere to be found.
He takes the damage while I run away.
I hide inside his mind, waiting patiently.
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The sun is gone now and Homie is nowhere to be found. How the hell did I lose track of time like that again? Homie!! Nothing. Shit. This is not good. This is really not good. HOMIE!! Fuck, fuck, fuck okay. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He’ll show up, he always does.
The clearing does not look as welcoming as it did earlier. Slivers of moonlight try to shine through the dense treetops, illuminating randomly spaced out spots of the clearing below, the rest covered in a thick blanket of darkness. That familiarity from earlier is kicking in again, along with a heavy sense of dread. I swear I know this place.
Homie! I must be scared because I’m whispering now. Homie stop fucking around and get out here right now. There’s a rustle in the leaves to the left. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Stop fucking shaking. There it is again, a louder rustle this time, followed by a low guttural growl. You know what fuck this, whatever that thing is it’s not my dog. As I turn around to walk away an all too familiar bark echoes from the opposite direction of the rustling leaves. I knew it. Knowing that my dog isn’t the creepy thing calling me in the woods is both comforting and terrifying, so I smile quickly to myself while getting the fuck out of there. On my way out I take one last look behind me. It’s hard to make out but it’s definitely there, a slight space in the bushes from someone, or something, that pushed aside the leaves to slip through.
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7:15pm. Back in the main part of the park now, still haven’t found Homie but I'm glad to be away from whatever that thing was. Hoooooooommmmmiiiiieee! A bark travels from what sounds like the track and field.
The park seemed completely empty until I got to the track. There’s a small crowd of people on the field holding candles, some have signs too. Seems like the end of a protest, or maybe the beginning of a party. Either way it’s weird for them to be here, people don’t really come to this part of the city to do things. What’s even weirder is finding Homie sitting next to the bleachers, watching the protesters from a distance. Hey you! Homie turns his head and barks when he sees me. What the hell are you doing here? You scared the shit out of me. He jumps up to lick my face while I aggressively rub his head and put his leash back on. I really should be mad right now but I’m just so happy to see you. Homie sits back down and continues watching the protesters. What do you wanna join them or something? He pays me no mind and continues to stare. I watch him watch them, then watch them, then watch him again. Weird. Alright come on let’s get home.
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Back at the front steps now, the light is on in mom's bedroom but she doesn’t seem to be hearing the doorbell. She’s probably sleeping or something. Funny how the medicine affects us differently, her pills put her to sleep and mine keep me up all night. To be honest i’m not really looking forward to seeing mom right now, we kind of had a falling out a little while ago. It was nothing too major, I guess the doctor's office called her or something and, well long story short I haven’t been going to my sessions. We had this big old dumb argument about it and never really got to make up. That must have been, hmm… wait when did that even happen? It’s a small apartment but we’re somehow able to go weeks without so much as a goodmorning together. Well, here goes nothing. Ma!! No response. MAAAA!! Nothing. Homie patiently waits next to my leg while I scream at the second story window. Well don’t you wanna go home too? Bark or something. He cocks his head to the side and stares at me but offers no help. Whatever. Her window looks open enough for a stone to pass through so I start looking for ammo. I’ve got 4 or 5 nice rocks ready to launch when the light in her window shuts off.
Homie’s ears perk up, as she comes down the stairs. I drop my window tappers and peek through the glass of the front door. There she is, dressed in grey jeans, a thick sweater and one of her signature funky hats. For as long as I can remember my mother has been wearing hats; fedora, kangol cap, big straw beach hat, new era 51, silk head scarf, the list goes on and on but, if it can be worn on your head best believe she has one in her closet. I never really understood why she insisted on wearing hats, she has such long beautiful red hair. I asked her about it once and she teared up and said, “being beautiful isn’t always a nice thing”, after that I dropped it.
She’s walking towards the front door and does not look happy to see me. She actually looks really fucking sad. Ah shit here we go, Hey ma i’m- She opens the door and walks right past without saying a word. Seriously? Ma! Nothing. MA! She continues speed walking down the block and disappears around the corner without even looking back. Homie starts to follow her but I yank him back to catch the door before it closes. Not now Homie, mom’s not too happy with us.
We’re inside the apartment now, God it feels good to be home.
Here you go Homie, you get a big bowl of nasty dog food and 3 meaty treats for being such a trooper today. He ignores the food and slowly walks away. What’s wrong? Aren’t you hungry? He makes his way to my room, scratching the door until I open it for him.
It’s the same as I left it earlier today, semi packed boxes strewn around, a naked mattress propped up against the wall with an empty computer desk sitting across from it. Homie silently watches me move around the room. Why do I feel like you’re trying to tell me something? He exhales forcefully out his nostrils and plops himself down next to the mattress. Alright weirdo you can stay right there, i’m gonna take a shower. He doesn’t even look at me. Okay clothes, clothes, clothes. Ah! There's a box labeled ‘ISAAC CLOTHES’ in the corner of the room, it’s duct taped and covered with a thin layer of dust. That’s weird, why would I put my clothes in a box with my name on it. With that thought a blinding light bursts from one of the boxes and the floor becomes nothing. SSSAAAAAAXKKKKKK. I try to cover my ears but it’s too bright to even find my hands. The floating orb creeps closer, forcing me to scramble into the corner of the room. The closer it gets the louder it screams. SSSSSAAAAAAAAXXXKKKKKK. Bright rays pierce my eyelids and fill my skull with burning light. The screeching stops and the pain is gone. There is nothing left, only light. What was once me is almost gone, I think this is the end.
You know what…
this isn’t too bad.
A monstrous bark rips a hole through the light and returns me to the world of shadows. The walls fold back together and the ground returns beneath my feet. Homie stands in front of me barking at the orb as it fades away. The light is much dimmer now, but I can still feel it’s otherworldly density pulling me into its orbit. It shrieks one last time, this time in a low whisper. ISSSAAACCC… And with that the light fades away completely.
Deep breath. Homie stands guard, staring at the corner of the room the orb faded into. Homie are you okay? He snaps out of his trance and slams into my chest, knocking me back to the floor I worked so hard to get up from. Bro… His ears perk up and he waits patiently for me to stand up. What was all that? Homie says nothing, but his eyes hold secrets. Why do I get the feeling you know exactly what’s going on right now? Homie barks loudly. You do don’t you! Homie barks again and sprints out of the room.. Something tells me we won’t be back for a while. I turn off the lights and take one last look around before shutting the bedroom door, it’s funny how your whole life can be packed away into a few boxes. Homie barks again but it sounds like he’s outside. I race down the building stairs and find him waiting for me at the entrance. How did you get out here? He says nothing and takes off in the same direction mom went.
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After about 15 blocks of trying to keep up with Homie we finally stop at the park entrance. What are we doing back here? He sniffs the ground and heads further into the park. Homie, be honest with me… can you talk? He continues to sniff and walk away. Damn, some verbal answers would be real nice right about now.
Homie leads us right back to the track and field. The small group from earlier has formed into a very large crowd and they have a small wooden stage built now. Most of them are holding up signs and candles. There are a few people on the stage, it looks like two teenagers setting up a microphone. Homie’s trying to get me closer to the group by biting and pulling at my pants leg but something is holding me back.
Everything begins to blur together and the lights from the candles start to expand and streak across the field. Oh no, it’s happening again. The lights are getting closer but Homie isn’t scaring them away this time. Homie please, please do something.
A loud attention grabbing shriek blasts from the makeshift wooden stage and snaps me out of the trance. I instinctively wipe my eyes and they’re wet and warm to the touch. Blood, no… tears. I was just crying, why was I crying? Microphone feedback echoes from the staging area again and an angelic bass boosted voice clears her throat.
“Sorry about that…”
Whatever small amount of noise the crowd was making immediately comes to a halt and every head turns towards the woman on stage.
“Thank you Tahmid and Nazeath for putting together this wonderful event, I can not put into words how-”
The woman's voice cracks on the last word and she bows her head for a moment to regain some composure, dropping her funky hat in the process.
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Naz rushes over from the side of the stage to pick up the hat and whisper what I assume are encouraging words in my mothers ear. She continues speaking and my feet edge closer to the stage with every word.
“-Thank you, I can not put into words how lucky my son was to call you two his friends. And of course thank you to all the beautiful young souls who came out here tonight to honor his memory. I just wish he were here to see how much he was loved...”
At this point I'm close enough to the crowd to read their posters. WE MISS YOU ISAAC, REST IN PARADISE, FLY HIGH, GONE TOO SOON. What the fuck is going on? I glance over at Homie but he refuses to make eye contact.
“-It’s hard to believe it’s already been a year since Isaac was taken from us. Sometimes I swear I can still hear him typing away in his room at 3am...”
Some of the listeners in the crowd chuckle at this, some silently cry.
“I know a lot of you probably know my son from his blogging site, which I didn’t even know about until after he… after he passed. I wish I had known though, maybe then I could have understood the pain he was going through, maybe I could have helped.”
She chokes up a bit towards the end but after a few deep breaths she’s back to normal.
“I’ve had the luxury of going through my son's website this past year. The things he wrote, his stories were all so… tragic. Reading them hurts, it hurts because I can feel everything he was going through but I can’t do anything about it. Reading them hurt, but I would be lying if I said they haven’t helped me, and I think they helped all of you too. Zach had a way with words that made you feel understood, like you weren’t alone… So that’s why it brings me so much joy to see you all here tonight, because I know Issac’s words have touched you too.``
A solemn round of applause for the grief stricken mother, I think I'm going to throw up. I look at Homie for help but he’s gone. Panic starts to rise in my chest but it doesn’t stay for long, I know exactly where he’s going next.
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I arrive at the clearing in the woods from earlier and find Homie waiting for me. The small gap in the bushes is still there. I look at Homie hoping he will take the first step, but he just waits by my side patiently. Are you ready? He stands up on all fours and barks. Well, here goes everything.
The trail takes us about 10 minutes to get through and ends in another clearing, this one hugging the side of a river. It must have been a secret fishing spot or something, there are some scattered beer cans but otherwise the area looks completely untouched. Homie lays down on his stomach while I investigate the open area. I try to kick an empty beer can into the river but my foot goes right through it, that’s crazy. So how long have I been dead then? Homie stares at me and says nothing. No, no… Has it really been a whole year? He cocks his head to the side and stares blankly. I really wish you could speak right about now, some answers would be nice. I sit down on the river edge and stare out across the water. There’s an old abandoned tire factory on the other side of this river, and to the left a small bridge people usually throw their trash over.
So, one year ago today… Homie walks over to me and offers me his head to rub while I think out loud.
...One year ago today I woke up, brushed my teeth, and decided to walk into the Bronx river. Homie says nothing.
So that poem i’ve been working on, that’s the last thing I wrote huh? I flip to the end of my journal and see a page has been ripped out. Wait, left… right… there it is in my back left pocket. I smooth out the crumpled up paper and begin to read.
Something scary is happening.
I don’t know why or what,
But I know that it's real.
And I know that you can feel it too.
You try to pretend it’s not there.
You distract yourself with things
you think you like.
But you can never forget
Something scary is happening,
I don’t know where or when it’ll strike
So I’m prepared to leave at any moment.
Knife, Rope, Water, Medicine.
These are my survival tools.
And the me you see? He’s just the bait.
So that when scary things happen
I’m nowhere to be found.
He takes the damage while I run away.
I hide inside his mind, waiting patiently.
Now this method has worked for years,
And with it I've survived many scary things.
But for some reason lately,
I feel the scary creeping in.
Luckily there’s a void in him,
Which will keep me safe from everything.
The only catch, absolute darkness.
A small price to pay for safety from everything.
Blackout curtains cover my eyelids,
ear sockets, nose pits and mouth hole.
Ain’t no sunshine getting in here, ever.
Guess that’s why it’s been taking so long to finish, I didn’t want to get to the ending. IIISSAAACCC. The voice calls out to me from the water. Streaks of silver and grey light from all corners of the river swim towards one spot and a bright bluish orb rises out of its place. The floating orb of light edges closer to us but I feel no fear. I look over at Homie, he doesn’t look scared either.
IIISSAAACCC… Are you ready?
Warm tears stream down my face as I feel the orb pull me into its orbit, deep breaths.
What if I don’t want to go? What if it was all just a big misunderstanding, can I take it back?
The orb stops in its path and dims it’s light enough for me to stop squinting.
You made your decision long ago. There is no back or forward Isaac, only now.
He’s right, or she, I guess pronouns don’t really matter to ethereal spheres of light. I give Homie a big hug and rub his back for the last time.
You are the best boy. Thank you for everything.
He licks my face and begins to whimper. Fuck this is hard.
I need you to stay here okay? You got to keep mom safe. You’re not my guard dog anymore, you’re hers. I love you.
I turn around and walk towards the floating ball of light in the middle of the river. It kind of looks like a moon now, which I guess is more comforting than walking into the sun. Last time I did this I only made it 4 steps before falling through the surface, now I'm almost halfway across the river and the ice hasn’t even made a sound. I turn around for one last view and see Homie sitting right in front of me. Homie what are you doing! He cocks his head to the side and stares at me with his tongue hanging out. Ice shoots up my spine as I realise, The light isn’t only here for me… Homie walks past me and towards the floating orb. Dammit Homie! Why did you go in the water! I told you to stay! I told you to stay! Homie bows his head and lets out a whimper. IISSAAACCC… It is time. The tears are really coming out now. Fucking dog.
I grab Homie by the ears and stare deep into his eyes. Hey, I’m sorry, you’re not the one I'm mad at. You were just looking out for me, like you always do. He licks my face and barks happily. Alright, deep breaths, let's do this. I’m ready. The orb begins to change from it’s comforting bluish hue to a bright waxy yellow. The light grows stronger and brighter until all I can see is white. My body has melted away and I can feel my consciousness slipping, I guess this is the end.
Hey Homie are you there?
Por supuesto hermano.
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Kn/ives Out - R/ansom Fic
Inspired by these posts, although I went a liiiiiiiiiiiiiiittle overboard with it, as is my wont. This may or may not be the first of a five-or-six part series, a sort of “Five Times Ransom Pissed Off Everybody By Sneezing, and One Time He Didn’t.” Or it might just be the one little story. You know the drill, over-the-top sneezing ahoy lmao.
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“Do we have to talk politics?” Joni asked, her fingers tensed, her eyes rolling as she walked rather briskly to the drink cart. “It’s not that I’m not willing it’s just it’s so contentious and I’m a little concerned about that kind of energy—”
“No, no, no Joni,”—Richard cutting in now, his words stretching longer in the way all of him seemed to extend and elongate when he was drunk, as though he forgot Linda and Harlan were watching and expecting—”No, Joni, you don’t get to throw stones and then hide your hand, if you say something about our President, I’m gonna say something back.”
“Now, now, Richard,”—The aforementioned Harlan—”I think we can all agree the President—”
“Our President, Harlan, our President, I’m not saying I like him but I’m saying he’s our—”
“N-now… now come on Richard”—Walt, briefly, before being steamrolled by—
“Richard, I think I’d like a change of subject now—” Linda, ordinarily authoritative enough to end the line of inquiry altogether, but apparently not tonight.
“Well I wouldn’t, Linda. I wouldn’t like a change of subject, and for that matter...” (Richard, elongated as though he forgot Linda and Harlan…)
“How boring,” Ransom said in an aside. Marta happened to be walking by, picking up Richard’s emptied drink, and Joni’s recently downed one. It wasn’t actually her job to provide maid service for these people but they seemed to expect it and Harlan encouraged it and they really were so generous.
So it was to Marta that Ransom delivered his aside, though it wasn’t really to her—it might as well have been to the drink cart, or the grandfather clock, or the nonexistent camera over his shoulder. Ransom was the sort of man who walked around as though there could always be a camera over his shoulder. In fairness, Ransom was also the sort of man cameras commonly followed around. He’d very nearly committed to at least two reality tv shows, mostly to annoy his family. He’d gotten his current sports car upon backing out of a reality tv show. It was too bad he was too old to start a YouTube channel. He was still waiting to see what he could get out of revealing Jacob’s channel to the family, whether it would be better to threaten Jacob with its reveal to his parents, his parents with its reveal to to the family, or perhaps the family as a whole with a leak to… whatever random book-related website might find that gossip interesting. Maybe just Reddit.
Marta was just about to respond, to perhaps engage Ransom in conversation. She had it on good authority--Harlan’s--that she could be good company to a Thrombey or a Drysdale. Everyone seemed rather wary of Ransom, but aside from his aversion to the dogs, Marta had no reason to think ill of him, and so tried to assume the best of him. And---she could admit somewhat blushingly---he certainly wasn’t unattractive. She could see how, in her younger, sillier days how she might nurse a bit of crush on him, the wealthy prince charming and the maid---although she was not a maid, no matter how they treated her, she was a well-trained professional, dammit---
But before she could speak, Ransom’s face suddenly underwent some sort squishing, snorting motion. His long nose scrunched up short as he took in a sharp sniff, nearly a snort. His eyes closed for a moment, and a smile played on his lips. “This’ll be fuhh-hun,” he said in half a whisper, airy breathing infusing and interrupting his murmur.
Marta tilted her head to the side, curious what Ransom could be referring to, until she saw his nose, which was twitching: once, then twice. A heavy sniff, then another, then two in a row, then a long one, for all the world like fanning a flame (a flame, as she would come to realize, to light a fuse, to burn down to an explosion...)
It was around this moment that Ransom abruptly stood, and she could not help but notice how broad his shoulders were, as his eyes fluttered, and his chest began to swell. His nose was starting to pinken around the nostrils, the flaring and scrunching continuing, his arms falling slack. The creak of his chair as he stood brought everyone’s attention towards him, and as they noticed the bizarre ritual Ransom was performing or enduring.
“Oh, god, Ransom, not this again…” (Linda, eyes rolling)
“Ransom, Ransom buddy, Ransom please...” (Richard, hands waving)
“Is he going to do that screaming thing again, I’m leaving the room---” (Joni, hands raising towards her ears)
“Leaving the room won’t do her much good.” (Harlan, with a bit of a snicker in his voice)
Ransom was starting to vocalize now, little “hehhhH… hEHHHhh…” sounds that sounded as though they were either being dragged out of him or as though he was dragging them out himself, perhaps both. His head was tilting back, that chest looking larger than ever as it stretched and air flowed in and his long nose scrunched and his mouth hung open in a tall O and his back arched and hands went over ears and then one last voiceless gasp in… “huuuUUHH!”
“HHHHEEYYY-SSHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”
Ransom sprang forward, giving vent to what was plainly a titanic sneeze to begin with, let alone his leaning into it, relishing it, and then on top of that, as the sneeze went on it seemed to turn into a pure, guttural yell, his voice roughening in an obviously voluntary way. It sounded as though the sort of scream one might hear on a hardcore metal record was riding the rails of an involuntary, massive rush of air, and Marta couldn’t help but frown as a visible spray was ejected from Ransom’s face along with the helter skelter noise, but she could hardly notice the spray since, standing closest to the blast, her ears were assaulted worst with Ransom’s screaming sneeze or sneeze-flavored scream, whatever it was, and she dearly wished she’d followed the family’s example and plugged her ears.
The sneeze tapered off at last, and Ransom--who’d doubled over with the blast--bounced back up, face reddened from exertion, practically beaming. Or at least he would have been beaming, were his nose not already scrunching…
“Whew! Big wuhh-hunn…” He was presumably celebrating his sneeze, congratulating himself on a “big one” although the urge had not yet left him entirely, and it seemed another sneeze was one its way. Joni was just walking back into the room as he went into his sniffing routine again.
“Jesus! Ransom you’re gonna give your grandfather a heart attack…” she huffed, before seeing him building towards another sneeze, spinning on her heel and promptly marching out of the room again.
(Harlan, for his part, was chuckling.)
“S-suhh… sorry guys, think I gotta sn-sneeze again…” he warned, breath catching as he actively tilted his head back, presumably seeking some sort of light to look into. His eyes were tearing slightly as he fanned one hand in the general direction of his nose, perhaps… attempting to spark another sneeze by fanning dust at himself? He smiled as he could the whole way, clearly enjoying this performance.
“What the hell, kiddo, didn’t we tell you about your whole yelling routine…” Richard grumbled, making a move to walk towards Ransom but clearly thinking better of it as Ransom’s breath caught yet again.
“Ransom!” His mother interjected.
“You’re not a kid, you get allergy shots, I don’t know why you put on this whole production…” (Richard again)
“Ransom stop that this instant, you know the neighbors called the police last time they thought someone was in here being murdered.” (Linda)
“Shh, shh, shh, you’ll make it go away… ooh, I can feel it…” (Ransom, giggling)
The rest of them were rolling their eyes, plugging their ears, shuffling away from the scene---Marta heard a door slam, clearly Joni wasn’t risking being within the house for Ransom’s next explosion.
Meanwhile Ransom seemed to have clinched the sneeze, no longer trying to coax it out but surrendering to it, preparing for it, getting ready to ride the wave and rattle the rafters… he held up his hand, and put his fingers down one by one, his giggling nearly putting him off his sneeze again as he counted down to the sneeze: five fingers, four, three, two... and just as he had one finger left up, he gave another of those great airy voiceless pulls with his flared nostrils and slack mouth and…
“EEEYYYYYYYYAAAA-SSSHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
This one was less a heavy metal growl and more a pure scream, perhaps inspired by his mother’s mention of murder, as it bent higher pitched towards the end, and Marta couldn’t help but think she wouldn’t have imagined such a large man could reach such a high pitch.
Once again Ransom pitched forward, staying bent over, hands over his face this time as he pushed out the sneeze, dragging it out beyond all necessity, but clearly enjoying it. He popped up again, “whew! Think I got the itch out that time!” He said, beaming like a child pleased to have gotten away with something naughty, before he screwed his face up again, “W-well, I think I got it…”
“Ransom, stop it, I know you’re just putting it on this time, I can tell.” Linda said, although this time she was chuckling a bit. Harlan was outright laughing, although he rolled his eyes as he said “you’ve outdone yourself.”
Marta had prepared adequately for this one, fingers plugging her ears, but she was still rather distracted by the whole affair. She’d never seen anyone sneeze quite so dramatically. Still, he seemed to have some measure of control over the whole affair; standing behind him, she couldn’t help but notice the sheen of his hands, practically glistening with the moisture from the sneeze, before he wiped them roughly on his pants. Clearly this sneeze had been much… juicier, she thought with an alarmed frown. Ransom must have anticipated that, ergo the hands tented around his nose as he’d howled out that last sneeze.
“You done yelling at us, buddy?” Richard asked, clearly irritated. His son had managed to take up even more space than he did, after all. Practically took up all the space in the house; certainly there wasn’t a room in the house (or on the grounds altogether, practically) that Ransom’s sneezes couldn’t be heard.
“Yeah Dad, sorry.” Ransom said, his childish grin replaced with a more adolescent smirk, his eyes cutting over towards the couch where his father sat. “Just had a tickle in my nose.” His voice grew brighter, though no less mocking, as he looked over at Marta, who once again could have been a drink cart, a grandfather clock, a camera for all it mattered. He tilted his head at her, and adopted what might have been a boyish pout (if his face weren’t so smug) to say:
“Allergies, you know. I can’t help it.”
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Cerebus #6 (1978)
Is The Secret a story about Cerebus manifesting reality because that's what he winds up doing pretty near constantly, right? Like Elrod and the Regency Elf and the Black Tower and his relationship with Jaka and running a tavern?
I just developed a massive migraine thinking about doing reviews for the Latter Days Woody Allen issues and had to lie down for three weeks.
Based on the cover alone, I have no idea which Cerebus story this is. Is it the one where he first meets Jaka and gets drunk on Apricot Brandy? Or is it the one where we learn he's a hermaphrodite and there are three aardvarks? No, no! Probably too soon for that! Dave didn't yet realize he wanted smart and interesting people reading his comic book; he was just looking for us fantasy loving fools hoping for some chainmail bikini side boob with a little black and white barbarian battle gore to go with it.
Although for people wanting side boob and gore that was also in color, there was a better option out there: the four collected Elfquest volumes. Especially Volume Four! Elf orgy, baby! Skywise dicks like five elf maidens at once! Although how that's possible, I don't know. It should have been Nightfall taking five elf cocks at once. Maybe six. They're small!
Deni announces in the "A Note from the Publisher" bit that she and Dave are getting married! Is that exciting enough for an exclamation point even though we know it ends in tragedy? Is divorce a tragedy? Probably not on the scale of, say, the sinking of the Titanic. But then again, was that really a tragedy? I know a lot of poor people died but don't forget a lot of robber barons did too! If there had been a Schoolhouse Rock song about Astor and Guggenheim and Straus drowning when the Titanic sunk, it probably would have been my favorite Schoolhouse Rock song. The chorus (and maybe title!) would have been about Archibald Butt and, sadly, that, as opposed to the "Eat the Rich" theme, is probably why I would have liked it so much.
In Dave Sim's Swords of Cerebus essay, he explains how he came up with Jaka. She represented every girl Dave ever had an unrequited crush on. Not that he knew the crush was expressly unrequited since he never actually spoke to any of the girls he had a crush on. He decided stalking was easier. I get it! That's exactly how somebody who thinks women as objects is a much more attractive package than a woman who can express their own agency and beliefs!
Dammit. That last statement hurt my feelings because I also had a problem expressing my feelings toward the ladies. Although that time Marilyn Mendoza came up to me in the library and said, "I hate being stared at," I did stop staring at her! It was the hardest thing I ever did in my life but I stopped! I didn't stop obsessing about her and wishing we could do whatever it was two people in love did to each other (hold hands and drink milkshakes out of one straw while staring in each others' eyes?). Eventually she, apparently, couldn't take not being stared at anymore so she began talking to me again. She also slipped me a note that said, "I love you anyways," and she tried to give me one of her school pictures unsolicited and she convinced her friends to take the phys ed class I was in and she asked for the rose I had on my desk that I was going to give her for her birthday but had chickened out giving it to her. And if that doesn't convince you that by not staring at her, I won her affection because you're a cynical jerk who still thinks the rom-coms where the guy wins the girl through sheer determination is a pox on society (which, I mean, it kind of is but that admission goes against my real life experience I'm relating), this is what she wrote in my 9th grade yearbook:
Sure, it sounds like a 9th grade Yearbook form letter! But check out the kind of jealous shade thrown at Kim and the "Luv ya kid!" up the side!
If you're wondering how I didn't immediately sweep her up in my arms after reading this and declare my undying adolescent love (You know? The kind of undying love that only adolescents can have which, also, dies rather quickly), it's because my friend Sal noticed the "Luv ya kid!" which I had failed to notice. This was halfway through summer and Marilyn wound up going to a different high school than I did. Although Mr. Edwards in my Spanish 2 class called her name for attendance on the first day of 10th grade! Stupid cruel life!
After that slight confessional, you'll realize why I was primed for the Cerebus/Jaka will they/won't they drama to come.
Cerebus has arrived in Iest and quickly meets a dying man who may or may not have expressed to him The Secret. Judging by the way the guys who were chasing and/or killed him, E'lass and Turg, are fantasizing about a future full of gold crowns, my guess is The Secret is the location of some treasure and not the means to bend the universe to your will simply by desiring shit. They believe Cerebus has learned The Secret so Turg tries to beat it out of him. But as we, the enraptured and attentive readers, have learned from the previous five issues, Cerebus can't be bested in battle. And since force doesn't work like it almost always does 100% of the time which is why America's diplomatic policy is "Don't even tell us your problems because we'd rather just beat the shit out of you until you shut the fuck up," E'lass decides to get Cerebus drunk. People always blab secrets when they're drunk! Which is why I try not to write more than 35% of my reviews while drunk. That way, you can't tell when I'm actually confessing to some gross misconduct I engaged in in my youth or I'm just writing a satirical joke about how reckless and terrible young men are in general.
This scene makes me think of Bill Cosby which makes me think of the Picture Pages song which makes me sad that I can only now sing it as, "Picture pages! Picture pages! Now it's time for Picture Pages! Time to grab your condoms and Rohypnol!"
I'm ignoring the spelling error because I'm above petty gripes.
Once Cerebus is drugged, E'lass turns Cerebus' attention to the dancer, Jaka.
Love at first sight of side boob.
Cerebus climbs on stage to watch Jaka dance and nobody cares because he's an animal. Animals can get away with murder around pretty women! They can sniff their crotches and paw at their breasts and put their tongues straight up their noses. It's like, if you're going to scold me for doing it, maybe scold animals for doing it too? Be consistent in your messaging, women! Is it funny and slightly embarrassing when your crotch is sniffed or is it the actions of a sex pest?! Would it help if I wore a dog costume everywhere I went, especially yoga?
I'm going to pretend this doesn't read like a Cerebus getting an erection joke so that I appear more intelligent and sophisticated.
Jaka tells Cerebus he is cute. Jaka also refers to Jaka in the third person exactly like a princess from Palnu wouldn't. But that's what makes her stripping disguise so excellent! What also makes it excellent is that Dave Sim didn't really know who Jaka was yet. Which is fine! It's much harder to come up with a 300 issue story all at once and then remember it and then write it exactly as you conceived it without changing and updating it as you learn and grow with the work. It's much easier to write an off the cuff story about a stripper and a barbarian and unrequited love. It doesn't make it any less entertaining because it wasn't pre-planned. Also, the fun thing about comic books is when a writer takes a story from the past and recontextualizes it. That's why Geoff Johns and Grant Morrison have always been so popular! That's all they fucking do!
A brawl breaks out because Cerebus is in a bar. It's the kind of thing that has to happen once the protagonist walks in a bar. And you can even role-play your very own bar brawl in my introductory Places & Predators module, "Welcome to Poorchaghoul!"
While Cerebus is distracted by the brawl, E'lass and Turg go backstage to threaten Jaka. If she doesn't get The Secret from Cerebus, they'll make sure she never dances again. So that's how the Cirinists eventually take over Iest! Jaka decides not to help them and instead of breaking her legs like the reader assumes their threat means, they bring in the Cirinist matriarchy to take over and outlaw dancing! They're so clever!
Jaka lies to Cerebus and tells Cerebus E'lass and Turg will kill her if she doesn't help them. But that's not what they said at all! Oh, those wily women and their words and sex appeal! Cerebus, desperate to drink apricot brandy out of one of Jaka's orifices (is the belly button an orifice or is it more of a scar? Let me check the dictionary definition: "an opening, as of a pipe or tube, or one in the body, such as a nostril or the anus." Woah, dictionary! You couldn't have chosen a different second example?!), beats the shit out of E'lass. After that, things get sexy (if you're into woman-on-animal action).
Unbeknownst to Cerebus, rich is the last thing Jake wants to be again. Her dream is to settle down with a cuck with a Messiah complex while dancing illegally for rent until she gets her boss killed. Now that's the life!
Cerebus lays out his future plans with Jaka once they're rich. You can read about those adventures in Going Home which won't happen for another two hundred or so issues. Because before that happens, Cerebus has to come down from his Rohypnol trip, forget about Jaka, become Prime Minister, remember Jaka, be rude to Jaka, become Pope, lose everything, live as a guest in Rick and Jaka's apartment, travel through space, talk to "God," and finally run a bar and lose all of his friends.
While shopping for a present for Jaka, Cerebus sobers up, forgets about Jaka, and decides to get unsober again as quickly as possible. Meanwhile Turg and E'lass get their comeuppance. It's such a great comeuppance that I think they never again appear in Cerebus. I could be wrong but I think they basically get replaced by the more entertaining McGrew Brothers, Dirty Fleagle and Dirty Drew.
Cerebus runs into Jaka one final time but doesn't remember her.
Deni said this final page was her wedding present from Dave.
In "A Note from the Publisher," Deni writes, "This issue is special to me in that the ending is my wedding present from Dave. No joke!! It's different and when you read it, I think you'll understand." Dave, in his essay, writes, "I can remember trying to come up with the ending for a few days. I knew that Cerebus would have to snap out of it eventually. It was at that point that I realized the essence of the problem. I had been thinking of Cerebus' point of view of the situation, but I hadn't stopped to consider how Jaka was reacting to him." So Deni's wedding present from Dave Sim was to give a female character in his book a point of view? To give her agency? To show her as not an object of Cerebus' lust but as a human being with feelings of her own? Nice one! And it was cheap!
This month's Aardvark Comment contains a letter from Elric creator Michael Moorcock! Holy smokaroonies! He was entertained by Elrod but just wanted to point out that Elrod looked nothing like Elric based on Moorcock's writing. It was really based on an artist's rendition of another artist's rendition of Elric and the first rendition wasn't based on any written description at all! I have a vague memory of reading the Elric books and referring to the cover and thinking, "Is that supposed to be Elric? Weird."
This issue begins the one page of reader art that Sim pays $150.00 for. This one is of a kid doing art while his "lacks discipline" report card lies at his feet. I think Dave Sim might have screwed up this first one because there's no attribution other than the artist's signature which you can't really make out. I'm sure he'll correct that next issue since he made a correction from the previous issue here: he added the rest of the Swords of Cerebus essay that was missing last issue.
Cerebus #6 Rating: A-. This is a solid effort and begins to really show Sim's plotting ability and narrative control. It's got a lot of good jokes in it as well, both in dialogue and slapstick forms. One thing I haven't mentioned is just how good Dave Sim is at slapstick. It might seem like the easiest humor to work into a comic book but it takes some really well-crafted writing and careful planning of action across panels which not a lot of writers and artists can pull off. It really helps that Dave's doing both so that one or the other job isn't the cause of it all falling apart. Also, it was Jaka's first appearance!
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“Nor’easter”
[I've had this in my drafts since January 2018 and I just read over it and don't know why I didn't post it. So... here’s some Hannigram snowed-in trope from season 2!]
Will opened the door to let the dogs out and found, to his surprise, Hannibal standing on his porch, covered in snow. The dogs all gave him a friendly sniff before bounding over to the trees.
"I didn't hear you drive up," Will said. He peered out into the darkness. "I... don't see your car."
"Stuck in the snow about half a mile from here," Hannibal said, his voice shaking slightly from the cold. "I tried to call but the storm seems to be playing havoc with my reception."
Will's first instinct was to tell him to take a hike, but he saw a way to use the situation to his advantage. As he'd told Jack, he was a good fisherman. The fish was here, right now, on his doorstep.
"Come on in," Will said, opening the door wider.
As Hannibal hurried in, the dogs followed soon after, shaking snow off their bodies and all over their new guest just as he was taking off his coat.
"Ah---"
Will barely suppressed a laugh as he headed towards the bathroom. "I'll get you some towels."
"Perhaps I could borrow something dry to wear," Hannibal called after him. "I don't think I'll get a ride out of here tonight in this storm."
******
Will dug through the linen closet for a pair of towels, and then through a box of old clothes he'd been meaning to take to the men's shelter in town. Everything smelled a bit stale, but it was all clean. He came up with his college sweatpants and a bright purple cardigan he'd owned for years but never worn because... well, bright purple.
He wondered if he should call Jack and tell him... Tell him what? That he was having a sleepover with Hannibal Lecter? It wasn't as if he didn't trust himself to handle the situation without Jack Crawford's input. Right? He shook his head at himself and went back into the living room.
Hannibal had already stripped out of his wet clothes and looked to be about to move on to his underwear.
"Not shy, I see," Will said, holding out the clothes and towels.
"I didn't think I had reason to be," Hannibal said.
Will snorted. "Not modest, either."
Hannibal blinked at him. "I only meant that I didn't think my state of undress would matter to you one way or the other." Suddenly, his expression turned decidedly sly. "But I can dress elsewhere, if it does matter."
Will's cheeks burned, and he hoped the dimness of the room hid them. "Just... hurry up. I was about to go to sleep when you showed up at my door."
Hannibal glanced around. "Where...?"
"You can have the guest room upstairs," Will said. "I don't have an extra space heater, but you can take a couple of dogs with you. Buster's the warmest one, he's good under the covers, but he can be a bit gassy."
Hannibal's gaze fell upon the dogs, who had shuffled into their beds near the fireplace but who were all keeping a watchful eye on their guest. Buster, having heard his name, wagged his tail.
"Perhaps I'll manage on my own..."
Will rolled his eyes. "Just take a dog or two, Hannibal. You'll freeze half to death."
He clicked his tongue at the dogs and gestured for them to follow Hannibal up the stairs. At first only Buster hopped to his command, but Max grudgingly heaved himself out of bed and went.
Hannibal lingered at the bottom step, arms laden with the borrowed clothes, and appeared to want to say something.
"I'd offer you something to eat," Will said, "but I'm pretty sure all I've got is canned soup."
"Thank you," Hannibal said, tossing a weak smile over his shoulder. "I think I have everything I need."
**********
Will woke to the sound of the floorboards creaking near him. He knew instinctively that Hannibal could have moved in complete silence, so there had to be a reason for making noise.
"What is it?" he sighed.
"Your dogs took their leave of me," Hannibal whispered, the shivering audible in his voice. "I imagine they returned to their own beds as soon as I fell asleep."
Will reached over in the dark and flicked on the lamp. Hannibal stood at his bedside, hair mussed, hugging himself in the cold, and looking better than anyone had a right to in that terrible cardigan. Only one thing was missing.
"I could have sworn I gave you some sweatpants," Will said.
"They were rather snug," Hannibal said.
Will flashed on an image of himself as a 20-year-old, still built like a fawn. "Ah, yeah, I guess I was a scrawny thing when I bought them."
Hannibal reached up to undo the buttons on his borrowed cardigan.
Will sat up. "Whoa. Whoa, what are you doing?"
"Giving this back to you," Hannibal said. "I'm sure my own clothes are dry enough by now, so I can make my way back to my car. Perhaps I'll be able to drive out..."
Will glanced toward the window. The snow was still falling in frenzied swirls as the wind howled like an angry, living thing. The drifts had to be twice as deep as they were when Hannibal showed up.
"You're being ridiculous," Will told him. He held up one corner of his blanket. "Just... just get in and keep to your side, would you?"
"If you're certain---"
"Before I change my mind, you'd better."
He turned off the lamp as Hannibal slid into bed behind him. Even though there was a clear foot between them, Will could feel the weight of him on the mattress and smell the good smell of him. The mustiness of the cardigan couldn't cover it up, the mingled scent of whatever cologne he used and the ozone of the storm that still seemed to linger on him.
"Goodnight, Will," Hannibal said, already sounding drowsy.
"Yeah, ‘night," Will said, though he was sure he'd never fall back asleep now.
*******
He fell so deeply asleep that waking up just felt like moving on to another dream. In this dream, he was wrapped around Hannibal as tightly as a howler monkey clinging to a life-saving branch. His head rested on Hannibal's shoulder and his hand had snaked itself under the ugly cardigan to the warm expanse of belly beneath. Their legs were a tangled mess.
Around the same time he realized it wasn't a dream, he also realized he was jabbing Hannibal's hip with a particularly insistent morning erection. He backed away from Hannibal as quickly as he could.
"Guess I'm not used to sharing the bed with anyone," he mumbled, by way of explaining himself.
"Mm hm." Hannibal lay on his back, fingers laced over his ribs, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling. He didn't look at Will.
Will frowned at him. "Were you awake all night?"
"I thought it the best way to keep to my side," he said. "As you instructed me."
Will's face burned with shame. "I'm sorry---"
"You chose a perfect torture for me," Hannibal went on, still focused on the ceiling. "The smell of you so close, and your warmth drawing nearer and nearer to me as I lay perfectly still---and then to be subjected to the touch of your body."
Now Will was just confused. "Look, I'm sorry I rubbed against you in my sleep. I didn't mean to.”
"Don't continue the farce, Will."
Hannibal sprang up from the bed and went about putting his pants and socks back on.
"Are you leaving? Hannibal, your car is half a mile away and it's still snowing." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Wait---why is your car half a mile away?"
"I told you.” The hideous cardigan came off and Hannibal's own shirt and coat went back on. “I was driving and it became stuck in the snow."
"I mean why were you driving half a mile from my house," Will said.
Hannibal sniffed. "Feigned ignorance is unbecoming on you."
With that, he hurried out the front door so quickly, he left his shoes and coat behind. Will, still in nothing more than his boxers and undershirt, vaulted outside after him. He stumbled off the porch and fell face-first into soft, deep snow. The sudden cold contact knocked the breath out of him for a moment.
By the time he'd gotten his wits about him again, Hannibal had plowed ahead a good thirty or so feet.
"God dammit, Hannibal! Get back inside before we both freeze to death!"
He moved to climb out of the pit he'd made for himself, but only sank further in. The surrounding snow, disturbed by his efforts, toppled in after him. He was buried up to his shoulders as he sprawled half on his knees and elbows.
Buster was the first one to check on him, barking happily at first as if they were playing a fun game, then with increasing anxiety. Winston and Zoe and the others soon joined him, whimpering or howling their distress. One of the bigger dogs stomped on his back, no doubt in an attempt to save him, but only managed to push him further down, like a pat of butter being pressed into a heap of mashed potatoes. He thought of how the news story of his death would play. Something like "local man once thought to be a cannibalistic murderer was accidentally buried alive by his pack of dogs in what police are calling a hoarding situation gone bad" seemed about right.
He felt the load of dogs lighten and then there was a strong hand on the back of his neck. He was yanked up onto his knees by the collar of his undershirt.
"I'll go back inside," Hannibal said, his tone one of grand concession, "if only to keep you from doing something foolish."
*******
Hannibal made them both mugs of hot cocoa laced with whiskey. Will, wearing a new set of underpants and shirt, sat in the semidark, warming his lips against the hot ceramic of the mug. Hannibal was just as quiet, and seemed not to want to look directly at him.
Will thought back to the last time someone had shown up unannounced on his doorstep in the middle of the night. If he hadn't been plagued by hallucinations---and Alana so plagued by ideals of ethics---he would've gotten laid that night.
"You were on your way to visit me," Will said. "When you got stuck in the snow."
"Nothing as friendly as that," Hannibal said, still not looking at him. "I was only going to drive past to catch a glimpse of you."
"Wow."
"I loathe pity."
Will knew he should shut up He knew it. He was going to fuck up whatever lame fishing expedition he had planned with Jack Crawford because if he didn't shut up, he was going to figure out how he felt about Hannibal and that was going to make his life so much worse.
"I'm not pitying you," Will said, not shutting up. "I'm... genuinely surprised. It's not feigned ignorance, if you were thinking of accusing me of that again."
"So you're merely dense," Hannibal said.
"About this, yeah, I guess," Will laughed. He thought about putting down his mug and sliding into Hannibal's lap, but shook it off. "I don't like the idea of making a move on Alana's boyfriend---and don't protest that you're not. You know what I mean."
Hannibal winced into a smile. Only now did he glance up at Will. "So what would you have me do?"
"Get some sleep," Will said. "Finish your cocoa first or throw it out so the dogs don't get into it."
He downed the rest of his drink in one slightly too-hot gulp, then crawled into bed. He listened to Hannibal fussing about in the kitchen for a bit, the sound oddly comforting. There's a cannibal in your house, he told himself, and you're supposed to be entrapping him not having sleepovers with him. He tried to feel worked up about that, he really did. Maybe the righteous anger would come roaring back at some point, but it felt so far away. Certainly farther away than the warm, good-smelling body now sliding into bed behind him.
"Must I keep to my side this time?" Hannibal asked.
"I suppose not," Will said. "After driving all this way and trudging half a mile through the snow, a few inches doesn't seem like much."
He didn't get a response to that, so Will scooted backwards until his back touched Hannibal's chest. Eventually, he felt Hannibal shift slightly so that they fit smoothly together, like fire logs in a pile settling against one another. He watched the snow battering against the window, so thick that he couldn't see the sky beyond, and fell asleep without one drop of the cold touching him.
-end-
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The Seduction Game- Dean Winchester And Klaus Mikaelson Chapter One
Dean Winchester x Reader x Klaus Mikaelson
Warnings: Explicit language. Lots of it. (lol, what’s new) slightly Jealous!Dean
Disclaimers: I don’t own any SPN or TVD/TO characters/plots mentioned.
Word Count: 2,923 words
A/n: Hey guys....I’m back and well, I know in my “farewell” letter I said I was gonna update completely different stories, and I will, but I’ve decided to make a mini-series inspired by @sherlockedtash88‘s suggestion. Well, technically, I still need to do that one, but this rooted from the rough draft of that one so yeah... I’ve just been really inspired with new stories and if I’m being honest I’m sort of stuck on somee other ones, but I promise it’ll all eventually work out! Anywho... Here it is~ Tell me what you think about this lil’ crossover and if I should continue it please!
Read Summary Here!!
***
“I can’t fucking believe Sam actually convinced made me to go through with this shit,” you growl to yourself through the door, secretly hoping Dean would hear your low grumbles, hear how displeased having to do this made you. And to your twisted pleasure, it’s clear he did when you hear his harsh knocks on the door, startling you so much you stumble back on your excessively tall heels.
“Would you come out already? God fucking dammit Y/n, it ain’t that big of a deal. It’s just a fucking dress,” Dean snaps back, clearly exasperated beyond belief.
You growl, tugging at the long dress with a disgusted frown. “Oh bite me, Winchester. You try and wear this shit then, fucking asshole.”
Suffices to say: you weren’t a dress gal. Growing up a hunter really left no room for a woman to be anything but a bit of a tomboy. And you had to admit, the heels and dress weren’t that bad. Simply...not you.
You hastily throw the door open, revealing yourself to the older Winchester after nearly an hour of nonstop banter. Not that it was anything new either. Dean Winchester certainly had a way of getting under your skin like a microscopic parasite.
You continue to tug at the dress, looking down the barely-tall heels it was completely concealing with pure disdain.
“Do you realize how fucking hard it is to walk in the monstrosities? Oh! And to top it all off, Sam decided to ever so conveniently break his arm and now I have to go with-” just as you start a whole new rant, your eyes land on Dean dressed from head to toe in a tuxedo and the words completely die in your throat, your breath hitching. You’d be a lying bastard if you said you weren’t completely gobsmacked by his appearance.
I mean, you were well aware the eldest Winchester was attractive, but Goddamn, today he looked straight up delicious. From his broad shoulders to his slim waist, a tight-fitting dress shirt hugged him nicely underneath a black satin dinner jacket which gripped onto his prominent biceps charmingly. The dress pants clung to his bowed legs like they were made for them and you found it extremely hard not to let the shock you truly felt flash across your face. You refused to let him see the effect this outfit had on you.
Dean, returning the favor, of course, scoped you out subtly, attempting to remain indifferent, but you could see the shock in his infuriatingly bright green eyes. It made your heart flutter with wicked pleasantry and you suppress the roguish grin insistingly tugging at your lips with all your might. You wanted to think that was it, wanted to believe that a part of you, a part of your heart, wasn’t dancing in giddy delight as of now. But that would be a big lie.
His eyes trailed over your entire body, exposed back, plunging v-neck, perfectly-styled hair, glamorous makeup. His gaze was hungry, yes, but there was something else in there too...something soft... And even though you wished you’d missed the action, you watch, breath stolen, as he tugs his plump bottom lip in between his teeth when his eyes meet yours.
Your gaze flicker to his mouth and you’re sure he can see the sudden desire flooding through your body at the very instant. And anger. Because even though you wore high heels, he was still taller than you. Because even though you fought back and forth like a cat and dog, you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. Because acting like you hated him back was better than letting the walls around your heart down just to be stomped on by him. Because he hated you and if he got the chance to hurt you over it, he probably would.
You break the electrifying silence with an embarrassingly raspy snap. “Are you going to stare at me all day or are we going to actually, ya’ know, go?” He seems to snap out of it and releases his lip, shaking his head lightly. The look of lust leaves him in a split second and he’s resorted to glaring holes into your head as you speedwalk away from him, trying really hard not to fall on your face as your legs wobble imperceptibly beneath you.
Dean snorts behind you. “I was just observing you for the safety hazards. You know, like wearing heels so ridiculously high you can’t even walk properly in them. God, Y/n, you look like a newborn fawn.”
You simply flip him off over your shoulder, attempting to push away the blush spreading rapidly on your face.
*
The car ride to Mystic Falls is filled with tension and you wonder if it’s because Sam isn’t here to lighten the mood or if it’s this way for some other reason.
“And you want me to bait a filthy rich vampire for what reason again?” You look over at Dean from the passenger seat, brows furrowed.
Dean sighs, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Because Y/n, Jake said he’s got a thing for pretty, young, tough girls.” He gestures loosely to you.
You smirk at his words and he glances at you every other second, taking his eyes off the road with a weird look. “What’re you doing, smiling at like that?”
You wiggle your brows at him. “You think I’m pretty and tough.”
He glares at you. “No, I don’t.” He sounds so indignant yet childish, it takes up all your strength not to burst out into hysterics.
You chuckle lightly, turning your gaze back to the window. “Oh, I think you really do.”
He growls beside you in frustration. “Will you just shut the hell up?”
You chuckle silently at his demeanor, finding it beyond amusing. “Now, what’d be the fun in that?”
*
The ball was in full swing when you guys arrived at the luxurious mansion, a classical music band playing loudly in the background of the elegant place and dozens of guests mingling, glasses of sparkling champagne held lightly in their soft, uncalloused hands.
You gawk at the mere beauty of the place, from its high ceilings to the huge spiraling staircases wrapping around the sides of the big room and connecting to another floor. Everything was made of marble and spotless, gold intricate designs lined every wall.
Dean goes to take care of your invitations which you had deprived some other guest the pleasure of, and you stand by the doorway, over your initial shock and in search of your target.
Your eyes trail over the entire space, desperately searching for the man Dean had shown you in a picture.
No not him. Not him. Definitely not him. And...holy shit.
Your shoulders immediately rise to straighten out your back and your lips part at the sight of the tall, lean man that stood a few feet away from you. It’s him. And he is...positively handsome, much more alluring than the picture had shown him to be. Messy light brown hair, strikingly mischevious blue eyes, and-
You quickly turn your head away when his gaze suddenly clashes with yours. And in that split second you can see his face contort into the same as yours when your eyes had landed on him and his eyes hold a light of a mix of shock and curiosity.
Your eyes are still on the ground when goosebumps begin rising on your skin and you feel a dark gaze burning into you. Warily, you raise your head to see where the eyes were coming from and just as you had suspected, he was looking at you, only this time, he was prepared to give you a full-blown smirk. And Goddamn was that smirk sexy as hell.
Your breath hitches with something you can’t really explain spreading on your chest like wildfire, but you refuse to look away, refuse to show him any weakness. So holding his intense gaze, you offer him a small, dry smile. Sarcastic to the extent that you were sure he could tell without that abrupt disconnecting of gazes you did afterward to clue him in.
You could see his startled expression out of the corner of your eye and a smirk began creeping up your lips. You didn’t allow it to settle there though, intent on keeping up the act: he couldn’t feel that you had any interest or he would see you as an easy win and would therefore not be attracted enough to lure him out and chop his head off.
He liked his women strong and playing hard to get always worked in your experience. Except with Dean, your mind annoyingly reminds.
You push the thought away, or well- more like, shove it away along with the light tingles on your skin due to Klaus’s hot gaze.
Suddenly, an arm loops through yours and you jump, startled and ready to take the fucker who’d just dared touch you without permission down. “It’s just me sweetheart, keep walking,” Dean whispers in your ear. You shiver in the tiniest at his warm breath fanning the shell of your ear, but kick him discreetly in the shin, ignore his yelp, and tug him with you down that steps near the entrance.
Dean grunts. “You’re fucking impossible Y/l/n.”
You grin up at him, chin held defiantly high in the air. “You just noticed that?”
Dean offers a -what you can only describe as sarcastic- smile and clicks his tongue. “No, actually. You’ve always been a pain in my ass, it just got bigger as time progressed.”
You scoff, settling for a dark corner in the far end of the room and taking two tall glasses of champagne off a tray from a nearby waiter. “Here,” you pass one to Dean, who takes it, brings it up to his nose and sniffs it. Then he shoves it away with a disgusted frown. “Hell no.”
You roll your eyes. “Dean, drink the fucking champagne and try not to look so...basic, we have a job to do and people to convince.” You wave a dismissive hand his way and sip your champagne lightly, loving the way the cold liquid slid down your throat effortlessly.
Dean smiles sardonically once more and puts his glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “I may be basic, sweetheart, but at least I don’t act like I have a fuckin’ log shoved up my ass.”
You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You know what? Whatever. We have a case to work and you’re being an ass.” Your tone turns stern, strict and businesslike. “Now; what’s the target’s name again?”
Dean huffs at you, clearly holding back the urge to argue further with you. Smart man. “Klaus Mikaelson.”
You look over your shoulder casually and well aware of the vampire’s eyes still trained on you, you lean over and whisper in Dean’s ear smugly. “Well then, look’s like I caught our target’s eye. How convenient.”
Klaus raises his brows at Dean and you blush, looking away. Why were you blushing?
Dean leans away, frowning. He immediately looks around the room, big emerald eyes in search of the vampire. When they land on him, Klaus’s gaze still drinking you in, you can see Dean’s body immediately stiffen up, his jaw clench and his hold on your arm become more firm, tugging you closer to his strong side. You stumble a bit and hold onto his shoulder as he drags you a bit farther away from the attractive man, whose eyes never leave you, without a single word.
You look up at Dean, glaring holes into his head and tug yourself away from his touch in a grand manner. “Goddamn it Winchester, we need him to find me easy to hunt remember? You giving him those looks and tugging me along like I’m your fucking bitch isn’t helping our case, he might think we’re actually together or something. And then he won’t go for me.” You pretend to shudder, scrunching your nose up in mock disgust.
The truth was, the thought of you and Dean in a relationship -even if it didn’t involve the apple pie life for free- it made a certain type of warm wrap its arms around your heart.
Dean looks down at you, his green eyes cold as he releases a small snort. “Pfft.. yeah, as if that could ever happen.” His remark sends a pang of hurt directly into your chest and you pray that it didn’t show on your stoic face as he continues. “Anyways it doesn’t matter what Mr. Mikasson thinks about us.”
You frown. “And why the hell not?”
Dean sighs. “You’re not going to be bait anymore. I’ve decided we’ll go in an old-fashioned way and chop his head off when he heads off somewhere alone.”
You sigh tiredly, whispering back. “Mhmm, I suppose that’s a genius plan, Winchester. Except for one tiny problem. When exactly do you suspect he’ll be alone because I don’t see that ever happening?” you raise your brows challengingly, pointing towards Klaus being chatted up by, well, everyone.
Dean doesn’t respond, only shrugs, his gaze completely monotonous. “Dunno. What I do know, though, is that you, sweetheart, are not going to be bait for that blood-sucking leech,” he growls the insult under his breath.
You reel back, genuinely offended. “Excuse me? And since when do you decide what I can and can’t do?”
Dean clenches his jaw again, making the sharp edges sharper and tempting you to run your finger along it. You shiver in delight and watch as he gives you that infuriated look that makes you hot all over.
“I am not deciding for you, I’m informing you that you don’t have a choice to decide on.”
You can feel the match of anger slowly being lit in the pit of your stomach at his words and can’t really seem to find it in you to care for his reasoning behind them as your blind rage takes over.
“I don’t then, huh? Well, fuck, I guess I gotta listen to the almighty Dean Winchester and not do my job,” you throw your hands up, stepping away from him promptly. You point your index finger at him. “Dean, let me make something very clear for you, in case it wasn’t already; I’m not your bitch nor am I anyone else’s. I decide what happens to me, whether that’d be my body, my life, hell,” You laugh humorlessly, “I’ve probably lost my sanity already.” Your face turns grim and the dry smile melts off as you bite out the next words slowly. “But it’s all happened because I made the decision to put it all on the line. Me, not Sam or Cas and it sure as hell wasn’t you,” you smirk in the tiniest bit. “So let me inform you that I’ll be baited all I want, when and to whom I want to.” You realize that must’ve sounded kind of dumb to say, I mean who wants to be bait? But you really don’t care.
You suddenly relax your posture, pull on a sly smile at his temperamental face and smooth the non-existent wrinkles on your dress. “Now that that’s out of the way...are you going to help me or will I have to go through this alone? Because with or without you, I’m doing it, Dean.”
Dean eyes you for an entire minute, his expression switching from completely pissed off to blank to thoughtful to about-to-say-something-but-holding-back in the span of that one minute, cluing you into the internal battle he must’ve been having.
Finally, after the excruciating minute, his shoulders droop and he sighs defeatedly. “Fine,” he speaks in the same hushed tone as before, except this time he’s more pissed, and you grin in delight.
“Great! Now, we’ll go in as we planned before, except...” you tap your finger on your chin and glance over your shoulder at Klaus who, as you presumed, was no longer looking at you, but talking animatedly to a taller dark-haired man who looked remarkably like himself. Strange.
“I don’t think the info we’ve been given is accurate. There’s something...different about this vampire don’t you think? And in that case, I say we’d have to go about it in a completely new way.”
Dean frowns. “What do you mean different?”
“I mean, Klaus Mikaelson is an extremely wealthy, powerful, influential,” handsome “vampire and I think the way to get to him can’t just be done in one day. We might need to work this case longer than we thought. Gather more info.” You keep out the part where he had this strange enticing aura drawing you in even from across this humongous room and you simply couldn’t figure out why.
Dean groans. “Fucking shit. They’re all the goddamn same Y/n. They’re all evil motherfuckers that need their goddam heads chopped off. I really don’t get what you could possibly think is different about Mr. Fancy Pants Mikaelson over there.” He all but spits the name out like bile in his mouth.
You sigh and glance over at Klaus for what must’ve been the hundredth time that night. There was something about him, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you felt incredibly attracted to it. Something about the cocky yet charming air he gave off reminded you somewhat of Dean, but in a completely different way. It was that sparkle in his eyes...
It was strange and sort of scary, to be honest.
“Dean, I think it’d be best if we took it easy and went with a new plan. Instead of simply dangling me in front of him like he’s a lion and I a piece of tender meat, let’s do it differently.” You never take your eyes off Klaus when you speak and almost as if he can feel you looking at him, he turns to you, baby blue eyes lighting up when they land on your own y/e/c eyes already boring into him.
“I’m going to seduce him.”
Read Chapter Two Here!!
***
I’m so happy to be back!
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO SENT ME MESSAGES AND REPLIES AND WORRIED FOR MY WELLBEING, I REALLY APPRECIATE IT ALL AND OF COURSE YOU GUYS FOR THE PATIENCE AND LOVE AND OH FUCK- IM GONNA CRYYYY 😭😭😭
Anywho, Y'all already know. Send me asks, messages, requests, REPLY, LEAVE FEEDBACK MY LOVESS PLEASEEE. Do whatever suits you the most lovelies! (I missed calling you guys that) Tags are all open so don’t hesitate to let me know if you wanna be tagged in any shape or form.
A special thanks to:
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And my fantastic forevers!
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Brace Yourself (Mission Impossible Pt. 2)
Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader
Characters: peter parker, stark!daughter!reader, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, FRIDAY (mentioned)
Word count: 2,670
Summary: The reader is head over heels for her fathers cute new intern, and the rest of the Avengers can tell.
Warnings: cursing, the slightest sexual references?
A/N: Part two! essentially the same as part one but from the readers point of view. I’m glad people liked the first one! and don’t worry, there’ll be much more Peter on Y/N interaction in the upcoming chapter.
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Read the rest of the series here.
You frowned, huffing frustratedly as you picked up paint rags and overturned stacks of paper in an attempt to find what you were looking for.
“Dammit…” you grumble, crossing your arms and glancing around the room as a whole. “Where is that damn brush?”
This was not going well. You started off this piece feeling inspired, having watched far too many art videos on the explore page of your instagram, motivating you to push yourself up from the confines of your bed and pull out your easel and paints.
However, the quality was diminishing quickly- you just couldn't get your hands to follow what your brain was telling them to do, each stroke of paint feeling more off than the last.
And now, you couldn’t find the flat brush you’d been using to salvage the background gradient, and you were beginning to become convinced the universe simply didn’t want you to finish this.
“Have you seen it?” you glance over at your dog, Sirius, who’s laying on your bed, paws crossed with his head resting calmly atop them, seemingly watching you paint. His ears perk up at the sound of your voice, and he tilts his head as if in confusion. You exhale dejectedly, dropping your arms.
“I didn’t think so. Damn.” you turn back to your painting, examining it with a disparaging eye. Bringing your hand up to your chin in thought, you rub it between your thumb and forefinger, unknowingly smearing a bit of paint there.
You hear the familiar clicking of clawed feet as a large, similar dog walks up to you, taking a seat next to you and looking up at the painting as if he too was judging it.
“What do you think, Remus? Can it be saved? Or are we too far gone?”
You glance down at the shiny black and brown coated dog next to you. He lets out an involuntary wheeze, jaws seemingly unhinging in a yawn.
“Yeah, I think so too.” you sigh, and you turn back to your unfinished work dejectedly, dropping a hand to the top of Remus’ head, giving him a scratch.
Suddenly, his soft fur disappears from your touch, and you hear Sirius’ heavy form drop down onto the concrete floor of your room as eight paws bound towards the entrance to your room.
As if on cue, you can hear voices from the other side of your door, and not a second passes before the doors are swinging open, and you see the familiar frame of your father stepping into the room.
He’s not alone, however, and with him is a young, chestnut haired boy whose appearance is quickly overwhelmed by two gigantic puppy dogs.
You feel immediately intrigued, two things certain in your mind.
One- while Sirius and Remus were sweethearts around you, they were trained incredibly rigorously, and not only were they your best friends, but also your guard dogs, and it was not often that they couldn’t sniff out an ill-intended person (you couldn’t count how many times they’d been hostile or distrustful towards someone and it had turned out they were up to no good, whether against you, your father, or anyone else close to you).
And two, your dad was almost as ruthless with background checks and character investigation as they were when it came to introducing people to you, so for him to just waltz in one day with a mysterious boy in tow was unusual, to say the very least.
“Whoa- wha-?”
The boy laughed, stumbling back a bit as your not-so-little monsters attacked his face with their tongues. You felt mortified, quickly stepping forward and calling out to them.
“Hey, down boys! Down- down. Jesus, I am so sorry,” you pulled gently at their collars, shaking your head at their behavior- they never acted like this with strangers. You hoped to god this person wasn’t some important big wig, but you guessed by the small snippet of his voice that he wasn’t. He wiped the slobber off his face, and you avoided his eyes as you ushered them away, hoping he wasn’t annoyed by their… overzealous greeting.
“It’s cool! I love do-”
Suddenly, he halted in his tracks, sucking in a surprised breath.
Oh boy.
“W-whoa,” He breathed, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t uncommon for people to react somewhat like he was when meeting you- you were somewhat of an urban legend, an illusive figure that not many caught a glimpse of but everyone knew. Your father was constantly terrified of anything or anyone trying to do you harm, so he had gone a little overboard with protection.
You felt a bit like a princess locked away in a tower at times- and you were for a while, always watching longingly from your room at the top of the Avengers tower over the city, wishing desperately that you could go out and explore it.
Now that you were living in the Avengers compound all the way upstate, you felt even more separated.
“Well that’s good, but who doesn’t, I guess? I mean, if anything I’d take it as a compliment that they like you so much, they’re very picky,” you responded, hoping to steer this meeting away from his amazement and towards a more normal interaction.
You had to admit- he was cute. Really cute, and you found your eyes darting from feature to feature, examining each one with admiration, trying not to be too obvious as you did.
“Huh… yeah…” he breathed, and you took advantage of his daze to really appreciate him. He had curly, tousled brown hair and the richest, warming chocolate colored eyes you’d ever seen. His nose was slightly crooked, and it looked at if it’d been broken, maybe even more than once. His jaw was sharp and angular, and his lips were thin and rosy, and you tried not to let your mind wander this early into your meeting.
“Anyways…” your father interjected. “So, Y/N, this is my intern, also known as the ‘Spider-Man’” he waved, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god- it was Spider-Man.
You’d been admiring the masked hero for months now- you were the one who’d shown your father the videos of him on youtube. When you’d heard that your dad was taking him under his wing, you were ecstatic, and you begged your father to introduce you, especially once he’d told you you were around the same age.
Unsurprisingly though, he refused, saying he couldn’t just go introducing you to any masked vigilante you found on your YouTube explore page.
But now here he was, standing in front of you- standing in your room.
And he was fucking cute.
You made your way towards the main lounge area of the compound, a grin splitting your cheeks as you chewed unconsciously on your the nail of your thumb.
You entered the kitchen, barely glancing up as you made your way towards the refrigerator, Sirius and Remus trailing close behind, just as they always did.
The kitchen hummed softly with casual conversation. At the table sat Natasha, her head resting on her hand as she read intently through a book with a Russian title that you didn’t understand. At the island stood Wanda and Vision, not an unusual sight in the compound, as Wanda would often try and teach Vision recipes from her home, with quite a bit of difficulty.
Without even acknowledging them, you reached for the refrigerator handle, cold air washing over you as the door swung open. You reached inside, pulling out your favorite drink.
Turning, you opened it up, walking airily back towards your room as you practically beamed into the opening of the beverage. You only made it about four steps before Natasha spoke up, barely glancing up above her book to look at you.
“What’s got you so smiley?” she questioned, and you finally stopped to really look at everyone.
“What? I’m not.”
Even Vision laughed.
“Yes, you are. You’re smiling while you say that,” he noted, and you rolled your eyes.
“I’m not. It’s nothing,” you repeated, though you still found the corners of your lips turned upward. Natasha put down her book, leaning forward to analyze you more intently.
“Somethings up. Spill.”
You frowned finally, laughing incredulously.
“Guys, seriously, it’s nothing, I just saw something funny on twitter, really. Why are you being so weird about this?”
“Why are you being so defensive?” Natasha rebutted, and you rolled your eyes at her. To your right, Wanda squinted at you, and you felt yourself shriveling up under her gaze- you knew that look.
Suddenly, her eyes widened.
“It’s that boy- the Spider Boy Tony brought on our last mission, the one to Austria. He’s here now, is he not?”
You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest, avoiding her gaze. Wanda knew about your… interest in Spider-Man and she no doubt could tell that it was more than just interest. So could Nat.
“Well, I mean, yeah, he’s here or whatever, but I only talked to him for like ten seconds, it wasn’t that big of a deal-!”
She gasped, a triumphant smile lighting up her face.
“You like him!” she exclaims, and your mouth falls open, terrified.
“I do not. I just met him! I do not like him! I mean, sure, he’s kinda cute or whatever, but-”
Natasha and Wanda nearly erupt into a fit of triumphant excitement, and you almost wish they did, drowning out your voice in the process. They weren’t quick enough though, and a concerned, caring voice speaks up from behind you.
“Who’s kinda cute?” Steve asks, and your eyes go wide as your head whips around, the broad shouldered-sweat soaked forms of Bucky and Steve stepping into the kitchen, back from their afternoon run.
They make their way towards the refrigerator, both grabbing glasses and filling them up eagerly.
“Y/N’s new boyfriend,” Natasha teases. Steves' eyebrows shoot up, his eyes going almost as wide as yours had, and Bucky practically chokes on his water.
“Her what?” Buck exclaims, an almost comically horrified look on his face as he wipes the water from his chin. Wanda giggles from her place at the stove, giving Vision a knowing look as she stirs the pot in front of her.
“My nothing- jesus, I shouldn’t have said anything- it doesn’t even mean anything! I don’t have a crush on him and I’m definitely not dating him. It was just cool to meet someone my age for the first time in like, ever, okay? I was excited! I never get to hang out with people my age and I thought maybe I could make a real friend for once.”
Steve frowns, putting his hand to his chest in mock hurt.
“I thought we were real friends?” he says, a fake strain in his voice. You roll your eyes, and Bucky chuckles at him.
“You don’t count, grandpa. I mean, I love you and all but I can not only have grown ass adults as my ‘friends’.”
“Language-!” Steve reprimands, immediately going into Dad Mode. You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your drink.
“Oh, like you care Mr. Potty Mouth. I hear what you say on missions, you’re no saint either.” you retort, and Bucky chuckles, a lopsided grin gracing his features.
“Anyways, I’m gonna go now, or are you not done bullying me?”
“Oh, we weren’t-” Wanda begins to protest but Natasha cuts her off.
“No, no, she’s right Wanda. We shouldn’t have teased her,” she says, and you grin, nodding.
“Thank you-”
“I know. New relationships can be so hard, we shouldn’t have made fun of her for it-”
“I’M LEAVING.”
-
Your phone buzzed beside you on your bed, and without looking away from the show you were watching on your computer, you picked it up and eagerly unlocked it.
Peter: so, how’s the painting going btw? Any luck w the background?
You and Peter had been texting back and forth for hours- you sent him a text not long after he’d left, and despite it being a generally insignificant message, something had happened, and you hadn’t been able to stop speaking to one another since.
You: oh I gave up on that a while ago. My mind was telling me yes but the canvas was giving me a HARD no.
Peter: no!!!!! I’m sure it looks gr8 !!
You smiled, shaking your head at the grey speech bubbles popping up on your screen. Over the short amount of time that you’d been texting him, you’d learned that Peter was just about the sweetest little nerd you’d ever met.
It was astonishing, really, the idea that this boy who not fifteen minutes ago was gushing to you about the new Star Wars lego set that he and his best friend had bought was the same guy that you’d seen swinging triumphantly through the city saving civilians.
You: oh, i don’t know about that lol.
Peter: I do!!! I’ve seen some of your stuff on ur insta. Its amazing honestly
You felt your heartbeat stutter, wondering what Peter had been thinking while searching through your Instagram. It reassured you too, as you’d spent an hour and a half stalking his (which you’d gotten from FRIDAY) after he’d left the compound.
You started typing your response, but Peter beat you to it. Your face fell.
Peter: not to be a nerd or anything but I just looked at the time and realized i will seriously want to die at school tomorrow if i don’t go to bed
You glanced to the top of your phone. 12:37.
You: nerd! Sucks to be you i guess.
Peter: aashdfgajs don’t you have school too?? Or is it just that Mr. Starks unhealthy all-nighter gene is hereditary
You giggled. He knew your father well.
You: nope. No school for me. Well. not regular school. I’ve always been homeschooled. My dad just pays really fancy teachers like, a lot of money to come to us and teach me wherever we’re living, under high security and with extensive background checks. Its like college but the teachers come to me and i get to do it in my bed.
Peter: that’s amazing!!
You took a deep breath. Amazing was… one way to describe it. Sure, you were incredibly lucky to have access to the best education the world had to offer, any subject, any teacher, all from the comfort of your own home.
But an amazing education does not translate to an amazing- or anywhere close to normal- social life. Or life, for that matter
Peter: well anyways, the rest of us normal plebs have to get up at like 6 am tomorrow so i gotta go or i am seriously going to regret things tomorrow.
You: thats fair. Have fun at normal nerd school, Peter-man. Night!!
Peter: I’m never gonna live that down, am I?
You laughed.
You: not a chance.
Peter: of course not. I’d expect nothing less. Goodnight, Stark.
You closed your phone, dropping it on your nightstand, pausing your computer, rolling onto your back.
Staring up into the high, industrial rafters of your bedroom, you sighed deeply, throwing your arms over your face.
You could feel your stomach turning and twisting, a warm, bright feeling filling your chest.
You already sensed your hand reaching for your cell phone, eager to send Peter another message.
Jesus, you’d barely been talking to the boy for half a day and you were already hooked on him. You couldn’t keep away from his dumb jokes, or his sweet encouragements, or even just the mundane way he spoke from message to message. You remembered the way he’d felt when he’d fallen forward onto you before he left for home- Oh, that dork was buff. And he was sweet, so, impossibly sweet that you could already feel a toothache forming.
“Oh, fuck.”
You were so going to get bruises from this fall.
Tags:
@wishingforahome @dark-night-sky-99 @justawaywardwinchester @gracefultrenchcoat494
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Mojo shenanigans
From According to plan's verse.
Up until Peter graduates, Stiles visits him a lot at New Haven, always detouring to surprise him with at least a short visit. What can he say? He’s a sucker for the surprised and pleased smiles that spring on his face when he spots him.
It also leaves him wanting to march back to Talia and throttle her badly. He knows that she was being influenced and twisted by Deaton, but the damage she did to Peter is huge. Because Peter also tries to cover those smiles… It took him a while to get that part of the surprise is because he can’t fully believe that anyone would do something like that for him. Even after more than two years of relationship.
It’s the three year anniversary of their first date and they are walking through East Rock Park, Stiles continuously making puns about cheeks that make Peter snark back good naturedly about three headed dogs and sarcastically remark about elite hunters. He hasn’t stopped milking that ever since a rookie from another family gushed about the Argents and especially about Stiles. He still grins like a lovesick idiot when he remembers Peter’s peeved face and territorial growl, though.
Of course, with his luck everything goes south. Maybe taking a stroll in the dark for the sake of remembrance wasn’t such a good idea, after all?
Peter stops and cocks his head and, really, Stiles shouldn’t find it so cute, and he’s internally gushing, and… then he hears them. His eyes slowly follow the rapidly approaching sound to the manhole to his left (a frantic WILL YOU FUCKING PIPE DOWN!!! comes clearly through the grid) then further as it moves away.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present you the elite,“ Peter quips drolly.
His phone rings.
No, absolutely not. He considers seriously not picking. This day is for Peter and just for Peter and he has a damn present that took forever to track and he’s going to give it to him over that horrible coffee and almost stale muffins the place where they had their first date has, dammit.
Peter blinks before a slow smile creeps into his face. He grabs his face gently to kiss him… and at the same time filches his phone and picks up the call, pressing the phone to Stiles’ ear.
“I’m all about tradition,“ he smirks sassily after he hangs up, pulling him in the direction of the screams he undoubtedly still hears. “Maybe we can bring another species to extinction today. It does wonders to the self-esteem.”
“You would love that, you beast,“ he grumbles as he follows him dragging his feet and pouting.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD, STILES" Brandon cries when he spots them ahead. From behind him, screams approach fast. “IT’S A FUCKING TANK! BULLETS FUCKING REBOUND!“
“RUN, RUN, FUCKING RUN!,” Madison screams, pushing her brother forward and past them.
“FUCKING LANGUAGE!” Reaches them, the voice steadily coming closer. “I DIDN’T FUCKING PAY A DAMN KIDNEY FOR THAT MOTHERFUCKING POSH AS HELL SCHOOL TO HEAR YOU CURSING LIKE SAILORS, DAMMIT. AND PIPE THE FUCK DOWN OR WE’RE GONNA WAKE THE HOLE FUCKING TOWN!!!“
“Ah, the elite,“ Peter snorts and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well? Where is the big bad? It can’t be that-WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!” And then he proceeds to grab Stiles and run, survival instincts kicking in hard.
“AND YOU HAVEN’T SEEN ALL,“ Anthony wheezes as he catches up with them. “HI, STILES!”
“WHAT CAN BE WORSE THAN THOSE TEETH?!” Peter gasps.
“I DON’T KNOW, WHAT ABOUT THE SCORPION TAIL?”
“ARE YOU TELLING ME IT’S A FUCKING TARASQUE?!“ Stiles cries.
“A FUCKING W-” Anthony’s scream gets abruptly cut when they are pulled to the side and they get their mouths covered. Only Stiles’ firm grip on Peter’s arms stops his immediate violent reaction.
Meghan appears running and Clara grabs her too. Not even a minute later a humongous beast passes them, only to stop and start sniffing around. They even contain their breathing.
Several things happen at once. Peter looks as it physically hurts him not to comment about the fact that ten elite hunters are huddled together like scared and puffed kittens (never mind he’s doing the same) when faced with one single enemy. Meghan starts frantically gesturing at Stiles and mouthing MOJO while Clara, Anthony, Brandon and Madison look at him hopefully. Stiles gestures back just as frantically what he hopes conveys clearly a what the fuck can he do about a dragon with the head of a lion, six short legs similar to that of bear legs, the body of an ox, the shell of a turtle, and a scorpion stinger-tipped tail??? The rest of the hunters are eyeing the proceedings confused and is this really the best time for this?
A tiny almost nonexistent frustrated sound escapes one of the rookies and everyone freezes as the tarasque stills and sniffs around. It doesn’t move in the end, but everyone glares at the rookie and he makes a plaintive gesture. Clara breathes out slowly, leaning a little bit on the disgusting wall, utterly exhausted.
A rock falls.
Daniel eyes the group of people that just entered the coffee shop incredulously and then turns to look at his boss wordlessly. They are filthy and smell horrible, but there’s such a dangerous aura around them that he doesn’t dare to say anything. His boss, an asshole of the highest caliber, motions at him to start attending them.
One of them approaches the counter. His left eye is twitching a bit and when he speaks, it’s like it’s physically paining him to be polite. He’s also clutching a package in his hands in a white knuckled and almost manic grip. He involuntarily takes a step back and the guy behind him smirks.
“What I don’t get,” one of the guys by the door (not) whispers pouting like his three year old sister, “is why didn’t he do that mojo thing right from the start.” Some of the group gasp as if he’s blasphemed.
The guy from the counter pauses ordering and twitches. Two of the nearby guys take a step back and he unconsciously mimics them. One of the hot twins headslaps the guy by the door hard. “Okay, bitch, engrave this in your brain,“ and she pokes at his forehead so harshly that several (including Daniel himself) wince.” You never ever question the mojo again if you wanna live. Fucking rookies.”
Which what? Who the hell are this people? He looks anxiously at his boss again and he makes a chop-chop gesture at him.
They stay for breakfast. Why? No one does that? The coffee is a sludge that could be used as a degreaser and the pastries are so stale that could be used as military weaponry and they look like the kind of people that would kill for something like that. That smirky guy is just saying what about extinction? And did that hot chick (the other twin) just embed the knife on… they are those shitty plastic ones!
“Fuck this, I’m not paid enough for this shit,“ he mutters as he flees to get his things and leave.
“Now, this is something wouldn’t mind making a tradition out of,” smirky guy crows as he watches him leave. He walks faster ignoring his boss’ cursing. “It’s another type of extinction, after all.“
Tick guy laughs and the rest of the party seems to relax. He really wants to flip sarcastic guy the bird, but… those teeth… did they just… He sprints the hell out of there.
—
On a sunny and beautiful Sunday afternoon, Stiles and Allison nearly die.
It’s summer and Stiles babysat six year old Allison yesterday so that Chris and Victoria could have a date night that didn’t involve ghouls or hydras or anything supernatural (they haven’t been very lucky lately), and have a good dinner on a nice restaurant that just opened last week and has had very nice reviews.
He’s pretty sure her detailed analysis of the food is going to be hilarious and not very flattering. After last time, he’s never doubting her culinary skills, though.
He’s meeting her and Chris, along with several visiting family members (it’s Alexandrine’s birthday) at the picnic area that has become so popular lately. You can’t go by car (only police and emergency services are allowed), but it’s just outside town proper, after a nice ten minute walk you cross a pretty big bridge and you’re there.
Allison insisted on baking a cake for grandma so they’re running a little late. It’s lopsided and made almost entirely out of sprinkles and gummy bears more than actual cake, but since it’s Allison’s, he’s pretty sure everyone is going to be gushing at the feat.
He eyes her fondly. She’s insisted on walking, so right now he only has the cake box on his hands. She’s on her princess stage, so she’s wearing a pretty light pink and white (Victoria is going to kill him for letting her wear that to a picnic) dress with matching Mary Janes. He’s also put her quite long hair in a braided crown with flowers interwoven on it and she’s been squealing about it on intervals ever since he finished.
What. He researched, okay? Chris is hopeless about those things and last time Victoria had to leave for a week… He couldn’t stand it anymore, okay? Kate can mock him all she wants (it’s a fair price for letting him practice on her beforehand).
“We’re almost there,“ he tells Victoria on the phone. “Just crossing the bridge. Where are you? It’s pretty crowded.”
“I’ll meet you at the end and lead you there.“
“Perfect. No one has killed Peter yet, right? I’m hearing a car coming but since I don’t hear the sirens…”
“I can’t promise you more than a few minutes more of safety if he continues like this,” she deadpans and he cracks.
“See you in a few. Say bye to mama, Ally.”
“Bye, mama!“ she squeals and he melts like always.
He can tell the car coming from behind is driving quite fast. “Ally, come here, honey.” She runs up to him, slamming into his legs and hugging them, and he picks her up. He spots Victoria ahead and he makes Allison wave at her for him as they continue crossing the bridge. He presses himself to the edge to leave more than enough way for the vehicle to pass them safely.
A few seconds later Victoria screams, terrified for the first time since nearly seven years ago.
Instead of slowing down, the car goes even faster, obviously targeting Stiles and Allison. It crashes on them and then falls over the edge.
“CHRIS!“ she screams, calling him to her as she starts staggering towards where she last saw them. Peter grabs her as he passes, helping her before she falls.
“I can still hear their heartbeats,” he says urgently before letting her go and sprinting towards the edge and jumping before anyone else appears. “I hear his voice! STILES?!”
She forcefully composes herself and sprints after Peter. People are starting to appear when she lets herself slip on the hillside, her heart pounding wildly.
“I know it hurts a little bit, honey, but it will be over soon.“ She hears Stiles’ pained and strained voice. She reaches Peter and then looks up.
“Mama!” Allison cries, big tears sliding down her face.
Stiles’ palms are stuck to the ceiling and he has Allison grabbed tightly between his legs. Even from where she is, she can see the oddness of one of his shoulders, probably dislocated. He’s trembling badly and gritting his teeth. Allison looks unharmed, even if shaken.
She hears the sirens getting nearer. They have to act fast because it’s obvious that the way Stiles is keeping himself up is not normal.
“Peter,” Stiles grunts as he lets the palm of the not dislocated arm unstick, a pained scream escaping him. “It’s okay, Ally,” he gasps and hoists Allison up to press her to his chest. Her stomach rolls. When he speaks again, she can clearly hear in his voice the extreme pain he is in now. The deputies start to slide down the hillside, running towards them. “You’re gonna have to catch us.”
“I’m ready when you are,“ he answers, gaze intense.
He lets go, curling himself around Allison as he falls and putting her above him. The deputies yell alarmed. She reaches for them too.
Peter catches them with a grunt, steady as a rock.
Later, at the hospital, after being checked (Allison is unharmed, Stiles pulled several muscles and really dislocated his left arm), they get the whole story from one of the deputies. The man that tried to kill them was Alan Richardson, a recent divorcee that had decided, under the influence, to get revenge from his ex-wife by trying to take from her what she loved the most, their daughter. His crazy idea was to search for them across the picnic area, not caring about who he run over until he found them. If he hadn’t spotted Allison before reaching the actual picnic area and drunkenly thought her his daughter, he would have killed a lot of people.
“Those are pretty good reflexes you have there,” the deputy says, “and a very good luck.”
“He’s a tough cookie,“ Chris says fondly.
“I’m hungry, mama,“ Allison pipes from Stiles’ side. “Can I have some cookies?”
“Here, honey,” Victoria answers as she passes her a little bag. Homemade cookies, of course.
Stiles’ lips twitch. At the moment the rest of the family is in the waiting room (Peter’s not very happy right now, he bets). Allison refused to part from Stiles, and her parents refused to part from her, so the doctors have made some allowances. He’s happy that apart from some clinginess on her part, the whole ordeal doesn’t seem to have left any lasting consequences on her.
His left arm is taped to prevent him from moving it and his right arm is around her, so he nuzzles her hair to catch her attention. “Share?”
She’s such a generous cutie. She hums and turns to put a cookie in his mouth, still munching hers.
Right them, his father enters the room, relieving the other deputy. He freezes, nearly choking and Victoria places a hand on his back. Chris eyes them curious but doesn’t say a thing.
“You seem to have an uncanny ability to be in the middle of all the trouble, son,” he says drolly, smiling slightly at the picture he and the little girl make.
“I’d like to point out that I also have the ability to get me out of it normally,“ he answers, mouth partially full. Allison puts another cookie in it the moment he swallows.
“One of these days I’ll get how you do it and share the secret magic with the rest of the police force.“
“It’s the mojo.” Allison pipes helpfully. Stiles chokes, Chris is flabbergasted and Victoria shakes containing her laughter.
“The mojo,“ he humors her gently but obviously not taking her seriously.
“Never doubt Uncle’s mojo,“ she nods seriously and proceeds to try to put the last cookie in Stiles’ mouth. “Right, uncle?”
He bites only half, letting her have the rest. She munches happily. “Right, sweetheart.”
He takes in his father’s expression and he cracks, hiding his face in her nearly undone updo. She doesn’t really get why he’s laughing but she joins him.
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Damian Wayne is Your Valentine
A/n: Happy valentines day. Here’s a little valentines gift from me to you.
Warning: Social awkwardness? If that makes any sence to you.
After school that day it rained. Peers bustled out of the classrooms with their chocolate boxes, bouquets, and giant stuffed teddy bears. You, on the other hand, had no chocolate boxes or any valentine's gifts whatsoever. Instead, your arms were occupied with your science project and an umbrella that barely even worked.
“Y/n!” Your cousin ran to catch up with you with her shiny black flats clicking against the school floor. “Y/n…” She tapped your shoulder, realizing that you had your earbuds in your ears.
“Hmm?” You looked at your cousin, taking out your earbuds.
“Mom wants to know if you’re coming for dinner.”
“Umm… I think I’m going to be busy tonight.”
She rose her eyebrow. “Y/n. That thesis can take a break.”
“Nuh-uh.” You shook your head
“It’s due Friday though, Y/n.”
“Get ye hence, Satin. I’m not going to procrastinate my thesis and end up screwing up.”
Your cousin then took your hand in her hand that wasn’t occupied with valentine’s gifts. “Y/n. You are going to come for dinner tonight or you will end up super lonely tonight. Plus. My mom is making lava cakes tonight.”
You exhaled, giving in to her proposal. “Fine.” You couldn’t ever resist your aunt’s lava cake.
After a few hours of working on your thesis, you ran over to your aunt’s townhouse for dinner. Your cousin opened the door with haste.
“We’re going to a gala! Y/n! We're going to the Wayne gala!” She jumped up and down excitedly.
You gulped with your eyes widened. “What?...” You couldn’t believe it. The Wayne gala? Oh no.
“Yes! I know right?” Your cousin was filled with absolute glee.
“No. no. no.”
“Come on. You’ll be fine.” Your aunt walked towards you two with an evergreen long sleeves gown.
“Oh no, I won’t.”
It took a lot of wrestling and will to get you dressed up. It was a miracle that they even got mascara on your eyelashes.
“You have to wear lipstick to a gala.” Your aunt requested, forcefully.
“Ooh!” Your cousin squealed like a monkey. “This one suits you perfectly!”
This had to be a nightmare, or else, exactly how your pastor described the fiery depths of Hell. You hated it. Not to mention, you were going to be going to another layer of Hell, a social gathering, where you would be forced to socialize. To make matters worse, the smart Wayne boys were going to be there.
This was not how you wanted to spend your valentine’s day. You would much rather sit in your covers, writing your valentine’s day special fanfiction. No. Not with a straightforward Chinese aunt and cousin. They insisted that you go to the Gala with them. There was no escaping their grasp. Inside your mind, you were screaming for help. Begging God to save you from this Hell and not let you have to go to the Wayne Gala.
You guys soon arrived at a luxurious mansion. One far more luxurious and expensive than your aunt’s townhouse. You felt guilty stepping inside, because you had no ties with any fortune. All you had was your bastard father’s last name and a mother that was too focused working her ass off with work. The only reason why anyone would know you is that you’re one of the finalists for the science fair and your father is in prison for an attempted bank robbery. Suddenly, to your dismay, you found Mr. Wayne standing in front of you. You couldn’t help but to mentally panic.
“Y/n, This is Mr. Wayne.” Your aunt introduced.
Your mind was so filled with hidden anxiety that all you could hear was the quintet music in the background.
“Y/n?” Your aunt’s voice reached your attention.
“Hmm?”
The famous billionaire chuckled warmly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Bruce Wayne. I take it that you are Y/n Y/l/n. I hear you are one of the top finalists for the Gotham District Science Fair.” Mr. Wayne then shook your hand firmly.
“Nice to meet you too…” AHHHH! What the heck! You swore the universe hated you. “My name is Y/l/n.” You shook his hand back, trying your best to be confident. “How are you?”
You could see your aunt from the corner of your eye, shaking her head with disappointment as you talked to the entrepreneur. She was probably asking why her daughter chose you to come to the gala instead of her pretty more fortunate friends. Why did you poor timid soul have to come to this popping classy gala?
“Have you met my son, Damian?” Bruce asked as the youngest son, Damian walked towards the two of you.
“I believe so.” You nodded forcing a smile
Dammit. Not this kid. This was one of your competitors in the science fair. He claims to already have his Doctorate. He always stuck his nose up in the air as if to sniff out opportunities to prove that he was the best Wayne child. In some ways, he reminded you of Draco Malfoy. Despite his ego, the girls loved him. Even the boys.
“Y/l/n,” Damian called in his cold raspy voice.
“Hi…” Inside you were face palming yourself.
“How do you do?”
“I’m doing pretty good… How’s your thesis going?”
“It’s going alright. Take it that I already finished it last week.”
You smiled and nodded politely. Soon, your social anxiety got the best of you and you had to excuse yourself from the conversation.
“Please excuse me.” You then walked into the crowd, dodging every conversation and human interaction that you could.
Soon, you reached the front doors and opened it to escape any chance of having to interact with anyone. You took in a deep breath and exhaled shakily. Cold air nipped at your nose and fingers as you walked steadily towards the shrubs, where you thought you would hide until the ball finished. Dammit. There in the garden, you accidentally made eye contact with Damian Wayne as he was playing with his dog. With his dog, he seemed like another man. He seemed softer and more like a real teenager than the adult child you knew.
You quickly averted your path and hid behind another bush. Damian then called your name as your heart raced with anxiety. Little did you know your science fair opponent could read you like all of your thoughts and feelings were painted on your face.
“Down, Titus.” Damian caught up with you as his dog raced at you and tackled you with slobbery dog kisses. “What brings you here, Y/l/n? ” He then handed you his tuxedo.
You didn’t know how to respond. You would have never expected Damian to be this way.
“I… I just needed some air.”
“I see you're not used to these kinds of social gatherings.” Damian pulled Titus off of you.
“Not really. I um… don’t even feel like I belong here honestly.” You sighed.
“I see.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Your dad is doing a great job with hosting this event… I just feel so out of place and…”
“I understand.” Damian nodded. “You’re pretty good at adapting to unexpected situations though.”
You looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you have social anxiety?”
You never told anyone that you had social anxiety. How the heck did he know?
“How did you…?”
Damian cut you off. “Face it. I could read you like a book. Though you tried to hide it, I could diagnose it quickly. I had to learn how to diagnose these kinds of things when I lived with my mom.”
A long period of silence filled the void between you two.
“Your dog is really cute.”
“His name is Titus and he doesn’t appreciate being called cute.”
“Well then.” You chuckled as you started to warm up to Damian a bit more. Maybe it was the fact that he could read you and understand you.
Before you knew it, You started to warm up to the adult child. The gala was soon coming to an end and you could see your cousin looking for you through the windows.
“I got to go to my aunt and my cousin.”
“Before you go, I have to give you something.”
Damian then led you back to the manor and quickly went to the basement to grab a pretty gift bag.
“My brothers insisted that I give this to you.” Damian handed you the pretty gift bag, acting cool.
“Thank you.” You smiled brightly.
The corner of Damian’s lip curled into a grin. “Alright. Don’t you have to go to your cousin and aunt?”
“Oh yeah.” You then speedily walked back to the crowd.
Before entering the thinning crowd, you looked back at Damian and smiled. Damian smirked back at you and took his dog out of the dance hall.
“Oh my gosh! I saw you with Damian. What did he give you?”
“Something. I don’t know I haven’t checked.”
“This is the first time. You have ever had a valentine.”
“We’re not dating or anything.”
“Mom. Damian Wayne is Y/n’s valentine.”
For the rest of the car ride, your aunt and cousin wouldn’t leave you alone about Damian. It was as if they were on a talking spell and silence isn't an option. You sat there in silence, reflecting on the Waynes. They seemed pretty nice. Your opinion of Damian changed. You both had your super different social class standards. Otherwise, he was a really cool dude.
Meanwhile, Damian sat on his bed with his tuxedo covering his face.
“Did you give her the valentine?” Dick leaned against Damian’s door.
“Why should it concern you?” Damian asked.
Dick shrugged. “Imagine, your little brother having romantic interests in his science fair opponent.”
“I don’t even have a little brother. Nor do I have any romantic interests.”
“Aww.” Dick teased.
“Don’t even, Grayson.” Damian rolled his eyes then shut his door.
When you got into your room, you opened up the pretty paper bag and sat on your bed. Inside the bag was a bunch of expensive chocolates and a letter. You opened up the envelope containing the letter and smiled.
“Congratulations on your project. Good luck on the Science Fair. -Damian Wayne”
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fic: palimpsest [2/8]
“Skip to the point, Jim. The sooner you spit it out, the sooner I can refuse and get back to work.”
“It’s really no big deal,” Jim says as the door slides closed behind them. “I just need you to come down to Hearth with us…as my husband.”
The Enterprise has been sent to negotiate reaccession to the Federation with an isolationist religious group known as the Kindred. While there, Jim notices that some of the children seem to be gravely ill. The problem is, the Kindred practice faith healing and refuse to allow a doctor to be brought in. So Jim does what he does best: he improvises.
CHAPTER 2: In which we meet the Kindred, Leonard is thoroughly creeped out, and Jim rewrites history. PG-13/Teen for Bones’s potty mouth and references to past trauma/mental health struggles. ~7,200 words. [Chapter 1]
Jim is fidgety as their guides escort them from the beam-down point to the Kindred’s audience hall. He keeps playing with his too-big ring, toying with it, spinning it around his finger, and just generally making it painfully obvious that he only slapped it on for the first time today.
“Quit fiddling with the damn thing,” Leonard hisses at him. “It’s bad enough you’re dragging me into this nonsense. Least you could do is try to act natural.”
“It feels weird,” Jim says under his breath, childish as ever, but he does leave off messing with the ring, at least.
Sulu laughs. “I’ll bet it does. Never thought I’d see anyone make an honest man of you, Captain.”
“Who, me? Never,” Jim says, all gleaming bravado and a sideways grin.
Leonard rolls his eyes.
Up ahead of them on the path, one of their guides glances back over her shoulder with a furrowed brow, probably wondering what all the chatter is about. Leonard can’t stop himself from tensing up under the sudden scrutiny – so much for acting natural – but before he can get too anxious about it, Jim leans over and presses his smiling lips to Leonard’s cheek, just grazing the side of his mouth.
Leonard freezes, his heart tripping over itself in his chest. Did Jim just – is he actually – ?
Jim pulls away, and somehow that drives the sensation home, like Blumberg’s sign, a kind of rebound tenderness. That really happened. Jim really just kissed him, right here in front of the guide and Sulu and Aaronson and God and everybody.
The guide tuts and turns back around, evidently satisfied.
“Aww,” Sulu says, very quietly.
“With all due respect, sir,” Aaronson pipes up, “you two are adorable.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Jim says cheerfully. Leonard doesn’t have to look at him to know exactly the infuriating smirk he’s wearing now.
+
The audience hall is large and austere, dimly lit by a handful of wall-mounted torches to supplement the fading sunlight coming in from the high windows. The thirteen members of the Kindred’s High Council sit in hard-backed chairs behind a plain, curved wooden table, all of them wearing shapeless gray robes and impassive expressions – just about what Leonard would expect from folks who voluntarily abstain from every small pleasure that makes life worth living.
The woman seated at the center of the table – the Penitent Mother, Leonard assumes – is especially severe-looking, with a thin angular face and silver-streaked black hair yanked back into a tight knot at her neck. She observes their party with sharp eyes, lingering for a few seconds on Leonard before turning her attention to Jim.
“Well met, Brother James,” she says. “Are we to understand that this man is the husband you spoke of?”
“Well met, Mother,” Jim says in a rare tone of deference. He raises his and Leonard’s clasped hands. “And yes. Allow me to introduce my husband, Leonard.”
The words sound strange as hell coming out of his mouth. Leonard can’t even remember the last time Jim called him by his real name, to say nothing of the other part.
“Well met in the grace of the gods’ glorious mercy,” the Councilors chorus in unison, staring so intently at Leonard that he breaks out in goosebumps. Jesus H. Christ. He’s faced down disciplinary tribunals less intimidating than these stone-faced kooks.
He feels a light tap-tap against the back of his hand, a silent prompt from Jim. “Uh,” he blurts out, caught off guard, and dies a little on the inside as Jim’s fingers twitch in an otherwise expertly concealed spasm of laughter. He is going to strangle Jim with his bare fucking hands when this is all over – assuming that whatever hellish alien plague they’re chasing doesn’t get him first. “Well met. It’s, uh…it’s an honor to meet you all.”
The thirteen Councilors keep staring at him. Waiting.
“…thank you,” he adds lamely.
Dammit, he’s a doctor, not an orator. Big flowery speeches are Jim’s thing; Leonard’s just responsible for dealing with whatever ass-kicking he might collect afterward.
The Mother seems to sense as much, as she directs her next words back to Jim. “Your husband does not share your loquacious nature, Brother James.”
“No, Mother,” Jim agrees. “He’s out of practice, I’m afraid. It’s a full-time job just listening to me, as I’m sure you can imagine. Poor Leonard only manages to get a word in every other day or so.”
One of the younger-looking Councilors actually cracks her expressionless mask to smile a little – the first hapless victim of Jim’s charm offensive, though undoubtedly not the last. He’ll get them all in the end; Leonard would stake a month’s water credits on it.
Well, maybe all except the Mother, who’s pursing her lips in a way that could just as easily be annoyed as amused. “And how long have you and your laconic spouse been married?” she inquires.
Leonard tenses up again – damn it all, why didn’t they think to talk this through ahead of time? – but Jim doesn’t miss a beat. “More than ten years now, Mother. Leonard and I met on our very first day at the Academy – that’s the training school for Starfleet recruits. Actually, we met on our way there, on the shuttle. It was…well, I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, exactly, but I can tell you Leonard made quite the first impression on me. All over me, in fact.” He leans forward slightly, like he’s sharing a secret, and confides in a low voice, “My husband here gets very airsick.”
Leonard’s face flames red-hot with embarrassment. He grips Jim’s hand so hard he can almost hear their bones creaking, trying to convey just how much trouble he’s in, and Jim has the unmitigated gall to squeeze back – and then, to really rub salt in the wound, he lifts their joined hands and drops an exaggeratedly apologetic kiss on Leonard’s knuckles.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, not sounding it in the least. “But you wouldn’t have me lie to these fine people, would you?”
Strangling is too good for him, Leonard decides. No, he’ll stick him in medbay to cool his heels for a spell, infect him with Findolessian pox and strap him to the bed so he can’t scratch at the welts, order his staff to feed him nothing but beets and chopped liver and that Plufeen pudding he hates, and after a few days of that maybe he’ll bring him back to Iqqar and see how he fares with another round in the Screaming Forest.
He does have to admit the joke’s landed well, even if it is at his expense. Jim was obviously aiming to lighten the mood, and he’s succeeded, as several of the Councilors are now trying not to laugh, coughing or stroking their beards in order to disguise their impious smiles.
Beside him, Leonard can hear Aaronson tittering too. He’ll kill her first, he tells himself: Aaronson, then the rest of the crew from before, then Jim. Jim he’ll save for last.
“In the interest of fairness,” Jim continues with a smile of his own, buoyed by the positive feedback, “let me assure you that my dear husband has put up with much worse from me over the years. And besides, he was an utter gentleman about the whole thing. Got me new boots and everything.” He pauses to wait out another sprinkling of poorly concealed laughter. “Now, I’ll grant you, this wasn’t quite the fairytale romance I’d imagined, but even with that…ah, inauspicious introduction, it was clear to me from the start that this Leonard McCoy was someone truly special. Smart, dependable, hard-working, honorable, faithful, compassionate – a man anyone would be proud to call their husband.” He lowers his voice again. “Your clan is fortunate to boast of so many good, honest sons and brothers, but between you and me, back on Earth they’re rather thin on the ground.”
“Small wonder, in that wasteland of iniquity and temptation,” one of the Councilors sniffs. “With such constant enticement to sin, the gods’ children are too easily led astray into wickedness and depravity. When one lies down with the dogs, does one not rise with fleas?”
Jim nods in solemn agreement, looking for all the world like butter wouldn’t melt in that mouth. “Too true, Sister. Which is why I knew I couldn’t let Leonard get away. I was sure from that very first day that I’d found the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.” He pulls a wry, self-deprecating face. “Of course, I did need to convince him of that.”
There’s more scattered laughter. Even the Mother looks like she might be thawing some. The poor suckers never stood a chance, really: Jim’s a fearsomely slick liar when he puts his mind to it, and he’s playing these unworldly rubes like a fiddle, slowly but surely selling them on the Trojan horse that’s turned up at their doorstep. The character he’s crafted is perfectly calibrated to slip past their defenses, bold but respectful, self-impressed but well-intentioned – the kind of man who wears his flaws on his sleeve, secure in the knowledge that they only add to his appeal. A bit of a rascal, sure, but a harmless one, so transparently warm and good-natured that even the sternest Councilors seem inclined to forgive him his excesses. They’d never tolerate a man like him within their own ranks, but he makes for an entertaining visitor, someone they can feel both amused by and superior to. By the time Jim’s done with them, they’ll have happily carted that horse right on inside the city walls, patting themselves on the back for it the whole while.
Jim has his reasons for this deception, and fine upstanding reasons they are. He is a good man, after all, in all the ways that really matter. He’s a better man than the Kindred could even begin to comprehend, cloistered and dogmatic as they are – but harmless? Oh, no. Not even close.
“And so,” Jim goes on, “I began my campaign. Fortunately, Leonard and I had a few classes together that first semester, and somehow we always wound up sitting next to each other. Very mysterious.” That gets him another laugh, naturally. “He also turned out to be very much a creature of habit, so it didn’t take long to figure out when he normally went to the dining hall – and wouldn’t you know, those were just the times I found myself getting hungry. I don’t think the poor man got to enjoy half a dozen meals in peace that whole semester.” He glances over at Leonard with another shamelessly unapologetic smile. “Now, every once in a while he wouldn’t show, but I quickly learned that just meant he was so hard at work that he couldn’t be bothered to eat. And I couldn’t just let him go hungry, could I? So, as a caring friend, I had no choice but to get food for both of us and track him down wherever he was holed up so we could eat together. And then there were the completely accidental times I just happened to run into him outside his dorm…or at the gym…or in the library… I tell you, the coincidences really started stacking up.”
Another ripple of laughter from the Council. They’re not even trying to hide it now.
“I think you’re all starting to get the picture – which puts you well ahead of Leonard, bless him. I couldn’t have been less subtle in my intentions if I’d carved a marriage proposal into a brick and thrown it at his head, but as time went on it became clear that I was pursuing either the cruelest or the most outstandingly clueless man in the universe. As smart as he was, he just did not seem to register my increasingly embarrassing attempts at courtship.” Jim sighs theatrically. “Well, we must all have some small flaws to keep us humble, and apparently this was Leonard’s. Fortunately for both of us, mine is a tendency toward…oh, let’s call it persistence.” He offers another wry smile as the Councilors laugh. “So I just kept carving out a place for myself in his life like we’d both agreed to it, and figured that eventually he’d either send me packing or get on board.”
That’s…not actually too far off from the truth, though Jim’s wisely edited out all the boozing, brawling, and other less than wholesome activities he dragged Leonard into that first year. He really did stick to Leonard like a burr from the beginning, always there no matter which way Leonard turned. He’d even pop up at the hospital sometimes, sneaking or charming his way past the front desk staff to pester Leonard on his breaks (and, yes, occasionally to force food on him). Leonard couldn’t seem to shake him. Not that he ever tried all too hard. He never really minded Jim’s company, even when he was at his most bothersome. He just couldn’t figure out what his game was – what some smooth-talking pretty boy prodigy could possibly want from a grouchy old cuss like him.
It took Leonard a while to see through the smoke and mirrors, to see how goddamn lonely the kid was. Sure, he’d talk up a storm to anyone who’d listen, and lord knows he joked and flirted and played around with plenty of fresh-faced young things who fell under his spell, but he never let a single one of them within striking distance of a real human connection. He was hiding in plain sight, all that big talk and attitude projected around him like a damn deflector shield. Everyone at the Academy would’ve said they knew Jim Kirk – the Kelvin baby, the loudmouth, the troublemaker, the one to beat – but nobody had any idea who he really was.
Nobody except Leonard.
It wasn’t that Jim let down his defenses around him, so much as he occasionally offered a glimpse past them. It would be years before Leonard figured him out entirely, but it was enough, at first, to realize that there was more to this cagey, arrogant kid than met the eye, that he was both less and more than he pretended to be – and that, for some mysterious reason, he’d chosen to cast his lot with Leonard.
What that reason was, Leonard still doesn’t know. Maybe Jim only had one last shot at vulnerability left in him, and he decided to gamble it on the first person he came across. Maybe he thought that two barely functional human disasters might balance each other out. Maybe he sniffed out the yawning void of Leonard’s own isolation, the cold gnawing heartache of having no one left to nag at and fuss over and give a shit about.
Hell, maybe he just figured that with his knack for finding trouble, it’d be handy to get in with a doctor, even one as washed up and prickly as Leonard.
Leonard doesn’t know the real reason, even all these years later. He has no doubt Jim would tell him if he asked now, but the truth is he doesn’t much care. What does it matter? By the time he finally worked out what Jim was playing at, he liked the crazy son of a bitch too much not to keep him around, and that was pretty much that.
Leonard has completely zoned out of what’s going on around him, lost in his thoughts, but when he surfaces, no one seems to have noticed. All eyes are on Jim, who’s still chattering away, building on the bones of the story he’s constructed: a squeaky-clean, charmingly clumsy little romance between a high-spirited motormouth and a reserved, somewhat oblivious loner. He’s rambling now, blabbing on about all kinds of random shit, only some of which has any basis in reality – a lecture he convinced Leonard to attend with him, some unnecessarily complicated maneuvering he orchestrated to get them assigned to the same project group in ethics class, an awkward conversation about future plans that Leonard’s positive he pulled straight out of his ass. Leonard has always thought it was the mark of a bad liar, getting caught up on the details like this, but the Councilors are just about hanging off Jim’s every word, clearly swallowing the whole tale hook, line, and sinker. A couple of them have even leaned forward in their seats, like kids spellbound by some action-packed holovid.
In a place as dull as Hearth, Leonard supposes you’ve got to take your entertainment where you can find it.
Frankly, he’s feeling a touch spellbound himself. There’s something strangely compelling about hearing Jim spin this grand story, weaving in just enough truth that it feels real, feels right, even to Leonard, who knows perfectly well things didn’t happen the way Jim’s claiming. He nearly finds himself nodding along at some points, mindlessly agreeing to a version of his own life that seems to make just as much sense as the one he got.
“So the end of the semester rolls around, and I am drowning in work,” Jim says, in a tone that suggests he’s building to an important plot point, though Leonard can’t imagine what it might be. “I’ve got a million papers and presentations and class debates and exams, and I need to just put my head down and get through it, so I set up camp in an out-of-the-way corner of the library and pretty much just stayed there. I’d leave once or twice a day to go to class, pick up something to eat on my way back, maybe stop by the dorms for a quick shower, and then it was back to work. I barely had time to breathe, much less chase after Leonard…but for once, I didn’t need to.” He flashes Leonard a smug smile and gives his hand a conspicuous squeeze. “A couple days in, Mister Aloof over here tracked me down to my little work nest, and once he found me, he kept coming by to check on me. Two, three, four times a day he’d show up – because, you know, he just happened to be passing by. Of course.” The sly arch of his eyebrow makes it clear what he thinks of that excuse. “And, hey, since he was already there, why didn’t we go grab something to eat? No? Well, in that case he’d forgotten he had some protein bars in his bag. And it was awful late, didn’t I think it’d be a good idea to get a few hours of sleep? He could walk me to my dorm – he was heading that direction anyway.” He shakes his head. “I guess by that point I was such a mess he thought I needed an escort.”
“You were,” Leonard interjects unprompted, because this part’s true enough. “You looked like you had one foot in the grave.” Jim had been running himself ragged from the day they arrived at the Academy – taking too many classes, fighting tooth-and-nail to stay at the top of the heap in all of them, desperate to prove himself to Pike and their professors and everyone who called him George Kirk’s son like he wasn’t his own damn person – and it all built to a frenzied crescendo at the end of the semester. Eventually Leonard would come to realize it was just Jim’s way, that he never found something worth doing that wasn’t worth wildly overdoing, but at the time, he was honestly concerned the kid’s heart might give out from the stress.
Jim shoots him a look of fond exasperation. “You see how he is?” he asks the Councilors, and they laugh right on cue. “I mean, I should have been thrilled, right? Here he was seeking me out for a change. Any other time I’d have done any old thing he suggested, but I really didn’t have the time. Besides, if I’d left with him, even just to go eat, who knew whether I’d have had the willpower to drag myself back to work. So I’d say no, no, I’m fine, and he’d shrug and leave me be, and a while later he’d be back and we’d go through the whole scene again.” He tsks and adds with a warm twist of irony, “Honestly, the man just wouldn’t leave me alone.”
More laughter. Jim’s got them all now, every last one, just as Leonard predicted.
“Well, finally, after a couple days of this, he gave up on arguing with me and decided that if I wasn’t going to leave, he wasn’t either. It was the sensible thing to do, you understand. After all, someone had to keep an eye on me to make sure I didn’t just drop dead in the middle of cramming for exams, and who better than a – a friend? So he brought everything he was working on, and his own blankets, and plenty of food for the both of us, and we both spent the next week slaving away in our little nest.” He waves off the croon rising from the Council table. “Let me tell you, it was awful. I was awful. I was practically speaking in tongues by the end, I was so out of it, and I’m sure I looked like something the cat dragged in. Probably smelled like it, too. But Leonard stayed with me the whole time. Even at my worst, he stayed right by my side.” He pauses, giving the payoff time to settle as the Councilors smile and sigh. When he speaks again, his voice has gone soft and nostalgic, almost wistful: “That’s when I knew he loved me back.”
Leonard glances sideways at him, surprised by both the words and his tone, but Jim doesn’t look his way this time. He’s gazing down at the flagstones with dreamy, unfocused eyes, seemingly lost in thought. His face is deceptively open and earnest, the very image of a man in love, and something goes painfully tight in Leonard’s chest.
It’s not true, he knows it’s not true, that’s not how it happened – or it is how it happened, but it’s not what it meant. He did join Jim in his library hideout for the last few days of the semester, but it wasn’t some big romantic gesture like Jim’s making it out to be. He cared about the kid, that was all, and he was starting to figure out that Jim desperately needed looking after but didn’t know how to ask for it, didn’t even really know exactly what it was he’d be asking for, so it would be up to Leonard to bring this half-feral stray in from the cold and try his hand at housebreaking him.
Leonard did grow to love him eventually, of course he did – because Jim turned out to be the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him, because he was brilliant and daring and loyal and crazy as a bessie bug, because he brought hope and curiosity and purpose back into Leonard’s life. In time he came to love Jim unconditionally, enough to sneak him onto the Enterprise and follow him out into the black and break his oath for him and get talked into all kinds of stupid shit like throwing on a wedding ring to put one over on a bunch of religious bumpkins – but all that came much later. Back at the end of their first semester, the two of them were still nothing more than a couple of fuck-ups with conveniently compatible baggage, just beginning to test the waters of real friendship. They certainly weren’t anywhere close to the kind of love Jim’s suggesting.
Leonard knows it’s not true, but, God, there’s something so yearning in Jim’s expression that he suddenly finds himself wishing it were. He wishes he could go back in time and rewrite their story, blot out everything hard and messy and ugly and weave what’s left into Jim’s pretty lie, give them both the nice tidy happily-after-ever this tale’s obviously building toward. It makes so much sense the way Jim tells it, makes even Leonard believe that it could have, should have happened like that.
But, no, he’s being foolish, wishing for the impossible in more ways than one. Even if they had gotten together back then, how would that have played out, realistically? The two of them wouldn’t have stood a snowball’s chance in hell at making it work in the long run, at finding their way to that fairytale happy ending. Try as he might, Leonard can’t imagine there’s any conceivable way they’d still be standing here together all these years later, happily married and stronger than ever. Far more likely that they’d have crashed during takeoff, and been damn lucky if they didn’t destroy each other in the process.
Brilliant and daring and loyal as he may have been, Jim Kirk at twenty-two was also a goddamn grab bag of unresolved trauma, suspicious and closed off, brimming over with self-hatred and survivor’s guilt. Pike’s challenge had given him a future to chase after, but his past was never far behind him in those days, and the looming threat of it made him volatile, determined to drink and fuck and fight his demons into submission whenever they started nipping at his heels.
That’s not to say that Leonard was any better. His daddy’s blood on his hands, losing the baby, Jocelyn leaving him, the suffocating depression that had tanked his prospects at the hospital – it had all left him a shell of himself, beaten down and resentful. Where Jim chose to run from his pain, Leonard wallowed bitterly in his, endlessly ruminating on all the myriad ways life had fucked him over. He was as much of a mess as Jim was, in his own way, jaded and self-pitying where Jim was defensive and distrustful. Neither of them were in any kind of shape to be taking a shot at romance at that point in their lives, and with each other? Jesus, it would’ve been a recipe for disaster. Odds are they would have gone down in flames, and Leonard would have lost Jim forever, long before he ever even really knew him.
Nothing would have been worth that. Nothing. Not even the prettiest little fairytale Jim can spin up.
Beside him, Jim shakes his head, visibly collecting himself, and looks back up at the Council table with a rueful smile. “I’m sorry,” he says, as though most of the Councilors aren’t beaming at him, looking practically as gooey and starry-eyed as he does. “I haven’t told this story in quite a while, and to be honest, I’m a bit of a sap at the best of times.” He dabs carefully at the corner of his eye with a fingertip – hell, is he actually getting weepy? He’s really going for it here. “Well, the jig was pretty much up at that point, and needless to say, things went a lot smoother after that. We courted through the next semester and got married at the end of the year, right after exams were over. It was a small wedding, just us and the preacher, along with a handful of friends who hadn’t left for home yet.”
“Your families did not attend?” asks a white-bearded Councilor, sounding troubled. “Were they not involved in your courtship and betrothal?”
“Neither of us had much family left, Uncle,” Jim says, to a round of pitying tuts. “So we started our own.”
The Council murmurs in approval.
“You are happy together,” the Mother says. Her expression and tone have both warmed considerably since their arrival.
“Yes, Mother.” Jim trails his thumb down Leonard’s, a deliberate little motion calculated to draw attention. “We are.”
As one, the Council turns its gaze to Leonard, thirteen pairs of eyes boring into him expectantly. Christ. He doesn’t care if they’re smiling now; that’s still creepy as hell.
“Yeah,” he says. It comes out hoarse, rough in a way that feels dangerous, and he clears his throat. “Yeah, of course. I mean, I…I married my best friend. Couldn’t be happier.”
The Mother’s thin lips slant upward. “As it should be.”
She starts to say something else, but Leonard’s distracted by Jim, who’s right on top of him all of a sudden, closing what little distance there was between them. Jim’s fingertips are delicate points of pressure on his jaw, urging him to turn his head, and he obeys unthinkingly, only to see Jim looking at him with a silent question in his eyes. Leonard doesn’t even know what his answer is, exactly, but Jim must see that it’s not no, because the next second he’s tilting his face at just the right angle and kissing him full on the mouth.
The kiss is a fleeting thing, as quick and dry and innocent as can be, but damned if it doesn’t rattle through Leonard like an earthquake, shivering through his joints, shifting the ground beneath his feet. For the space of an instant, he forgets about the Kindred and Sulu and Aaronson and the sick kids and everything else, all of that eclipsed by Jim:
Jim’s hand on his jaw, holding him in place.
The ticklish brush of Jim’s hair grazing his forehead.
Jim’s thumb sweeping across his cheek in a tender, absentminded caress.
The plush warmth of Jim’s mouth against his, soft and chaste, but teasing at more, so much more, anything he wants if he could just bring himself to ask for it, to take it –
Jim looks him in the eye as he draws back, gazing up from under those long lashes, and if the kiss was a tease, that look is an unequivocal promise. He strokes over Leonard’s cheek one last time, presses the pad of his thumb to the corner of Leonard’s lips, and then lets his hand fall away, his own lips tugging up on one side.
Leonard stares at him, speechless, breathless, a hot flush creeping down the back of his neck. It occurs to him, in the one staticky corner of his brain not knocked completely offline by what just happened, that he hopes Jim doesn’t realize the effect he’s had. Getting all worked up over a little church kiss like that – lord, the kid would never let him live it down.
But he can’t seem to pull himself together, not with Jim giving him that sweet, lopsided smile, as if they’re the only ones in the room, as if this were a real moment between them. Jim’s eyes are still fixed on his, and they’re so dark in this light, a deep velvety blue, like the last trace of daylight in the late evening sky. He’s just got the prettiest goddamn eyes.
Then he winks one of those pretty eyes, a tiny flicker of humor even Sulu and Aaronson probably don’t catch, and the tension breaks, the strange tightness in Leonard’s chest easing up all at once, unraveling into much more manageable threads of fondness and annoyance and maybe just a little bit of grudging amusement.
Well, hell, he thinks philosophically – if he absolutely had to be married to some troublemaking jackass, he supposes he could do worse than this troublemaking jackass.
He about jumps out of his skin a second later at the sound of a loud, meaningful cough from the Council table. Christ, they’re still stood right in the middle of the audience hall, completely on display for the Councilors, who are sitting there behind their table watching the pair of them with soppily indulgent smiles. Of course they are, that’s the point of all this – to prove themselves to the Kindred, to paint a convincing portrait of an inoffensive, traditional-enough marriage so these backwater hicks will accept Leonard’s presence and he can get to work hunting down this sickness Jim’s so worried about. This is all part of Jim’s Trojan horse strategy: the story, the hand-holding, the moon-eyed expressions, everything. It’s all make-believe, the shiny façade of a relationship that’s never actually existed. Leonard has got to remember that, for the sake of his own sanity.
Shit, whatever silver-tongued sorcery Jim’s been working here, it’s potent as hell. Even Leonard’s forgotten there are people in the damn horse.
“My apologies, Mother,” Jim says as he turns back to face the Council, sounding slightly abashed.
“Nonsense,” the Mother says sternly, with more vigor than Leonard has heard from her yet. “Does my daughter seek forgiveness for stoking the kitchen fire? Does the farmer repent of weeding and watering their crops? The gods bid us to cherish and honor our spouses, Brother James, for the untended garden falls to disorder and neglect, while that which is carefully nurtured will flourish and thrive.” The other Councilors are nodding along, heads bobbing in unnerving unison. This is obviously a well-rehearsed lecture. “Marriage is the foundation upon which the family home is built – it must be maintained lest the whole structure fall to ruin. Perhaps elsewhere in your Federation, a faithful and affectionate union may be cause for ridicule or contempt, but I assure you that we Kindred abide by the age-old teachings which exhort us to devote ourselves to our this-worldly families with the same fidelity as we show to the gods themselves.” She eyeballs them with a discomfiting blend of censure and approval. “It is encouraging to be reminded that even on Earth, with all its distractions and temptations, there are yet some who walk a righteous path. Your commitment to one another is to be commended. You must take care not to allow wicked influences to corrupt that which should be held most sacred.”
“Indeed, Mother,” Jim says, bowing his head. “Forgive me if I seemed cavalier. Rest assured that Leonard and I both value the strength and sanctity of our marriage above all else.”
Leonard is still trying to wrap his head around half of what the Mother was going on about – honestly, Jim gives him grief for mixing metaphors? – but he nods too, trying his best to mimic Jim’s expression of humbled deference.
The Mother considers them both for a long moment. “What of children?”
“None yet, Mother,” Jim says, with a quick squeeze of Leonard’s hand, knowing as he does how that question, and his answer, twang painfully deep down in Leonard’s chest, the ghost of old heartbreak still rattling its chains in the catacombs of a former life. “But we have plans, naturally. After the end of this mission, when we can settle down and provide a safe and stable home for them.”
This excuse seems to satisfy the Councilors, including the Mother, who rewards the two of them with another faint thin-lipped smile. “May the gods grant you that which you desire in the fullness of time,” she proclaims, in the manner of a woman who’s used to making such demands, and who fully expects to be heeded. She looks up toward the windows and the darkening sky outside. “On the subject of time, it seems the hour has already grown late. We will begin negotiations in the morning.” She turns back to Jim. “You are invited to join us in the congregation hall for the evening meal. We have also prepared sleeping quarters for you, though perhaps you would prefer to return to your more…luxurious accommodations aboard your vessel.” There’s more than a hint of challenge in her voice, and Leonard knows even before Jim says anything that they’re going to be stuck down here in this spartan hellhole for as long as the mission takes.
Jim bows his head again. “We are honored to accept your hospitality, Mother.”
The Mother purses her lips again. It’s a positive sign this time, Leonard thinks. “Very well. If you would be so kind as to wait outside, we will conclude the day’s business and join you shortly to escort you to the congregation hall.”
+
“Laying it on pretty thick back there, don’t you think, Captain?” Sulu says as soon as the heavy wooden doors have groaned shut, leaving the four of them standing alone outside the audience hall in the rapidly falling dusk.
Jim scoffs. “Says from the guy who met his husband by literally swooning into his arms like the damsel out of some old romance novel.”
“Man, I told you, it was heatstroke,” Sulu says. “It’s not like I planned it.”
“Uh huh.” Jim claps Sulu on the shoulder. “I’m just saying, let’s not go casting stones, Brother Hikaru. That house of yours is looking pretty fragile.”
Sulu shakes off Jim’s hand with a roll of his eyes and turns a commiserating look on Leonard. “I swear you’ve got the patience of a saint, Doc. I would’ve throttled him about thirty seconds in. I don’t know how you put up with it.”
Leonard stomps down an irrational flare of defensiveness on Jim’s behalf. What the hell’s gotten into him today? Jim and Sulu have always had a brotherly, trash-talking relationship off the bridge; it’s never bothered him before. “Sedatives help,” he says shortly.
“Not here, they don’t,” Jim says. “No hypos allowed, remember? You’re stuck with me just the way I am, hubby.”
Leonard grimaces, tugging his hand free of Jim’s for the first time in what must be over an hour now. He’s practically lost feeling in his fingertips at this point. “Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, sorry,” Jim says. “What would you prefer? Pookie? Snookums? Buttercup?”
“None of the above.”
“Pumpkin? Baby cakes? Muffin? Honey buns?”
“No.”
“Now I’m hungry,” Aaronson sighs.
“Loverboy? Sweet cheeks? Come on, give me something to work with here.”
“How about ‘Leonard,’” Leonard says. “Seeing as how it’s my name.”
“Suit yourself, Leonard,” Jim replies. Somehow he manages to make it sound completely ridiculous, more absurd and ill-fitting than any of the options that came before it.
“Thank you,” Leonard says flatly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. What he actually wants is for Jim to cut the shit and just call him Bones, the way he always has, but he will be goddamned if he admits that out loud, especially in front of Aaronson and Sulu.
“Yeah, this is officially my favorite mission ever,” Sulu says. “I take it back, Captain – McCoy was a way better choice than Chapel. This wouldn’t have been nearly as funny with her.”
Leonard frowns at Jim, surprised and unexpectedly stung for some reason he really doesn’t care to examine too closely. “You wanted to bring Christine down?”
“Don’t look at me,” Jim says. “That was Sulu’s terrible idea. Which wouldn’t even have worked, since I’d already told them about my husband.”
“Ah, I still think we could’ve pulled it off,” Sulu says. “And we could’ve pretended she was pregnant or something, really hit all the right notes. What, like they’re gonna pull out a tricorder to check?”
“I don’t know, I think they were really feeling this,” Aaronson says with a grin, gesturing between Jim and Leonard. “It kind of works, you know? The grouchy, stoic silent type and the bossy, overbearing chatterbox – no offense, sir.”
“None taken,” says Jim.
“Speak for yourself,” says Leonard, glaring at Jim before turning it on Aaronson, who has the nerve to laugh.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You remind me of my parents. You know, if my parents were Starfleet officers instead of frail elderly Brooklynites whose idea of adventure is an extra half-glass of wine with dinner.”
“Am I your mom?” Jim asks. “I bet I’m your mom. That explains a lot about you, by the way, Lieutenant.”
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment, sir.”
“You should.” Jim abruptly cocks his head to the side, like a curious dog. “All right, break time’s over, folks. Sounds like they’re finishing up in there.”
Sure enough, if Leonard strains to listen over the shrill chorus of cricketsong starting to rise from the surrounding fields, he can just make out a low buzz of activity coming from inside the audience hall: the creak of wood scraping over stone, the indecipherable murmur of conversation. How Jim heard it is a medical mystery. He ought to be stone deaf from all the explosions and teeth-jarring music he subjects his ears to, but the man’s got uncommonly keen hearing – when he chooses to, anyway.
Jim reaches out to reclaim Leonard’s hand, slotting their fingers together again like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “C’mere, sugar plum – sorry, sorry, Leonard. I forgot.” He smirks in response to Leonard’s scowl, entirely unrepentant.
Sulu pats Leonard’s shoulder in a show of sympathy, probably more to needle Jim than anything. “Hang in there, Doc. Just remember, you get to cut the knot as soon as we’re done here. I’ll throw you a divorce party and everything.” He lowers his voice and adds, with a significant raise of his eyebrows, “And, hey, if you need help hiding the body…”
“You know, Demora would be just devastated to find out her dad was a heartless monster reveling in the downfall of true love,” Jim says in a warning tone.
“Low blow using my kid against me, sir,” Sulu reproaches him. “You’re a family man now. You should know loved ones are off limits.”
“You literally just offered to help my husband murder me. Which definitely counts as conspiracy to mutiny, by the way. You’re demoted.”
“Yeah, right. Who’s gonna fly that thing – you? You can’t even dock her without scraping the hull.”
“Seriously, you have got to let that go,” Jim says. “It was one time, and we were on fire. Forgive me if I was a little distracted.”
Some days Leonard honestly can’t believe these people are the best Starfleet has to offer. “Are you two toddlers about done, or am I going to have to ask the Mother to find a quiet place to put you down for a nap?”
“I’m done if he is,” Sulu says. Real mature.
“Yeah, we’re done.” Jim sidles a bit closer to Leonard, nudging their shoulders together. “You’re not really going to kill me, are you, Bones?”
Bones. Against his will, not to mention his better judgment, Leonard feels himself softening. He looks at Jim, crowded up in his space and watching him with those pretty twilight eyes, mouth tilted into another crooked smile. Jim Kirk, his troublesome stray – domesticated now, but far from tame, still running roughshod over him and dragging him into all manner of idiocy, secure in the knowledge that he’ll be forgiven just about anything.
When it comes right down to it, Leonard’s the biggest sucker of them all, really. Ten years he’s had to build up a resistance to Jim’s tricks, and if anything, he’s only grown more susceptible. As his mama used to say, if there were a contest for hopeless cases, he’d take the prize.
“Maybe, maybe not,” he tells Jim. “I’m weighing my options.”
Jim adjusts his hold on Leonard’s hand, tightening up the weave of their fingers. “Well, let me know what you decide,” he says amiably, and leans in to press another soft, smiling kiss to Leonard’s cheek just as the doors of the audience hall creak open.
[Chapter 3]
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