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shurisneakers · 3 years

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shut in [14]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, violence, guns, death, ptsd, swearing, abuse

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: last chapter you guys :’’’’) im too emo about a fanfic i s2g. there’s an epilogue but this is the official last chapter.

i really appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

You had only heard of the warehouse before, never actually seen it.

Its reputation preceded it. It was only mentioned in passing as a place for the worst of the worst.

It was murky and smelled like rust, concrete and rotting corpses. You had no doubt a few of them would be littering the place. A few tube lights shone over you graciously like a spotlight, barely illuminating the area.

The room you were in was utterly silent. The only exception were noises outside the door; loud shouts and clanging of metal. You assumed it to be people in the other rooms. Your assessment on how tight the ropes were coiled around you earned a few grunts and odd squeaks, but nothing major.

You were bound to a chair, of course, with knots you had used before on others. It felt like a convoluted form of irony. It was firmly nailed to the ground to prevent you from using it against captors. You were gagged; pretty well, by the look of it.

A noise from beside you threw you off track. A quick look to your left and you found Sam in a similar predicament. He shook his head slightly, implying that it was useless to find an opening. At least he was alive and breathing.

“Are you done?” A voice came from behind you, echoing within the four walls. “I really want to get going and you’re taking too long.”

You knew who it was. It was impossible for you to mistake it at this point.

“Don’t mind the noise outside. We’re just torturing a bunch of people to death.”

You roll your eyes out of sheer instinct. The footsteps slowly moved towards the front of the room, heavy and deliberate. The expensive material of his suit shone under the light as he edged in front of you. Only he’d wear Armani to a murder.

The dramatic fuck clearly rehearsed it.

“Hey Buttercup,” Ransone smiled, distinctly proud of himself. Your bite on the bundle of cloth haphazardly shoved in your mouth tightened. “Been waitin’ on you for a while now. Wilson’s no good company.”

You sneak a glance at Sam’s side profile and he looks relatively untouched. There were a few cuts on his face that you could make out under the harsh light but that was it.

“You can’t get out of those, if you're wondering.” He gestured to your current set up. “I told you, Sam. I save my warehouse for special guests. All your fun tools are gone. Took ��em when you were brought in.”

As your eyes adjusted to the lighting, you faintly make out the presence of two men in the corners of the room, stiff as cardboard. His security.

“Oh! Except this.” He brandished the paper airplane you had brought with you in the utility belt. He’d use anything to potentially get a rise out of you.

“Gettin’ sentimental now, are we?” He tested the tip of the plane with his finger.

You prayed he wouldn’t destroy it. It had more value than he was willing to bet on.

“You must be asking yourselves why you ended up here,” Ransone mused, looking at the plane from all angles. “No need to worry, I’ll tell you.”

You didn't expect anything less from him. Everything about this felt cinematic; the inconvenient lighting, the men standing in the corner. This man oozed drama over efficiency.

“When I was just starting out, people warned me. Told me I wasn’t going to get anywhere, that we’d always stay in the same position because that’s how it’s been for all these years.” He tested the plane, holding onto the body sturdily.

“There were too many big names already. We were one of them, of course. My father did a good job of giving us a solid foundation.” He pulled his wrist back like he was going to launch it, only to never actually do it. He carried it through the air, simulating its flight pattern.

“You remember my father, don’t you? The guy who cut off someone’s finger because they didn’t finish the job.” Ransone really only had one story to tell about his father and he worked it to death. Other than a few handful of times, his father never bothered about his presence much from what you heard. He favoured the ones who were brutal and Ransone- well, he was a glorified theatre kid.

“Of course you do. He was an incredible man.” He laughed crisply. “But he had no real ambition. No drive. I told him we could have been at the top, the ones parents warn their kids about. He didn’t listen to me. He never really paid attention.”

His tone got wistful in the end, eyes distant like he was living the scene out in his head.

“So obviously when he died, I had the chance to really make a difference. Really set us apart. Ten Rings and Hydra had their own niche; they had some ties with the military and the government and whatnot. Crazy motherfuckers, all of them.” He shook his dead in distaste. “But Serpentine- that was closer to home. Same market as us.”

You wondered how long he would take to get to the point. The only distraction you had were the noises that continued outside. An odd gunshot here and there really pulled your attention away from the story.

“Serpentine with their stupid code names. They really thought they were all that.” He sounded embarrassingly like a bitchy teenager. “Who do they think they were fooling with the Norse Gods thing, huh? Naming your leader Odin, his wife Frigga.”

“I fucking hated them,” he spat, face twisting into anger. “Told them to watch out, that I’d end their legacy. They laughed in my face.”

He spun around, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he pointed to Sam, “That’s where you come in.”

Sam looked thoroughly irritated with the show that was going on in front of him. If he wasn’t gagged you had no doubt he’d have a few comments to pass. Ones that would get the both of you killed.

“I told you to kill their leader. One job. You fucked that up.” Sam recalling the story of his first mission flashed in your memory. “Let that old nutjob into your head and allowed him to escape. We didn’t know where he was for years.”

“I let it go because I thought Serpentine was done for. Radio silence after Odin disappeared. And they were, until a few years ago when I get news that they have a new leader. Odin’s son, the new heir.” He waved around his hands, mocking the last part of his sentence. “Word on the street was that he wanted to kill whoever murdered his mother in front of his eyes.”

“I thought that was hilarious. You know why?” He laughed humourlessly. “Because that was you. You were the one who killed his mother. You remember that? Your big mission?”

“You killed my mom,” he jeered, unmoving.

“I’m sorry. I had to.” Your voice was quiet. Your hand clutched at the hood of the car to keep your balance. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Go.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be there. No one had even heard of him. His brother’s too soft to take on anything like this. He’s some farmer in England now. But he was supposed to be Odin’s only son. Yet somehow, the only person who could have known this other son existed and actually seen him… was you.”

“Turns out he’s like you. A secret adoption. No record of him anywhere.” You didn’t blink, not once taking your eyes off him in case he decided to go wild. “He should have died that day. You were supposed to kill them.”

Only Ransone would justify killing a kid because it fit his agenda. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, and though he tried very hard to shove his ideology onto you, you never complied.

“Goes by Loki now, another stupid codename. Trained by his father who this idiot let go of.” He gestured to Sam callously, “and mad about the murder of his mother that you committed. Serpentine came back pretty quickly after he took control.”

A particularly loud sound of metal slamming would have made you jump had you not been tied down. Ransone swung around in anger, loudly cursing at them for ruining his train of thought. He muttered some more curses under his breath before plastering a fake smile on his face and continuing.

“I’ll admit, he’s a sneaky one. But they grew faster than any other cartel. They somehow knew all our connections, all our targets, our key players. It wasn’t possible,” he shook his head low as he paced up and down slowly. You knew where this was headed. “Unless we had someone giving them information from the inside.”

He stops to look at you.

“I would have forgiven you, Y/N, I really would. You know how I am about second chances.” He looked at you, eyebrows upturned with regretful eyes. “But then you had to go and spy on me for two years.”

You could see Sam turn to you from the corner of your eye, assessing your reaction. You didn't extend the same courtesy to him. You didn’t have any reaction.

“We found out very late, of course. I taught you well,” he chided, his inescapable narcissism making an appearance once more. “But then we had to figure out why. Why you’d betray me and everything I’ve done for you.”

“I still can’t figure that out.” You wanted to scream at him, everything he had taken away from you, everything he forced you to be. “I treated you the best out of everyone I had. You had the best training, the best resources. You wouldn’t have made it anywhere if I didn’t drag you out of that shithole orphanage.”

You had heard of blissfully ignorant, but he was well beyond that at this point.

“Didn’t take too long to connect the dots. What, with Wilson’s great act of charity and your lack of better judgement, both of you managed to fuck up enough to screw me over years later.”

“I initially was only going to have you killed, Buttercup,” he admitted nonchalantly, like your life had no value. “But then we found out that Sam’s been lying to me for a long time too. Been hidin’ his friend a few states away.”

“It was meant to be,” he cooed. “Such a similar past. You could have met each other before, you know? Pierce wouldn’t be the first time you were at the same house on the same day.”

You couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if you had known Sam earlier. Would you have been friends or would you have been forced to kill each other in his sick ‘survival of the fittest’ game?

“It felt poetic to have you both die together, you know? On a mission gone wrong. A full circle.” God, he spent too long planning something elaborate when he could have just put a bullet in your head and ended you the day he found out. Fucking weirdo.

“Made sure I sent you to the same place at the same time. Pierce was dead long before you came, the poor fuck. But then again, collateral damage. No mercy.” He shrugged. “Had everyone at the ready. You should have died that night.”

“But like everything you do,” his voice suddenly rose like a child throwing a tantrum, “you fucked that up for me too. Escaped with his stupid fucking car.”

“None of those useless agents could find you. How could they?” The beauty was that Ransone must have spent too long looking when you were basically right there, just miles away. “You didn’t go to one of our locations and Serpentine hides their safehouses well.”

You still remembered the relief when the door accepted your fingerprint.

It was a long shot but you didn't have anywhere else to go. You weren’t even sure that this house existed.

Another loud crash arrived from the outside with noises that sounded like more gunshots, making Ransone jump this time. Just how many people were being tortured here?

“Keep the volume down, you stupid fucking imbeciles!” he screeched, pounding at the metal door. The decibel reduced, but still continued on.

He dragged his palm across his face in exasperation, talking under his breath to himself. He shook his head before turning back to you.

"Oh, by the way, don't think about escaping. Got every last one of my best agents out here after that stunt you pulled at Pierce’s house,” he says offhandedly.

He takes a second to regroup, get back into character.

“So we released your pictures to the public. Can’t go very far if people are looking for you constantly. It was the only way we could get you to stay in one place.” Ransone raised his shoulders casually. “We had every lowlife out there waiting for one of you to show up.”

“We eventually had someone report Wilson in a town a while away from Pierce. I was making my way there but then you sent me your location on your own. Had men outside your house that night.” He paused, peering at the plane in his hand.

He finally let it go, watching as it barely went any distance before nose diving to the ground. Your eyes trailed after it, hoping he wouldn’t crush it with his foot.

“This is the worst fucking paper plane I’ve ever seen. The balance is completely off.” He stared at it in wonder, picking it up again and shoving it back into his pocket. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Anyway one of them heard you talkin’ about how you’re leaving the next day so we just got ready at the door.”

“Et voila.” He grinned, spreading his arms. “Here we are. Brilliant, wasn’t it?”

Unnecessarily long, but you weren’t going to complain.

“Oh, I forgot you can’t talk.” His mouth quirked downwards into a ‘whoops’.

He took a long pause right in front of you before his hand reached out to cradle your face. “I wouldn’t let those idiots kill you, Buttercup. You deserved better than that.”

He stared unnervingly into your eyes, looking for a hint of anything, any sort of remorse. He wasn’t going to find any. You wished he saw nothing but hatred.

“It’s why I had to kill you myself.” He sighed when you pulled your face away the best you could from his palm in disgust. “But I’ll do you a solid. I’ll give you a chance to beg for forgiveness. Maybe if you’re good enough I’ll let you go.”

You knew he was lying. He had no intention of doing that. He only wanted you to grovel in submission, plead for your life for a fucking power trip.

He ripped off the tape that was over your mouth, making you flinch at the burn. He pulled out the cloth faster than you could spit it out at him.

“Go ahead,” Ransone said smugly. His ego would outlive all of you.

“Him first.” Your mouth was dry and your lips felt chapped. You had clearly been knocked out for a while by then. You had no idea how far away you were from the original location.

“What?” His smile dropped to a frown rather quickly.

“Him first.” You mentioned towards Sam with your head.

“That’s cute.” He laughed, stopping when you didn’t join in. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“I’m not saying shit till he does too.” You were bemused, monotonous. You just wanted to get this over as quickly as possible.

“Fine,” he huffed when your expression didn’t change. “It’d be fun to watch him beg anyway.”

You hear the rip of the tape from his face, the scrunch of the material before he balled it up and threw it on the floor.

Sam shook his head furiously, forcing Ransone to take a step back swiftly before he hit him.

“Right.” Ransone clapped his hands together. “Let’s get star-”

He was interjected by another loud bang followed by a series of gunshots. Another victim massacred. He groaned in frustration, stamping his feet at the constant interruption. The universe was determined to not let him finish his monologue in peace, and for that, you thanked her.

You looked at Sam, nodding slightly. He gave you a small smile in return, calming the nerves you were beginning to feel.

“Where were we?” Ransone did not look happy; a vein was dangerously visible on his forehead. Now would not be the best time to do anything that angered him. “Yes, go ahead. Beg.”

“Ransone,” Sam began, exhaling lightly. “We knew.”

The smile on Ransone’s face faltered. “What did you say?”

“He said we knew,” you cut in. “You melodramatic fuck.”

Ransone’s grin faded abruptly and it was by far the most satisfying experience you had ever experienced.

“Yeah, we figured it out ourselves a while ago.” Sam had the slightest smirk on his face. “Y/N did, actually.”

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you.

“What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you.

“I’m listening.”

“I think it’s Ransone. He’s been trying to kill us.”

“Why?” He didn’t sound judgemental, hardly even fazed, like it was a completely plausible suggestion. You couldn’t express how glad you were.

“The guy you didn't kill, if he’s the old head of Serpentine, then... I know his son.” Your mouth was dry as your mind raced to piece it together. “He’s the one I didn’t kill.”

“What?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, and you could see him trying to figure out the connection. “How are you so sure?”

You closed your eyes, letting out a deep exhale. “I’m going to need you to not react to what I’m going to tell you.”

“Okay...” he trailed off.

“I’ve been working with him for two years. Passing information on to him about Ransone.”

“Wait so that means-”

“I’m the spy. And I think Ransone figured it out. He wants to kill me.”

“You knew,” Ransone stated. He looked like he was in a daze.

Sam looked at you once before nodding. “If you would shut up and let someone else talk for once, we would have told you a while ago.”

“It helped that you confirmed details about Pierce’s death without us having to tell you.” The last conversation you had with him replayed in your head verbatim. “There’s no way you would have known he was dead before we got there unless we told you. Or you did it.”

“We knew you had agents outside the house. Kinda expected that when we gave you the address,” you shrugged the best you could, “Sam’s security cameras got all of them.”

“Made sure that one fuck behind the tree could hear us planning outside,” Sam added. “He wasn’t very stealthy, by the way.”

“Have you decided on a day?”

You nod, looking straight ahead into the darkness. “Tomorrow.”

“You sure? Our timing has to be right.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is coarse. “I’ll have to tell him.”

He nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees. He was too tall for the stairs, almost like he was crouching instead of sitting.

His voice dropped to a whisper like it’s a secret only meant for you.

“You knew you were going to be ambushed.”

“No shit.” You nodded.

The loud bangs continued outside the door but you paid no heed to it. The closer it got, the more your stomach jumped, hoping that more people you pissed off didn’t storm in. You had quite a list anyway.

“You knew they were coming,” Ransone appeared like he had gears turning in his own head, trying to add everything up on his own. “Then why didn’t you run?”

“Well, we kinda needed all of you in one place.”

“Huh?” He blinked, not listening to all the commotion that was going on around him. If he didn’t, he was choosing to focus on this instead.

“We had to take out all of you at once,” you disclosed, fidgeting with the rope to see if it would give. “Kinda knew you were waiting to kill us yourself when we gave you the location and nothing happened immediately. You’re too much of a sissy to kill us without backup so we wanted you in one place with the rest of them.”

You tilted your head towards the two men standing in the corner.

“You knew all this while and lied,” Ransone jeered, face twisting into something rather indiscernible; a nice mix of shame and rage.

“Not like we had another choice, man.” You just knew Sam was rolling his eyes. “You think I would voluntarily listen to you monologue like an idiot?”

“You did gag us,” you added, trying to buy as much time as you could. “That’s on you.”

The ropes were still tight as could be and the chair wouldn’t budge. Even your feet were too tightly tied together to do anything. It was what you expected, but that wasn’t going to stop you.

“Shut up!” Ranone’s face was hideously red.

“You rehearsed it, didn’t you?” Sam called out, taunt in his tone. “With the lighting and shit.”

“He doesn’t have to. He does one a week to some poor fuck who has to listen.”

You couldn’t believe the both of you were teaming up to bully a man who literally held the fate of your lives in his hands. It was something you never imagined yourself doing.

“How do people take you seriously?” Sam laughed. More than yours, his remarks seemed to be ticking Ransone off.

Ransone let out a guttural cry, knuckles so white you were afraid they were going to break. He whips around, stomping over to pull the gun from the hand of one of his bodyguards.

“Easy there, DeNiro, that’s not a stage prop.” Sam chided.

The concrete in front of him suddenly cracks loudly. He looked up, slightly taken aback.

“Next time it’ll be your fucking face,” Ransone snarled, waving the gun around like a maniac. You send a cautionary glance to Sam, telling him to back off. Ransone was volatile. He would act without thinking.

“Why did you kill everyone I was friends with, Vincent?” you asked slowly, trying to divert his mind.

He turned to you, a crazed look in his eyes.

“Why did you take everyone from me?” The more you asked, the more it became about genuine curiosity rather than a distraction from shooting Sam in the head.

“Take everyone from- none of them were going to last anyway!” He throws his hands up in the air angrily. “I was saving you from yourself. From the eventual pain.”

His face was desperate, and you for a second forced yourself to think from his perspective. He looked like he truly believed in what he was saying, like he genuinely thought he was supporting you. Like he cared. The thought that maybe he truly wanted to help you was the only way you could comfort yourself for so many years.

“If you were in pain, you wouldn’t perform. I was only pushing you to your full potential,” he continued, a wild smile on his face mixed with eyes rimmed red like he was ready to cry.

Your stomach sank, even though you hated it. It wasn’t about you, it was about what he could get from you.

There was silence. Even the noises outside seemed to have stopped, all waiting for your next move.

“You’re a sick, conniving fuck,” your words waver, and you hope it hits him as hard as it can, “And I can’t wait till you’re dead.”

His face morphed from one of helplessness to slow fury once more. Manipulative prick.

“Do I have to remind you that you’re the one tied up?” He wipes at his nose, voice returning to normal. “The only reason you’re alive right now is because I need to know why you let yourself be captured so willingly.”

Your incessant need to know everything stemmed from him and the paranoia he induced in you from when you were a kid. Everything you thought was wrong about you came from him.

“We told you, you overdramatic fuck.” Sam drew the attention away from you thankfully. You took a deep breath, stabilizing yourself.

“What, that you needed the team in one place to take us out?” Ransone asked, to no one’s answer. “You and what army?”

“Well, the one who’s been here for a while now,” you pipe up.

No one says anything. Pin drop silence reigns free.

“You said he’d be here,” Sam hissed at you. “How much longer do we keep this going?”

“He said he would,” you argued back, feeling the heat creep into your cheeks.

“What the fuck are you both talking about?” Ransone asked, but you continued to ignore him.

“What are we going to do if he-”

The door violently exploded off its hinges, sending debris flying everywhere. You clenched your eyes shut and ducked your head to avoid getting smacked in the face with rubble

The dust hadn’t even cleared before multiple rounds were fired. You flinched when your ringing ears hurt more at the sound of gunshots.

You struggle against your ropes, trying to get to Sam. They only get tighter until suddenly your arms break free. Your neck and legs soon follow as you shrug off the ropes that were cleanly sliced off.

Your ears were still getting used to the chaos when you notice someone humming behind you. It took a second to register that it was a fucking Britney Spears song.

“What took you so long?” You coughed, waving the air in front of you to clear it as you stumbled towards Sam.

“I wanted to make an entrance,” Loki said dismissively, following you. “I think I may have overshot it by a few seconds.”

You fell to your knees in front of Sam, quickly moving to untie the familiar knots. He lifted his head to look at you, a thin layer of dust covering his face.

“Are you okay?” you asked in concern, simultaneously untying as fast as you could. It was one you had used many times before; a complicated knot that guaranteed you wouldn’t have been able to make it out of the bondage.

“I think my leg’s asleep but other than that I’m good.”

You give him a small smile, thankful that he wasn’t hurt enough to lose his dry sense of humour. Your hand involuntarily reached up to brush some dust off his cheekbone. The intensity with which he looked at you had you swallowing thickly.

You snapped out of it quickly, working on freeing his legs as Loki took a step behind his chair to cut the rest of him loose.

“This him?” Sam mentioned to Loki, massaging his wrist to return some feeling into it.

“You can just ask me, you know,” Loki commented, but clearly not taking any offence.

“I’m sorry about your family, man.”

You didn’t expect Sam to say that, and from the looks of it, neither did Loki. He stopped for a moment, before continuing to cut the last rope.

“You let my father go,” he said, sawing the last part off, “and although I personally think you should have killed the miserable old bastard, he made it clear that he owed you one.”

The both of you stood up. You glanced around the room, noting how both of Ransone’s bodyguards were on the floor, bullet holes riddling their body.

He himself was beside them, lying facefront on the ground. Armani suit be damned.

“How many more are outside?” Sam asked, tearing your attention away from the bodies on the floor.

“All taken care of.” Loki put the knife back into its sheath on his thigh. “We made quite a commotion. I’m surprised he didn’t do anything.”

“He’s a little dense,” Sam remarked. Most of the noises you heard earlier weren’t just other victims being tortured, although you knew that it was still a large fraction of it.

“Should we go?” you asked, doing a quick sweep of the room. You found nothing moving among the pile of rubble.

“Unless you got anything else left to do.” Loki gestured to the large hole in the wall where the door was.

“I think we’re done.”

He simply nodded, spinning on his heel to walk out the room when someone yelled from behind you.

You all halted what you were doing, slowly turning to look at where the noise was coming from.

“Don’t take another step,” Ransone warned, a gun pointed straight at you, barely able to stand straight. He looked worse than you’d ever seen him. His suit was torn and he had a few streaks of blood down his face. His hair was tousled and unkempt, rougher than it had ever been before. “Or I swear I’ll-”

“Oh, shut up,” Loki interjected, firing a shot into Ransone’s stomach before anyone could even react. He returned the gun to its holster that you didn’t even notice was there on his waist. “He talks too much.”

Ransone staggered back until he hit the wall, knees buckling beneath his weight as he slid to the ground. The gun he pried off his bodyguards lay where he was standing previously.

You ignored Sam’s uneasy questions as you took a step forward.

You picked the gun up, cautiously making your way to Ransone. You crouched next to his body. He looked at you before looking down. You followed his line of sight, watching as he lifted his hands. They were covered in blood.

“How’d he know where to find you?” Ransone’s voice was more subdued than you’d ever heard him.

You reached over, slipping your fingers into his jacket pocket and pulled out the paper airplane that was flattened due to the impact.

“Hey, you can put a message in it. Maybe one of those button trackers, a microphone. The possibilities are endless.” He laughed, folding another one out of the limited supply of paper he had left.

You unfolded it, letting a small object, not bigger than a button, fall into your palm. He stared at it before realisation dawned on him.

“I knew you’d take all my weapons, but you wouldn’t get rid of this,” you disclosed, folding the paper plane back to what it was and gently putting it into your pocket. It was still salvageable. “Not if you could use it to hurt me.”

You watched him take a shaky breath, flinching when more blood rushed out of him.

“You can still help me, Y/N. We can get out of here together,” he rasped. “Think about everything we’ve been through. We can work it out. I love you.”

You involuntarily let out a strangled cry at the last part. It was nothing but a last ditch attempt to persuade you, pull you back in.

“Look- look at me. Buttercup,” he croaked when you wouldn’t oblige. “I love you. I’m your home.”

You finally look at him. Look right into his eyes, red rimmed and fading. You look for it, the adoration he spoke of. The care he promised. Anything to make sense of why he would tear you apart time and time again. The love he had for you.

You find nothing. Gray eyes look back at you blankly, desperately, in pain.

“You never were,” you whisper, standing up abruptly.

You raised your arm, pointing the gun at him. He sputtered out more half baked apologies, unaware of anything that was coming out of his own mouth.

You clench your eyes shut, pulling the trigger. He lets out a cry when the bullet lodges in his shoulder.

You take a step back, letting the scene imprint itself in your brain of him powerless on the ground at your will. If you followed what he preached, you’d have ended his life right there. No mercy.

But you weren’t him. And you didn’t ever want to be.

“I need to do something too,” you heard Sam say. You can feel him near you, brushing against you for a moment as he gently reached for the gun you held. You gave it to him, feeling him squeeze your hand in reassurance.

Ransone looked at Sam as he stood beside you. He fired a single shot into his leg, clearly hitting bone. You hear the same wail from before, mixed with sputtering as blood leaked from his mouth.

“That was from Riley. He says fuck you.” Sam let his hand fall again. “All yours, man.”

“You already know what this is for,” Loki said simply.

You chose not to look away as he shot the last round right into his forehead. Ransone’s head slumped over. Dead, glassy eyes stared beyond you.

None of you say anything. Just stare at the lifeless body in front of you.

“It’s really over, huh?” Sam’s voice is quiet, like he's having trouble processing what just happened.

You don’t answer. Only take a step towards him, and intertwine your fingers with his, continuing to stare at the corpse of your lifelong abuser.

____

The sun was beating down on you. You didn’t expect it to be evening when you stepped out of the warehouse.

“Where are we?” you asked, shielding your eyes from the sudden brightness that left you squinting.

“Middle of nowhere, I’d say.” Loki stares with disdain at the old building that looked worse for wear. “Would it kill the man to have a bit of taste?”

That reminded you. “Thanks for the house. And… sorry we showed up uninvited.”

“You didn’t do too much damage to it, I hope.”

You looked at him guiltily, mind flashing to the many bullet holes that decorated the back wall. “I’ll pay for the repairs.”

“Forget it. It’s of no use since everyone knows it exists now.” He dismissed with a wave of his hand. “So, Y/N. I guess that concludes our deal?”

“I guess it does.” You nodded,

Sam wraps his arms around your shoulder and you lean into him with a sigh, allowing the comfort his touch brought to seep into you.

“How’d you guys make a deal anyway?” he inquired. You closed your eyes, chest rising and falling steadily.

“Well, I was going to kill you at first,” Loki explained offhandedly, gesturing to you. “But then-”

He trailed off.

You remember, clear as day, when Loki confronted you in the early hours of the morning outside the park you went on runs. He had a gun pulled on you before you could fathom what was going on, before you could even realise who he was.

“But then?” Sam prodded.

“Did he make it?”

“He did,” you divulged the information you had found out a while ago. It was a messy confrontation to say the least but you got out unscathed.

“Saw something that I recognised,” he said dryly, eyeing you up and down. “We were both pulled into something we didn’t have a say in. Stuck, you could say. I just thought that it was a win-win situation if we worked together to kill that idiot back there.”

“So you agreed to spy on him,” Sam concluded. “You got revenge. What was your incentive?”

You look at Loki who just smiled at you. You return one half heartedly.

“I’d say freedom is a pretty big reward, wouldn’t you?” And it was. You couldn’t even begin to explain the weight that would be lifted off your shoulders. “I can’t guarantee you’ll have a perfectly normal life. Might have to change your identity, move around a bit.”

“Everyone’s looking for us as wanted criminals,” Sam voiced everything you were forgetting about in the surge of emotions rushing through you.

“I got some connections,” Loki said dismissively. You peered at him from under Sam's arm. “I can have it traced back to a dead mobster in a warehouse, no problem. If they think it’s a gang war there’s no way they’ll try to get too involved. Consider it a gift from my father.”

Sam nodded, relaxing slightly now that most things were taken care of.

“That’s sorted then.” Loki examined the barren land that surrounded you. “You’re going to need a ride back to civilization, aren’t you?”

“If that’s possible.”

“I’ll have someone drop you off. You got any place to go? At least to stay low for a while.”

You didn’t have anyone. The only one you had was the man beside you. Nothing was settling in at the moment, and you realised that it would be a long road until it did. But you had a shot. A real shot at something even resembling recovery.

Sam and you looked at each other before he turned back to Loki and nodded.

“New Orleans.”

Next part

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <3

here’s a list of references/foreshadowing to the end all throughout the series!

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esmealux · 3 years

Photo

The Devil Doesn’t Do Children

Part: 1 / ?

Setting: About a year after 5a

Word count: 3.3K

Rating: T

Warnings: Mention of death/murder (and, quite indirectly, foeticide)

Summary: Chloe is sick and Lucifer puts two and two together (with a little help from Dan).

Author’s note: This is my longest work so far. It was meant to be one long piece, but it ended up being 10.8K (!), so I’ve cut it into three parts. And just because I can’t help myself, there’s already a fourth on the way. Enjoy!

Usually, Lucifer wakes up bathed in golden dawn light and wrapped in the warmth of Chloe’s naked body. If it’s not her raucous snoring or the demanding screeches of her alarm that rouse him from his sleep, it is the press of her soft lips against his neck (or somewhere more south, if he’s particularly lucky, and he often is). But not today. Today he wakes up surrounded by darkness in her much too cold bed, and it’s neither her snores nor her kisses which break off his slumber. It’s the sound of Chewbacca being strangled in her bathroom.

Or, he realises upon fully awakening, Chloe throwing up.

Alarmed and slightly annoyed that vomit of all things is interrupting his peaceful rest, he sits up in bed and stretches his taut body. Grabbing the nearest phone, he checks the time and groans when it says 05.26. Somewhere in his half-asleep mind, he recalls the Danish saying ‘Før Fanden får sko på’—now officially a synonym for 05.26, he thinks as he gets up and walks to the bathroom door barefoot.

‘Detective?’ he asks in a gruff voice, knocking quietly.

‘Don’t come in,’ she commands before heaving again.

He flinches. ‘Believe me, love, I wasn’t planning on it.’

It’s mostly said in jest, because if she asked him, he would be there by her side in a heartbeat. They’ve been through far too much together to care about the other’s less appetising sides. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time he sees her ejecting her stomach contents, having once picked her up from an extraordinarily wild Tribe night. At least he won’t have to stick his fingers down her throat this time.

Eventually, there’s an intermission long enough for her to flush, put down the seat and open the door for him. He enters with reluctance, inspecting her warily as she sits on top of the toilet lid, her head in her hands. When she looks up at him, he gasps. ‘Oh, darling, you look positively terrible’—he leans a bit forward, assessing her ashen face—‘Abominable, really.’ Behind the thick mask of nausea and exhaustion, he thinks he sees her glare.

‘Fancy a toothbrush?’ he offers, already walking past her to find one by the sink. A hint of gratitude glints in her matte eyes as he hands it to her along with a glass of water. He smiles at her and leans against the door frame, eventually looking down to appreciate his pedicure as she rinses her mouth. ‘Is pwobably sumthin I ate,’ she mumbles around foam and toothbrush. He cocks his eye and looks up at her, scoffing. ‘You think?’ When he’d locked himself into her flat late last night after hosting an event at Lux, he’d been greeted by the sight of her and her spawn sleeping on the couch, remains of junk food cluttering up the coffee table before them. The logo on the Styrofoam had made him shake his head in disappointment and disgust. He’d cleaned it up and carried the ladies to their beds, but not before ripping one specific menu card off their fridge and tearing it to pieces. ‘I mean, it’s one thing you order garbage for yourself, but must you punish your offspring in the process? I may detest children, but even I think that’s no way to treat a child. Especially Beatrice. You do realise the men’s room at Lux are cleaner than that place, right?’

In response to his question, she pulls the toothbrush out of her mouth, lifts the lid of the toilet and, once again, disgorges her dinner.

‘My point exactly,’ he replies, before crouching down next to her to hold back her hair.

‘Lucifer! Did you make breakfast?!’ The doe-eyed creature shrieks as it appears from its nest, the brown, ungroomed mane falling messily around its head.

‘Good morning to you too, urchin,’ he greets her, looking up from the pot he’s stirring in to give her a half-forced smile as she takes a seat by the counter. He feels a strange itch in his hands to pull out the bar stool for her and help her up (mostly because he can’t be bothered with her tedious jumping), but to his surprise, she climbs the stool with ease—or at least not ungracefully. It tugs at something in his chest the same way it does when he occasionally is compelled to spend time with his nephew, and the babe’s already crawling, or walking, or making sounds that somewhat resemble actual words. For unfathomable reasons, it makes him feel uneasy—but mostly pleased; the sooner they grow up, the sooner they’ll stop being such pains in the-

‘Oh my God, is that bacon? And eggs? And pancakes?!’

He sighs and looks up to chide her for her unjust invocation, but swallows it when he sees her hungry, gleeful eyes. ‘Yes, here. Have some actual food,’ he tells her, nudging the plate and some cutlery in her direction. And some wet wipes, because longer limbs or not, she’s still a sticky child.

‘It’s chocolate chip pancakes!’ she exclaims upon inspecting her breakfast further, as if he didn’t already know. ‘Thank you, Lucifer. You’re the best.’ She’s beaming brightly at him now, and he feels threatened, foreseeing that she, any second, will launch her small body at him and enclose his middle, ruining his Armani suit with her greasy fingers. But she doesn’t. She just sits there and stares at him, her eyes twinkling with an emotion that looks uncannily related to one he has only ever seen in her mother’s eyes.

‘Eh,’ he breathes, his throat tightening. He looks away from her unsettling smiley face and returns his attention to the pot on the stove. ‘Well, it was the least I could do after your supposed caregiver fed you literal poison last night.’

Suddenly reminded of the Detective and her progeny’s shared meal, he turns his head to search the adolescent’s face for any signs of sickness. But she doesn’t look remotely nauseous as she devours her feed like a starving hyena cub. He quirks an eyebrow. ‘I’m guessing from your lupine appetite that you haven’t been praying to the porcelain gods like your mother?’

Beatrice’s brows knit together, her fork pausing mid-air. She (fortunately) swallows her food before she speaks, all joy in her voice suddenly gone, ‘Mom’s sick?’

‘Well, yes, but I’m positive it’ll pass soon. She just needs to… get it out of her system,’ he quickly reassures her, offering her a soft smile. The discomforting concern in the big, brown eyes slowly disappears as absolute delight takes over.

‘Does that mean you’re taking me to school?’ She asks, her small corpus barely able to contain her joy. ‘In your car?!’

He scoffs, feeling attacked. ‘As if I’d ever voluntarily drive your mum’s mind-numbingly boring example of an automobile.’ She grins at that, making a comment about how his is ‘definitely a trazillion times cooler,’ and he smiles at her, smug and victorious. ‘Exactly, child! So, yes, naturally, I will be escorting you in the corvette. But now, march off and get yourself ready while I finish this…’ he pokes around the grey goo in the pot with the wooden spoon, trying not to grimace, ‘oatmeal, for your mother. According to our friend Alexa it’s good for nauseated humans, although I highly doubt it.’

The teenager simply shrugs at that, finishes her breakfast and retreats to her burrow to get dressed. Once the porridge is done, Lucifer pours it in a bowl, puts it on a tray along with a cool glass of coke (also Alexandra’s suggestion) and carries it up to the Detective’s bedroom. He opens the door slowly as to not wake her, but the stubbornest of women is sitting on the edge of the bed, using all strength left in her depleted body to pull on her skinny jeans. Putting down the tray on the nearest surface, he darts over to her with a ‘what in Dad’s name are you doing?!’ and tugs the trousers down her legs and off her. ‘We have to go to work, Lucifer,’ she objects rather weakly, not even trying to put her jeans back on. ‘I have to go to work,’ he corrects her, carefully laying her down once he’s freed both her feet. ‘You, Detective, need to stay here and rest until you can keep it all inside you.’ He senses she’s about to protest again, so he places a kiss on her forehead and assures her, ‘Trust me, dear, everything is taken care of.’ Even as nausea has tinted her face green, she manages to narrow her eyes at him in scepticism. ‘Just promise me you’ll behave,’ she eventually mutters as she gives up and nuzzles into the blankets.

He lightly strokes her shoulder with the back of his fingers and quietly walks out of the room, leaving her with a dramatic sigh and an ‘As you wish.’

Daniel is already at the crime scene when Lucifer arrives after depositing the urchin. He’d thought he’d have to go through an entire day of purgatory—or paperwork, as the Detective pronounces it—and it was only worsened by the fact that he wouldn’t have his partner by his side. If she had been there, he could at least have distracted them both with some suggestive looks here, some subtle touches there, and—when he’d worked her into a frenzy of desire—a coffee break or two in the parking garage. Instead, he’d have to endure the agonising tedium on his own, even as there were, at a minimum, three hell loops he’d rather spend his time in than do paperwork at the precinct all day. But then Miss Lopez had called and informed him they’d got a new case. He’d been absolutely delighted (as delighted as it is allowed when someone has dropped dead), but only until he’d made the mistake of telling her that the Detective was home sick, and she’d said that she would ‘call Espinoza ASAP’ and tell him to meet them at the scene. If he had just kept his mouth shut, he could have got the case all to himself, instead of having Detective Douche tag along.

Taking a deep breath, he checks his cuffs and takes his time approaching the douche in question. ‘Sorry I’m late. Your spawn spent quite some time choosing the right attire,’ Lucifer offers in greeting. Daniel looks him up and down with raised eyebrows, his eyes landing on the perfectly folded crimson pocket square. ‘For a normal school day? Wonder who inspired that kind of vanity in her.’

‘Well, it certainly wasn’t her father,’ Lucifer deadpans and nods towards Daniel’s hoodie/jacket/jeans-combination.

With a humourless laugh and a shake of his head, Dan stuffs his hands in his pockets and turns on his heels to walk up the stairs and into the residential building. After bringing out his flask and taking a long swig, Lucifer follows him.

When they enter the flat, Miss Lopez is leaning over the body with her camera. The sight is oddly welcoming. Comfortably familiar. She’d only come back a week ago after being away for a little over a month, on a much-deserved vacation in New Zealand, and Lucifer had missed her cheerful spirit and their crime scene banter terribly. The latter is, much to Lucifer’s annoyance, cut short today by Daniel ‘Buzz-Kill’ Espinoza’s ‘So, Ella, what can you tell us about the vic?’

It’s a rather uninteresting case; a woman, Laura Greene, 26, has been murdered in her home. Stabbed with a kitchen knife, first in the abdomen, then the chest. No signs of B&E, no signs of struggle. A swift and impulsive act—no doubt a crime of passion according to Ella. The most obvious culprit would be an angered partner, but the roommate, who found the body, tells them the victim wasn’t in a relationship and rarely went on dates or brought anyone home. On top of that, Roomie can’t think of anyone who would hurt dear Laura. And the neighbours are just as useless; one is a deaf elder lady, and the others were chasing the dragon at the time of death. The rest of the floor haven’t heard or noticed anything either. Consequently, they have absolutely nothing once they get to the precinct. Ella goes through evidence and Daniel through piles and piles of papers, leaving Lucifer to stand awkwardly in the corner of Ella’s lab, with no desires to unveil or miscreants to threaten.

As to not die of boredom, he zooms out and lets his mind wander. He’s in the middle of designing a strategy for how to make Chloe finally agree to try the deliciously sinful position he considers one of his favourites when Ella’s frustrated sigh interrupts his planning.

‘Something troubling you, Miss Lopez?’ he asks her, pulling out his flask.

She tells him she has nothing. No match on the fingerprints from the murder weapon, no useful surveillance tapes, no clues at the scene that can tell her the gender, age, or occupation of the murderer. Nada. Just the fact that it was done in a moment of heat.

Before Lucifer can answer, Dan walks in with a puzzled look on his ill-favoured face, his arms filled with highlighted printouts. ‘Could she’ve been pregnant?’

Ella tilts her head. ‘I mean, it’s not impossible, but based on what her roommate told us, I wouldn’t bet my money on it. You know, because our girl Laura had no boy toyz.’

Lucifer can’t hold back a snort. ‘Please, Miss Lopez, all it takes is a boy toy, singular, ten minutes in a bathroom stall and the absence of contraceptives.’

Dan looks at him with disgust and horror before shaking his head and returning his attention to Ella. ‘Well, no,’ he answers her, ignoring Lucifer’s comment entirely, ‘but then I thought about the other thing her roommate said, about Laura throwing up during the past weeks, and I thought-’

‘But Michelle said she thought it was an eating disorder, like Laura’d had before,’ Ella interrupts him, looking to Lucifer for support. He just purses his lips and looks back. Truth be told, when they’d been talking to the roommate, the mentioning of vomit had reminded him of his feeble Detective at home and he’d excused himself to send her a text. He therefore hadn’t heard whatever explanation the woman had offered (nor her arguments for why the victim’s sickness would be relevant to them). Fortunately, Dan answers.

‘Yeah, I know, I thought that too, but then I saw she paid a bill to an OB-GYN earlier this month, and it could just be a gynaecological check-up or something, but then I remembered how badly Chloe suffered from morning sickness when she was pregnant with Trixie, so I…’

Lucifer stops listening as Daniel’s words—one in particular—suddenly whirl around him, loud and ominous. His heart starts pounding faster and his throat goes dry. He instinctively grips the edge of the lab table.

‘Surely there could be other explanations,’ he manages to get out, interrupting his co-workers’ discussion. ‘Food poisoning, for instance.’

Dan and Ella look at him with equally sceptical looks. ‘Not for ten days straight,’ Ella argues.

‘But there is a myriad of reasons for a woman to throw up,’ he defends as he starts frantically googling. ‘Indigestion, stomach bug, chemotherapy, motion sickness… aha, migraine!’

When Lucifer looks up from his phone, Daniel is looking at him like he’s questioning his sanity. Miss Lopez seems concerned too, but more in an ‘dude, you okay?’-way than anything else.

Ella slowly takes her eyes off Lucifer’s face and eyes Dan shortly. ‘Well, we can’t know for sure before we get the final results from the autopsy, but from what Dan has found, she could quite possibly be pregnant.’

‘But,’ Lucifer objects, barely audibly, like someone has knocked the wind out of him, ‘she can’t be.’ He’s staring out into empty air, unwelcome images suddenly flooding his mind, as Daniel and Miss Lopez continue talking. He’s on the verge of what he thinks might be a panic attack when a voice, her voice, drags him out of his own head.

‘Hey guys,’ she greets them. She’s hoarse and looks a little tired, but the green tinge is gone.

‘Detective,’ is what he manages to say back. She looks at him with soft eyes and it’s enough for him to come back to his senses for a moment. Surprised by her presence, he begins to ask, ‘Are you done-’

He was going to say ‘puking your guts out’ but she widens her eyes at him and cuts him off, ‘Having a bad headache? Yes, thank you, Lucifer. I just needed some rest.’

‘Right,’ he mumbles, giving her one slow nod. She walks over to stand close beside him and brushes her fingers against the back of his hand, somehow sensing that he’s tense.

‘Okay, what have we got?’ She looks to Dan and Ella and lets go of Lucifer’s hand. He instantly misses her touch.

They fill Chloe in, telling her about everything from the lack of leads to small, seemingly insignificant details. When she’s completely up to date, she has that look on her face, eyes slightly narrowed, like she has a (historically, clever) theory.

‘Well,’ she begins, still visibly thinking, ‘it does take two to tango.’ She side-eyes Lucifer, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. It’s clear she expects a remark or a praising grin in return, and he tries, but it comes out as a grimace and a strained ‘eh’. She gives him a funny look before continuing her theory, ‘What I mean is, boyfriend or not, there’s still a father out there. Maybe he found out and couldn’t handle the news? Maybe he was married to someone else? Or… he just didn’t want to be a dad?’

Lucifer feels his heartbeat speed up once again. An odd emotion he can’t quite name spreads in his chest. It feels like a disease.

‘Sure seems like motive, but how are we gonna find him?’ Dan asks. Not one second later, Miss Lopez’ ‘found him!’ sounds from where she’s leaning over her computer. ‘Tech just got access to her photos —kinda tricky since she had this super secure lock-’

‘Who is he, Ella?’ Chloe demands.

Ella clicks on the screen and turns the computer around so they can see. ‘The guy’s everywhere in her camera roll. I don’t know, he seems kinda familiar, but-’

‘That’s Max Steinfeld!’ Dan exclaims when he sees the photo. It’s taken in bed, post-orgasm Lucifer would say, judging from the blissful aura. Laura’s got a hand on the man’s chest who, indeed, is the chap who starred on that horrible teenage comedy show and today is trying to redeem himself by doing mediocre action movies and… settling down with Hollywood’s sweetheart.

‘But he’s dating Simone Riley,’ Lucifer enlightens his colleagues upon his revelation. ‘They’re tying the knot this spring.’

Chloe shoots him a questioning look, and he tells her he got a mani-pedi the other day. She nods her head in understanding.

‘Well, if he’s engaged, he probably wasn’t ecstatic when Laura told him she was pregnant with his baby.’

As she asks Dan to get the actor’s current location all Lucifer can do is stand there and stare at her, as if he might find the answers to the thousands of questions in his head written on the side of her face. But he doesn’t. He only finds the familiar beauty mark, a perfectly pointed eyebrow, and the smooth, marble-like skin of the woman he loves. And it makes him yearn for those answers even more.

Part II | Part III | Part IV (coming soon)

#deckerstar fanfiction #writing #lucifer x chloe #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #dan espinoza #lucifer and trixie #ella lopez #post 5a #lucifer on netflix #lucifer fanfiction #pregnancy #The Devil Doesn't Do Children #established #hurt comfort #murder case

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aurumacadicus · 4 years

Note

5 AU game for stark and vinegar please!

Wasn’t certain what I wanted to do so I focused on “future” stuff lol

Steve wakes up in the future and even though he knows, logically, that he’s in SHIELD custody and they’re trying to keep him calm and safe... he still makes a break for it. He thinks it might be the combination of remembered adrenaline from when he hit the water and the memory that SHIELD isn’t as trustworthy as they try to lead him to believe from when he’d been in the future--he’s up, out, and running into Times Square before he can stop himself (although, to be fair, he doesn’t really try). Fury asks him where he was going, and he says, “I... I had a date.” Which is true enough. It had broken his heart to make a date with Peggy even though he knew he’d never make it. Part of him still wishes he could have. Steve sees something out of the corner of his eye and looks up, and he can’t help the somewhat wet laugh that escapes him when he recognizes it--an Armani ad featuring Tony Stark, smile sharp and mischievous. Somehow it feels like he’s come home.

It’s insidious, is what it is. SHIELD keeps treating him like spun glass, and Steve can’t help but look at it for what it is--the threads of Hydra trying to keep him calm and complacent. He can tell that some people aren’t Hydra, and actually think they’re doing the right thing for him, but knowing what he does about the future--well, the present now, he supposes, it’s still taking some getting used to--he can tell when someone is well-meaning and when someone is playing him. They won’t let him contact Tony. They say it would be a shock, or that Tony wouldn’t believe he was actually Captain America. Steve thinks he could pick up a car and bench press it to prove that he’s Captain America (and maybe show off his new muscles, because he was very small the last time he saw Tony), but he keeps that to himself. This, at least, he can’t tell whether it’s them trying to protect him from Tony Stark (he... did seem to have some problems going on) or whether Hydra is afraid Tony could give him a leg up. He tries to wheedle in with, “But he’s Howard Stark’s son, shouldn’t I see him?” and that, apparently, is what makes Fury shut him down completely. “The Howard Stark you knew and the Howard Stark Tony knew are two different people, Captain Rogers,” he says sharply. “Don’t ever try to use him as an in again.” Steve hadn’t known Howard that well, not really. Somehow, he thinks he knows him better now, with Fury’s condemnation.

“Captain,” Tony says, looking him up and down. “Small,” Steve replies, almost struck stupid by it. When he’d first met Tony, he’d been much smaller than him--a few inches shorter, slighter of frame. The clothes he’d stolen from Tony had hung on him. Now... now he’s taller than him. Broader. He’d known that, logically, but the fact of the matter is, sometimes he still feels like that scrawny, sickly kid from Brooklyn, and seeing Tony now, knowing their roles would be reversed... it suddenly seems more real, that he’s larger. He wonders, suddenly, what Tony would feel like under his hands now. Under the bulk of his body. How it would feel to press him down with only a fraction of his strength instead of all of it and watching Tony’s mouth open into that bitten-red little ‘o’ it always was-- Tony blinks, mouth dropping open in surprise. Then he scowls, hissing, “What did you just say.” “Uh,” Steve begins, immediately remembering how offended he’d always been when he’d been called ‘small’ because it had always sounded like ‘less than.’ “What did you just say,” Tony says again, louder, and Dr. Banner actually grabs him and drags him off, probably in terror at what Tony might do if Steve repeats himself. “You had a multitude of words you could choose from,” Agent Romanov begins. Steve wonders if he’d be looked down upon for crumpling to the ground in despair. He’d had one chance to make a better first impression than the one the Tony he’d met had received, and he’d taken the opportunity to call him small and get horny about it.

“Well,” Tony says after Thor and Loki have disappeared. He scrubs a hand over the back of his head, then lets it drop back to his side. “I guess that’s that.” Steve stares at him, wondering if he looks as besotted as he feels. “Yeah.” “Well, I guess you’ll all be...” Tony begins, voice trailing off as he turns to look up at him. Steve raises his eyebrows, frowning. “We’ll all be what?” “Heading home,” Tony says. Steve takes a moment to consider this. Sure, he could certainly go back to the impersonal apartment that SHIELD had furnished him with. On the other hand... Hydra. “I think my apartment was destroyed in the fight,” he finally says. “Oh,” Tony replies, trying very hard to look genuinely sympathetic. “Well, I guess I have an extra room or... twenty. You can stay at the tower until you figure out what you want to do.” “Thanks, Tony,” Steve says, offering a smile, and when Tony returns it, it feels like the smile punches him right in the gut.

It doesn’t sit well with him, the fib. Sure, his apartment building had probably sustained some damage, but SHIELD had assured him, later, that the damage was minimal and it was perfectly habitable. He hadn’t even known that when he’d told Tony his apartment had been destroyed, had just been looking for an in to spend time with him. And he remembers, vividly, Tony slamming his fists down on the table and snarling, “You just keep going behind my back and apologizing afterward without any regard for how I feel about what you’re doing.” So he asks Tony if they can meet up, and when Tony appears twenty minutes later in the kitchen, before he can say anything, Steve admits, “My apartment wasn’t destroyed.” “Uh,” Tony replies, lashes fluttering as he tries to take the information in. “Okay. I don’t--what?” “My apartment wasn’t destroyed,” Steve repeats, keeping eye contact with him so that Tony can tell he’s being sincere. “I just said it was because I wanted to spend time with you but didn’t know how to ask. And then you invited me to live here. And I said yes. But it wasn’t fair of me to do that, to lie to you like that. I’m sorry.” He finally ducks his head, cheeks flushed with shame. “I’ll go, if you want me to. But, um, I’d really be glad if you let me stay.” Tony continues to blink at him, looking absolutely boggled by the influx of information. Finally, though, he says, “I said you could stay here until you figure out what to do. Sounds like you’re still trying to work that out for yourself, so I’m not going to kick you out or anything. Kinda... weird. But like... I flew through an alien, so. It’s probably not as weird to me as it should be.” “I’ll make it up to you,” Steve begins. Tony waves the thought away immediately. “Whatever. I don’t actually care that much. It’s not the weirdest thing someone’s done to try to befriend me anyway, and you haven’t even stolen my underwear to sell online, so.” Steve stares at him. “I haven’t... what? Someone’s done that to you?” “Oh would you look at the time,” Tony says, staring at his wrist where he is definitely not wearing a watch. “Time for me to go.” “Someone’s stolen your underwear and sold it?” Steve asks, voice cracking, and can’t help but follow him. “Tony? You okay?” “I’m leaving this conversation,” Tony informs him, and makes a break for the elevator. Steve watches him go, suddenly a little more sympathetic for the version of him who hadn’t chosen Tony. He feels like someone had dropped a brick on his head. He doesn’t know what to focus on and what to tackle first. Well, he sighs, sagging onto one of the chairs at the kitchen island. He supposes he has plenty of time to figure that out.

#aurumacadicus answers #ask meme #5 headcanons meme #stark and vinegar #Anonymous

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anobscurename · 4 years

Text

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I | PART II | PART III

concept: a collection of happenings, but there do happen to be a lot of references to the other parts. it’s just plotless fluff at this point. the slowest of slow burns. there will be many more parts. this is your moving in – finally – and the welcome party that follows.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: a lot of teasing, ice cream, dirty thoughts, and a touch of sexual frustration.

author’s note: so this is part four, and we finally have some mackie and stan action! also, because i believe in all ice cream flavour superiority, i have left a little “choose your own response” thing. select whichever one fits you as the reader :)

“Is that the last of it?”

“I think so.” You were breathless from the move, boxes covering almost every viable flat surface of your new bedroom.

Chris had himself a rather nice house up on the Hollywood Hills, and through one of the many windows, you glimpsed the shimmering reflection of a spacious pool. The residence boasted three bedrooms, and now one was yours. It was enough to make your head spin.

“I’ll let you get settled, then,” Chris smiled, his hand finding your shoulder in a gesture that suggested nothing more than friendship – one which your body reacted to as something more. His hand was warm, and you hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms at his very touch. The scent of him invaded your nostrils, utterly intoxicating.

You folded your arms across your chest hoping to disguise the sudden gooseflesh. There was something about him that made your hair stand on end, but in a purely unadulterated good way – some kind of magnetic energy that made you want his hands encompassing every inch of your body, committing it to his memory. When he retracted his hand, you hoped he hadn’t seen the slump of your shoulders in soft disappointment.

He had.

And if you had been paying more attention to him, and not your own suddenly raging hormones, then you wouldn’t have missed the smirk that quirked his lips at the visible effect he appeared to have on you.

“Don’t take too long, though,” he added by the doorway. The mere glimpse you caught of his cheekbones in profile had your breath stuttering erratically, even more so than the weight of your neatly packed boxes ever hoped to achieve. “We have a welcome party to get to in a few hours.”

——————

The welcome party, you were to discover later, was a party of two – just you and your cab thief – to be later joined by two of his friends who happened to be in L.A.

You banished any and all thoughts of it being a date or not this time, and found yourself much more put at ease by it once you had set your resolve. You were his friend – barely even that, if you would let yourself admit it – nothing less, nothing more. And what type of date would it be with his friends there, in any case?

So outfit choice came easy. If you were to be living together, he would inevitably become accustomed to you looking borderline homeless at times, and should the occasion call for it, like an absolute goddess the next. And so your selection of clothing came effortless, settling for something in between: a homeless goddess.

You didn’t know where Chris was taking you, so the selected aesthetic happened to be minimalistic makeup and a black jumpsuit that could either be dressed up or down, but looked classy all the same. You decided to dress it down – pairing it with a pair of old worn in Docs you had on hand – and one look at him – as he waited patiently for you on the couch – you knew you had made the perfect choice.

He had his legs crossed, ankle balancing on knee as he bounced his leg subconsciously. Dodger’s head was in his lap as he absentmindedly petted him. His legs were clad in dark wash jeans, tailored to fit him perfectly, and his torso sported a dark blue button up under a brown leather jacket. His hair was slicked back – either from a shower or from styling product, only time would tell.

Hell, he’d even shaved for this, his face appearing much more boyishly charming than anything now.

It took a moment for you to register that Steve Rogers and Chris Evans were two different people, what with him sat there in an ensemble he must’ve stolen from the costume department.

It was Dodger that noticed you first. He had taken quite the liking to you when you first arrived – three hours ago, to be precise – and it had taken almost half an hour to get him to leave your room so you could begin in the tedium of unpacking. He had been practically inconsolable, and had scratched at your door for another ten minutes after until Chris eventually decided to spend some time with him out in the garden to distract him from your loss. You knew you and the boxer were going to be fast friends. Especially now that his tail was pounding furiously in its wagging, beating the couch cushions into submission. It was then that Chris noticed you, too.

He turned his head, and time seemed to slow. A second felt drawn into an hour as he took you in. There was an imperceptible, intranslatable crease in his brow before it slackened and his face broke into a soft, boyish grin. “Wow,” he said softly.

“Is it… too much? I can go change if–”

“No!” He cleared his throat, his hurried response jarring enough to make even Dodger cock his head. “No, you look perfect. Beautiful. Great.”

His smile was contagious and you found your face splitting into a delighted beam. “You’re one to talk. You clean up nice, Captain Armani.”

He rose from the couch. Dodger followed him off to bound up to you and give your hand a soft lick. Under his breath, you could hear Chris scoff at the Captain Armani tease. “You ready to go?”

“Um, yeah… What about Dodger though? Will he be alright?”

“He’ll be fine. We won’t be out long anyways,” Chris winked – more so to Dodger than you, but that did nothing to stave off the shiver that ran unbidden down your spine. “I promise.”

——————

Chris took you to a restaurant first – nothing fancy, and very clearly nothing too romantic, that was certain; corroborated by the subtle sink of your heart – before you both began your pleasant evening stroll, vaguely in the direction of the “hidden gem” dive bar him and a few of his friends had found when he’d moved to L.A.

It would be an unfaithful recounting of events if you said it hadn’t been a bit awkward at first, but soon enough, you’d both found your footing, and the quick witted teasing and fast fire rapport was almost second nature to the both of you.

“Favourite Disney character, and if you say you don’t have one, you can find somewhere else to live.”

The mirth in his eyes suggested he was joking, but there was an edge to his voice that said otherwise. He was serious to some extent, and for some unfathomable reason, you refused to let him down. Also because you really didn’t have a place to go should this all go sideways. You mentally made a reminder to have a fail safe contingency plan if things got messy – not that they would; you were insistent on that.

“It happens that I’m in luck, then,” you retorted. “Because as it so happens, I have a top five.”

You rattled off your list, loving the way Chris’ smile grew impossibly wider at each name drop.

Your conversation – more a debate on who was the badder bitch: Mulan, Moana, or Elsa – took a natural halt outside a cute hole-in-the-wall ice cream parlour. Suddenly, memories of the first time you met came flooding back.

“Cookies and cream, right?”

He arched a brow in confusion.

“Your favourite ice cream flavour. It was cookies and cream.”

“You remembered.”

It was enough to make you laugh, the surprise in his voice. “Of course I would. You tried to convince me it was the best in the world. Stupidly so, considering [I already am an avid cookies and cream worshipper] // [my allegiances lie with {insert favourite ice cream flavour here}].”

“Yeah, yeah. Do you want some? Before we go and meet Seb and Anthony?”

“Uh, sure,” you shrugged.

He gave you a playful nudge of the elbow and headed to the counter. The order came quick, and soon you were back on your slow crawl to the pub, ice cream already starting to sweat and melt in the sugarcone.

You watched in amusement as Chris all but moaned in ecstasy as he devoured the cookies and cream. The sound was enough to make you moan yourself, but the sight – well, that was a more humourous one to behold. He ate like a starving man, and some dark recess of your mind wondered what else he might be inclined to eat with such passion–

He had caught you staring, and he paused his ministrations. “What?”

“Nothing.” You had tried to stifle your giggle with ice cream, and it had turned into a cough, and now you were outright laughing at him. “Don’t stop on my account, I just think you and your dessert should find a room if you’re going to be so vocal about your pleasure.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want some?” He smirked, offering you his mangled ice cream scoop, half gone already.

“I’ve got my own, I think I’ll survive.” The wink came natural with your response.

“No, really, you should try some.”

“It’s just hard to take you seriously. With all the ice cream on your face.”

He paused, confusion halting his steps. And rightfully so – he still remained immaculate, not a speck out of place. “Where?”

“Right…” – you suddenly grabbed his unsuspecting hand, still clutching his treat, and smeared the icy cold goodness on the side of his cheek – “there!”

Your howl of laughter was short lived as he slowly wiped the ice cream from his face before turning his attention to you. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

It wasn’t menacing by any means, more playful, but when he came at you with his ice cream cone, every intent of menace was there. You were wearing black, after all, and a stain from that cream was going to be glaringly visible for the entire bar excursion.

Easily dodging his attack, you darted to the side and held your own ice cream out, hoping it would keep him at bay. He still advanced, and you knew you were screwed.

So you said fuck it, and ran.

Luckily, you had already been quite close to the bar, and although you wouldn’t be able to tell them where exactly it was should a stranger ask you in passing, you recognized the name on the sign easily enough. Taking one last mournful bite of ice cream, you discarded the rest in a garbage can, it proving more a hindrance to your escape than a good weapon.

Exhilaration flowing through you, peels of laughter leaving your lips, you burst into the bar, hoping you’d be safe. The patrons paid you no mind as you whipped around, eyes cautiously on the door, awaiting your doom.

Chris burst in not soon after you, both of you breathless. He had lost the ice cream along the way too, and with that immediate danger gone, you felt yourself visibly relax.

Among your panting breaths, you chuckled. “Truce?”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. “Truce.”

“Hey, Evans! Over here!”

Both of you turned your attention to the man who spoke. Sat side by side in a booth, waiting for your arrival, was the ever gorgeous Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie, the latter having risen to wave you over.

Your heart stuttered at the sheer bizarreness of it all.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “How do I look?”

“You look great.” When you gazed up at Chris, there was a softness to his eyes and a gentleness to his smile. It astounded you how playful and teasing he could be one second, and how heartachingly genuine he could be the next. “Except…”

Your eyes widened. “Except?!”

He chuckled, reaching out a tentative thumb. When you didn’t pull away, he proceeded. One, large and wildly beautiful hand resting on your cheek, the thumb grazing your lip, you had to remind yourself that you had just run for your life and that was the reason for your heart threatening to break free from your chest – nothing more. But there they were again, the goddamn goosebumps. You shivered, undetectable to him, but what felt like earthquake tremors to you.

He swiped away the leftover ice cream that had been clinging to your lips, and, without a second thought, brought his thumb to those perfect lips of his. Time seemed to slow as you watched him lick and suck the ice cream off his finger, his eyelids fluttering, long lashes fanning closed.

And then the spell broke as he gave you a reassuring and completely friendly smile, unfazed at all by what had just transpired. “There. Much better.”

——————

Anthony was bewildered. “Wait, so he stole your cab?”

“And you let him?” Seb had paused while chalking his cue.

“She never let’s him forget…” Chris grumbled under his breath, taking a languid sip of his beer.

That earned him a mutual eye roll from you and Sebastian, and a look passed between you.

“What a baby,” you mouthed to him from across the pool table.

“I know!” He mouthed back with a smirk while sinking down to line up his next shot.

After an initial round of drinks, you and the boys eventually found yourselves migrating to the pool table. Anthony and Seb were the only ones playing, having gotten to the bar earlier than you and Chris and were pleasantly buzzed by the time you two had entered. Chris and you decided to sit the first round out, instead opting to drink a little more before.

“And then he followed you into an alleyway and you didn’t kick him in the dick?” Anthony gave Seb a pat on the shoulder in consolation when he missed the shot, but still had his attention focused on you, and the unravelling series of events that had led you to this moment.

Seb, still cursing from his failed shot, straightened from the table. “He would’ve been kicked in the dick the moment he tried to steal my cab, I can tell you that.”

Anthony and Sebastian found your story far more amusing than you ever did, but the more you spoke about it with them, the funnier it became.

“Well, it’s not so bad. I got to meet you guys.” You raised your beer in cheers.

Seb pressed a hand to his heart, mouthing a soft “aaw”, while Anthony, although smiling his adorable gap-toothed grin, rolled his eyes. “Man, get the hell out of here with that sappy shit.”

You laughed, hopping off your bar stool. “Alright, come on, it’s my turn. You’re all fucking it up, it really can’t be that hard…”

——————

Apparently it could be that hard. And you weren’t talking about the team of doubles pool game unfolding in front of you…

You were bent over the pool table, lining up your next shot. And Chris was…

His body was pressed against yours, leaning against you, every bit as warm as you expected, and rock hard with taut muscles that you could feel individually ripple at every movement. The smell of him – something delicious and indescribable – was all around you. Affable hands – leaving a blazing trail of goosebumps in their wake – travelled down to cover your own as he “helped you” play pool.

He was speaking low, directly into your ear, each husky word shiver inducing as every so often his lips would brush the shell of your ear as either he or you shifted.

“Nice and steady. Keep your eye on the ball,” he murmured throatily. The hand that wasn’t assiting your grip on the cue idly fell to land on the dip of your waist, travelling down to rest on the curve of your hip – searing hot through your jumpsuit. “Just like that…”

You involuntarily moved beneathe him, and you felt him stiffen. He cleared his throat, the rasp still tinted in his voice, eyes hooded with something unknown.

He drew back, leaving you cold and wanting – but much more clear headed. It wasn’t entirely lost on you, the way he shuffled uncomfortably, having to adjust his jeans – particularly around the crotch area.

“You know, Evans,” you smirked. “If I needed your help, I would’ve asked for it.”

To punctuate your point, you sank the ball you’d had your eye on, and, in quick succession, sank another.

He watched you, captivated, mouth slightly agape. “I…”

You shot Mackie a wink over the table as you missed the next shot, but managed to position the eight ball right in front of his and Seb’s most favoured pocket, effectively screwing them over. He groaned, but nodded and slow clapped in appreciation of the duplicity. You mockingly curtseyed to him, before handing the cue to Chris for his shot.

“Don’t worry,” Seb said, clapping Chris on the shoulder. “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.”

#chris evans #anthony mackie #sebastian stan #chris evans/you #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans/reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans angst #dina writes #ocean eyes #part 4

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ayatosmlktea · 4 years

Note

maybe a modern au! eren x reader? 💕

A/N: Once again from the bottom of my heart thank you for being patient with me. I hope you enjoy this! I had fun writing it :)

𝑪𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 ❤️

“Y/N, fetch me a coffee would you? I’ve got a meeting this afternoon and my head is spinning”

“Of course sir! The usual?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as cheerful as possible while pushing back the tears of frustration that were threatening to spill over any second. Erwin tilted his head

“Do I ever ask for anything different? God, why is it so hard to find good help these days. Yes the usual, bring it to conference room B and don’t get lost this time alright sweetheart?” Gritting her teeth together she forced a smile on her face and nodded briefly before turning on her heels trying not to ball her hands into fists.

‘God that was one time’ She muttered under her breath once finally in the elevator, quickly wiping away any tears that had managed to leak from the corner of her eye.

When Y/N had started interning at Smith and Zoe she had gone into it thinking that it would provide her with plenty of experience that would either get her foot in the door with the company once she graduated or open up new opportunities elsewhere. She was nothing short of hard-working and was thrilled to find she’d be interning with the CEO of the company himself, what better person to learn from than Erwin Smith? What she hadn’t expected was becoming his personal assistant.

Not only did he rarely let her sit in on meetings but he treated her like she was his on call servant on top of the piles of work that she was already expected to complete. That wasn’t to say he was unkind or impolite, she’d been lucky enough to snag a paid internship afterall. Erwin was rather…inconsiderate when it came to understanding other people’s feelings. The entire week she’d done nothing but grab his coffee from the cafe downstairs and basically do everything his secretary had done before he’d fired her for wearing an off-putting perfume.

“Use this as a lesson Y/N, I hate the smell of vanilla. Don’t come in here wearing that shit.”

Since then Erwin had been almost unbearable and while she definitely didn’t have to stay under his internship, this position was one of the most coveted across the country. If that meant doing petty tasks to start making a name for herself in this company, she’d do whatever it took.

Y/N pulled out her phone to send a quick text to her best friend, begging for help on dealing with how much of an ass Erwin was. Erwin hated seeing people on their phones , he had ranted to Y/N more than once about how social media was going to be the demise of modern society. She’d had to bite her tongue several times to refrain from pointing out that most of his company’s engagement and profits came from their presence on social media.

Once Erwin’s drink had been handed to her by the cute barista, Y/N had quickly spun around to race back upstairs only to collide into the worst person possible.

“Oh my God I am so sorry!” Y/N gasped, her eyes widening in utter horror as Erwin’s coffee was now all over Levi Ackerman’s white dress shirt. His eyes were cold and held no emotions but his tone was laced with venom.

“You’re sorry? This suit is Armani, watch where you’re going dumbass!” Y/N’s face drained of all colour the longer he stared at her.

“Wait a minute, you look familiar.” Slate coloured eyes narrowed as they roamed over her face.

“Your Erwin’s intern, aren’t you?” He finally says snapping his fingers while Y/N felt her limbs becoming jelly. Erwin and Levi weren’t conventional business partners but they worked closely together and she’d had the unfortunate luck of being caught up in Levi’s bad mood more than once. Sure he was hot but he lacked all forms of human decency.

“I am so sorry Mr.Ackerman! I should have been more careful! It was completely my mistake.” By this point their interaction had caught the attention of other co-workers who were shamelessly watching their every move.

“Tch” Rolling his eyes Levi turned his back on her and she knew that by the time she got back upstairs Erwin would be ready to chew her a new one. Y/N felt her face burn with embarrassment as Levi walked out of the cafe. All eyes were on her, her clothes still covered in the remnants of their spilled drinks clingling uncomfortably to her skin.

“Oh god, sorry about the mess” She sighed feeling a heavy weight settle in her chest when one of the barista’s brought over a mop.

“Hey don’t worry about it. That guy seems like a dick.” The brunet chuckled, making Y/N snort.

“Yeah that’s putting it lightly” His green eyes twinkled with amusement at her nervously biting her lip.

“I’ve seen you around here a lot lately, you work in the offices upstairs?” He inquired.

“Yeah my boss fired his secretary last week so I’m filling in the position and obviously doing a shit job of it” Y/N laughed humorlessly, attempting to use a handful of napkins to absorb some of the coffee on her shirt.

“Don’t say that, I’ve seen you running in and out of the building multiple times a day looking like Satan himself is chasing you. Your boss is obviously a dick too. He should know better than to make cute girls cry.” Eren’s lazy smirk had butterflies swirling around in her stomach. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt that way either, every morning on her way upstairs she snuck in a glance at the charming barista cursing her lack of social skills and settling to admire him from afar.

“I am not cute!” She laughed nervously while gesturing to her coffee-stained outfit.

“I don’t know, you’re pretty cute to me. Coffee stains and all.” Y/N once again felt her face begin to heat up under his unwavering gaze. The buzz from her phone bitterly broke her out of her trance. Glancing down at the screen her stomach churned as she read Erwin’s text.

5 minutes late. Not good.

“Fuck, sorry I need to go. My boss is going to kill me” Y/N muttered, her fingers tapping anxiously on her phone.

“Let me make you a new drink first, can’t go back empty handed!” He laughed, his energy was contagious and she found herself smiling at his goofiness. The brunet handed over Erwin’s drink and she held out her hand to grab it, her eyebrows scrunching together in confusion when he didn’t let go.

“I know you need to get back upstairs but I just had to let you know that I’ve been interested in you for a while and would love to take you out to dinner.” if Y/N knew any better she would have said he sounded nervous. Her own heart was pounding against her rib cage, of all days to be asked out by a cute guy it just had to be the day that she was going to get flayed alive by Erwin and Levi. Regardless, she passed her phone over to him and entered her own number in his. His boyish grin had her heart doing backflips.

“I’m Eren by the way.” Fuck even his name was hot.

“Y/N” she responded tucking her phone back in her pocket.

“Well Y/N, if you’re free tomorrow night I’d love to get to know you better” Y/N was sure she was going to wake up at any second, Eren was way too perfect to be real.

“Yeah I’d like that”

Masterlist

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asterekmess · 4 years

Note

Scott McCall stans claiming he's revolutionary because he's totes "femme and queer coded, the queerest and most effeminate of the male cast" or some other delusional garbage is so funny because 1) LMFAO no, he's not and 2) they treat female characters (especially Scott’s canonical love interests) like utter shit despite claiming to love Scott for his canonically nonexistent ~feminine~ traits and mannerisms

Honestly, I have no clue what Scott fans say about Scott. I kind of avoid most Pro-scott stuff because it turns my stomach. So, I didn’t know they say anything about him being feminine or queer-coded, but I don’t really agree with that statement either.

From what I see...Scott’s really masculine? He’s got the shaggy boy haircut (which isn’t really feminine?) thing going...but that immediately goes away and we end up with the shaved sides quiff thingy. He starts off with the layering thing (also not feminine) but switches out to muscle T’s and Henley’s? He’s really beefy, which is seen as masculine. he plays a very high contact sport, which is also seen as masculine. He drive a motorbike which is masc. Even his Tattoo is masculine (no color, no intricate designs, I dunno how people make tattoos masc or femme, but apparently they do) He’s not well read before Season 3, and he only does that as a form of self-betterment (not that I’m knocking any attempt at bettering himself), not because he’s actually a lit buff. Honestly, I have no idea what feminine traits they think he has? When he gets angry he doesn’t cry (which is seen as a feminine response) he shoves people and he snaps lunch trays and leave dents in the walls with his head. V masculine. He cried once when Deaton taught him the pain drain thing...but??? So does Isaac? He works with a vet...and I guess working with animals is kinda seen as feminine? Kinda? He’s not soft-spoken. He’s not very empathetic to most people. He’s not fashion-minded. I’m struggling to think of any feminine things about him? (If you know what they think some of those traits/mannerisms are, I’m actually curious)

As for queer-coded...what? Scott shows no interest in men. He sniffs Danny to find out if he’s a werewolf and compliments him on his Armani when he gets caught. When Stiles asks questions that are clearly a lead-in to some kind of sexuality conversation, Scott barely hears him, let alone cares. He’s very sex-positive, very romance positive. There’s the weird moment with Isaac at the rave, yeah. It was uncharacteristically intimate, the whole “i care about you” thing. But I find it very very hard to believe Scott has any interest in Isaac when he THROWS HIM into A WALL for saying he might like in Allison. TWICE. (And we’re not talking about sterek here, but yes, I know that Derek pushes Stiles up against a wall and smacks his head on a steering wheel and punches his hand. None of those are BODILY LIFTING someone [for the record, someone who was regularly abused for the majority of his childhood] INTO THE AIR and THROWING THEM at a WALL. Also, Derek is established as having issues being touched/body issues and Stiles made him STRIP in front of Danny. They were both being assholes here.) He gets all smiley when someone at Jungle buys him a drink, but it was pretty clearly not him being excited he got noticed. It was him teasing Stiles for STILES not getting noticed by anyone except drag queens (Which was a horrible horrible joke), hence their little snipes at each other. Hell, Stiles asks if Scott wants to make out with him (just to test. you don’t have to be in love with someone to kiss ‘em.) and Scott laughs at him and walks off. What part of that hints in any way at someone being queer? Unless they’re talking about queer as in like, his gender? Which, I mean, I’m not knowledgeable enough on the trans/non-binary experience, so I guess maybe. But he never seems to show any kind of dysphoria with his body (NOT that dysphoria is required in order for someone to be trans/non-binary. I am NOT saying that.) or an interest in breaking gender norms, or even any interest in the concept of gender at all. Those are all ways in which people are ‘coded’ to be trans/non-binary within media, and I see none of it? Maybe I’m missing something.

As for being the queerest, most effeminate male character...uh...Danny is canonically gay? He automatically wins? Even Jackson is canonically Bi at the end of the show, and in being fashion-forward (which is apparently femme) he technically hits the top of the merged section. (unless you count Danny’s armani as him being fashionable). And if we’re just going for the most effeminate, I’m pretty sure that actually counts at Isaac? With the scarf thing, his trauma causing him to have similar mannerisms to women just by virtue of him trying to look smaller and speaking softer. Especially around Scott? Uh...he’s skinnier than the others, not as beefy (though still v muscles). Anyway, no matter what, I’m pretty positive Scott is neither the most queer, nor the most effeminate male character of the cast.

On the topic of how the Scott fans treat Scott’s love interests, I’m not super familiar with it, but I honestly don’t doubt that someone can both be incredibly proud of effeminate men while still disrespecting women. Women are nurses, men are doctors. Women are housewives, men are chefs. Women like clothes, clothing brands are mostly owned by men. Men are often praised more for things than women, just by virtue of being men.

#personal #go for it #anti-scott mccall #meta ramblings #rant #this one didn't feel as long so I didn't put in a read more #thanks for the ask #i'm not sure if you're all the same person or not #but hi!#Anonymous

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thenicenamesaretaken · 4 years

Text

I’d Rather Hurt than let you Down

Written as a fill for the Non-Con Touching square on my @badthingshappenbingo card. It’s an expanded version of a 100 word drabble I wrote based on the prompt ‘Treat.’

Fandom: Prodigal Son

Characters: Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo, OMC

Tags: non-consensual touching, threats of rape, threats of violence, non-con drug use, Malcolm being and idiot

Rating: Mature

Square: Non-Consensual Touching

Find on AO3 here.

Malcolm isn’t used to waiting in lines at clubs.

For one thing, he rarely goes clubbing, it’s really not his scene. For another, when he does go out, the bouncers usually take one look at his Armani suit and handful of cash and let him right in.

But this is for a case, and tonight he’s not Malcolm Bright. He’s just Mal, a punk kid looking to blow off some steam and mix it up with the wrong crowd, and maybe get into some trouble.

It’s what their suspect looks for. Pretty, vulnerable young men who they can drug, drag home, abuse, and rape. He’s sadistic and insatiable; three victims last weekend, another victim the night before. And Malcolm’s hoping to become his next target.

It may not be the best idea he’s ever had—catching a predatory rapist by offering himself up as prey. But he’d rather be the next potential victim than some unsuspecting college kid.

It takes 20 minutes for him to get inside. He’s on his phone while he waits, like nearly everyone else in line, keeping Gil updated.

Gil was not happy with the plan, at all. There is a lot of potential for it to go wrong, Malcolm will admit. But he’d rather it go wrong and still catch the guy than to not try at all and let him go free for another weekend. Gil had insisted he wear an actual tracker and not just use his phone, in case he lost it. The tracker is tucked into the waistband of his boxer briefs. By the time those start coming off, it will be past time for the team to arrive, so there’s no reason to think they won’t be able to find him wherever he ends up later in the evening.

He shoots off one final text as he nears the front of the line, shoving his phone in his pocket and pulling out his wallet to get his ID ready and cash for the cover charge. Then, he’s inside.

He’d made an educated guess on which club their suspect would most likely start his evening at, based on his patterns from the previous weekend. He’d made a lot of educated guesses for this one, but he was confident in all of them.

He goes straight to the bar and orders a drink. He finishes it quickly and orders another, then heads to the dance floor. For this to work he needs to put himself out there, draw attention to himself and what kind of a good time he’s looking for. He dances for a while, finishes his second drink, and heads back to the bar.

Once he manages to find a place to stand, Malcolm leans against the bar, tight pants showing off his ass, his shirt a size too small and just short enough to show off a strip of skin when he moves. He knows how he looks—ridiculous, to be honest, but good. He’s fit, the jeans make his ass look great. He’s begging for attention in any and every way he can. And he fits right in.

A man sidles up to him, gives him an obvious once over and smirks. “Hey, hottie, how bout another drink? My treat.”

Malcolm smiles back, looking up at him from underneath his eyelashes, coy and tempting. The man matches the description of their suspect, and Malcolm turns up the charm.

“That’d be great,” he says, looking the man over once himself, pausing dramatically when his eyes settle on his crotch. There’s not much to see there, but his look is suggestive when he meets the man’s eyes once more anyways.

The man hands him another drink, and Malcolm has no doubt that it’s drugged. “And who do I have to thank for the free booze?” he asks.

“You can call me Stephen, sweetheart. And what do I call you?”

“Mal,” he answers with a sweet smile.

“Cheers, Mal,” the man—definitely not a Stephen—says before taking a sip of his own drink.

Malcolm smiles even wider, clinks his glass against Stephen’s and drinks eagerly, hoping desperately that the team has his back.

It doesn’t take long for Stephen to get handsy, to start whispering filth into Malcolm’s ear. Malcolm hasn’t even finished the drink yet when he steps into his personal space and rests a hand on his hip, fingers slipping up underneath his shirt to run against his bare skin.

“You’re real pretty, baby. Can’t wait to take you home, see what you’re hiding underneath these clothes. Not that you’re hiding much, little slut. Shaking your ass in those jeans.”

A shiver runs through Malcolm at the touch and the whisper of breath on the shell of his ear, but he pushes down on the fear that’s building in his chest as he starts to recognize the effects of the drug.

He steps back out of Stephen’s reach, mumbling what he hopes is a ‘no,’ and runs into someone behind him. It’s disorienting; he turns to apologize but the quick movement makes his head spin and he sways, grabbing hold of the bar to steady himself as his vision begins to swim. His mind screams at him to fight the drug’s effects, but he ignores that, too, lets the wave of dizziness wash over him, submitting to the mindless euphoria that begins to set in.

Stephen slings an arm over his shoulder and pulls him in to lean against him. He’s saying something—an apology or an excuse, Malcolm can’t quite tell. He loses track of time, of himself, but he tries to say no, to push away from Stephen’s hold, at least he thinks he does. He has to make sure Stephen knows he doesn’t want this. He regains a measure of awareness when he realizes Stephen is walking him towards the exit, and real terror starts to overtake him, then. He tries to step away, to duck out from under Stephen’s arm, but the motion nearly sends him sprawling to the ground.

Stephen just laughs it off. Through blurred vision, Malcolm can see a few concerned faces watching as Stephen grabs him by the bicep and holds him upright once more. He wraps his hand around Malcolm’s hip this time, possessive and smooth, like he’s done it a hundred times. Malcolm tries to push him off, but then he’s leaning against Stephen and the world doesn’t feel like it's spinning anymore. Despite his best intentions, he finds himself settling against the solid mass of the other man’s body, letting Stephen support him as they walk out into the parking lot.

It’s a blur from there. Stephen puts him in the back of a car, follows in after him. Malcolm can feel his heart rate increasing as they pull away from the club, as Stephen starts to run his hands along his thighs and chest. He leans in for a kiss, and it’s controlling, almost vicious. He pinches Malcolm’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and grips tightly, forcing his head where he wants it to go.

Malcolm is dimly aware of everything that’s happening to him, but at the same time, he’s detached and unable to react in any way. Stephen slides a hand along his lower belly, dipping his fingers into his waistband, slipping just low enough that Malcolm's cock begins to twitch in interest and he moans softly, not in pleasure but in fear, though it sounds the same.

"I knew you'd be into this, whore," Stephen says with a dark chuckle, running his fingers back and forth across his skin.

“‘M not, ge’off,” Malcolm mumbles incoherently.

He tries to move away from Stephen’s touch but it only makes things worse as his uncoordinated shifting brings the other man’ hand closer to where he's growing steadily harder in his pants.

"Hey, save it for when you get home," the driver yells from the front seat.

Malcolm moans again, shaking his head, but Stephen pulls him into another kiss, cutting off his protests.

They arrive at their destination and Stephen pulls him out of the car, leaves him leaning against the side as he ducks back in to tip their driver. Malcolm pushes himself up weakly, tries to walk away, though he has no idea where he is or where he's trying to go. Just… away. Away from Stephen and his wandering hands and what's coming next.

The details are fuzzy, but somewhere in the back of his mind there's a strong impression that Stephen is going to hurt him. He can't remember how or why… and he knows that help is coming, but he's still afraid of what could happen before they arrive.

He stumbles, nearly falling as soon as he’s away from the support the car provides. Stephen is there in an instant, hauling him up roughly and pulling him along till they reach a door. He pushes him up against the wall next to it, holding him in place with a hand fisted in his collar. The door swings open and Stephen pushes him inside then slams him back against the door once it’s closed, hard enough that Malcolm sees stars when the back of his skull thuds against the solid wood.

Stephen grinds up against, slotting his legs between Malcolm’s, and Malcolm can feel that he’s hard where he’s rubbing against his upper thigh. Stephen kisses him roughly, forcing his tongue inside his mouth, biting down hard on his lower lip. He kisses and nips his way down the column of Malcolm’s throat then sinks his teeth viciously into the muscle of his shoulder. Malcolm cries out, his whole body tensing as the pain shoots through him. He pushes weakly against Stephen’s shoulders, pulls at his hair with one hand to dislodge him, but it only makes the man angry.

He steps back and slaps Malcolm hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor with a cry of pain. Stephen squats down beside him and looks him over with a leer.

“You’re really into this, aren’t you, pretty boy?” he sneers, pressing against Malcolm’s crotch where his cock is hard and straining against the tight pants.

He can’t help it, the light teasing touches from when they’d been in the car combined with the friction from when Stephen had been rubbing against him at the door had felt good, and his physical body and his logical mind are not communicating well at the moment. Malcolm groans when Stephen increases the pressure and cups him through his pants.

“Can’t wait to get these clothes off of you and really have some fun. Gonna mark you up real good, make you even more pretty for me before I fuck you. Can’t wait to get my hands on that ass of yours. You look so good in those jeans.”

Malcolm shifts, trying to roll away from Stephen’s touch, from his gaze but the other man stops him easily.

“Let’s get a better look, shall we?” he continues, deftly undoing Malcolm’s button and fly and shoving his hand down his pants, inside his underwear. He squeezes Malcolm hard, drawing another cry of pain from Malcolm. His pain only increases Stephen’s pleasure, his eyes sparking with a sick glee as he jerks Malcolm roughly and presses his thumbnail against his sensitive head. “Ah, fuck baby. You’re so hard for me, aren’t you? You sound so good. I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Finally, Stephen releases him and stands once more. He bends down and grabs a fistful of Malcolm’s hair, pulling him roughly to his knees, drawing more pained little noises from Malcolm’s lips.

“Time to put that pretty mouth of yours to work,” Stephen murmurs, freeing his own cock from his pants and positioning himself in front of Malcolm.

“Fuck you,” Malcolm somehow manages to spit out, meeting Stephen’s eyes defiantly from where he’s kneeling in front of the man.

The blow comes faster than Malcolm can track, another slap sending him to the floor once more and splitting his lip open. In an instant Stephen has a hand in his hair once more, pulling him up and holding him in place as he rubs the head of his cock against Malcolm’s lips, smearing the blood from his split lip across his mouth.

“Reds a good color on you. Knew it would be. Now listen carefully, Mal. You're going to suck me off like the good little slut you are. If you bite, or try to fight it, I’m going to beat you to death and fuck you as you die. Understand?” Stephen says, his voice deadly serious.

Malcolm nods, terror coursing through him, causing him to shake. Stephen tilts his head back, presses the head of his cock against Malcolm’s lips once more.

And the door slams open, his team rushes in, screaming at Stephen to put his hands up and step away. Stephen complies, already insisting that what they’re doing is consensual, but no one is listening to him. The sudden flurry of commotion and the heady rush of relief at their arrival makes Malcolm’s head spin and he tips, nearly falling over and just barely managing to catch himself with one hand. He shuts his eyes tight, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass.

“Bright? Hey, kid, you with us?” someone asks and Malcolm opens his eyes to see Gil’s worried face in front of his own. He has to blink several times to be able to focus properly on him, but he does manage to nod.

“I’m okay. I’m alright,” he mutters.

Gil brushes his thumb against Malcolm’s cheek and along his lip where the marks from Stephen’s blows are surely evident.

“Just a smack,” Malcolm mumbles. “I’m okay.”

Gil helps him to his feet slowly, gently, looking him over for any other signs of injury, his expression twisting into a look of disgust and fury when he sees that Malcolm’s pants are undone. Malcolm fumbles with the fly and it’s so much harder than it should be but he gets them done up again.

“Malcolm,” Gil starts, but then Malcolm is pitching forward and Gil catches him, holding him upright.

“Just tired. Wanna go home,” Malcolm begs.

Gil sighs, rubbing his shoulder gently, tenderly. “Not quite yet, kid. CSU needs to take some pictures and draw some blood. I’ll drive you home as soon as they’re done, okay, City Boy?”

Malcolm nods sleepily, leaning into Gil’s gentle embrace.

“Did we get him?” he asks a moment later. “Did I do good?”

“Yeah, kid. You did great. You did great,” Gil assures him, rubbing his back with soft, gentle hands and holding him tight.

Malcolm lets his eyes slip close, a small smile turning the corners of his lips up as he sinks into the safety of Gil’s arms.

He knew his team would have his back. They always do.

#prodigal son #bad things happen bingo #tw: noncon #malcolm bright #gil arroyo

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baepsaets · 5 years

Text

suga baby ~ min yoongi

pairing: min yoongi x reader

rating: sfw (future smut)

word count: 6.4k

summary: you’re a bartender at a seedy downtown dive. after a close call, your favorite customer yoongi takes it upon himself to make sure you have everything you could ever need.

a/n: hello, i have major writer’s block with eight’s a crowd and it manifested into this beast, i’m so sorry lmao. once again, thank you everyone for your sweet messages! i don’t get a chance to post them on my blog, but i always read them and they make me smile. thanksgiving break for me starts at the end of the week, so i hope to use that free time to catch up on my writing. please enjoy!

part 01 02 03

Min Yoongi sat down at your bar sometime between eleven o’clock and eleven-thirty. It was a busier Thursday night than usual, so by the time you finally made it down to his regular seat, there was already a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

He eyed you from underneath his fringe. “You look tired.”

You snorted, already pouring him his regular drink—whiskey sour with a dash of grenadine. “I feel more tired than I look.”

“I know the feeling,” he replied, tipping his freshly-made drink toward you. “Happy end of the week.”

“It’s not the end of the week,” you told him, voice sourer than the drink in his hand, “if you work the weekend, Mr. Min.”

You tapped the bar next to his slim-fingered hand in annoyance, and his mouth quirked into a half-smile.

You had met Yoongi almost half a year ago, when he’d wandered into your shabby bar half-past midnight on a Wednesday night. The bar had been deserted, and he’d looked like a gemstone in a pile of gravel—Armani suit tailored to fit his slender frame, golden watch ticking ostentatiously on his wrist. He’d sat down at the end of the bar, furthest seat from the door, and had given you a short but dismissive look. “Can you make a good drink?”

With your lips pressed tight together, you’d nodded your head. You made a hell of a drink, which was the only reason you were a bartender. You were the first to admit that you lacked all other qualities that seemed required for the job—you weren’t particularly pretty, hated small-talk, and had a terrible case of resting bitch face. What you lacked in charisma, you made up for with a mean cosmopolitan.

“I don’t know,” you’d told him, flatly. “Can you leave a good tip?”

He’d raised an eyebrow, amused by the venom in your tone. “I’ll make you a deal—make me the best mojito I’ve ever had, and I’ll leave you the best tip you’ll ever get.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were intrigued by his offer. What was it like, having enough money to waste bartering with the bartender? You’d turned your back to grab a glass. Sugar, mint—he looked like someone who preferred it sour, so you added extra lime as you topped the drink off with white rum. You’d slid him the drink and pretended to immerse yourself with cleaning the countertop as he’d taken his first sip, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He had shrugged, trailing his finger around the rim of his glass. You’d tried not to sigh in annoyance. Whatever, whatever. You didn’t care if some pretentious, upper-class asshole didn’t like your drink. Plenty of other people did.

Min Yoongi had left half an hour later, and under his empty glass was a crisp, one-hundred-dollar bill.

Since then, you’d been stuck with the man, who was surprisingly good company.

“Busy night,” he commented, holding his drink up to the light, observing the way the grenadine turned the dark alcohol auburn.

“You’re telling me,” you replied, absent-mindedly. You eyed the rest of the bar, checking to see if anyone was gesturing for your attention. Your gaze snagged on a group of men near the door. They were typical—loud, obnoxious. A bundle of unease started to unwind in your stomach. With your manager in the back, you were the only person working the floor. If something happened, if a fight broke out, or if one of them made a move, you’d be completely on your own.

“Has there been a problem?” Yoongi asked. You glanced back toward him and realized he’d followed your gaze, also staring at the rowdy group.

“No,” you assured him. “It’s just been busy.”

It made a tingle shoot through your chest, thinking that he cared.

You were probably something insignificant in his life, compared to whatever rich people usually cared about—the stock market, or fashion, or something. Yoongi woke up every morning wondering what his hired staff was making him for breakfast, while you wondered if you could afford an overpriced coffee to get you through your sixteen-hour workday.

Yoongi sat down his drink. “Can I ask you a quick question?”

“It’s not like I have a choice. I don’t get off until three.”

You grabbed an already clean glass and started cleaning it just to look occupied, any excuse to loiter in front of his seat. Your favoritism was blatant to people who frequented the bar, but to the outside eye, it just looked like you were making small-talk with a random customer while you worked.

“Ha, ha,” he deadpanned, amused. “Do you remember me talking about my client last week?”

You nodded your head, interest piquing. You loved it when Yoongi talked about his job.

He was some type of music tycoon and owned a production company on a side of the city too expensive for you to frequent. He told you a lot about his job, mainly because he liked to complain about it. Most people who came into the bar to complain got too personal and didn’t care about what you had to say. My wife left me. I’ll never be a good father. Yoongi came into the bar and said, Fuck Ji-sung from the sounding department and fuck our capitalistic regime, before asking for extra whiskey.

And then afterward, staring into his drink, slightly drained but more relaxed than before, Yoongi asked for your opinion. Which he seemed to value, for some reason. You had a suspicion he was in such a position of power at his job, most people only told him what he wanted to hear. That wasn’t your style. You may have been reserved, but you were honest. Maybe your opinion wasn’t the most educated one, but it was unbiased and more genuine than any other he had the opportunity to hear.

“The one who wasn’t rude until you started working on his second album?” you asked. “Makes your staff sort his candy by color?”

“Yes,” Yoongi hissed, thoroughly annoyed. “God, what a prick. Don’t get into the music industry. If I had a dollar for every goddamn time—,” and then he went on a nameless tangent, about respecting people who only made minimum wage and having common decency.

You liked seeing Yoongi like this. When you had first met him, he’d been so quiet. You could tell he was used to being quiet—not shy, just reserved. Like you. He had a tendency to word-dump, saying everything he needed to say in one breathless paragraph simply because he wasn’t used to talking very much in the first place.

“—but anyway, anyway, I just wanted to ask how you knew your advice would work.”

You stopped cleaning your glass and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You told me to give him more creative control over his next album and he started treating the staff better. Usually I do the opposite—treat my staff badly, and I fire you. But I didn’t want to lose this artist. Your advice worked. How did you know?”

You set the glass down and continued to stare, mouth slightly agape. You probably looked like an overworked fish wearing an apron. “You actually listened to my advice?”

He stared back, quizzically. “Of course. It was good advice. A little unorthodox, I’ll admit, but I needed a new approach.” His gaze sharped, turned a little darker, a little more intense. “I don’t usually reward bad behavior.”

You flushed a bit at his possible double-innuendo. Sometimes, it was like that with Yoongi. He’d say something teasingly, something that hinted at the idea of more. It was flattering, but you recognized it for what it really was—nothing serious, just harmless flirting. Everyone tried it at least once during your shift. They were drunk, and you were an easy target, especially once they were infected with liquid courage.

As if someone as handsome, rich, and successful as Yoongi would ever be interested in you.

“But I’m your bartender,” you gasped, surprised he couldn’t see the incredulousness of it. Yoongi was a millionaire. He paid people to give him advice. Highly trained people, who had some type of nonsense business degree that made them qualified to give him advice. You were a lowlife living paycheck to paycheck with a dead-end job and no foreseeable future, and he’d taken your advice over the advice of his hired staff.

And your advice had been better.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “It’s the person on the outside that can see the bigger picture. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t value your opinion.”

Hearing him say that made your skin tingle and flush. Yoongi seemed so effortlessly smart, effortlessly cultured, effortlessly eloquent. And he valued your opinion. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed. “But I had a gut feeling you were right. How did you know?”

Still caught off-guard, you slowly grabbed another glass to clean, finding comfort in the repetitive motion. “Well, you told me he only started acting out during this album. People who feel like they don’t have control over certain aspects of their lives tend to overexert control in others. I thought that because he felt like he didn’t have proper creative control over his album, maybe his frustration was manifesting as micromanaging your staff.”

Yoongi groaned, “Why couldn’t he just tell me that? I would have given him all the control he wanted.”

You shrugged, suppressing a laugh. “He was probably scared. You’re pretty intimidating.”

“Am I?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“Are you joking?” you asked. “With your scowl? Cacti are more approachable than you.”

He considered you for a moment, mouth flattening slightly. “Do I intimidate you?”

“No,” you scoffed. “I’m not easy to intimidate.” His mouth quirked again, and he looked like he was about to say something else, until—

“Hey, lady!” a man yelled from the other end of the bar. You turned and saw it was a member of the rowdy group by the door. “Can we get some service down here, too?”

Every ounce of friendliness dropped from Yoongi’s expression as he glared at them, but you only set down your glass with a sigh. “I’ll get you a refill in a second, be right back.”

You made your way down to the other end of the bar, conscious of the way the other man leered at you. Sometimes, you really, really didn’t like your job. You were in it for the money, and not even a great customer like Yoongi could make the job seem worth it on a bad night.

“What can I get you tonight?” you asked.

“Another beer,” he said, sliding his empty bottle across the counter. It tipped over the edge of the bar and shattered at your feet before you could scramble and catch it.

“Ow, shit,” you cursed. You stepped back, broken glass crunching under your feet. A shard of glass had cut the delicate, exposed skin of your left ankle between your shoe and the rolled cuff of your jeans.

“Today, please,” the man snapped, annoyed by your lack of promptness. You grabbed him an identical beer from the shelf behind you and set it on the counter. He snatched it up before you could even open it for him.

“That’ll be $1.93,” you said, eyeing the cut on your ankle. It was just deep enough to bleed, blood dripping down to stain the white of your sock. You would have to clean up the glass later.

“Excuse me? It was only $1.12 when I paid an hour ago.”

You wanted to throw your head back and groan. You’d given him that beer an hour ago, and it was the same price then as it was now. He was just trying to barter.

If it were any other customer, you would have let it slide. But you knew people like the man in front of you—give them an inch, and they would take a mile. If you didn’t set him straight now, he’d only try to push you further in the future.

“It was $1.93,” you told him flatly. “I know that because you didn’t tip and requested your change. It was a nickel and two pennies.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

“I’m saying that maybe you’re not remembering correctly,” you amended. “And even if it was $1.12 then, it’s $1.93 now. Either pay or give me the beer back.”

“Fine, bitch,” he snapped. The man threw the bottle onto the counter at an angle, hitting the edge of the bar closest to you and shattering. Your front was instantly soaked through as the beer splashed everywhere. Vaguely, you heard the group of men behind him cheering.

Anger and embarrassment flooded your chest. You were keenly aware of Yoongi at the other end of the bar, probably watching the whole exchange.

You didn’t want him to see you this way. It was just another reminder of how painfully, painfully below his league you were.

“You still have to pay for that,” you snapped. “Pay up and get the hell out before I call the police.”

The man laughed. He leaned forward and shoved you hard into the back shelf, and you yelped as bottles fell on top of and around you, barely missing your head. They shattered at your feet. Your back banged painfully against the wooden edge.

The noise was loud enough to catch the attention of the whole bar, and hopefully your manager. Before you could gather yourself, the men roared in laughter again, until the man who’d shoved you was dragged roughly away from the bar, and Min Yoongi punched the asshole in the face.

“Yoongi,” you gasped. It was probably the first time you’d ever called him by his first name. He didn’t stop or pause to look at you, only steadied the asshole and punched him again, the ring on his finger cutting across his cheek.

Another man from the group stepped forward and looked ready to intervene, but luckily at that moment, your manager slammed open the door to the backroom, making everyone jump. Your manager was a big man, old and stern, and he asked in his booming voice, “What the hell is going on here?”

Yoongi stepped away and cleaned his hand, wiping bloodied knuckles on the expensive edge of his button-down. You reached forward and grabbed his arm, tempted to drag him over the bar with you. Your manager gasped when he saw the state you were in, recognized your protective hold on Yoongi’s shirt, and immediately turned to the group of men still gathered by the door. They held up their fallen friend, the one Yoongi still looked like he wanted to beat unconscious.

“If you four don’t get out of my bar right fucking now,” your manager said darkly, “I’m calling the police and kicking your ass the whole time until they get here.”

Without a second thought the group of men scrambled out the door, dragging their friend with them. The sudden silence in the bar seemed to echo.

Yoongi turned and gripped the hand you had on his upper arm, and before you could protest, he was hauling you over the countertop like a child, other arm reaching out to hook underneath your leg and draw you next to him.

“Come here,” Yoongi muttered, lowly and almost to himself. Something in his voice sounded borderline frantic. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you squawked, undignified and startled by his sudden manhandling. Yoongi sat you on the nearest barstool as your manager hovered nearby.

He leaned forward until the tip of his fringe almost brushed your forehead. “Look at me. Are you bleeding?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Having Yoongi’s face so close to your own—well, it was hugely distracting. Your manager turned away and helpfully, a fellow patron at the bar filled him in with what they witnessed.

“(Y/N)?” Yoongi asked, and you realized you’d been silent for too long.

“I cut my ankle, but that’s it,” you told him. Yoongi dropped to his knees, the fabric of his expensive suit no doubt getting stained by the sticky bar floor.

You gasped at him to get up, but he ignored you in favor of grabbing your ankle, lifting it to his face. The cut was already dried and scabbed over. You tapped him on the shoulder to grab his attention, except whenever he looked up, with his dark and infuriated gaze, looking at you from such a compromising position—you lost your train of thought again. Jeez, maybe a bottle really did hit you in the head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, like he could read your mind. He stood up and leaned closer, hand hovering near your face, almost like he wanted to cup your cheek but was keeping himself restrained. “You didn’t hit your head? Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No, no, no,” you immediately said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“But they assaulted you,” Yoongi seethed, like he was stuck on it, like the thought had just been boiling in the back of his mind since his very first punch.

“It’s part of the job,” you replied, and he stared at you, dark and guileless. He seemed to scoot even closer, until his hips were between your open legs, and his hand was resting on your elbow.

“You don’t have to stand so close to me,” you whispered. “I probably smell like a college frat party right now.”

Yoongi grimaced but didn’t comment, which you were grateful for.

“I’m going to review the security footage and ban those men from the bar,” your manager declared, walking up next to you. “We can call the police right now if you want to press—,”

“That’s not necessary,” you interrupted, and Yoongi’s grip on your elbow tightened. “Really, can I just go home early? I want to shower.”

Your shift didn’t technically end until three in the morning, when the bar closed, but your manager’s gaze softened at your simple request. “I’ll take the rest of your shift and clock you out when I leave. You don’t work tomorrow, do you?”

You grimaced. “I have another seven to three.”

“I’ll ask Cindy to cover it. Take tomorrow off.”

Despite hating your job, your manager really was a life-saver. You thanked him profusely, and once you were done, Yoongi said, “Get your stuff from the back. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Your chest tightened. Yoongi was usually gone by the time you got off, and probably didn’t know you walked to work. It was only a ten minute walk, and while it wasn’t a pleasant one to make at three in the morning, you had a knife and a can of mace in your purse for emergencies.

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Min,” you told him. “Stay and finish your drink.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Go get your jacket. I’ll wait here.”

In the backroom, you tried to make yourself presentable. Your black shirt was soaked and smelled heavily of beer, which made you wince. You didn’t even like beer. You fixed your hair as best as you could and wiped your face with a paper towel. Grabbing your jacket, you put it on and made your way back to the front.

Yoongi was crouched on the floor with your manager, helping him clean up the broken glass. They were locked in a low conversation that you interrupted.

“Do you want me to help?” you asked, but Yoongi held up his hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” your manager said. “Get home safe, okay?”

You agreed and Yoongi stood, wiping off his hands. He grabbed his own jacket and his scarf, leading you outside with the palm of his hand hovering lightly over your lower back. It struck you as something so gentlemanly, your traitorous heart fluttered. It was bitter cold outside, and your thread-bare jacket did little to protect you. You hoped Yoongi didn’t notice.

Most of the vehicles in the lot looked second-hand, except the one at the end; it was compact, and oily black. It looked like it cost more than your yearly salary.

“The Maserati’s mine,” he commented, breath fanning in front of his face. You didn’t know what a Maserati looked like, but you could tell the slick car at the end of the lot must have been his. It was the most expensive-looking one.

“Black,” you noted. “Like your soul.”

He laughed, and thankfully, the tension in the air dissipated. Yoongi toed at the concrete, and you realized he was waiting for you to speak.

“So,” you started, “I don’t actually have a car.”

He stared at you blankly, which meant you had caught him off-guard. “Pardon?”

You wanted to snort. Pardon. Posh as fuck. “I don’t have a car.”

“How do you get to work?”

“I usually walk.”

Yoongi’s mouth opened before he snapped it shut, scowling. He opened it again. Closed it. Ran a tense hand through his hair. “Are you joking?”

“I wish,” you snorted, but had to suppress a flinch at the sudden harshness in his voice.

“Is your safety a joke to you?” he asked, suddenly, furiously. “First the guy in the bar, then you wouldn't let me take you to the hospital. And now this? Do you know how dangerous it is to walk home in this neighborhood during the day? Let alone at night?”

“I live here,” you snapped. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“What’s your address?” he asked. “I’ll drive you home.”

The idea filled you with dread. He seemed so suave and sophisticated. When he listened to you, he made you feel important. Everything that had happened tonight hammered nail after nail in the coffin of your fantasy, whispering to Yoongi in the dim light of the bar until the early morning. The fantasy where you were more than yourself and the life you lived. Having Yoongi drive you back to your shitty apartment in his fancy Maserati would be the final blow.

“No,” you replied.

He raised his eyebrow. “Why not?”

Because I don’t want you to see my shitty apartment. “It’s not necessary.”

“It’s midnight,” he said. “It’s dark. It’s cold. I’m not going to let you walk home by yourself.”

“I’ve been walking home by myself just fine for the past year.”

“(Y/N),” he begged. “Please get in my car.”

You bit your lip in indecision. It wasn’t like he was going to go inside, and it was freezing; you really didn’t want to walk home when it wasn’t necessary.

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as you don’t mind.”

Yoongi started leading you to his car until he paused, glancing back at you from over his shoulder.

“One second,” he said, stopping in front of you. He unwound his scarf from his neck and took a step closer.

Yoongi wrapped his scarf around your neck, stopping to tuck your hair underneath your jacket. He was standing too close, and you were glad your face was already red because you knew you were blushing. You took a deep breath and were delighted to realize the scarf smelled like him.

“There,” he murmured, pleased. “You looked cold.”

“Well, it’s cold out,” you commented, and he flicked your forehead. You gasped in mock-outrage.

“It’s unlocked,” he said, walking forward and leaving you to trail behind him.

The interior of Yoongi’s car was black leather and just sitting in the front seat felt sinful. You were afraid to shift, painfully aware of the fact that you were wet and cold and soaked in alcohol like a maraschino cherry.

“It’ll take a second for the heat to kick in,” he said. “Where do you live?”

You described to him the short drive, teeth nervously chattering. When Yoongi started the car, it almost seemed to purr. He must have had a CD in, because the radio started playing light classical music.

You eyed him teasingly. “Fancy. Do you have any Tchaikovsky?”

His head snapped toward you. “You know classical music?”

“I know Swan Lake, and that’s about it,” you admitted, laughing ruefully. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not a disappointment,” he replied. “Do you like it?”

The car felt warm, like you were enclosed in a bubble. Everything smelled like leather and Yoongi enough to drown out the stench of beer and vodka. The gentle sound of a piano filled the car, and you smiled.

“Yeah, I like it.”

You directed him downtown, tensing when you realized what the neighborhood must look like to him. Dark, and dirty, and covered in grime. Messy and trashy. The further he drove, the more his face creased in disgust. You felt embarrassed and defensive, because although you had no love for the neighborhood, it was still the place you had to call home. Judging it felt like judging you, too.

When Yoongi pulled in front of your building, he could do nothing but stare at it. It was short, square, faded and cracking at the edges. There was an upturned trashcan out front next to a dark lump that could have been garbage, could have been a sleeping homeless person. The yellow streetlight outside flickered.

“Thank you for the ride,” you whispered. “I’ll see you—,”

“Let me walk you inside,” he interrupted, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I want to make sure you get in safe.”

“It’s really fine,” you tried to say, but he was already turning off the car and stepping out. You quickly got out of the passenger seat.

“What floor are you on?” he asked.

“The fifth one.” Yoongi bypassed you entirely, and you had to jog to catch up with him as he walked inside, eyeing the suspicious lump on the side of the street.

He went to open the door but it stuck, metal creaking ominously. You reached out and grabbed the other handle. “You have to use the left door.”

He nodded, and the two of you went inside.

You’d never been more critical of your building than in that moment. You could see every flaw: the peeling wallpaper, the dingy furniture, the dirty floor, the water-stained ceiling. And you knew Yoongi saw it, too.

“We can’t take the elevator,” you told him. “It doesn’t work.”

The two of you climbed the stairwell, shivering slightly. He commented, “It’s cold.”

“There’s no heat,” you admitted, and somehow, the carefully neutral look on his face was even worse than an openly judgmental one.

You made it to the fifth floor just in time to hear your neighbor shouting through his thin wall, “Whatever, asshole!”

It was followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. You walked past your neighbor's door like you’d heard nothing, although Yoongi seemed startled. You were walking quicker than he was, like you were trying to leave him behind. Why couldn’t he get the message that you didn’t want him here?

You grabbed your keys from your pocket and jingled them, halting in front of your apartment. Yoongi stopped next to you, still eyeing the dirty hallway. There were several unpatched holes in the drywall from where your neighbor had punched the wall after arguing with his girlfriend.

Yoongi broke the silence by saying, “So, this is your apartment?”

“It’s a real five-star hotel, huh,” you said, sarcastically. You unlocked your door and turned your knob, but kept the door shut tight. You didn’t want him to see inside. “Watch out for cockroaches.”

Yoongi’s lip curled in disgust, and he started eyeing the floor. Your chest quivered and started breaking into pieces, because you were laid bare. You were (Y/N), in your shitty apartment, getting home from your shitty job, where you would probably be stuck for the rest of your life.

“It’s, uh,” he said. “Nice.”

Ridiculously, you suddenly felt like you wanted to cry. “Thank you for walking me inside. I’ll see you later.”

“(Y/N),” he went to say, but you were already shutting the door in his face, pressing your forehead against the cheap and cracking wood. A dull ache was starting in your shoulder where a vodka bottle had fallen, but it had nothing on the serious ache building in your chest.

~~~

Almost a full week passed before you saw Yoongi again.

Usually, he came in every Monday night. He liked the bar best when it was quiet, when it wasn’t crowded, when he could monopolize your attention for longer and longer periods of time. Monday night came and Monday night went, and it dragged on relentless as you waited for him, telling yourself you weren’t waiting for him.

You locked the door that night with crushing disappointment.

The fight had probably scared him off. Obviously, he regretted stepping in to defend you. What would have happened if he’d gotten seriously hurt? Sued? His good name, ran through the mud by the media?

Tycoon Min Yoongi Arrested After Late-night Barfight.

The mere idea made you shudder.

You carried your disappointment into Tuesday, but by Wednesday, you didn’t even bat an eye whenever the bell at the entrance to the bar rang. You were wiping down the countertop at ten o’clock at night when Yoongi sauntered in, nose red from the cold, hair wet and mouth pouting with it.

Like usual, the bar was quiet. Two old men sat in the middle of the counter and preoccupied themselves with watching the shitty television mounted behind the bar.

Your breath caught in your throat. Yoongi had a bad habit of always looking like a supermodel, no matter what condition he was in.

Nerves tied your tongue. You wanted to ask him where he’d been, but didn’t want to seem like you cared. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to act around him, but you decided to just play it casual.

“Is it cold?” you asked, dumbly. Of course it was cold. It was the middle of fucking winter.

“It’s snowing,” he said, sitting in his usual seat, setting his jacket on the counter. You started making him his drink just to avoid looking at him. “I’m driving you home.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Yoongi shot you such a sudden glare, your teeth clicked together when you shut it.

“Thank you,” you said, sliding him his drink. He tipped it back and downed it, and you stared mesmerized at the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed.

He set the glass back down and hissed, and you refilled his drink in silence. Yoongi kept his eyes trained on the countertop.

The atmosphere between the two of you felt tense and awkward, and it only got worse the longer the silence stretched.

Maybe it was finally time. Maybe Yoongi was going to say your bar was too seedy for people like him to visit. People like Min Yoongi deserved better than the half-ass booze you could supply, the half-ass décor, your half-ass service. Not even a good drink could make up for it.

You and Min Yoongi were from two different classes. It didn’t matter how special he made you feel. At the end of the day, anything between the two of you, even just friendship, wasn’t meant to be.

“I want you to quit,” he said.

You slid him his drink with a short laugh. You liked the way Yoongi spoke—short, blunt and honest. It mixed so well with his sense of humor, it was hard to tell the difference between the two. “You and me both, buddy.”

What had happened last Thursday had shaken you up much more than you were willing to admit. Controversy was part of the job—there was a constant risk that some belligerent drunk was going to push you too far. But it had never gotten that bad before, and you cringed to think about what might have happened had Yoongi not been there.

“Yeah,” he replied. “But I’m being serious. I’ll give you $10,000 to quit right now.”

He reached into his suit pocket and set something on the countertop. You were distracted by his oddly stern gaze when you realized his hand was sliding you a check, and it was filled out to you, and when did you tell him your last name? His handwriting was neat and controlled and he was sliding you a check with your full name on it for ten-thousand-fucking-dollars—

You gasped and slapped your hand over it. “Put that away before we get mobbed by every patron in this bar.”

“Put it away in your pocket,” he said. “Do you want to grab dinner with me?”

To your utter shock, Yoongi took your hand and started leading you down the bar, toward your manager’s office. A few people eyed you, making you blush. You snatched your hand away, and he stared at it forlornly.

“What are you talking about?” you asked him.

“I’m giving you $10,000 to quit your job,” he replied. “And then I’m going to pay for your living expenses while you find a new one.”

You stared at him. It seemed like, for the first time in your life, you were struck speechless. You’d have to make a mark on your calendar. “What the fuck.”

“I’m sorry for how I reacted last week, at your apartment,” he said, suddenly. He took a deep breath to steady himself and winced. “I was an idiot and I didn’t expect it. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t expect what?” you asked. “For me to live in a dump? For me to be dirt poor? Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

He winced again. “I want to apologize anyway. Take this check and talk to your manager. I want to warm up the car before we leave.”

He seemed so confident that you would agree. You felt the embarrassment and frustration from the last week bubble up in your chest. You grabbed a rag from behind the counter and started cleaning the bar, just for an excuse not to look at him.

“I am not a charity case, Mr. Min,” you hissed. He looked up, shocked at the venom in your voice, before his face creased.

“That’s not what this is. Don’t purposefully misinterpret me,” he ran a tense hand through his hair, and you had never seen him so undone. Pride mixed with heat in your stomach, to see him like that—to know that you were the one who finally put such a fine-edged crack in his golden composure.

“(Y/N),” he said. “If I hadn’t been here last Thursday, what would have happened?”

“Nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own,” you bluffed, but it was a lie. Maybe your manager could have gotten there in time. Maybe some other kind patron would have tried to intervene on your behalf. But the result was the same—nothing about either situation guaranteed your safety.

“Please, quit this job,” he repeated, quieter, more pleading. “Right now. And I’ll pay for everything while you find a new one. Your rent, your water, your electricity. Fuck, do you have Wi-Fi? Do you want Wi-Fi? What’s your phone number? And so help me God, if you tell me you don’t have a cellphone—,”

“I have a fucking cellphone, Yoongi,” you snapped. “Even poor people can have a cellphone.”

He eyed you, unimpressed by your attitude. “And you say I’m the cactus of this relationship.”

“You are,” you defended, until, “and there’s no relationship between us. I’m your bartender, and you’re my customer.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” he asked. “You’re miserable here.”

“A lot of people are miserable!” you burst out. A few people turned to look at you, but you ignored them. “Life isn’t fair! It’s not always happy, or fun. Sometimes, people have to do a lot of shit they don’t want to do to survive, and that’s life, okay? That’s reality.”

“Maybe that’s the reality for some people, but it doesn’t have to be for you,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting my help, you know that? You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

You were so used to doing everything on your own, you didn’t know how to accept help. You didn’t know how to ask for support.

“A lot of people would be grateful for an opportunity like this,” he continued. “How would they feel watching you turn it down?”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“Someone very smart actually just told me that life isn’t fair. So, sucks,” Yoongi shrugged. On the outside he seemed calm and collected, but you could see the white-knuckled grip he had on the countertop.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Yoongi said. “If you really don’t want my help, I’ll accept that. But I really, really want to help.”

You threw your rag to the side and took a deep breath, and then another. You knew you had a temper, and you knew you were too stubborn for you own good. How would you feel, if someone in your position had an offer from someone like Yoongi, and they’d thrown it back in his face?

“Job hunting is hard,” you muttered, and Yoongi had to lean forward to hear you. “It’ll take at least a month.”

“(Y/N),” he said. “It could take the whole damn year and I wouldn’t care.”

“I should probably turn in my two-week notice.”

“You quit right now,” Yoongi demanded. “Non-negotiable.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you said, to yourself. You weren’t Julia Roberts, and this wasn’t Pretty Woman. What the hell were you thinking?

“We can go over details at dinner,” Yoongi said. “I’ll pay.” He paused, and eyed you sheepishly. “If that’s okay, of course.”

You didn’t like the idea of Yoongi paying for your dinner, but you guessed you would have to get used to it. It was just dinner. It was basically a business meeting.

“I’ll let you pay if we go somewhere cheap,” you bartered. He didn’t look pleased, but accepted the compromise nonetheless.

“Not McDonald’s.”

You laughed. “Not McDonald’s.”

Untying your apron from around your neck, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the upcoming conversation with your manager, but you had a feeling that no amount of deep breathing would help you through what followed afterward.

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crimsonbluemoon · 5 years

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TerrorMoo: Wishlist

Okay so this got away from me. It’s way longer than I meant it to be. It’s also one of my favs if not my fav this whole Christmas Drabble series. It’s also making me late to Christmas Dinner. BUT thats okay, please enjoy!

TerrorMoo: took kids to Santa's workshop and they both wished we would get together

Rasing a five-year-old was hard. Raising a five-year-old as a single father was worse, though Brian did the best he could with little Evan. It didn’t help that most of his friends were still living their lives without a care in the world, being kidless in their mid-twenties. But Brian had never regretted having Evan, knowing that the little munchkin gave him a purpose for getting his life together. Even now, standing in the long line with all the other children and parents waiting to speak to the man in red, Brian didn’t feel nearly as annoyed as every other parent scowling at their phones and watches. He let Evan mess around with the angry birds game on his phone while they waited, knowing from experience it was better than leaving his sneaky brain idle for too long.

Besides, he had something else to keep him occupied.

“What are you gonna ask Santa for, Luke?” It was a common question in the line, so it shouldn’t have really warmed Brian’s heart nearly as much as it did. But the pitch and loving tone in the words dragged his eyes to the duo next to them, watching the man smile down at his excited son.

“He’s not gonna tell you, Brocky,” Brian teased, enjoying the playful glare he got from his best friend. “You know him and Evan have some secret pact about whatever they’re asking Santa for.”

“Yeah, pops.” Luke sounded far too mature to be seven, but the childish grin he sported helped even out the balance. “We’ve got big plans for Santa.”

“Should we be worried?” Brock asked, and Brian knew why his friend was fretting. Neither were flowing with cash, though they didn’t want to ruin their kid’s belief that Santa could really give them the present that both of them seemed to want. It’d been nearly two weeks since Evan and Luke had proclaimed their need to see Santa, though neither gave a hint as to what it was they wanted. Though normally first to boast about his son’s intelligence, Brian had to admit it was irritating that Evan was far too smart to fall for slipping up and telling him the truth about their secret.

“Nope.” Evan only glanced up from the game to send a smile to Brock, Brian noticing how easily his friend melted under the look.

Despite having his own kid to worry about, Brock treated Evan like his own son, never forgetting to go to his hockey games or school’s show-and-tell despite having a very busy schedule. Brian wanted to tease him for the commitment if he didn’t have Luke’s holiday concert programmed into his phone and the seven-year old’s play blocked off on his work schedule. He supported Luke with all that he could, teaching him how to fish because Brock was more likely to hook himself than anything worth catching. In turn, Brock helped Evan bake cookies for his class, a skill that never came easy for Brian to master. When Brock had looked for a house to move into for him and Luke to grow in, the father had actually listened when Evan asked if they could find somewhere closer to the apartment he shared with Brian.

Brian had bought Evan the biggest ice cream sundae he could that night for no particular reason.

“It will make you both really happy!” Evan’s bold statement was surprising, given the current conversation.

“Kid, Santa ain’t about us.” Brian leaned down to ruffle Evan’s hair, enjoying the pout his kid gave him. “He’s here for you two; this is about making you guys happy.”

“We know,” Luke dismissed Brian’s comment with a shrug, then tugged Brock forward while pointing to the front of the line. “It’s our turn next.”

“Make sure that you use your manners when talking to Santa,” Brock instructed, Evan squirming out from under Brian’s hand to run up next to Luke.

“We know, daddy!” Evan’s response wasn’t directed at Brian, but Brock, which made Brock sputter in shock while Brian burst into laughter. He enjoyed the pink cheeks of his best friend, leaning over to nudge his friend’s ribs through his snickers.

“Yeah, daddy, we know.” Pink shifted to red faster than Brian had expected, but he enjoyed the heat that slithered through his stomach at seeing Brock looking so flustered.

“B-Brian!” Brock hissed out, pinching his arm enough to make him yelp. “Don’t call me that, people are gonna think-”

“What? We’re just dads, nothing but two buds taking their kid to see Santa.” He knew his smile could get him away with murder, but it never seemed to work as well on Brock when he flashed it. Instead of melting like the women at the bakery of the cutie at the coffee shop, Brock rolled his eyes, pretending his face wasn’t a tomato when he pushed Brian.

“I’m going to be a good father and see what our kids are asking for,” Brock said, moving down ‘snow lane’ created for parents to hear what their kids wanted without their kids knowing. Brian’s grin softened when he played over the sentence, wondering why he enjoyed hearing Brock so invested in Evan’s Christmas wish. And if his heart trembled at the ‘our kids’, Brock didn’t need to know that.

“Wait for me, Brocky.” The other didn’t, of course, though he slowed his walk enough for Brian to catch up. Brian gave a charming grin to the cute elf woman who was holding the curtain open for the two of them to sneak behind, though quickly dimmed the look when catching a look of irritation on Brock’s face. Hoping his best friend could read the ‘sorry’ (though not knowing why he was saying sorry), Brian focused back on the conversation being had just beyond the curtain.

“Oh, two kiddos? To what do I owe the joy of getting to talk to both of you? I hope that you’ve been really good this year.”

“We were the best!” Brian’s smile perked back up at Evan’s answer, shaking his head despite his amusement.

“Except when you flushed dad’s watch down the toilet.” It was his turn to be stunned at the title Luke gave him, knowing it was his Armani that had been lost to the sewers. He could feel Brock’s shoulders vibrating from his silent giggle, and Brian hated that he knew he deserved the karma. But it also brought up a bigger question; when had the two started calling both of them dad? And why did it feel like this wasn’t the first time?

“It was for science,” Evan defended, and Brian could visualize the doe eyes he was giving the Santa. “Dad said I was really good at science, so I had to experiment!”

“There’s one thing we really want.” Luke’s voice, normally full of the confidence that only a seven-year-old could possess, was quieter than before, and from the worried glance that Brock gave Brian, it was obvious he noticed it too.

“Please don’t let the watch thing take away our only wish this year. I really didn’t mean to be bad! I told dad that, but he was so angry...I don’t wanna be a bad kid.” Now Evan sounded distraught, and it took every bit of restraint Brian possessed to stay behind the curtain instead of consoling his kid. He didn’t care about the watch; it was a loveless gift from his ex-boyfriend to ‘win him back’, and honestly, Brian should have flushed it down the toilet the day after he got it. But he’d been weak, wanting to pretend their love had been real, because it hurt to think nobody really could. So he’d kept it, even if it just sat like a rock on his coffee table. Evan had done him a favor. But like an idiot, he had snapped at his kid, and now he thought he was bad, because Brian was a terrible father-

A soft hand wrapped around his fist, Brian yanking away from his negative track, brown eyes showing he knew exactly where Brian’s mind had gone without words.

“He loves you just as much as you love him. You’re an amazing dad,” Brock whispered, squeezing the tightened had until Brian’s fingers loosened from the fist enough for Brock to wiggle his fingers between them. The comforting touch and soothing words from a man he respected as a father made some of Brian’s negative thoughts slink away. He took a slow breath, blowing the self-hatred out through his mouth before returning the squeeze, sending Brock a thankful smile before focusing on Santa’s voice.

“Well, I think that your dads have forgiven you if they brought you here.”

“Really?” Evan asked, hope and excitement coating his voice.

“I only get to see the nice kids. And you both seem like you made my nice lists. So tell me, little ones, what would you like Santa to get you?”

“We want our dads to get together!” Luke and Evan sounded like they practiced the words, both raising their voices at the request. The hand clasped in his own stiffened, though Brian couldn’t blame Brock. His own mouth dropped in shock, eyes wide despite not being able to see either child.

“You’re...not brothers?” Even Santa seemed thrown off, which would have made him laugh if not for the crazy turn of events.

“No, but...but that’s okay. I still love Evan like a brother.” Luke’s words were spoken like he was waiting for someone to tear down his wish, and Brian wasn’t sure he could stop the swell of pride in his chest for a son that wasn’t technically his. “And our dads love each other, just like all the other moms and dads that I see. They just don’t...kiss or nothing. Which we don’t understand, because they love us and they love each other! So we want them to be together for Christmas.”

“Is that so?” Santa seemed curious, not disgusted, which was a relief. The last thing he needed was to have Brock explain to their kids why Brian was getting arrested for punching Jolly St Nick in the face. Instead, the old man hummed before speaking again. “Tell me about your dads.”

“Daddy is super cool,” Evan started and Brian could tell from the title that he was talking about Brock. He’d stopped calling Brian ‘daddy’ almost five months ago, and now he wondered if there was a bigger reason for it than ‘he grew out of that phase’. “He lets me color on his workbooks, and he kisses my boo-boos when I fall off my bike. And he calls my dad and makes sure he has a lunch ready for the next day. If he doesn’t, he sends me home with leftovers and says ‘make sure your dad sees this for tomorrow’. Dad’s face gets super happy when daddy makes him lunch.”

“And dad’s always trying to get my pop’s attention. Even though dad’s really cool and I hear my friend’s moms always trying to get his number, he always says he’s married. But he’s not, I asked what married means, and he can’t have someone else be the most important in his whole wide world if he’s always with pops. He’s got all these nicknames, like sweetie and darling and other gooey stuff that makes me kinda crinkle my nose, but I get it. People in love say that stuff. Uncle Nogla said that dad does it because pops is ‘special’ to him, but he got all weird when I asked why.”

“Uncle Nogla is kinda dumb,” Evan supplied for the Santa, as if the information was important.

“He is. Except I think I know why now. Love makes people weird, I think.”

The words were terrible descriptions, and Brian wasn’t sure if he could meet this Santa in the eye after their kids were done, but they were...accurate. Too accurate to just be a kid making things up. His breath struggled to release from his chest when he tried to process everything happening, but then Evan was speaking again.

“And dad will throw a blanket over daddy if he falls asleep during our movie nights, and I’ve seen him watch daddy with this funny look on his face. Like he’s gotta poop but in a good way. That’s love, right?”

“Like pops is any better,” Luke countered, and Brian’s eyes glanced over to his wide-eyed friend who looked terrified of whatever Luke was planning to say. “Whenever dad sends him a text, he gets this smile on his face I’ve never seen before. He gets all red in the face when dad hugs him or kisses his cheek, but he doesn’t do the same with Uncle Mini or Uncle Tyler. He just brushes them off, but not dad. He always calls dad first, panics whenever anything happens to him at work, and when we moved into our new house-

“Luke, no,” Brock whispered, more to himself than for Brian to actually respond. The sweaty palm against his own tried to pull away, from Brian felt the unconscious need to be connected to his friend, so he tightened his hold to keep Brock from running away.

“-Uncle Scotty said something about you two moving in, pops said something about his dream life? Pops got all freaked out when he saw I heard, and said to ‘never repeat that to Brian’. And I don’t know what that means, but Uncle Scotty called it really sappy, and the girl in my class said sappy stuff means you’re in love.”

“You two have really thought about this a lot.” Santa’s words sounded distant, like he was underwater, but Brian simply tuned him out to focus on Brock’s pale face.

“Brock,” he started softly, hating the crushed look that crossed over the others face as he gave a weak laugh.

“This isn’t the place to talk about this,” Brock rushed out in a whisper, and the shimmer that was barely blinked away in Brock’s eyes made Brian’s heart ache. Without hesitation Brian crowded closer to him, his free hand capturing the cheek that tried to turn away from him.

“Hey, no, don’t do that.” He tried to sooth his trembling friend when dropping his forehead onto Brock’s, words hushed despite how loud his heart was pounding. “Don’t run away from this; don’t run from me.”

“Please, don’t do this here. I-I don’t want to upset the boys.” Brock’s teary plea proved what Brian had thought was going to happen; Brock automatically assumed that the feelings weren’t mutual. Of course Brock would do that; the man could never see just how amazing he was. Shaking their heads softly, Brian smiled, leaning down lower to make sure Brock heard the quiet words.

“I don’t wanna wait another moment to do this.”

He felt the way Brock’s breath caught before he kissed him, tilting the shy face up in order to fully press their mouths together. He was floored by how quickly the rush of relief and love poured through him, quick to overwhelm him at the soft lips slotted against his own. Brock didn’t seem to fair any better, melting against his chest as he fell into the kiss. A tear rolled over his fingers on Brock’s cheeks, and Brian soothed the soft sob of emotion with a warm hand on Brock’s back and his tongue quietly questing between Brock’s parted lips. The touch between them was intense, lust and love intertwined in longing and insecurity. It blended without warning, and Brian was sure his chest would burst from the sensation of finally, finally, getting to hold Brock the way he’d dreamt of for years. And to feel Brock eagerly kissing back, pressing closer and pouring the same emotion into their connection was surreal. Surreal, but perfect.

Both men, too wrapped up in the kiss, missed the curtain slightly parted, two pairs of childish eyes wide with awe and excitement while Santa gave a soft chuckle.

“Looks like your wish came true, after all.”

It’s super sappy and fluffy and a mess but I love it. I hope you do too!

#terrormoo #terroriser #moo snuckel #Cartoonz #vanossgaming #bbs #banana bus squad #i love bbs #Christmas Drabbles #<3 #Merry christmas!

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lostinsantacarla · 5 years

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A Visitor from SoCal

Note: Thought I might share a snippet of what we’ve been writing. This story takes place shortly before Mae is introduced to the rest of the Lost Boys gang inside the old hotel. The parts for Mae and Veronica were written by @thesparklingpariah /Marko and David are all mine. ;-)

Mae kept no set schedule, preferring to come and go as she pleased, since the whims of the paying public were extremely fickle. What that meant in English was that she took random days off, depending on how busy things were the day before. Yesterday had been a good day for sales, so she’d decided to treat herself to a day of being lazy, which had culminated in a walk along the pier all the way to the end, just because she felt like it. The breeze was cool this far along the water, and she stood by the railing, her eyes closed as she took it all in. Mae was the only person at the edge; most of the tourists were either heading home or still on the rides. The end of summer meant fewer guests and space was no longer at a premium.

The relative silence was broken by the tide…and the click of heels along the wooden boards. If it weren’t for the wind blowing in just the right direction at just the right time, Mae would have ignored whoever was heading her way, but the scent on the wind made her heart sink to her feet: the sickly sweet smell of decay and the heady florals of Marc Jacobs perfume. Shit. Mae whipped around, coming face to face with a woman she hoped to never see again: Veronica, “daughter” of Miguel, third-in-command of the Los Angeles coven. Her ex-girlfriend.

“Hello, sweetie.” Veronica purred, her deep, rich voice curling around Mae’s ears like a cat. She’d never trusted cats.

“Veronica. I assume this isn’t a friendly visit?” Mae growled, sticking her hands in her pockets. She wrapped her hand around her switchblade.

“Just here to see how you’re doing.” Veronica shrugged, her own hands in her Armani jacket. Despite the strong breeze, she looked perfectly unruffled.

“You mean you’re here to see if I’m still alive.”

“Precisely.”

Marko had just punched out for the night, his jacket hanging haphazardly over one shoulder as he slipped out the back doors and into the narrow, makeshift alley behind the Seabreeze.

His pockets were full of dough, tips from the many patrons he’d served, and the dollars kept falling out, even after he’d secured the colorful garment over both shoulders. It put a smile on his face as he bent down to pick them up one by one, chasing after a couple as the breeze from the ocean tried to sweep them away.

One foot stepped out of the shadows and his keen ears caught the echo of voices in the opposite direction. One was familiar, and he straightened, sniffing the air.

He’d only scented Mae once, but he never forgot it, and knew right away that one of the figures was her. The second, another female, was not human at all, but it was not one of theirs. This was cause for concern. It seemed that even with all of Dwayne’s efforts, their borders kept getting breached.

He growled, shaking his head as he turned and made haste, cursing his beloved town for always stirring things up when all he wanted to do was smoke a joint with Paul, get some fresh blood in his gut, and then head on over to Cassidy’s.

He slowed as he neared the two, getting a good eyeful of the other female, just to make sure he knew what he was up against. Then with a smile that could melt the panties off a human woman, he sauntered up. “Evenin,'” he greeted, taking a firm stance in front of them, while managing to keep it somewhat congenial by sticking his hands in his loaded pockets.

Veronica’s gaze could seduce both men and women, regardless of their preferences, and then stab them in the alley and take all their money. A hint of malice lay behind her eyes; Mae was sure that Veronica expected her to be the same weak-hearted girl she was when Veronica dumped her. Mae refused to be cowed. Those days were over.

“Well, here I am. ALIVE.” Mae looked down her nose at Veronica, her posture rigid. Túlio had spent weeks trying to teach her poise and elegance so she could fit in with the “posh” sides of vampire society, and that included how to stare down an enemy when you couldn’t kill them. She wasn’t sure it was working.

“That you are, sweetie.” Veronica laughed, the sound deceptively gentle.

“So what are you going to do now?” Mae raised an eyebrow, mentally back again in the trenches of the L.A. vampire world.

Before Veronica could speak, Marko appeared out of nowhere, seemingly. Mae felt a bit of relief; they’d only met once, but he was one of David’s men, and that meant protection, or at least, someone to keep an eye on Veronica. The woman in question turned to face him, sniffing haughtily at him.

“And who are you?” Her voice dripped with disdain. “Who do you serve?”

One of Marko’s eyebrows shot straight up at the nerve of this vampire in his town, asking HIM who he was and who he served, so naturally, he turned cheeky and his grin went from ear to ear.

“Satan. Hell… but mostly, I serve myself.” It didn’t seem like his grin could get any bigger, but it did, taking on that Cheshire cat presence before he spoke again. “Oh, and uh, sometimes when I’m feelin’ nice, the newbie’s like Mae, who might need a hand. ‘Cuz you just never know when some stray mutt is gonna come wandering into town, ya know?”

He shrugged, but even in that smile his expression changed. It challenged the newcomer, the intruder, and he changed his position, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans.

Mae wasn’t sure if Veronica would put up a fight, but if she did, and Marko won, that could mean trouble for Santa Carla. Miguel, like all the older vampires she knew, was a vindictive son of a bitch. She projected her thoughts towards Marko as best as she could, hoping that Veronica was too caught up in herself to pick up on what Mae was doing.

Don’t kill her! It’ll just cause trouble. Her father’s the leader of the Los Angeles coven, and there’s hundreds of them!’ Mae hoped it would come across clearly. She did her best to look calm, but she was barely keeping herself from shaking in rage and panic. Being confronted with a visual and verbal reminder that she’d been sent away to die (with her best friend in the world seemingly kept in the dark about it) destroying what little calm she ever had around Veronica before this.

“Very funny, little man. Are all you backwater vampires like this, or are you just a special case. Who. Do. You. Serve?” Veronica repeated haughtily.

“They don’t play that game out here, Veronica.” Mae tried to stop her ex from further antagonizing Marko, but she knew it was no use.

Marko shrugged carelessly, making it obvious that he was hearing something coming out of Mae’s mind. He had no intention of killing anybody in front of him, but he damn well wasn’t going to put up with the prissy, higher than thou attitude.

He kept quiet for a little while longer, starring down Veronica to see how pissed off she could get, all the while sending out a mental alert to David.

“Actually, I think we should turn this around. You can start by telling me who YOU serve and why the hell you’re running around my town acting like the Queen of fucking Egypt.”

“Veronica, daughter of Miguel, ruler of the Los Angeles coven and son of Dracula.” Veronica grinned, acting as if she’d drawn four aces in the world’s most unfair poker match. Mae wanted to smack her ex upside the head, but she DID recall that she was kind of like that too when she’d first met Marko. Still, that had been about survival, not showing someone up.

“I told you, V, they don’t play that game here. Names don’t mean anything.” Mae sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Look, you’ve gotten what you came for, okay? I’m still alive, I plan on staying alive, and if Miguel wants me dead, he better come up with a better way of doing it than this. Túlio will find out about all of this sooner or later, you know that, right? I know Miguel likes to make things into a telenovela, but this is getting old. Take your bitch ass home and leave me alone!” She snarled, her anger finally winning out over her good sense.

SMACK!

A loud slap rang across the pier as Veronica’s open palm connected with Mae’s cheek. “How DARE you speak of my father so poorly? And what is that you called me, Mae? A bitch? Sweetie, you think that’s an insult to me?” She sneered. “Remember your place.”

Marko didn’t get a chance to react. All he saw was a glimpse of something moving fast out of the corner of his eye and a savage roar, and he knew it was David.

The leader of the Santa Carla pack snarled and grabbed hold of the outsider, throwing her with ease down the length of the pier without care.

It was late enough now that no one would notice the scuffle, at least no human would.

He said nothing, but pulled Mae up behind him and took a hard stance, ready for anything this Veronica was willing to throw at him.

“You’re out of line.” His voice was deep and heavy and louder than usual. “You have no place here, and your filthy hands don’t belong anywhere on something that belongs to me now. You got a problem with that, crawl back to the one who sent her here to die.”

Now it was on, and Marko put on his game face. He didn’t change into the monster that he was, but he stood his ground beside David and Mae, looking down the pier to where the fallen lay.

He chuckled in spite of himself, eyeing Mae behind David and winked at her.

Veronica had no time to brace for the blow or dodge it, something the vampire wasn’t used to. She landed in a heap at the end of the pier, her face and any bare skin scraped from the force of the impact. Despite being dazed, she leapt to her feet, reeling from the blow. Her forte was speed and cunning; she stood no chance against a vampire that was this strong… and this angry, especially when he had an ally with him. Veronica considered drawing her knife, but she was above all else a survivor. Tonight wasn’t her night to die.

“So… I assume YOU’RE the one he serves. David, wasn’t it? We heard about you. Had a little trouble a few decades ago, right? You’ve recovered nicely. Congratulations.” She spat the blood out from her mouth where she’d bit into her cheek during her fall.

Mae placed her hand on David’s lower back, the gesture out of sight of Veronica, but she was sure Marko saw it. She was silently asking him to hold back. She nodded at Marko, then stepped to the left so she could see Veronica better. Her cheek was bright red.

“Go home, Veronica.” She growled, keeping her head held high despite the pain. “Tell Miguel to leave me alone. Túlio’s a good man; if Miguel wants to make him a psycho like you, he’ll never succeed. Tell him I’m staying here, in Santa Carla. He can have L.A.”

“… Got yourself a new boyfriend, huh?” Veronica sneered, deciding to throw in one last dig at Mae. “Or is this just an arrangement, huh? You always were a little slut.” She laughed, turning her attention to David. “You can keep her…for as long as it lasts. Miguel wants her dead, and Father always gets what he wants.”

Marko felt the air lighten around them as soon as Veronica departed and he blew air through his lips while running a hand through his messy curls. “Just another night, huh boss?”

David turned to Mae and cupped both her cheeks in his gloved hands, gently brushing over the red spot with his thumb. “You could say that,” he said to Marko. “We need better security around here.”

“Dwayne’s messing up? He’s gotten busy, what with a kid on the way.”

“Nah. I can’t expect him to keep his eyes on every single foot of ground we have here. It’s too vast. We’ll need to think of something else from now on. There’s too many coming through.” For a second he looked out to sea and then down at Mae. “You all right?”

“I will be.” Mae nodded, her voice shaky, just like the rest of her. She was doing her best to fight of the urge to cry, but her eyes were watering and her body was shivering. The adrenaline from the hit and the potential fight was beginning to wear off, and she finally felt the sting from the slap. She wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling, but anger was definitely warring for the top spot, followed closely by an utter breakdown. She hoped anger won.

She took a deep breath, then turned to face Marko. “Thank you. For helping me.” Mae didn’t want to think about what might have happened if Marko hadn’t come by.

“Yeah you owe me.” He jerked his head up and grinned. Of course he was teasing, but she was still new, and he couldn’t let her get off that easy. Besides, breaking the tension was the name of the game. He pulled a small bottle of rum from the inside of his jacket and offered it to her. “It’ll help take the edge off. Trust me. Still cold too, if ya just wanna hold it against your cheek.”

“Marko,” David warned, but he was only half serious. He wanted to brush it off as a victory, but there were too many things weighing on him now, even if the threat of a war with the vampires in LA was minimal compared to the angels ready to reign in hell and unleash it on Santa Carla.

Mae laughed it off. “Sure thing. Come by the booth. I’ll give you the friends and family discount.” She winked, taking the rum and drinking a mouthful before putting it on her face. “Damn, that feels good.”

After a few moments, she handed it back to Marko. “Don’t want it getting too warm.” She really wanted to lean into David and take a moment to collect herself, but she wasn’t sure he would welcome it in front of one of his men. Instead, she scrubbed at her eyes and glared at the empty end of the pier.

“You can see why we broke up.”

“She’s full of herself,” was all David had to say about that.

Marko nodded and took the bottle back before giving Mae a ‘see you later’ salute and headed on his way. He could tell by the look on David’s face that he needed a few moments alone with Mae.

After Marko was out of sight, he turned to Mae and examined her cheek a little closer. Considering the hit was from another vampire, the impact was a little more damaging than just a mortal’s slap. “You should put some ice on that. Or I could fix it for you right now. I just want you to know that I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe here, and now. I’d like to take you to our home tonight. If you’re willing to come.”

“THAT is an understatement.” Mae huffed, rubbing at her cheek.

She waved at Marko, watching him go until David faced her once again. Her first instinct was to blurt out something mushy, like ‘I’d go anywhere with you’, but luckily she saved herself from looking like an idiot. Still, she blushed a little, resting her hands on his waist. She was still fighting off tears, but she ignored them for now.

“Could you fix it, please?” She asked, smiling softly. “And yes. I’ll come home with you.” Then, she remembered something, and her grin became a strange mix of teasing and adoring.

“So… I belong to you now?”

David simply pierced the pad of his thumb with the extension of one of his claws and when a bead of his blood pooled there, he gently smeared it across her cheekbone, making sure it absorbed thoroughly before answering her. The effects of its healing ability would be instant and the pain would disappear.

He had noted her smile, acting as if it was nothing, something that important, even though it was. Getting a rise out of her was fun, and he pushed the moment to the point of no return, when there was no other choice but to answer. It was just like sex, letting the pleasure build until all there was left was an explosion that took you above the clouds and to the stars.

“Would it be a problem if I said you did?” He pulled his hand away from her cheek to admire his handy work. “I press the point of taking this slow, but you’re here now, and I just threatened another pack member’s existence, all for you.” Now he looked her directly in the eyes, his expression complete business. Yet behind that crystal blue there was an undenying look of need. “You are mine now, aren’t you?” Would he let her go even if she said no? Probably not.

Mae met his gaze, her own softening when she saw the deeply hidden need. He wanted her, and she wanted him. She’d wanted him since she met him, not just because she was lonely, but because he was so enchanting. Dark and brooding, like many of his kind, but also secretly gentle and caring, if you’d earned it. He’d nearly killed for her. He didn’t care what her connections were or where she came from, but who she was. She wanted him forever.

She’d be damned if she let him go.

“I was yours the moment I followed you out of the bar. You earned me when you didn’t care about who I knew, but who I am.” She smiled, the gesture no longer burdened by pain or fear.

“I’m yours, David. And you’re mine, aren’t you?”

There was a little hesitation on his end, only because sentimental words weren’t his forte and he was still afraid to make a mistake, yet as the notary he’d already signed and closed the deal.

He offered her his hand, palm side up, like an old fashioned gentlemen. “Down to the last detail,” he said with an earnest grin.

Mae laughed in delight, all the turmoil of the day forgotten as she took his hand.

“Good.”

#the lost boys #lost boys #writing #role play #one shot #fan fic #David #Marko #Mae #Veronica #OC's

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joyandowen · 5 years

Note

Do the boys ever go to the movies? If so can we have a scene where they come out arguing over what they thought the movie was about?

They’re not necessarily arguing about the movie, but they do have a bit of back and forth about the star of it.

Joy has five siblings. Owen knows about exactly none of them, and that seems to be for the best, so far. He’s not sure how differently Owen would treat him if he knew about his family. He has two brothers and a sister who are elites in Hollywood, famous actors, on all the magazine covers, another brother who acts as lead singer/guitarist for one of the biggest bands on the charts, and another sister who brushes elbows with the likes of Versace and Armani, the people not just the companies.

Joy has managed, thus far, to keep himself out of the light his siblings bring upon their family, to the point that he’s fortunate enough not to get recognized. Perhaps through luck, or his siblings insistence of keeping him on the down low until he finds his place in the world, or perhaps because the press isn’t that interested in the crippled youngest sibling in a family of standouts.

Whatever the reason, Joy is glad that he can travel with Owen and he doesn’t have to worry about being recognized. However, he’s sure it will come to pass at some point or another, if only due to the fact that Owen loves everything his family does.

His favorite movies all star Sam or Orion, Joy’s older brothers, he owns every single Daydream Dryads album (also Joy’s brother), and the one and only item of designer anything that Owen has is a ‘honest to God, hundred percent legit, I pre-ordered it, that’s how I know’ pair of Meadow Carlisle shoes that were, in his words, too good to pass up on. They cost upwards of six hundred dollars, and Owen said it was worth it.

So when a new movie comes out starring Owens favorite star, Sam Carlisle, as the dashing male lead, Joy isn’t the slightest bit surprised when Owen insists they go and see it.

It’s amazing, mostly. Well, Sam is amazing. Joy takes a selfie with the poster when they leave the theater and sends it to his eldest sibling, Owen watching him the whole time as he takes the picture and smiles like a dork at his phone.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” Joy begins, hunching a bit under Owen’s arm thrown over his shoulder, “The performance was there, trust me, I’m not hating on the performance. I’m hating on the plot. If anything I think the performance was the only thing that made that movie watchable.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Owen starts, using the arm hooked around Joy to sip from the dregs of their overpriced soda, “but you are so wrong. The story was good, the plot was good, and the performance, mmm-“ he kisses the tips of his fingers, “fucking amazing. Even if the plot was awful, I wouldn’t have been able to tell past Sam Carlisle’s acting.” Owen shrugs and earns an eye roll in return.

Joy gently unhooks his arm, the extra weight was throwing off his balance and making it hard to walk. “Clearly.”

“I’m serious, Joy! That guy’s, like, the best actor of our generation. He can save all the terrible plots. Like, what was that movie from like two years ago, December in July? Godawful, just the worst. But did I see it in theaters four times? You bet your sweet ass I did. The guy gives such a great performance you almost have to go along with it, y’know?”

Joy laughs, shoving lightly at Owen’s side, “Dude, December in July was garbage and even Sam knows that. I mean watch any of his interviews from that movie and it’s so obvious how much he hated it.” Joy takes the empty soda cup from Owen when the vicious slurping from the straw becomes too much and tosses it in the nearest garbage can.

“No, no, I know. I didn’t say it was good, December in July was a mess. The point I’m trying to make is that Sam Carlisle is a great actor and a national treasure.”

“I guess,” Joy snorts before Owen continues on.

“Also, like, hot? Super hot, holy shit. Like I try not to get all gross and gay over celebrities but I would bend over for him without even stopping to ask why-“

“Owen! Gross!” Joy shrieks, shoving at his side again. Owen tips his heads bit to get a better look at Joy’s pink cheeks. Holy shit he hasn’t made the guy blush this bad in weeks.

“It’s not gross. Why is that gross? I’m just saying Sam Carlisle can rail me and-“ he gets a punch in the arm, and Joy’s face looking more angry now than embarrassed.

“Stop! Jesus. I just- I mean- ugh, he reminds me of my brother! Like I can’t be attracted to him ‘cause then it’s like having the hots for my brother.”

Owen smacks his shoulder and nearly doubles over laughing, which Joy doesn’t appreciate. But Owen doesn’t have the sense of mind to give the poor guy a break. “Dude! We have to fix that! You gotta watch more of his stuff, maybe if we immerse you enough you’ll disconnect that thought and be able to fanboy with me.” He drops the empty popcorn bucket into the next trash can they walk by.

Joy rolls his eyes again, hugging himself as they turn the corner. They’d had to park pretty far away, but it was luckily one of those small towns where everything is in walking distance. “I’ll pass on that.” Joy snorts, rubbing his arms against the wind that rushes through and chills him a little.

“You didn’t even give that much thought, you don’t even want to try?”

“Not really. He’s just. I dunno, I guess he’s just not my type.” Joy shrugs, and turns to give Owen a sideways glance when the other tugs his sweater off and drapes it over Joy’s shoulders. He smiles a little, and he slips his arms through the sleeves, tugging the sweater tighter around himself. Owen snorts that Sam is everyone’s type and Joy just waves a hand at him. “Dude, just let it go,” he laughs.

“I can’t,” Owen says, shaking his head, “I just can’t let this go, what kind of male attracted person doesn’t find Sam Carlisle hot? He’s… Joy, he is God’s perfect creation. Sent down here by the man himself just to turn people like you and me gay.”

Joy throws up his hands, stopping and turning to face Owen, “Fine! Fine, okay. I didn’t wanna tell you this, but I just really want you to drop this, So here it is- I did a movie with him.” Owen reels back, taking a full step backwards to emphasize his surprise.

“What? Fake!”

“Nope, I’m serious, it was back when he was just getting started, it’s called Girls Like Hannah, I was the comatose brother. They gave it to me because I didn’t have to get up through it and it was easy to hide my lack of legs. He played my brother and I have never been able to get past that. Past the brother thing. I will probably never find him attractive.” Joy shrugs, and he tilts his head a bit at the look of pure shock on Owens face.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe you were in a movie with Sam Carlisle, and you didn’t fucking tell me! You monster.” Owen reaches up, grabbing the drawstrings on the hood and pulling them so Joy gets trapped.

Joy snorts and bats his hands away, pulling the hood back open, “Well I didn’t realize you had such a hardon for him-“

“What’s he like? I mean other than brotherly, what was he like beyond that, is he nice? If he- oh my god- is he gay?”

“He’s married to Elizabeth Steinbar?” Joy frowns, “Can you chill please?”

“Okay he’s married to a woman but he could be bisexual.” Owen grins, throwing his arm over Joy again, and pushing him to walk again.

“I can confidently say that Sam Carlisle doesn’t seem to be the slightest bit gay.” He waves a hand at Owen’s disappointed snort. “Anyways, you wanted ice cream or something right? We passed a shop that does that rolled ice cream stuff on the way here, we’ll stop and get some. I’ll buy, y’know with my Sam Carlisle movie money.” Joy grins.

“So not fair,” Owen huffs, and Joy takes the hand over his shoulder and pulls it into place a kiss on his palm.

“You’ll live. Come on, ice cream!” He grins, tugging on Owen’s arm and pulling him to the shop.

Inside is set up almost like a cute little cafe, with tables around for people to sit at, comfortable music and lights that aren’t too bright. Joy grins and drags Owen in to see what all they’ve got. Owen keeps his arm resting over Joy’s shoulders as they scan the selections, “I think I’m gonna get that s’mores one. It looks fucking good. What about you?”

“I’m leaning towards the strawberry cheesecake.” Joy mumbles, tapping a finger to his chin, “Yeah. Definitely strawberry cheesecake.” He confirms, nodding a little. They finally step up to the counter after a couple in front of them has gotten their ice cream, and place their order, Joy still holding Owen’s arm over his shoulder, fingers twined together.

They move out of the way and they watch as the man behind the counter starts to make their treats. Owen leans his head over a bit to rest his cheek against Joy’s hair, watching the man work with gentle ‘ooh’s. He serves up Owen’s first, and he accepts the cup with his free hand, when Joy’s is finished he does the same. They don’t part until they sit, when it kind of becomes necessary for them to be able to eat.

Joy scoops up a bite of his and hasn’t even gotten it to his mouth yet when he hears Owen making a pleased sound across the table from him. He looks up and Owen is staring at the cup in his hand. “Oh my god this is so good. Holy shit.” He grins and gets another scoop, offering it out to Joy, “Try it, try it, it’s really good!”

It’s so… It’s so good, to see Owen so happy, Joy thinks, and he gently takes Owen’s wrist into his hand, guiding it forward so he can take the bite of ice cream right off the spoon. He contemplates it for a moment, and he hums, nodding. “Yeah that is really good.” He smiles, and he loves the way that Owen smiles back before returning his focus to his food. Joy almost forgets to eat his own because he’s having such a good time just watching Owen be happy.

He finally takes a bite, and his is delicious as well, as he’d expected. He smiles, and he offers Owen a bite, which the brunette happily takes. He mirrors Joy’s earlier tactic and just takes his wrist and eats the bite right out of the spoon.

Joy watches his face twist up into this happy expression, he almost looks like a kid. Eyes closed, grinning from ear to ear.

It’s a rare moment. Joy’s just glad he has quick enough reflexes to grab his phone and snap a picture before the smile goes away.

When Owen’s attention returns to his own cup, Joy’s eyes drift to his phone, and the picture of Owen, as happy as he’s ever seen him. It’s a nice reprieve from the week they’ve been having. Owen’s depression spiking, Joy finding out about what exactly lead to him running away from his life so suddenly, the way he weakly brushed off the idea of the waterpark because he thought it would be too much of an inconvenience for Joy to deal with.

It’s nice to see him happy again.

All Joy wants is to protect that, he wants to see that smile on his face so much more, the brief moments like this where he gets to have it feel far too fleeting, and Joy wants more of it.

He’s in too deep, and he knows it, but he’d happily let himself drown in it if that smile was the last thing he got to see.

#story time #story bog #short story blog #anthology story blog #cute boys being cute #joy carlisle #owen peterson #anonymous #asked and answered

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nonamememoir · 5 years

Text

The Bar by Tori Bloom

Setting

It was uncomfortably warm in the bar that night. It was dimly lit and sparsely crowded. The neon light that hung over the liquor fizzled and flickered. The bar itself was sticky from rings of condensation and drinks that had been spilled and forgotten. In one corner of the room a couple whispered unintelligibly and pawed at one another. In the other corner a man sat alone and drew circles on the table with his thumb, his mind dulled by his fifth glass of bourbon. Outside, the moon hung low in the sky, but that didn’t stop lovers from kissing in the backseat of their cars or teenagers from crouching behind dumpsters and passing around a cigarette.

A lonely martini glass sat on the bar, swirling fuchsia liquid with a sweet scent filling it to the brim. A man’s fingers curled around the glass and he brought it up to his lips.

Protagonist

There was a charm even in his frown, a warmth like the violet flush of nightshade. His jaw was cut and framed by scruff, and his green eyes were set deep in his head. His hair curled against his cheeks, auburn under the fluorescent glow of the neon light. His looks were inviting, but his eyes were cold. This coldness might have repelled company, but Micah was skilled in seduction. All of his time spent observing translated into an excellent ability to predict how people would behave and react, and what he should say to get the reaction that he wanted.

Sometimes Micah would come to the bar and predict how a conversation would play out, or if it intrigued him enough he would intervene and attempt to influence the situation. Often times he recoiled at how others behaved when they weren’t aware that they were being observed. Above all he despised stupidity. He would liken his obsession with human behavior to masochism if anyone asked, because more often than not people were stupid. For instance, the bartender was stupid for asking him for the tenth weekend in a row what he would like to drink.

“Pomegranate martini. Thanks.”

The woman that sat beside him was stupid for eyeing him up every weekend at least five times a night without introducing herself.

His brother was stupid for calling and leaving a third voicemail on his phone.

Dialogue

“You know, I’ve seen you around here but I haven’t had the courage to say introduce myself until now,” the woman lied. It wasn’t courage that finally broke through her silence. That night he was wearing a suit, and he found that people, in general, were more willing to talk to a man when he was decked out in Armani. Still, he smiled warmly. She was an attractive young woman. She had curly locks and brown skin that was painted with freckles. Her eyes were the kind that could peer right through you, and maybe that scared him a little.

“You’re only on your second drink,” Micah noted, a smirk playing at his lips. He could see her pupils dilate. “Make that third. Bartender?” He gestured for the man to refill the lady’s cup.

“Oh. You really didn’t have to do that.” She feigned humility. Of course he had to. “But thanks. I’m Emily, by the way.”

“Micah. Some people call me Gabriel, though. My last name.” He kept a smile on his lips, even though the small talk was draining him. His internal monologue was one continuous groan. “I guess Micah is just too ‘out there’.”

“I like Micah. It’s...different.” She sipped at her new cup and watched him with the intrigue that he’d seen on every other face he’d encountered. Even if people could not see behind the mask that he had crafted, the seduction of the unknown peeked out now and again, like the sensuality of it could not be contained by his facade. Or, maybe it was just the suit again.

His phone buzzed again and he glanced it. Of course it was his brother.

“That’s the fourth time I’ve heard your phone go off. Must be important.” He wasn’t sure, but her tone sounded almost accusatory. “Aren’t you going to answer?”

“It would be rude not to give you my full attention.” Micah leaned forward just a bit, his chin held up by his palm. He watched the blood rise to her cheeks.

“Are you usually such a kiss-up?” The girl’s eyes flashed with mischief.

“I don’t know. Is it working?” he countered with ease, and he could see the resignation in her expression.

“Unfortunately, yes.” She glanced down at the time on her phone. Either he had imagined that suspicion or his flattery had chipped away at it. “Look, I don’t normally do this, and especially not so soon after introducing myself, but how about we get out of here?”

“Well, I’ve got nothing better to do.” He downed his drink and took her hand, sparing a glance at the lovers in the corner on their way out.

An hour later they were curled up in her bed, her head on his chest. She had fallen asleep to the sound of his breaths. His fingers brushed out tangles in her curls and then traced down her spine, visible in the glow of the moonlight. Their bliss was interrupted when his phone buzzed again from its spot on her nightstand and Emily shifted in her sleep, letting out a moan of protest.

“Just answer your phone. Or put it on silent for God’s sake,” she complained, sitting up and letting the sheets fall from her naked body. “Actually, you’ve got me curious. So how about you tell me why you’ve been ignoring your phone for hours?” Her brows furrowed. “If you’re married, just tell me.”

“I’m not married.” Micah laughed, although it felt entirely fake on his lips.

“Then pick up the phone,” she insisted, “Or I will.”

He had been hoping to avoid this. Frankly, he should have put the phone on silent, but he had been curious just how many times his brother would actually attempt to call him before he gave up. There was something pleasing and sadistic about ignoring his calls. Now, with Emily’s demand, there was always the option of simply leaving without answering the phone, but it would make things inconvenient if he ever ran into her in the future. The last thing he wanted were rumors of imagined infidelity. He could picture the disgust on strangers’ faces and the pride they’d take in their superiority. Micah glanced at his phone and let out a sigh, resigned. He’d brought it on himself.

Flashback

He was meant to write her eulogy. It came as no surprise, considering how distraught Will was. He doubted the kid could get through a few lines without bursting into tears. Micah wasn’t thrilled about the task, but he did his part. He stood up at the podium, uncomfortably close to his mother’s corpse, and looked out over the crowd.

“My mother was an ambitious woman up until the day she died. She did everything to provide for us, and for that I will always be grateful. I know that I’m going to miss her in my life, but I choose to believe that it’s what she did in life that mattered.” Micah was surprised with his own honesty. He had been planning to use more cliches and perhaps even fake a few tears, but as he stood up there he realized how easy it was to miss her.

After the eulogy was over he didn’t stick around. It was bad enough with an atmosphere of death and decay poisoning the air around him, but then he had people coming up to him and hugging him, telling him how heartfelt his speech was. He couldn’t stand their fake sympathy. It made him sick.

Conflict

“So? Who was it?” the woman asked, and he cursed himself for choosing such a nosy bed mate, but worn down by a long day and a few too many drinks, he let his mask slip.

“My brother. He’s pissed at me for leaving our mom’s funeral early today,” Micah sighed, “I avoided answering him because I really didn’t feel like trying to deal with his sobbing. Frankly, that’s why I left early in the first place. And I hate crowds… and funeral homes.” He found it amusing how just a few minutes ago he was worried about drama coming out of this one night stand, and yet now he was purposefully concocting some.

“Oh. That’s awful. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… now I feel like I took advantage of you.” Emily’s eyes went soft. She was a sweet girl, he thought.

“No, trust me, you didn’t,” he assured her, his arms wrapping around her waist.

“You know…” She pulled back a bit, but there was less reservation in her expression. It was comical how the most macabre confessions brought about intimacy. “You can talk about it. I know I’m just some girl from a bar, but, I mean… how are you feeling about it?”

It would be easy to say that he felt awful, and to explain that the reason he felt no empathy for his brother was that his mother was abusive or that she treated him differently. Still, there was something about her that fascinated him. He knew she was stupid but would she be afraid if he told her the truth?

“Honestly? I feel complete and utter apathy,” he answered, his lips in a flat line and eyes devoid of any playfulness. Despite that he pulled her back to his chest, although she didn’t fall as easily as she had earlier.

“Apathy?” A look of fear marred her delicate features, peering up at him through the dark.

“She was a good mom, and now she’s dead,” he said, as if stating the weather. His hair clung to the sheen of sweat on his skin and all of the charm that twinkled in his eyes faded with his facade. “I guess I’ll miss her, but that’s the extent of it.” Emily watched him like he was under her magnifying glass. The quiet calm had dissipated, and tension laid like electricity between them.

“She must have done something awful to you.” He could almost see her thoughts churning, trying to come up with some comprehensible explanation for his vacant expression, his seemingly sunny demeanor all evening, and the way his voice dropped into monotone in a second. “I couldn’t blame you. It’s hard to feel anything for people that hurt us.” Her voice dripped with sincerity, but he could feel her heart racing where her chest pressed against him.

“She wasn’t abusive at all. I actually think I loved her..” It was silent for a few beats after he finished talking. The pauses kept getting longer.

“Oh.” Was all she could mouth, bewildered by the confession. It was a knife that cut through the suspense. “Look…uh, it’s getting late. I think you should leave.” Emily sat up, pulling the sheets with her and bunching them up at her chest.

“I was just being honest.” Micah tilted his head a bit. It was so fascinating how quickly her blood went cold. Part of him had hoped she would understand, but like a devotee looking at the face of God she trembled.

“You just told me that your mom died and that you couldn’t care less. That’s not normal.” All of the openness in her expression had faded and was replaced with a look so frosty it might have scared anyone else. “You should get help. Go to grief counseling or something.”

“Why would I go to grief counseling? I just told you that I have no grief.” He laughed and brushed his fingers through his hair. He paused, a brilliant and perhaps cruel idea popping up in his head. “What if I told you that I killed her?” Micah pondered as he stood up, his face still a blank slate. Emily’s expression melted into what he could only describe as shell-shocked. He chuckled as he slipped into his clothes.

“You’re sick.”

Micah spared the woman a final glance as he headed toward her bedroom door.

“So I’m a monster because I’m not like you?” His hands slipped into his pockets, a stance too casual for the circumstances. His charm had not completely faded, but it was overwhelmed by an aura of power and uncertainty. In that moment he resembled a politician or, on a more extreme scale, someone like Ted Bundy.

“Yes. No. I don’t know, just please go.” Emily stole a look in the direction of her nightstand. In one swift movement she opened the drawer and pulled out a pocket knife, knuckles white as she gripped the handle. “You’re what? You’re a sociopath? Were you going to kill me? Is that was this is about? Is that why you were at the bar every week?”

“Wow. Just because I don’t empathize doesn’t mean I don’t have any feelings. Way to hurt my feelings, Em.” He frowned, his lower lip pushing out into a pout. He couldn’t keep that expression for long, a smile breaking through. “This isn’t an Investigation Discovery show, put the damn knife away,” he laughed and she lowered the knife. “Well at least one of us was honest tonight,” he paused, “Tell your husband that I dropped by.”

Micah went back to the bar the next weekend and sat by himself. The seat where Emily had sat was empty, and he soaked in the inevitable disillusionment.

“Pomegranate martini, right?”

“Yeah.”

#fiction #again not my best work but #meh

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ed-edward-blackbeard · 5 years

Text

Last Line Meme

@shipperfiendobssesser tagged me in the Last Line WIP meme. YOU ASKED FOR IT.

Long text post, so I’m sticking it behind a “read more”

Fandoms behind the tags: Hannibal, Doctor Who, Gotham, SVU, BBC Sherlock, a couple of Walking Dead, a couple of Xenaverse, a couple of Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Live action), Star Trek (TOS), Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland, The Following, and some original stories (Not included, because I probably won’t ever go back to them: Supernatural, Stargate, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Deadwood, and Harry Potter.)

Not tagging anyone BECAUSE I WOULD NOT SUBJECT MY LOVED ONES TO THIS. No, seriously. I’ve been working on this goddamn thing for two and a half hours.

Hannibal WIPs:

Ripper!Hannibal: Hannibal picked up the scalpel, hid it in his coat pocket, and followed him in the shadows.

Temple Body (Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham): His presence warded off nightmares and ushered in a calm and dreamless sleep. "Sure, a shower."

There Were Three (Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham): "Excellent. I shall expect you Thursday night, promptly at 8." Hannibal rose when Will did, and followed him out of the office. "Are you returning to the crime scene tomorrow?"

Sanity and Empathy (Hannibal/Will): Knew it as well as he'd known the feel of Hannibal's broken heart, left in the chapel written on a broken man.

No Place Like Home (Hannibal/Will): When Hannibal got back to Will's room, Will was sitting up on the side of the bed. "You just missed the cardiologist; my heart's fine. They're gonna stitch me up and as far as she's concerned, I can go home right now."

Murder Husbands In Denmark (Hannibal/Will): "I can do that, soon as I'm out of the shower." He leaned across the bloody butcher's block and nipped at Hannibal's ear. "Hurry up."

Leather Hannibal (Hannibal/Will): "So I think you like my new motorbike." Will squirmed as Hannibal's leather-gloved hands pressed down against the erection straining his zipper. "But perhaps that is not all you like."

Keeping It In The Family AU (Mischa Lecter/Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham): Hannibal reached out and raised her up, and offered her his elbow. "You're not going to bow to me, Mischa."

I, Profiler (Crossover SVU/Hannibal, Hannibal/Will, Barba/Benson): "I will sign your form," Hannibal agreed. After Barba hung up, Hannibal sighed, and turned his attention back to the sausage browning in the frying pan. "Mr. Barba seems to be at loose ends," he commented.

Hannibal’s Nightmare (AUish, Hannibal/Will): He knows who he is--My name is Hannibal Lecter, and I am a psychiatrist. I am a serial killer, and I am a cannibal.--but that doesn't seem to matter. He is trapped in a place that does not seem to exist, and yet, it does.

Great Escapes (Hannibal/Will): Hannibal placed her plate in front of her, then dropped the fork carefully on the napkin. Once he was out of range, Will let her go and returned to his seat. "Do enjoy your dinner."

Firsts (Hannibal/Will):When the dance--and the music--ends, they're both breathless and ready for more. Hannibal empties his pockets over the balcony rail for the violinist below, then follows Will to bed.

drunken kisses sequel (Hannibal/Will): "I know." And he had. It was almost as if this entire conversation was useless; Will and Hannibal were so much in each other's heads, the answers were known before the questions were even formulated.

Building A New Life (Hannibal/Will): In the back cargo hatch was their luggage, their bloody clothes which really needed to be burned, and a large igloo cooler that carried all their provisions plus a few… special treats for later.

Biokinetics (Hannigram AU, Hannibal/Will): "No, not at all." Will put his glasses back on as Hannibal led the way out of Will's living quarters and into the Institute's foyer.

Original WIPs:

Roxy The Pink Police Poodle: Oh, boy. I recognize Shit Detail. That means we’re going to do something Not Fun. For either one of us.

Paralegal: No amount of whipping furniture at my head can shake the solidity of the facts of the law.

Ghosts of deBerk: (scriptfrenzy screenplay): You want to ask me if I can talk to them for you, but you realize I am not Whoopi Goldberg and this is not Ghost. You know things do not work like that.

Baywood: All the things that you could need, but wouldn't ever think of buying for yourself when the time comes.

The Nature Of Time: The Eternal was confused. And so to experience time, He became a part of it.

Small Things: And if any found it, they did not live to tell the tale because many went out, and few returned, and the ones who did died quickly, without relating what they knew.

Sleep Deprivation: The clock on the microwave read 2:03 AM as Mara heated her second milk of the night.

Sangria Falls: "Put on the shackles, now," Nick repeated, loosening the snap on his gun.

Misty Valley: Rain splashed on the windows, matching the rolling drops of blood that pooled red on the inside of the glass.

Midnight Scratching: . If she was losing her mind, then Poe was trying to console her.

Mars Rover: The air was circulating slowly inside the helmet to stretch out the final oxygen supply, but as soon as they were out of the atmosphere, they wouldn't really need it anymore.

Fall of the House of God: . As it dug itself in, Lamiel planted the seeds for further discontent before going to sleep to gather its strength.

Dymond Family Murders: Fiona's estate contested the agreement when first announced, but has since withdrawn the challenge and given the arrangement its full support.

SVU (Special Victims Unit) WIPs

Cedro Barba (Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson): Turning the box back over to Cold Case, Olivia headed for SVU.

Checking In (Barba/Benson): "I'm no role model, Olivia." He jostled Noah into sobs as he handed the child back to Liv. "Almost twenty years later and I still dream of punching my old man in the face every morning."

Post-”October Surprise” fic (Barba/Benson): "Come on, let it out." She cradled him close, resting her chin on his temple. "It's going to be all right, Rafael."

Dinner With Mami: Rafael just smiled at that, and a little kernel of heat blossomed in the pit of his stomach when she smiled back.

Starbucks: "Three cups, Liv," he reminded. "Three cups of Starbucks all over Armani."

Barba and Benson Dinner Untitled: "I think I like you better all put together. A present just waiting to be unwrapped. Although…" She made an appreciative noise at his bare chest. "I can see the benefit of keeping you naked."

Barba/Benson Vampire AU: “Come on. The blood bank is open by now, and you’ll think a lot more clearly when you’ve fed.” Olivia held her hand out.

Doctor Who WIPs:

Running Up That Hill (9/Rose): Disappointed in Rose,which was even worse for both of them.

1920′s Gangster AU (10/Rose): But there was no harm in looking, the Doctor kept telling himself, and so he continued to pay regular visits to the club.

A Crack In Time (12/Rose): "Rose, is it really you?" he asked, and even his voice was changed, Scottish and hard.

Come Back To Me (10/Rose): The Doctor's words were rushed as he hastened to reassure Rose. "There's only a really tiny little bit left, not even enough to hurt you, or even know it's there. I took all of it out of your head, scrubbed it clean, remember? That's how we met. This is just one tiny little glitch that saved your life."

Doctor John Smith (Tentoo/Rose): John looked steadily at Jackie. "It's a lot to take in. Rose has been through a lot. I just want to make it easy for her, that's all."

Drips (A Coffee Shop AU) (Ten/Rose): It had started, for Rose Tyler at least, with the gas leak that had blown up the Henrik's shop she'd worked at--thank God she'd been off shift that night.

Sunshine and Roses (9/Rose/Jack): The crinkles at the corner of his eyes made his mouth turn up in a perpetual smile, which was accompanied by laughter at Rose's antics.

Light and Dark (Ten/Rose): "We like children, we like them young, they are still light and generous and they want to play!" A few free light specks floated around Rose again, and lit on her hair, on her shoulders. "Oh, we see! You keep him light, he glows when you're with him!"

Part Of Your World (Ten/Rose Little Mermaid AU): He sort of waved through the front glass, and several of the whales flicked their rear fins as a sort of answer before the TARDIS bobbed around and headed back for the Trench and the Challenger descent point.

Untitled Post Impossible Planet/Satan Pit (Ten/Rose): She knew the why well enough, and went in for a second kiss.

Pregnant Rose Tyler (Ten/Rose): "All right. Anything for you, Rose Tyler." And this time, he meant it with all his hearts.

Two Hearts, Two Hearts (Jack/Ten/Rose): "Back in the TARDIS, or else she's wandered off again," was the Doctor's reply. "Didn't know what I'd find in here, so I asked her to wait. But you know how rubbish she is at waiting about, so we'd better go."

Gotham WIPs:

Father Nygma’s Bird Problems (AU, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot): This time, Carmine’s smile was far more rueful than he’d like. “There’s no way you could let me down,” he answered. Especially not given his own personal history. “Good evening, Edward. Remember, you can call me or see me at any time you like; I am always available to my priests.”

Hello, Old Friend (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot): Ed gave a negative shake of his head. “That's far too generous, I couldn't accept.” Especially when he had no real way of paying back the kindness.

Mine (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot): Getting up from the chair, he rapped the table with gloved knuckles. “I’ll swing back by later to see what you decided.”

Cuts Like A Knife (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot): He was relatively certain that a google search of How to fix the ice-muddled memory of your best friend turned worst enemy would return exactly zero helpful results, so he was going to go with the closest approximation he could think of and adapt what he found to help Ed.

Walking the Tightrope (Jim Gordon/Oswald Cobblepot): Oswald simply nodded. That was fair enough; the agreement was to take each other as they came, profession included. It kept things interesting, to say the least.

What He Needs (Jim Gordon/Oswald Cobblepot): The black eye mask was folded on top, and while he withdrew it with his fingers, he carried it back in his mouth and offered it up to Oswald.

BBC Sherlock WIPs:

Untitled Johnlock #1 (John/Sherlock): "Not important at all. It's common. Any two individuals regardless of gender can have sex, and a portion of those can make love with sentiment behind it. Boring. What is important, what is unique, is the closeness two people share. Especially when one is less than personable, as it were. But you, John, you are what is important. Not how you choose to use an appendage."

Life Form (John/Sherlock): Sherlock did allow himself to blink, and when no catastrophe happened, he relaxed microscopically.

Past Life (John/Sherlock): "Sandals and swords, how exciting. I can certainly see how it would pull one from the realm of sleep."

The Following WIPs:

Sacrifice (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy): The ghostly shapes moved like quicksilver behind the mist.

That Night (Joe/Carroll/Ryan Hardy): The heat from their touches made the room-temperature glass seem almost icy.

The Ending (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy): The answer that Ryan couldn't give, and that's why this moment, here in this nowhere place, was most important. In this place, the answer didn't matter.

Unexpected Savior (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy): Joe disconnected the call while studying his reflection in the mirror. “Dear Ryan, whatever shall I do with you?”

Everything Else:

Untitled Rickyl AU (Walking Dead, Rick/Daryl): So it was as a civilian that Rick rolled up at Carl's school that afternoon.

Wintering (Walking Dead, Rick/Daryl): "Don't worry, Papa Bear. Little Ass-Kicker's in good hands."

Destrus (Xenaverse, Ares/Xena): Well, his great sword through a few puny mortal chests had put an end to that idea

A Friend’s Faith (Xenaverse, Autolycus/Xena): "It's hard to have faith in yourself when you think nobody else does, but it's even worse when you think you've let down the ones who do."

Kunzite and Darkury (Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon/PGSM/BSSM/Bishojou Senshi Sera Moon, Kunzite/Dark Mercury): Both are trapped in the whirlpool at the base of the waterfall, a deepening vortex that sucks them deeper and closer together.

Untitled PGSM (Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon/Bishoujo Senshi Sera Moon, Human!Nephrite/Ami): He was only Nephrite, outcast and human, and he was shamed for feeling gratitude to Sailor Mercury.

Responsibility (Star Trek TOS, Kirk/Spock): No--that was unfair. Jim was not fire, and it was only Spock who burned.

Return To Underland (Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland, Alice/Hatter): The Unicorn chuffed nervously, pawing the marble floor while the Lion paced and growled, tail flicking madly.

The Girl With the Tuxedo Kitten (Millennium/Dragon Tattoo series, Lisbeth Salander/Mikael Blomkvist): Blomkvist laughed. "Why don't you take Sally and let her sleep? I'll set up the litter in the bathroom and put out some more dry food."

#my wips #wip list

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troublemakerfiction · 6 years

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24.

Millz

“Why does it seem like every time everything is going peaceful for me some other shit pops up?” I asked Darnell while I got dressed.

We were in my room while Dyce, Darius and Zaria were in the living room watching TV. Darnell was taking the boys out with her until my opening later, so I could go and see what’s up with this brother situation. I could’ve gotten Cameron to take them since he got uninvited when he tried to come for my parenting skills. It’s petty but I don’t care; he got too disrespectful and I’m not about to clink glasses with this nigga like we’re cool.

Today I was meeting my brother Dylan for the first time and I was nervous as fuck. I’ve been an only child for the last 25 years and now out of the clear blue sky I have two little brothers. It’s like my life can’t be calm for a minute, it’s always some extra shit going on.

“I’m surprised you’re not upset. You hate not knowing something.”

“I know, I thought I would be but after thinking about it I’m good. It’s not like my dad knew and didn’t say anything. I’m just happy they’re boys, I don’t need a sister.”

“Of course not, you love being his only daughter.”

“Exactly; and I’m not ashamed to admit it either.” I know it sounds childish as fuck but I really have no desire to have a sister. I love being my father’s only daughter, I don’t need another me walking around somewhere.

“That’s a damn shame. So where are you meeting him at?”

“The waterfront; I was going to give him my address so he could come here but I don’t know him like that so that has to wait. We need to work towards that.”

“At least you know you’re not the only one with twins.”

“Right, now I’m wondering where that gene came from.”

“I think grandma’s father was a twin. I heard my dad say it before.”

“Well that would explain it because I was shocked as shit when I found out I was having twins. I have twin boys, now I have twin brothers. That shit is weird.”

“So if everything works out fine what are you going to do?”

“I need to find out what Dominic is locked up for. He’s 19; he shouldn’t be in jail and on Rikers Island at that? Nah I’m not feelin’ that idea. I know grandma got a lawyer for him but the muthafucka is obviously bullshit so I’m going to put my lawyer on it and try to get him out. I’ll be damned if my brother is on some Kailef Browder shit.”

I don’t know much about prisons but I’ve heard real life horror stories about Rikers Island and I don’t want my brother there. I don’t want him in jail period but Rikers is probably one of the worse places he could be. I don’t want him being fucked with and dealing so much bullshit that he feels like he has no other option but killing himself.

“Well you know we got you, and I got the boys so don’t worry about it. I’ll drop them off at my mother’s house later then I can go get ready for your opening. You look cute, if he wasn’t your brother the little nigga would’ve probably hit on you.”

“Shut up Darnell,” I looked in the mirror at my outfit and smiled at my reflection. I was cute, not showing much, keeping it simple. I was meeting my brother, not going on a date so I had to dress like I had some sense.

I grabbed my purse, sunglasses and keys then walked out to the living room. “Darius, Dyce, y’all better be good okay.” I told them before kissing their foreheads. I looked at Zaria and ran my hands through her curls. “You too little Mexico.”

“Millz, don’t make me hurt you. Stop calling my daughter a damn Mexican.” Darnell said as she came in the living room behind me.

“What? She looks Spanish, I’m just saying.”

“She looks like me.”

“You say that like you don’t look like a Mexican too.” I laughed at her.

Darnell gets pissed off if you joke about her being some sort of Spanish. She says it’s annoying that she constantly has to defend her blackness. I could understand why it’s annoying but it’s funny because she really does look Hispanic. I know I’m not dark brown my damn self but you can see my ass is black. Darnell looks like she was born somewhere English is the second language.

“I’m going to fuck you up, shut up.” She punched my arm.

“Alright I’m playing with you damn, heavy handed ass,”

We all left my apartment and she took the kids with her while I headed to the waterfront. Being that it was only a few blocks away from my house I decided to walk. When I got to the waterfront which is pretty much a boardwalk, I took a seat on an empty bitch that was closest to the Hilton hotel.

“Millz?” Hearing my name I turned around and saw the same boy from the picture Vick showed me standing there. I got up and faced him smiling.

“Hi, Dylan right?”

“Yeah,” He smiled back. For a minute we just stood there looking at each other. It was awkward as shit, but I figured it would be.

“Are you hungry?”

“I mean, I could eat.”

“Alright come on, we’re going to the Hilton for lunch. My treat, we have a lot to talk about and I need a damn drink to handle this shit.”

I grabbed my purse off the bench and we walked over to the hotel going up to the lounge area. We found an empty table next to the window that showed the best view of the New York City Skyline.

A waiter came over and gave us a menu then walked away. I looked through it for a minute then closed it looking straight Dylan. He must’ve felt my eyes on him because he looked up from his menu.

“What? Is something on my face?”

“No, I’m just looking at you. Did you know about me before now?”

He sat his menu on his lap then looked at me. “Yeah we knew, we’ve always known we had a sister.”

“I figured that. Alright, you have to understand something; I thought I was an only child up until two days. If I had known about you, trust me I would’ve been around. Why didn’t your mother bring you around? I’m a little confused as to how she told you about a sister but never reached out to our father.”

“I don’t know, she hasn’t really explained that to me. She brought us up here when we were nine years old so we could finally meet him. Before that she always told us about him, about how he was a good man he was just always busy and working. We were excited to finally meet him, and we get up here and she finds out from her cousin that he was dead.”

“Damn,” I shook my head. “I know that had to hurt,”

“It did; you get so excited about meeting this man that you never met but for some reason you love and respect him. He was like a God to us and we had never met him but our mother built him up so much that we grew to love him. It’s fucked up we never met him, that type of shit fucks with you.”

I let out a light chuckle because I was mind blown. The same way he talked about my father is the same way I felt about him. My father was the most important part of my life, the closest person to me. It’s crazy that he could feel that way about him even though they’ve never met. I need to have a conversation with his mother because I have some questions.

The waitress came over interrupting my thoughts ready to take our order. We both told her what we wanted and she walked away with a smile.

“What is Dominic locked up for?” I asked Dylan. I wanted to know what type of person we’re dealing with here.

“They’re trying to pin a murder on him, but he’s innocent. He was with me the day it happened, I’m trying to get the courts to understand that but they keep trying to say a different story. They’re talking about it’s a witness saying they saw him there. We don’t even know who it is.”

“Alright when is his next court date?”

“They keep pushing it back.”

“Alright so I’m going to get my lawyer on it. I don’t know who grandma got y’all but they’re bullshit because this taking too god damn long. Do you have proof he was with you that night?”

“Yeah we went to the movies and out to eat with his baby mother and my girlfriend.”

“He has a baby mother? How old is his baby?”

“Armani just turned four years old and Amaya is three.”

“His kids are the same age as mine. Y’all are six years younger than me, what the hell is wrong with y’all?”

“Don’t say y’all, I don’t have kids.” He laughed.

“Good, don’t have none for a couple of years. Tell me something though; what is Dominic into that would even put him in the position to catch a murder charge?”

“I guess you can say the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.” He said.

I knew exactly what he meant; Dominic had his little ass out there selling drugs. I wish I could say I was surprised but I’m not.

“For how long?”

“Since we were 13, he hooked up with some old nigga named Manolo.”

“Manolo? The fuck type of name is Manolo?”

“A corny one that’s what; but yeah he hooked up with that nigga. Even before that he was acting out and it started after we found out about our father’s murder. He just did a complete 180 and became a different person. It started with him fucking up in school. Then he started staying out late and shit. My mother tried to get him under control but it didn’t work.”

“How is his temper?”

“Fucked up, you look at that nigga wrong and he’s swinging on you.”

“Damn, he’s his father’s son and definitely my brother.” I shook my head. It seemed to me like Dominic was just like my father too. “What about you, what are you up to?”

“I play basketball for Rutgers.”

“Really? That’s good, are you any good?”

“Good enough to get a full scholarship.”

“You’re on a full scholarship? Wow, that’s what’s up. I want to know the dates to every game when your season starts. I mean, that’s if you want me there.”

“Yeah I definitely want you to come.”

“So if you have a full scholarship that goes beyond you just being good at basketball. That means you keep your grades up too. How is that you stayed in school and stayed on the right track but he went in another direction?”

“We needed money and he felt like it was his responsibility to get it. Staying in school wasn’t just because of me; he wouldn’t let me do what he did. I tried to get him to let me do it too, I felt like I could have his back. Nobody is going to watch out for him like I would so I wanted to be there but he wouldn’t let me. My mother worked all the time and she did her best but when you have two boys that’s growing out of sneakers and clothes every few months and bills to pay that shit is hard to maintain.”

“So he helped take care of y’all?”

“Yeah, then Amari was born and he started going harder. It was like he had tunnel vision, his eyes were on the money and getting as much of it as he could. I don’t know what he was doing exactly, but I know that he has at least two hundred grand put away.”

“So why did you need help getting a lawyer for him?”

“We don’t know where it is; only he does and he doesn’t want us using it for him.”

“Do you go to visit him?”

“No, he calls me and we talk when we can but I don’t have the transportation to get there.”

“Well I want to visit him, so you’re coming with me when I go. Also, I need to speak to your mother because I have some questions.”

“I’ll let her know,”

“So where is this girlfriend of yours and his baby mother what’s her story?”

“They’ve been together since freshmen year of high school. She and the kids live with my mother.”

“Why?”

“When he got locked up, there was no money coming in so no rent was being paid. She had to move out so she moved in with my mother.”

“Hmm, okay.”

I had my own personal thoughts about that and they weren’t good ones so I kept my mouth shut. I don’t want to judge the girl but if your kids are three and four years old, that’s old enough to be in school which means you have time to go get a damn job. Something tells me she’s not the brightest crayon in the box.

“My girlfriend goes to school with me, she’s plays basketball too.”

“Well I want to meet everybody including my nieces and that will be happening soon. I need you to tell your mother that too.”

“I will. Have you read the letter Dom had sent for you?”

“No, I wanted to meet you first. I’ll read it when I get home.”

“You need to, it’s very important that you do.”

“Okay,”

We continued to talk about his life and how they grew up while we ate lunch. By the time we were done we exchanged phone numbers and went our separate ways. I told him I could just walk to get my car and drop him off where he needed to go but he said he was fine so I went home.

As soon as I got in the house I got Dominic’s letter and opened it. I took a deep breath and unfolded the paper then began to read it.

What’s good Millz, I know this shit is random because you didn’t know about us. My mother wanted to tell y’all about us for the longest time but she didn’t want to disrupt anything. Then when we found out our father was dead she knew you would probably be going through hell so she didn’t want to come out of nowhere presenting two brothers on you. Now that I look back on it I think she should’ve just bit the bullet and told everybody the truth. Maybe shit would’ve been different.

I guess at this point it’s no secret that I’m locked up. Let me start by saying I am muthafuckin innocent. I’m not a saint but I didn’t commit a damn murder and I’m getting out of here so I can continue to take care of my family. I don’t know if you met Dylan yet or not but if you have I’m sure he gave you the rundown about me.

Finding out about our father’s murder fucked me up. I spent my whole life waiting and anticipating the day I could finally meet my father and when I was about to I get told he was murdered. That shit pissed me the fuck off. I was angry for a long ass time and I acted out because of it. Part of acting out got me introduced to the wrong niggas and I ended up getting into the streets. I have kids to provide for so I’m not apologizing about shit but I just need you to understand that shit. I’m not a fucked up person but I’ve been through some fucked up shit.

That’s not the point of this letter though. I’m writing you to let you know that even though I’ve never met you or our father I love both of y’all. My mother told me all about him, about how even though he was bat shit crazy and had anger problems he was a good man that had to do some bad things to provide for his family. I guess you can say the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree because look where the fuck I’m at.

It’s all good though. I don’t want you thinking we’re coming to y’all for money or for clout because that’s not the case. We wanted to reach out a long time ago but for some reason we never had the courage. When I got locked up I needed a lawyer, so my mom told Dylan to find our grandmother and he did. I know I’m not in a position to ask you for anything because you don’t know me but I’m going to do it anyway. Until I get home look out for my family, make sure they’re good. I’m not even worried about me I just need to know that my kids, my girl, my mother and Dylan are alright.

I would say that’s all I need from you but I really need you to come see as soon as possible. Not just because I wanna finally meet you but I really need to talk to you. I have something to tell you about our father and why he was killed. I know who did it.

As soon as I read the last sentence of his letter it dropped from my hands. My heart started beating so fast it felt like it was about to fall out my chest. He was nine years old when my father died, how does he know who did it? All type of questions was running through my mind. Ten years later I was about to find out who killed my father and I was getting the information from a brother I had no idea about.

What type of Shonda Rhimes, Lee Daniels shit is this?”

Imani

Walking into Royals hair salon and barbershop I went straight over to my stylist and one of the managers of the shop, Tai’s station and gave her a hug before sitting down in her chair. Tai, who was recommended to me by Darnell, has been doing my hair since I started coming to this salon early this year and she kills it every time. She’s so good at what she does that have to make sure I’m here on time for my appointments because she’s booked out the ass all the time.

Royals is one of if not the best black hair salon in Jersey City. Everybody that works in the shop are top notch stylist, makeup artist, nail techs. To make it even better there were five barbers working there also so they had a big male clientele too. All in all Royals is the shit, and I don’t plan on switching salons anytime soon.

“What’s going on med school?” She joked as I took my hair out of the ponytail it was in.

“Nothing much, getting myself mentally prepared for school. I know it’s about to kick my ass.”

“Yeah but it’s going to pay off in the end so you’ll be good. What are we doing to your hair today?”

“Not extensions this time, I just need a silk press.”

“Did you wash it already?”

“No I didn’t, is Dana here?” I asked about my favorite shampoo girl. I loved when Dana washed my hair because she knew exactly how to do it. The water was always the right temperature and she wasn’t all rough, some of these bitches will damn near pull my hair out.

“Yeah she’s over there, go ahead she’s free.” I got up and went over to shampoo bowls where Dana was.

After she washed and conditioned my hair I went back over to Tai’s station and sat down. She didn’t start on my hair but instead stood in front of me. I looked at her confused and she motioned her head to the station that was across and a few chairs down from hers. I looked over and rolled my eyes when I saw Kason’s ex Heaven sitting down. If her being there wasn’t enough she was sitting in Star’s station.

Star is like a mixture of Wendy Williams, and The Shaderoom. All she does is gossip and try to start shit. I’ve gotten into it with her a couple of times because she has a bad habit of talking about people I know when I’m here.

When I first started coming to this salon she was cool; annoying as shit but cool nonetheless. One day she was talking about this nigga that played her for some Spanish bitch and it turns out she was talking about my brother.

Apparently when Haze first started talking to NuNu he was fucking around with Star. Once NuNu found out she gave him an ultimatum to either drop all of his hoes or she wasn’t fucking with him. Of course he dropped his bitches and one of those bitches just so happened to be Star.

As soon as she said his name I interrupted her and let her know that’s my brother and you’re not about to sit here and talk about him like he’s a dog or some shit because he did what all niggas are supposed to do once they get in a relationship. Drop the groupies. Star didn’t like that I checked her and since then it’s been some tension between us.

The fact that she has this Heaven bitch in her chair is annoying because I know it’s some mess involved. Like I said, I’ve been coming here for a year now and I’ve never seen this girl here. Now all of a sudden she’s in this salon and just so happened to be in Star’s chair? I can smell the mess about to start.

“Listen, I need you to keep calm and whatever you do, please don’t call any of your family members down here. I don’t need the shop fucked up, Rome will lose his shit.” Tai said talking about her boyfriend, who owns the shop.

“I’m not calling anybody I’m good. As long as they don’t say shit to or about me I’m good.” I told her. I wasn’t about to act an ass in here, I’m not big on making a fool of myself. What I was going to do was tell NuNu to come down here just in case some shit popped off and these hoes tried me.

“Good let me start your hair so you can out of here.” Tai went to her original place behind my chair and started on my hair. I pulled my phone out and sent NuNu a text letting her know what was up and where I was. She immediately hit me up telling me to call her if they tried something.

“Imani you look cute today, I love those shoes.” The other manager Samaya complimented me while she stood at the reception desk doing something on the computer. “Where did you get them?”

“Thank you, I got these at Neiman’s. I only went in there to find an outfit for Millz’ opening tonight and ended up with these too. Speaking of her opening, y’all are coming tonight right?” I asked Samaya and Tai both.

Tonight was Millz’ grand opening for her Interior Design company and I was excited for her. I know she’s been working her ass off the last few weeks just to make sure everything is right.

Tai and Samaya were both invited because Tai does Darnell’s hair, and Samaya does our makeup whenever we need her to. In my personal opinion both of them were the best in the city as far as hair and makeup go.

“Yeah, you know she wants me to do her makeup so I’ll be there. I have to be by her house at five o’clock as soon as that bitch finishes your hair we can both head over that way.”

“She could’ve come here and had you do it and get her hair done.” I said knowing damn well that wasn’t happening.

“Nah,” Samaya shook her head making me laugh.

Millz wasn’t bringing her ass down here at all. It would be a shit show if she did. Two girls she knows for a fact Prophet cheated on her with still work here, and a couple of his employees if you can call them that; frequent this salon. The way her mouth and temper is set up, it would be nothing but drama if she came down here. To avoid drama they just make house calls when it comes to Millz and sometimes Darnell depending on what she has going on.

“I don’t see why she can’t come here; she’s too good to bring her ass to the salon?” Star griped.

“No she’s not too good but I don’t need her in here beating people’s asses. She doesn’t have to come here if she doesn’t want to.” Samaya responded to her.

“Whatever, y’all act like y’all scared of her whole damn family. They’re not shit to be afraid of.” Star complained some more.

“You sure you want to test that theory?” I asked getting her attention. “Don’t talk about my family. I’m sure you weren’t complaining about us when my brother’s dick was in your mouth.”

“Alright everybody relax. Star you need to stop with your salty ass. Just stand there and do what you need to do.” Tai told her.

“Y’all always kissing her ass,” Star rolled her eyes.

“Ain’t nobody kissing ass you just look and sound stupid over there pressed as fuck for no reason.” Samaya snapped at her.

“I’m not pressed all I’m saying is she thinks she’s better than everybody. All of them do and it’s annoying.”

I ignored her and started scrolling through instagram. I wasn’t about to argue with a bitter Betty, there would be no point in that. If she wants to think I feel like I’m better than her, then that sounds like a personal problem.

The whole time Tai was doing my hair they weren’t talking about anything of importance; as soon as she started to wrap my hair these hoes decided to get messy.

“What’s good with you and your old nigga?” Star asked Heaven.

“Nothing much, he acts like he doesn’t want anything between us but we’ve been chillin’ lately so he must want something.” Heaven answered. I looked over at the both of them and this hooker had a smug grin on her face.

“He probably just has a distraction, but you never forget your first love so don’t worry about it. He’ll come around.” Star responded before chuckling.

“Do y’all have something you want to say?” I asked them. “You clearly want my attention so bad, now you got it. What’s up?”

“This is a conversation between two people. You can mind your business.” Heave said smartly.

“I don’t give a damn who you were talking to. I know who you’re talking about and if you don’t want a problem I would advise you to shut the fuck up.” This girl was really trying it right now and she was going to be in for a rude awakening.

I’m a quiet person, I don’t mess with anybody I stay in my zone and mind my business. I still let slick shit slide because I’m not beat for the drama, but one thing I don’t tolerate is bitches being on or even talking about Kason a certain way. This broad was really pushing it talking about him knowing damn well I’m sitting here.

“You sound really insecure right now.” Heaven started to laugh.

“I’m far from insecure; however I am annoyed with you sitting over there talking about my nigga like I’m not going to pick up on it. I graduated college with honors bitch and a 3.8 GPA; I’m far from stupid so I know exactly what you’re trying to do and trust me sweet heart you do not want to go there with me.” I told her in a serious tone.

At this point I was pissed off. I do not play when it comes to Kason. I don’t like to fight but I will slap a bitch for that one.

“You need to talk to your man because the nigga sure doesn’t act like he has a girl when he’s around me.”

“Bitch bye you just said he doesn’t want shit from you but now he acts like he doesn’t have a girl? Like I told you thirty muthafuckin’ seconds ago I’m not stupid. Watch your mouth, I’m not about to slap you in here because I respect Tai and Samaya but you’re really pushing it.”

Heaven started laughing took the cape from around her neck and stood up. I couldn’t help but laugh because what exactly was that supposed to do? Scare me?

“Why are you standing up like you wanna do something?” I asked.

“Listen, I don’t know what your issue with me is but me and Kason have history. I was there with him through shit that your rich stuck up ass can’t even fathom. So, If I want to talk about him I can and you’re not going to do shit about it.” She said with her hands on her hips.

I looked at Tai and told her to take my cape from around my neck; she did and I stood up. I didn’t say anything to Heaven; I just went to where she was standing and slapped her. Instead of hitting me back she went straight for my hair and tried to pull me to the ground but it wasn’t working. All the while she was yanking my hair I kept swinging. I was getting her from the left, right and even got a few uppercuts in.

We were going in for a good minute before we finally got pulled apart. Heaven was on the ground slowly being helped up by one of the barbers. I was still mad as shit so I picked up my high heel clad foot and kicked her ass dead in the face.

Before my foot could even hit the ground good Tai was grabbing my arm and pulling me out the door with my stuff in her free hand.

“That wasn’t necessary you fucked her up already!” Tai shouted at me.

Seconds later Samaya came outside with her phone in her hand. “That heel must’ve scratched the shit out of her because her face is bleeding like crazy. She’s probably going to need stitches. Star is calling the ambulance for her.”

“Damnit Imani, why did you do that shit man?” Tai asked.

“I told her to shut up and she got up like she wanted to do something. It was either hit her or get hit first and that wasn’t happening.”

“I get that but now the bitch might be getting stitches and look at your fuckin’ face.” I took my phone from her and opened my camera up so I could see my face.

I instantly got mad all over again because I had scratches on my face. They weren’t so bad that they would leave scars but just the fact that my face was like this pissed me off.

“You need to go before Star hype her up to press chargers or something.”

“I am, I’ll see y’all in two weeks.Thank you for doing my hair even though that bitch fucked it up some.” I told Tai who laughed at me.

“All you have to do is brush it down and you’re good.” She combed my hair down with her fingers while I went through my purse for my wallet. I paid her for doing my hair and told her I would see her later before heading to my car.

When I got in my car I called NuNu putting her on speaker phone so I could talk while I drove.

“What’s good Mani, you getting ready for tonight?” She answered the phone.

“Tell me why I just had to beat this bitch ass in the hair salon.” I said, not even bothering to answer her question or say hello.

“Who? That Heaven bitch?”

“Yeah, she was in there running her mouth about Kason trying to be funny so I slapped her ass. “

“Where are you now? Are you still there?”

“No I’m on my way home and if Kason is still there I’m going off on his ass. This bitch was in there saying he was chillin’ with her and shit.”

“She could be lying; you just said the bitch was trying to be funny. Don’t take the word of a bitch, especially a pressed bitch over your nigga. If you want to ask him about it, fine but don’t go in there beastin’ over nothing.”

“I’m not beastin’ over nothing but I do know that this bitch isn’t just mad for no reason. You telling me he’s not around her at all yet she’s in her feelings enough to come at me on some bullshit? That doesn’t sound right,”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. I’m just telling you not to go in there on some crazy shit. I know how you get when it comes to that nigga and I also know that he’s not about to stand there and let you talk to him crazy. So, I just want you to get yourself together and actually give him a chance to explain. Don’t go accusing,”

“Whatever I hear you, I’m about to pull into the garage I’ll talk to you later.” I ended the call with NuNu as I pulled into the parking garage and went to my normal spot.

When I got up to the apartment I heard the TV in the living room on so I went in there first. Kason was sitting on the couch watching ESPN while Trouble sat on the opposite couch smoking a blunt.

I dropped my purse and keys on one of the empty chairs then went and stood in front of his face. He looked up at me confused then stood up and grabbed my chin.

“What the fuck happened to your face? You get in a fight with a cat on some shit?”

“No I got into a fight with your ex bitch. Are you hanging around her or something?” I asked him.

“Aww shit,” I heard Trouble try to mumble. The nigga can’t whisper for shit.

“The fuck is you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about, that bitch Heaven! Have you been around her? Don’t fuck with me Kason, I’m dead ass serious don’t do it.”

“I’m not doing shit. How the fuck did you even see her and what happened?”

“If you avoid my question one more time, I swear to God.” He was really starting to piss me off. I know he heard me ask him if he was around that bitch and he’s sitting here acting like he didn’t hear what the fuck I said.

“You need to calm down aight, let me explain what’s going on.”

“I don’t want an explanation right now I want you to answer the damn question. Were you around her, yes or no?”

“Yes I was around her bu-“ I put my hand in his face cutting him off.

“But nothing, that’s all I needed to hear.” I went to leave the room but he grabbed my arm.

“Wait, it’s not even how you think it is.”

“Kason, I need to start getting ready. Get the fuck off my arm,” I snatched my arm out of his grip then went to the bedroom slamming the door behind me.

I wasn’t in the mood to here an explanation about him and that girl, the fact that he was even around her period had me pissed off. I don’t care what the fuck is going on, I should’ve known about the situation as soon as he even spoke to her about anything. If she didn’t do that dramatic bullshit in the salon today I wouldn’t have known anything. He clearly wasn’t going to say anything so fuck him and that stupid ass explanation.

The rest of the day I pretty much ignored Kason’s existence. He tried talking to me but he got ignored every single time. The whole car ride to the opening was silent, and when we got upstairs to Millz’ office I immediately walked away from him and busied myself.

It had to be at least 50 people walking around. I recognized a few people we all knew mutually but for the most part I didn’t know anybody there besides the niggas I’m related to.

I was standing by the window just looking outside when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and smiled when I saw it was Millz who was trying to get my attention.

“Congratulations!” I squealed while I gave her a hug. She had finally made it to her opening after having all of her guest wait about 45 minutes. It’s a good thing she had plenty of alcohol and food or people would’ve been mad.

“Thank you,” She said when I let her go. “It looks good right?”

“It does, really good.” Millz’ office was the shit, everything about it was perfect. The decor was on point, she had all of her employees here talking to people. Pictures of the work she did on houses in Virginia were hanging up for people to see. She had her shit on point. “You look great too; that ponytail is everything. Tai and Maya hooked you up I see.”

“They definitely did and they also told me about what happened today. We’re going to talk about the ass whoopin’ you gave out later. I’m proud of you though, that’s what the fuck I’m talking about. Start beating on these bitches and they will leave you alone.”

“I’m not about to fight every girl in the world for no reason. I don’t like doing that, I’m not you.”

“Alright, I’m a little violent. Oh well; too bad so sad. Anyway get a drink and mingle because that’s what I’m about to do. Have fun okay, where’s Kason?”

“Somewhere around here, I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“Hmm, we’re going to talk about that later too.” She winked at me before walking off into the crowd.

I grabbed a champagne glass off a tray when a server walked past me and went over to where my NuNu, my brother and everybody else were standing around talking. As soon as I walked up they all stopped talking and looked at me.

“Can I have my face back? Damn,”

“Eww, who pissed in your cheerios?” Darnell asked me.

“Nobody y’all were just staring at me like I was the topic of your conversation before I came over here.” I answered her.

“You were; I was asking this nigga.” She pointed to Kason, who was standing right next to her, “What’s wrong with you. You’re walking around with your face all balled up.”

“Nothing is wrong with me Darnell, damn drop it.” I snapped at her. She raised her eyebrow at me then started laughing.

“Okay, hold this.” She gave her glass to Xavier, grabbed my arm and pulled me to the bathroom. “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but your tone is a real problem for me. You don’t want my problem to become your problem so watch that. What’s going on with you?”

“Why don’t you ask the nigga that has me pissed off?”

“What did Kason do?” She folded her arms across her chest waiting for me to answer. I gave her the whole rundown about what happened at the salon and what I found out.

“Star is still messy I see; that bitch doesn’t get enough.” Darnell shook her head in disgust. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,”

“Have you let him explain?”

“No, I haven’t spoken to him since earlier. what is there to explain? I should’ve known from the jump.”

“You still need to let him tell you what happened. You just said you don’t know what to do I’ll tell you what you should do. You need to let that man explain what happened and what the situation is. You never know, it might be something understandable.”

“I don’t care what it is, he should’ve told me.”

“You’re right, he should have. You still need to let him explain what it is. Do that when y’all get home though. Keep your relationship problems at home. When y’all are in public, nobody should be able to tell that y’all are going through it.”

“I hear you. Are we done with this little meeting?”

“You’ve been around Millz too much lately. Come on,” We left the bathroom and went back over to everybody.

“Where the hell did y’all go? Dropping off and shit, you missed my damn speech.” Millz said to us when we got close enough.

“My bad we were talking. I’m sorry, you can tell me what you said later.” I told her.

“Girl bye, what happened though? Somebody needs to get slapped? Wait nah, she did that earlier. My girl, kicking bitches in the face. You’re finally learning.” Millz said with a smile on her face.

“You have some issues.” Vick shook his head.

“I know right; speaking of issues. I met my brother today, well one of my brothers and I found out some heavy shit so we have to discuss that. Not right now because this is about my money, but we will be talking about it. I’ll let y’all know when, but until then I need to go finish mingling. You come with me,” She grabbed Trouble’s hand and walked off.

“Y’all peep that they’re matching?” NuNu said and I chuckled. I did notice that Trouble and Millz are matching. Taking their time my ass, those niggas are together.

Once Millz’ opening was done we all said goodbye to each other then left. When we got in the car Kason didn’t put the keys in the ignition or anything he just looked at me with a serious expression on his face. I tried to ignore it but after five minutes of him doing nothing but staring I finally got annoyed.

“Can you stop staring at me and drive?” I said while looking at him.

“Oh so you’re finally saying something to me?” He let out a bitter chuckle. “You funny,”

“How the fuck am I funny?”

“Who the fuck you cursing at?” He looked at me like I had two faces. “I let that shit slide earlier because I understood why you were mad but that shit is a wrap. Watch who the fuck you talking to like that aight, for real.”

“Just drive Kason.” I waved him off. I wanted to curse his ass out but I wasn’t even about to go there with him. It would just make him go from 0 to 60 in 2.5 seconds.

“Nah, I’m not moving until this shit is cleared up. We’re not doing this bullshit all night, so what the fuck do you want to know?”

“Why were you around her and what for?”

“Alright before I go there I’m going to give you a quick back story. Heaven is adopted, and she doesn’t have the best relationship with her birth mother. I don’t know why, and honestly I don’t give a damn. They don’t really get along but she loves her mother. I ran into her a few weeks ago and she was telling me about how her birth mother was in the hospital and she needed help with the bills. Before you even let that inner Millz that’s living in the back of your head out let me finish.”

“Fine, go ahead.”

“She told me about her mother, I blew it off because Heaven likes bullshitting. She actually showed me proof and showed me the medical bills and asked me for help. She was there with me through some shit before so I helped her out and gave her the money. I did go by the hospital like twice when she was there just to check in on her and that’s it. Nothing else happened, I never touched her, I never did anything with her. I never even let her think something was going to happen.”

“Why didn’t you tell me as soon as it happened?’

“Trying to avoid this shit right here. You think I want to go back and forth with your ass? I already knew you weren’t going to be here for it so I didn’t say anything. Now looking back on it that was stupid, but I promise you nothing went on with me and that girl.”

I didn’t need to look at Kason’s eyes to see if he was lying because I already knew he wasn’t. The bitch said it herself that they never did anything before I checked her. I wasn’t worried about him cheating on me but the secrecy shit is what irked me.

“You should’ve told me from jump. Don’t keep secrets from me.”

“I’m not, and I’m done with Heaven trust me.”

“Well you need to tell her that, no more communication after this shit. If you want to help her mother out some more, I don’t care. I have a heart, and her mother isn’t the guilty one so I’m not going to make you stop. Do you have to give her any more money?”

“She told me yesterday she needed a couple more stacks. I was going to drop it off tomorrow and be done with it.”

“Good. I’m going with you. It’s a good thing she won’t have to go too far to visit her mother in the hospital.”

“What you mean?”

“She was there earlier; I kicked her in the face with my heels on.”

He shook his head at me while laughing. ”I see that crazy Diamond shit is finally coming out.”

“It had to kick in at some point.”

The Next Day

“Why are you dressed like you’re ready to fight?” Kason questioned me while we were on the elevator.

We were finally at the hospital so he could give Heaven’s dumb ass this money. He was also going to make it super clear that she had no chance in hell to get anywhere near him again let alone getting back together. I decided to be nice and let him finish handling her mother’s medical bills but this shit was a wrap after today.

“Sneakers mean I’m ready to fight? Kason shut up. If I was going to fight I would’ve been wearing sweats or something, I’m cute today. The fuck?”

“I’m just saying; that’s not really your style.”

“Well I didn’t feel like getting dressed up. Let’s do this and get it over with so we can go eat. I’m hungry.” We got off the elevator and walked down the hall.

“Room 508,” He said as we went past different rooms.

“Does her mother know you?”

“Nah I never met her, I just drop the money off and go about my business.”

“So how do you know what room?”

“She told me because she wants me to see her mother but I never did. I don’t forget shit so,” he shrugged. “Here it goes, you coming in?”

“Hell yeah,” We went into the room and I instantly got confused when I saw who was lying on the bed. “Wait, is this the right room?”

“Yeah this is it; I’m leaving the check on right by the, bed fuck it.” He was about to walk over to the bed but he saw the bothered look on my face and stopped. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Kason this has to be the wrong room. This is not her mother.”

“What are you talking about Imani? This is the room number she gave me. How do you know this isn’t her mother? You don’t even know the bitch.”

“I don’t know that bitch but I know this is not her mother because this is my mother.”

“Hold up, what you say?”

“This is my mother Kason,” I went into my purse so I could get my phone and call my father but the sound of the door opening made me turn around. When Heaven’s eyes landed on me I could see the anger flash across her face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She barked at me. I wanted to laugh because she had gauze on the side of her face and I knew it was because of me. Oh well, she shouldn’t have started some shit with me.

“No what the fuck are you doing here? How do you know this woman? You’re so crazy that you wanna stalk a bitch I don’t even talk to?” I said. How the fuck did she even find my mother and why is she even using my mother as a pawn to get some damn money.

“Fuck you talking about? Nobody is stalking you.”

“So you just so happened to show up to the same salon I go to on the same day as me? Yeah no, you were stalking then and you’re stalking now. I know you want him back but bringing my mother into it?”

“Your mother? Bitch I don’t even know your mother, what are you talking about?’

“Hello! You’re standing in her room, this is my mother.” I said and her eyes got big as quarters.

“Oh my God,” she mumbled before covering her mouth. Confused, I looked at Kason who was just as thrown off as I was.

“Heaven what type of games are you playing man?” Kason questioned her.

“I’m not playing games nigga, what the fuck I look like going through all this bullshit with hospital bills to play games?” She snapped at him.

“So what are you doing here then and how do you know my mother?” I folded my arms across my chest waiting for this answer.

“I’m not here because of you, this really doesn’t have shit to do with you. I’m here because I’m supposed to be here. This is my mother.”

“WHAT!” Kason and I shouted at the same time. I looked at her then back at my mother. What the fuck?

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lubdubsworld · 7 years

Text

Losing to You.

Warning : this is Mpreg. Now, I've never written Mpreg but I got a request for it and i realized a lot of people find it disturbing (??)

( honestly that baffles me considering that people are okay with hybrids, werewolves and incubus. Is pregnancy freakier than having a bushy tail?? ...i don’t get you people ...)

Anyways, this is sort of an Alternate Universe where not all men can get pregnant. Some men can. They’re called carriers. Carriers are extremely rare and there’s not a lot of study done on them. But they’re generally looked down on because of the traits associated with them ( something like omegas, you could say .)

So if a male getting pregnant is not your thing you can leave. But honestly, it’s not graphic or anything . i thought it was a really cute idea , taehyung with a baby bump being pampered by a whipped jung kook.

Part 1/?

"Taehyung, I'm sorry."

Taehyung sighed, staring at the man in front of him and managing a weak smile. Everyone was apologizing to him these days. The milk man who couldn't extend his credit, the apartment's land-lord who served him the eviction notice, the school chairman who wants him to withdraw both Taejoon and Taemin from the classes because he hadn't paid the fees and now Seokjin, the owner of the cafe he worked at. But rules were rules and male carriers who were more than four months pregnant weren't allowed to work in commercial institutions. Which meant that Taehyung had to find a way to get money or starve to daeth with his kid brothers.

He thought of the envelope in his pocket, heavy and hot like heated iron. He really didn't want to have anything to do with the Jeon family. He hated everything they stood for. The oppessive power , the wealth that they threw at everyone's face, the belief that just because they had money they could treat people like Taehyung like objects. Everything made his skin crawl and his heart pound in anger. But he had two kids to take care of with a third on the way.

It wasn't like he even had an option.

"It's okay hyung. " He managed a brave smile and lightly gripped the curve of his belly , the firm thickness so foreign and jarring. He had been skinny all his life, the curve to his stomach non existent. But now, it pressed out, drawing attention when he came out without his jacket.

Even the oversized sweater couldn't hide the very obvious evidence of his biggest regret. Taehyung kept a palm on his side, taking care not to bump his belly against any of the sharp edges of the tables in the cafe as he made his way out.

The last time that had happened, he'd been in pain for two whole days.

He tried not to let the exhaustion take over as he slowly made his way down the sidewalk, mind now immune to the judgmental stares. Taemin and Taejoon were at the daycare with Hoseok and he didn't want to pick them up just now.

He moved to the small phone booth at the corner of the street and slowly slotted in the coins before making the call.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"If he goes to the police , we're screwed. " Mr. Jeon said briskly, sweating through his shirt. Mrs . Jeon tried to soothe her husband, hand rubbing circles on his back.

"He won't. He has his brothers and the baby to think about."

"But, what if he refuses?" Mr. Jeon said with a look of anguish on his face. Mrs. Jeon felt her heart ache for the man.

"He won't... I'm more worried about how Kookie will react to this..." She said biting her lips. " He's almost engaged to that girlfriend of his. Eunha.. or whatever."

"He will listen to me, is what he'll do." Mr. Jeon gritted out. " I have the worst, most troublesome boys on the planet and I'll be damned if that little brat tries to go against my words."

Mrs. Jeon who had always had a soft spot for her youngest, grimaced a bit.

"We can hardly expect him to give up his girlfriend... perhaps we can make an arrangement with Taehyung ssi about the nature of the marriage..." She tried softly. Mr. Jeon scoffed.

"Really? What, tell him he can continue his relationship with his girlfriend while being publicly married to another man? Just how much shame do you want to bring on my family name, woman?" He snarled.

Mrs. Jeon flinched a little.

"If he's discrete..."

"If he gets caught, I'll fucking disown him . that's what I'll do." Mr. Jeon said calmly.

Mrs. Jeon didn't reply, she already had a plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Thank you for meeting me."

Taehyung smiled at the woman in front of him. Mrs. Jeon was lovely, middle aged but still well groomed and polite. She stared at him with genuine fondness.

"You're a very beautiful young man." She commented genuinely and Taehyung didn't react. He'd heard that phrase all his life and like the apologies it was meaningless. He was beautiful. So what? He was still treated like crap for something that was never his fault. He had never asked to be born as a carrier. He had never asked to be fucking raped in a storage closet by an inebriated fucktard in the middle of some office party..

" I'll be willing to marry Jung Kook ssi." He said blankly. Mrs. Jeon looked a little taken aback by his bluntness and quickly smiled to cover it up.

"Of course. of course , our son is really lucky to have suck a pretty..."

"I want a trust fund for my brothers and the baby." He said firmly, ignoring her entirely.

Mrs. Jeon blinked but nodded.

"Of course. Anything you want..."

"And in case anything happens to me, the children go to my best friend, Jung Hoseok and his partner Min Yoongi. Jeon Jung Kook does not have any claim on the baby, or my brothers." He said casually.

Mrs. Jeon frowned.

"But the baby is..."

"Mine. The baby is mine and I'll decide what happens to him or her. " He spat out, voice shaking.

Mrs. Jeon went parchment pale.

"Taehyung ... There's no reason anything will happen to you. Jung Kook is a good man. He won't hurt you. He'll take good care of you, i promise that. " She whispered.

Taehyung shut his eyes in despair.

"I don't know him. I can't agree or disagree with you. All I know is that I can't trust my baby with someone I don't know. " His voice was starting to shake and he gripped the edge of the table as the baby moved , the muscles tightening instinctively from the foreign sensation.

"Are you alright, honey?" Mrs. Jeon moved closer, lightly gripping his arm , moving to give him a sip of water and he swallowed, taking a hasty gulp and trying to bring his body under control.

"I... I'm fine. "

Mrs. Jeon sighed.

"There's something you need to promise in return. Jung Kook doesn't know about the assault. Or about the baby's parentage. We would like you to tell anyone who asks that he is indeed the father of the baby. " She said softly.

Taehyung hesitated..

"Fine. " He sighed finally.

"And the marriage. It will be in name only. My son he's... more attracted to women than..."

"I don't care if he's attracted to trees. I'm not looking for a relationship either. " He said flatly, ignoring the rebellious pang in his heart. He had grown up aching and longing for love. The chance to have family. The chance to have someone to love and cherish. Someone who would see beyond his unfortunate biology and accept him for his heart, his soul and just.. him.

He had painted a dream for himself , a big house a sprawling lawn. a husband who loved him, a handful of children.

But all that was impossible now. It was unimportant because Taehyung wasn't foolish or delusional. He wouldn't chase after something that wasn't there and lose something that was... Taejoon and Taemin were real. they needed him. And he was brave enough to to give up an imaginary dream for the sake of his little brothers.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"A man... A fucking carrier?? !! Dad, I don't even want to know what kind of diseases that thing carries!!" Jung Kook spat out and Mr. Jeon hissed in annoyance.

"Stop acting like a spoiled brat and listen to me!! Taehyung is a respected young man with two little brothers!! He's pregnant and I will not have you hurting him with your thoughtless words! You will treat him with the respect due to a Jeon son-in-law or I swear to God, I'll fire you."

Jung Kook gaped.

"I'm the fucking MD!! You can't just fire me , you-"

"Try me. Just try me. "

Jung Kook shut his mouth, glaring fiercely.

"And what about Eun Ha? How am I supposed to explain this to my girlfriend?" He sneered.

Mr. Jeon rolled his eyes.

"Don't act like she isn't going to be married off to someone else as well. Her father will never let her marry a Jeon. " He said calmly and Jung Kook clenched his fists.

"What are we in? The middle ages? Since when do you guys get to decide who we will marry?"

"Since we pay for your fucking Bugatti Veyron , Gucci and all that Armani you flaunt. Jeon Jung Kook there's a reason you wear 20 million dollars on your body everyday and that reason is me. So don't give me that independent crap, you little shit." His father snapped and Jung Kook groaned.

"Dad, I'm not gay... I'm not." He whined, miserable.

"Really? Could have fooled me with all those spring break photos of you and Yugyeom in the Caribbean. My staff told me you two didn't leave that suite for three days. Are you telling me you were playing board games in there?" He scoffed.

Jung Kook went beet red.

"That was eight fucking years ago. I was twenty and in college!" He muttered.

Mr. Jeon waved it off impatiently.

"I couldn't care less, who you take into your bed. But this marriage will be a public affair. You will respect Taehyung and you will honor the Jeon name by being faithful, at least in public. If I get tabloid pics of you going into some hotel with Eun Ha, I'll kick you out of my will. " He said casually.

Jung Kook stared casually at his father.

"Wow, dad. You must have screwed up pretty badly with Taehyung. Tell me, what hold does the guy have on you that you're bending to his every whim."

Mr. Jeon smiled at that.

"Taehyung is going to be your husband. And as such , he should be the most important man in your life. Keep that in mind when you deal with him." He said casually before walking out of the door.

Jung Kook stared after his father , feeling misery soak into him like a deadly venom. Everyone knew that carriers were abominations. They went against the laws of nature. A man who could have a baby? The thought made Jung kook sick. He had seen carriers in brothels . Some men liked that, pregnant men with bulging bellies and leaking breasts but Jung Kook had found it revolting. A man was supposed to be strong and masculine.

He felt sick at the thought of being married to one.

Who the hell was this Kim Taehyung?? Why did his father want him happy ?

He felt his fingers tremble. He wanted a wife and kids. He wanted his son to be his. Not some whoring slut's bastard child. The very idea of someone like Taehyung tainting the Jeon blood with his filthy bloodline made him want to retch. But he was more worried about Eun Ha. Would his girlfriend actually leave him over this? They'd been having a strained relationship the past few weeks and he knew that if there was anything that would tip her over the edge and prompt her to leave him, it would be this.

He groaned.

He couldn't lose her.

He just couldn't.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hi, hyung. Look what uncle Jeon bought us!!" Taemin and Taejoon jumped up and down clutching a new set of Doraemon School supplies, notebooks, bags, water bottles, lunch boxes and shoes and uniforms. Taehyung was filling up the admission form to the most prestigious school in the entire country, the school where Joon and Min would be studying thanks to his father-in-law's generous donation and recommendation. it was hard to hate him when he had secured his brothers' future with this.

He struggled a bit to fill the form, wary of his baby bump as it dug into the edge of the table, every time he reached to examine the form better. Next to the form was the small file with dozens of pamphlets from his first and only visit to the hospital. They carried a ton of information about his pregnancy but the general consensus was that it was rare for both him and the baby to come out of this experience alive. The infant mortality rate for male pregnancy was high and while it was unlikely that Taehyung would be physically harmed, the baby's chance of survival were pretty slim if he didn't take exceptional care of himself.

Taehyung sighed.

Taking care of himself was such a foreign concept to him. But he knew that it wasn't about him anymore. He pushed the pamphlets away and grabbed the small business card , staring at the silver embossed edges and the glossy finish. Flowery calligraphy adorned the card, declaring his name in vibrant black strokes.

Jeon Jungkook

Managing Director , Jeon Inc.

Taehyung stared at the name for a long time. He tried to attach a face to the name and it was vague. Tall. Handsome. Very Very handsome actually. The guy was supposedly gorgeous. That was all the information he was given. Apparently, Jung Kook stayed away from the public eye. Not a party person by any means. Taehyung hummed at that thought. It suited him perfectly. He didn't ;ike going out. Plus he would have to take care of Taejoon and Taemin and the baby so a social life would be hard to juggle. He could imagine staying at home, taking care of his brothers and his husband. A civil relationship would be enopugh for him. He wouldn't demand anything more from Jung Kook.

Both Joon and Min were excited for the wedding and Taehyung had managed to contact Jung Kook's secretary and secure an appointment with the male. Taehyung wasn't nervous as much as he was terrified. Terrified that Jung kook wouldn't accept him and his brothers. It was important to him that Jung kook like him, not because he didn't have a choice but because he genuinely found Taehyung nice.

It was complicated. And no doubt his messed up hormones had something to do with all these mixed feelings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Would you like something to drink?" Jung Kook said curtly, eyes trained on him like a hawk, while Taehyung struggled to keep a firm grip on both Joon and Min who looked like they wanted to jump around the immaculate office and wreck it.

Taehyung swallowed and nodded. He had brought the kids along so Jung kook could understand that they were a package. So far , though, he had shown zero interest in the kids, his gaze fully fixed on Taehyung.

"Some water would be fine." He croaked, his mind having been rendered useless because of how breathtaking his supposed fiancee was. Taehyung wasn't used to handsome people. And Jung Kook went far beyond the spectrum of beautiful. He looked absolutely flawless, every feature sculpted to perfection and a body that made Taehyung's toes curl and his thighs clench.

Saliva pooled at the back of his throat and he couldn't help but envision those pale long fingers on his naked body, exploring, stroking . That adorable bunny like over bite , sinking into his skin and marking him up. It was so unlike him to fantasize about people he'd just met, much less right in front of them, but Jung kook looked like a walking wet dream and Taehyung had to bite his lips just to stop himself from accidentally whimpering.

"Okay. How far along are you?" Jung Kook raised an eyebrow, pouring him a glass of water and sliding it across the table.

Taehyung trembled a little at the way the man stared at him, his scrutiny intrusive and almost violent.

" Almost five months."

"Is that accurate? You look pretty big."

Taehyung hesitated. He felt like he’d been insulted but he wasn’t entirely sure.

"4 months, three weeks and five days." Taehyung said without thinking, the words slipping out in a rush.

Jung Kook raised an eyebrow but didn't press the subject.

"I'm not gay." He said suddenly and Taehyung nodded.

"I'm aware. It's not... It doesn't make a difference to me."

"Really? Are you that desperate for my money?"

It's rude, uncalled for and it stuns him because his little brothers are in the room, old enough to understand.

"What?" He choked out.

"I feel like the loser here. A bastard child and a gold digger husband. You'll forgive me for not jumping for joy, won't you?" Jung kook said calmly, and Taehyung has had enough.

"You're..." He stopped, aware of both his brothers, mindful of using the wrong words.

"I'm..what? smart enough to see through that flower boy act you've got going? Do you even know who's the father ?!" Jung Kook growled and Taehyung laughed in disbelief.

"I'll come back when you've learned how to talk in front of children, Jeon Jung Kook ssi." He snapped, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the office.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Taehyung, are you sure? i mean... we don't mind, of course. We'd love to take care of the imps but you're so attached to them." Hobi said worriedly, while Yoongi bought ice cream for the two kids.

Taehyung fought tears.

"I just... Jung kook is a bit... antagonistic, right now hyung. I really don't want his attitude to affect the kids. They'll likely rub him the wrong way and I don't want then to get hurt. I'll pay you for their upkeep of course. I'll be visiting their school tomorrow so I'll arrange for the bus to pick them up from here. " He whispered, his heart aching.

After his parents death he had never let the twins out of his sight for even a day , let alone indefinitely. But today had been a nightmare. He was lucky the kids had been distracted by all the shiny things in the office and not paid any attention to the man's words.

But after the marriage he may not be so lucky. And something told him that Jung kook's cruelty went far beyond a few harsh words. He'd be damned if he let his little brothers become collateral damage to the man's arrogance.

"We'll bring them over to visit you when he isn't around." Hobi said , sadly and Taehyung managed a weak smile.

"That would be fine , hyung. " He whispered.

"Are you okay, Tae?"

Taehyung swallowed.

"I'll be fine hyung. "

~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Comments are welcome.

#taekook #mpreg #taekook fics

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