new reading of brba/bcs in which Mike has narrative awareness which makes his arc both more sad (because he knows he cannot save his sons but will try anyway. because he knows that the bad choice road will always be taken and where it will end) and simultaneously weirdly more hopeful (because if he knows it will all inevitably repeat, then what he does for Kaylee actually isn’t meaningless. as long as she’s happy and innocent and provided for within the confines of the story, it doesn’t matter what happens to the money after, because there is no after). this does not conflict with canon because Mike simply would not feel bothered to mention any of this to anyone

wrong place, wrong time

jesse pinkman x reader warnings: kidnapping, normal breaking bad stuff

summary: You are Lydia's daughter, and just so happen to be kidnapped by Mike. Takes place in the episode before they do the train heist

note: not my best but i needed to get this concept out of my head, enjoy xx

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“Well Lydia, we’ve got the kid so I suggest you come out of hiding and talk this out like the adults we are. You got 4 hours to get over here or little miss y/n gets to meet an unpleasant end. Your choice.” You hear the man hang up the phone, sighing a little. “Well y/n, let’s hope your mother has a little empathy for her secret daughter.” 

You’d reply, and say you weren’t really a secret, just the result of a teen pregnancy, but the gag in your mouth unfortunately stifled any smart remarks. Maybe it was for the best, you didn’t have the best danger meter. Opening your mouth would probably get you hurt. 

But you weren’t hurt, surprisingly, despite the circumstances. Being kidnapped automatically brought your brain to violence, but so far, they hadn’t been overly rough. Certainly not nice, but no harm had been done. You thanked whoever was listening for that. You were hoping this was all for ransom, that your mom would pay, you’d walk out of this fine, and this whole thing would be a terrific story to take back to graduate school. 

Hopefully. 

You were bound to a chair, rope chafing your arms and legs. You wiggled again, hoping for some give. From what you gathered about the kidnappers, they were old as shit. One sounded too anxious and the other just sounded annoyed. At first you had been terrified, but as the adrenaline wore off you felt yourself growing more annoyed than anything. 

You’d been in the chair for hours, and the phone call the first man made was one of the first times you had heard them speak in hours. You were bored. You’d think being kidnapped would be more action and less anxious waiting. Not that you were complaining. 

You hear a door open and steps making their way closer. 

“Yo who the fuck is this?” A younger male voice cuts through the silence. 

Another one? Jesus. 

“Change of plans,” the annoyed older man speaks and you desperately try to see through the cloth covering your eyes. “Can’t find Lydia but her daughter was there so now here we are.” 

“Her daughter? What yo we’re fucking kidnapping random people now?” 

“Jessie!” The anxious one yells and the room goes silent. 

“Both of you, outside, now.” 

So the younger one was Jessie. You definitely weren’t supposed to know that. You hear them leave and somehow the silence is scarier now than when they were in the room. You close your eyes. God mom, you better have a ransom money stash. 

-

“What the hell was that? Saying Jessie’s name? You’re going to get us caught Walter!” Mike jabs his finger into Walt’s chest, fuming. 

“I didn’t ask to kidnap an innocent college student Mike! This- this is insane! What are we doing?” 

“Yeah what are we doing?” Jessie throws his hands up, still clueless. 

“Lydia planted that tracker on the methylamine. When I went to her house to have a little talk Lydia was gone. She knew I was onto her and decided to run, but her daughter just so happened to be there. I’ve dealt with Lydia before. She’s skittish. So we take her daughter to get her to come talk to us so we can put an end to this ordeal.” 

“So what, this chick is our hostage now or what?” 

“Yes Jesse. As soon as Lydia gets here we’ll cut her loose and deal with the real problem. The kid is just collateral that we have to deal with now. As long as she doesn’t see our faces this doesn’t have to end with anybody’s death but Lydia’s. Capisce?” 

“Fuck. Alright I guess.” Jessie puts his hands on his head, following Mike when he gestures for them to go back in. 

When they open the door, they all stop. Lydia was already there, undoing the last rope holding you to the chair. You both stop and look up when you hear the door, slightly panicked. 

So much for the blind. 

“Mike what the hell? My daughter?” Lydia stands, helping you do the same. Your eyes are wide as you scan the 3 men’s faces, growing more confused by the minute. Your mom knew these people? What the fuck is she involved with? 

The one that you’re going to assume is Mike, makes his way over to your mom, grabbing her arm and throwing her on to the chair you were previously occupying, dragging her and the chair to a nearby table. You jump out of the way, Mike ignoring your mom’s protests, pulling out handcuffs and locking her to the table. 

“You,” He points at you, grabbing the gun on his waistband, “Stand next to her and don’t move or I swear it’ll be your last.” 

You make your way over, giving your mom a questioning and slightly terrified look. 

“Jesus Lydia you just had to make this harder on me.” 

“Mike we can talk this out but let my daughter go. I didn’t plant that tracker, I swear to God, she knows nothing of this just please, let her leave.” 

“Mom-” 

“She’s seen our faces, Mike, we can’t just let her go with that information!” The other older man speaks up. The younger one puts his head in his hands. It seemed clear to you that he was dragged into this, and for some reason that put you at ease a bit. They all begin to argue with each other, and you glance at your mom again. 

“She’ll get on a plane right now.” 

They all pause. 

“She’s doing graduate school abroad, she can get on a plane right now and be out of the country in a few hours. Please Mike, she barely knows anything right now, definitely not enough to put you guys away. Just, please Mike.” 

“Mom I can’t leave yo-” 

“Shut up Lydia.” Mike thinks for a while. He didn’t want to kill you. He saw his granddaughter in you and knows he would never forgive himself if he had to kill you to save himself. It was risky, but something told him you really wouldn’t say anything. 

“Alright Lydia. We’ll take her to the airport. But you need to understand one thing,” he turns to you, “I have people everywhere y/n. The second you open your mouth, I��ll know. And then it’s game over for you and everyone you love.” 

You think of your little sister and suddenly realize you’re going to have to take this to the grave. Not that you even knew the entire story, it felt like you walked into the middle of a show and missed all the important parts. But still. Silence was the only answer. 

You simply nod your head in response. 

“Jessie, I would like you to take this young lady to the airport, buy yourself a ticket so you can wait at the gate with her and make sure she gets on the plane. Come back here after. Lydia, you’re gonna make a little call for us.” Mike tosses Jessie the keys, along with a pair of handcuffs. 

“Are these for her?” He gestures to the handcuffs and then to me. If it weren’t for the situation at hand, you might have blushed. 

Mike gives him a look and Jessie almost rolls his eyes. “Alright man shit.” 

He makes his way over to you, mumbling an apology that confuses you even more. It seemed like Mike was the only serious one here, the other two almost acted like they were hostages too. You feel the handcuffs tighten, and you give your mom a final glance. 

“Mom?” 

“It’ll be okay I’ll call okay?” A pit sits in your stomach at the expression on her face, so you try to give her a small smile, not trusting your voice. You really hope she didn’t get herself into something she can’t control. Jessie gives you a small nudge and you can’t fight the tears that fill your eyes. 

-

Once you’re in the car, Jesse says something about the handcuffs looking suspicious and takes them off. You grab at your wrists and flinch as the car is locked from the inside. At this point reality was setting in hard. Now that your safety seemed more or less intact, you were nauseous over the thought of your mom still down there for God knows what. 

The car starts moving and your breathing becomes shallow. Jesse takes notice and steals a glance at you. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright okay?” It didn’t even sound like he believed his own words. 

“What the fuck.” Is all you can reply. “What the actual fuck?” You laugh a little, about to go into hysterics over the entire thing. 

Jessie looks at you, even more concerned. He had been through some shit and the only time he laughed was when he was really about to lose it. You're trying to control your breathing, and he feels bad, but he can’t help but notice how pretty you are. He can’t believe that you somehow got wrapped into this. It didn’t seem right. He feels horrible. 

At this point you're no longer laughing, just sniffling and trying to stop yourself from sobbing. 

“What are they going to do to my mom?” You look at Jessie. You were never close with your mom, she was distant and cold but always provided for you. She was your mom at the end of the day. Despite being in boarding schools most of your childhood, she was always there when you came home to visit. She couldn’t just be taken from you like that. “What about my sister? What will she do?” 

“You have a sister?” He sounds surprised. You faintly wonder if you should just shut your mouth, and not volunteer anymore information, but some part of you feels like Jessie isn’t going to use this information maliciously. Still, you don’t respond. 

“Listen, I promise nothing will happen to your mom.” 

“How can you possibly promise that?” 

He goes silent and you realize that he probably can’t make that promise. 

The rest of the car ride is silent and you spend some of it observing him. He seems almost shy, despite the rough exterior and style he possesses. For a split second, you wonder if, in different circumstances, you two would have crossed paths and been friends. Maybe flirted. The reasonable part of your brain stomps that out, and politely reminds you that he was somehow involved in your kidnapping. 

The car rolls to a stop at the drop off spot. Once again, you’re confused. 

“Don’t you have to come in with me? You can’t park here.” 

He looks at you, slightly startled. He half expected you to jump out of the car and run to the nearest security guard. He spent half the ride preparing for his life to be over because of the pretty daughter of a criminal. “Oh, uh, I guess I didn’t think of that.” 

You stare at him for a beat. 

“I won’t run to tell anyone. Honestly getting out of America as soon as I can sounds nice right now for what it’s worth.” 

He turns in the driver's seat, fully looking at you for the first time. 

“I know.” 

“You believe me?” 

“I’m a shit kidnapper huh?” 

Despite the situation, you find yourself laughing a little. 

“Sort of.” 

You both sit for a minute until he raises a hand to scratch his head sheepishly. “Look uh, you can just go. I think it’ll be weird if I buy a ticket and don’t get on the plane.” 

You looked at him, shocked that he was actually agreeing to let you go.

“Oh, okay,” you go to open the door, pausing to look at him one last time. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a real bad guy. It just seems like you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.” You give him a small smile, leaving without waiting for a response. 

You run across the street, nearly missing an impatient car. You feel like you’re on autopilot as you step through the automatic doors, trying to find the nearest help desk to book a flight. Your brain was in override, trying to make sense of everything that happened. You only hoped that once you landed, your mom would answer the phone and everything would be okay. 

You almost gave in when you saw a security personnel walking by, but thought of Jessie. You couldn’t explain it, but you knew going to the authorities would somehow cause more harm than good. You only hoped that Jessie’s sincerity was real. 

-

Jessie watched as you ran to the doors, seeming more dazed than scared like he imagined you should be. He didn’t understand your final words to him, he was implicated in your fucking kidnapping for fucks sake. But there you were, saying that he wasn’t a bad guy. A car honked behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. He put the car in gear, making his way back to the shitshow he really didn’t want a part of. 

He picks his phone up when he hears the familiar ringtone. 

“Yo.” 

“Jessie, is she gone?” 

“Yeah, we’re good. What’s going on?” 

“We have to rob a train.” 

Oh fuck. 

-

reblog, like, tell your momma (aka me)

Miracle Worker 5

Chapter 5 out of 10

Mike has dropped out of High School at sixteen to take on a full time job as a bike delivery boy to take care of Grammy. He lies that he’s eighteen to get better hours and more pay, somehow ending up working for Harvey on a project that will get him Senior Partnership. Mike and Harvey become friends during the course of it, Mike looking up to Harvey as all he wants to be, but probably never will. However, when things go south with Grammy, he considers taking Trevor’s offer to do a drug run, instead ending up with Harvey offering to be his mentor. Offering him help.

In this chapter, Grammy get worse and Mike needs money. Trevor offers him a job to get the money, which Mike knows is stupid, no matter how much he needs it. However, is coming clean to Harvey a smart idea? Is it worth the potential help?

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: deterioration due to age, poverty

~~~~~~~~~~~

What

With Harvey’s words to Louis and him after the meeting, Mike feels like he’s on top of the world, which means it all comes crashing down not even a day later.

He comes home that evening to his Grammy convinced he’s trying to poison her with the pills loudly exclaiming that she can’t believe her own son would do that to her, leaving Mike unsure if she’s referring to him or him as his father, neither a fun option.

There is also no food in the fridge, since he forgot to do groceries and ordering in is too expensive, so he needs to go out and buy food too, leaving his Grammy alone when she’s upset.

After that it is a whole battle once more, taking an hour before he manages to get some food in her and carting her off to bed.

The whole thing leaves him exhausted and he has just dropped onto the couch in a tired heap when he phone goes off. Annoyed he picks up without checking who is calling him at this hour: “Is it important?”

“Wow, Mikey,” Trevor’s voice greets him. “That’s not really a way to greet your best friend now is it. You sound stressed, come over, I have some of the good stuff.”

“Trevor, hi,” Mike sighs. Going over to Trevor sounds like heaven right about now, but he can’t afford it. “Dude, I’d love nothing more, but I can’t pay you back for that and-”

“You don’t have to, man,” Trevor cuts him off. “I own this part of the supply route. It’s mine, I can totally hook you up with a coupon or something.”

Immediately Mike is snapped awake and with a beating heart he asks: “Trevor, please tell me I misunderstood what you just said. You haven’t become a fucking dealer, have you?”

“Come on, Mike, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Trevor doesn’t sound at all affected by his terrible life choices. “I’m making good money.”

“You already have good money!” Mike snaps. “What the hell are you thinking? That’s highly illegal, dude. And you are more likely to die while dealing drugs than being on death row. In Texas. You can’t be serious.”

“We both know my parents were going to cut me off soon, Mike,” Trevor says. “Lets not kid ourselves, I’m just looking out for my future by making a move into a new business.”

“This is not a business, Trevor. It’s becoming a criminal and it’s dumb,” Mike says and he knows it is dumb, because he considered it as one of his options before deciding that dropping out to work is the safer option. “And you could have kept your parent’s money if you got into college and tried a bit. We both know that too.”

“Since when did you get such a wuss about the law, Mike?” Trevor asks, sounding a lot less jovial than before. “Smoking is illegal too, you know.”

“Yeah and a lot less risky than selling,” Mike shoots back.

“What the hell is up with you, Mike?” Trevor snarls. “I’m trying to share in my first success, offer you to join in on it and you spit in my face? I make good money right now. I could set you up in this business, you’d be making your monthly salary in a day, Mike. A day.”

Mike has to admit that sounds incredibly tempting, but working for Pearson Hardman is good, working as a bike messenger is good. It’s safe and legal and the better option, even if he is technically committing fraud every single day by pretending to be Mike Sorkin and eighteen years old.

He’s been quiet for too long, apparently, because Trevor tries again: “I made a few thousand dollars today, a single drop. Just one briefcase full of pot for a briefcase full of cash.”

“Look, man, Trevor,” Mike starts, “obviously I think that what you’re doing is bad choice, but your life, whatever. But don’t drag me into it. I got enough on my plate already, I don’t need this right now, okay?”

“Okay, spoilsport,” Trevor says, again lighthearted. “Tell me if you change your mind, alright. I’m always here to hook you up, you know that right?”

“Yeah, Trevor, I know,” Mike tells him, before hanging up, falling back onto the couch with a sigh.

Why can’t Trevor just be normal and finish school and stay out of trouble? It would have hurt to see his friend succeed while he could not, but it’s at least without having to fear he’ll get shot in the streets or arrested.

He knows he told Trevor that it’s his life and choices, but he knows himself well enough that this is going to eat at him. Everyday he is going to wonder if he gets called by the Evans that Trevor has died, or from the police that they have him in custody, or even a fucking ransom call for the inevitable moment he starts to owe the wrong people money.

Mike should be pulling Trevor off this path, telling him to get his shit together and quit this nonsense.

But he is just so so tired.

That night, Mike falls asleep on the couch, worrying himself into a state of exhaustion and waking up running late with no answer having presented itself.

For the entire day he’s distracted, unable to pay too much attention to the worrying glances Donna sends him and the concerned frowns from Harvey. He’s glad to be out on his bike again and avoids the Pearson Hardman offices as much as he can.

When he gets home in the evening, Grammy treats him like James Ross the entire night, leaving him emotionally drained when he gets her to bed.

He knows he needs to snap out of it, if he doesn’t want Harvey, or god forbid, Donna to dig and figure out everything. He also needs the distraction from all that is going wrong in his life. So on Wednesday, he throws himself into work again, finding joy in the one thing he is apparently good at.

Harvey at least looks relieved when he gets in with a thick packet of files and asks: “What’s in the box,” in his best Brad Pitt.

And it almost looks like things are turning back to normal when Grammy is okay that night and Trevor never calls, but causally answers his texts about nothing in particular.

Thursday rolls around, leaving Mike vaguely optimistic as he makes the rounds. At Christoffersen’s office, he isn’t even yelled at by the man, since he is too busy reaming a poor worker about the latest numbers.

So, Mike waits patiently, looking through the glass into a conference room and seeing a presentation about the earning structure still projected on the wall. Whoever is currently getting yelled at has just given a presentation with news Allard Christoffersen doesn’t want to hear.

The man still looks angry when he shoves what he needs into Mike’s arms, but Mike isn’t too bothered, since the anger is still directed at someone else. He flees the scene before Christoffersen can change his mind about who he wants to yell at.

Jones is late with his work as always, but Mike gets a cup of coffee from his secretary while he waits and he chats with Jones about the wife as he finishes up the last bits of work.

With the rounds finished, he hops on his bike and gets to Pearson Hardman, where he greets Jose happily, the man smiling and greeting him back with a wave. They really have come so far, he muses as he gets into an elevator and pushes the 50 button as is routine.

All the sharply dressed workers of Pearson Hardman don’t even turn their head when he walks by with his helmet hair and ratty clothes, some even smiling at him as he passes. He stops at Donna’s desk, handing her the coffee, like he always does.

“You’re a saint,” she thanks him. “Be careful, the bear is grumpy.”

Mike looks behind her. He can see Harvey sitting there, a hand going through his hair, obvious tension in his shoulder. Mike feels a bit of apprehension about going in there, hating the idea of Harvey yelling at him, but he squares his shoulders and enters: “Florals? For spring? Groundbreaking,” in reference to the tie Harvey is wearing.

It snaps Harvey out of his concentration, sure, but, before he can get mad, the reference sinks in and incredulously he says: “The Devil Wears Prada?”

“You know that movie?” Mike asks, glad his head didn’t get bit off. A true miracle. “I totally thought you wouldn't.”

“The Devil Wears Prada is a classic in a Legally Blonde sort of way,” Harvey shrugs.

Mike’s eyes nearly fall out of his sockets: “You know Legally Blonde?”

“What, like it’s hard?” Harvey grins.

“Certainly looks that way,” Mike nods to the work on Harvey’s desk as he changes the subject to what is bothering Harvey. “You don’t look pleased. Did Mr. Hafler call you to say he changed his mind again?”

“No, it’s actually Christoffersen,” Harvey sighs and Mike can’t believe the lawyer is really telling him about the case. “He demands they all get equal shares of Atlas Finance when it is reestablished, however, his company is the smallest and the others think it should be based on how much each company brings onto the table.”

“What?” Mike frowns, a few pieces of information flashing through his mind. “That is not correct at all. Who says Christoffersen is the smallest?”

“The books, Mike,” Harvey answers and any other day Mike would have caught the ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ in those words, but right now he’s too busy thinking.

“No, because I was here last week and those books were on the table,” Mike starts to verbalize what he’s thinking. “Jones Finances was lying open, page 367. It was a conclusion page. Their networth was 1.3 billion dollars.”

Harvey is looking curious and suspicious as he grabs the documents in the box next to his desk and opens it to the page, confirming what Mike just told him.

“However, I was just at Mr. Christoffersen’s office and he was yelling at this guy after the annual reports, like really unhappy about it,” Mike says. “There was this chart on the wall. They dropped two percent, which is manageable, lets be honest, they were even on the uptake again. With the drop, they were still worth 1.7 billion. They can’t be the smallest.”

Mike rubs his eyes trying to recall the fight he witnessed earlier, not seeing that Harvey is speechless.

“Mr. Christoffersen was yelling, he said something about a subsidiary company, Lemmin Inc. he called it. If they aren’t directly tied to the parent company, he doesn’t have to report that income per se, since it’s not tied to Atlas Finances when they split. He could have just omitted them and if all went to plan he got bigger stakes in the new Atlas Finances with less risk while also maintaining a say and stocks in the Lemmin Inc.,” he concludes, breathlessly.

Then he looks up and Harvey is staring at him with wide eyes, Mike is about to get self conscious and play it off when Harvey asks: “How do you know all that?”

“I like to read,” Mike explains. “And once I’ve read something, I understand it. And once I understand it, I never forget it.”

“So you just understood the entirety of the financial side of this merger by reading a few documents on my desk and overhearing a conversation?” Harvey doesn’t sound like he believes him.

“Law interests me,” Mike shrugs. “I read up on it. … And I might have read a lot of the documents I delivered. I’m sorry, I know I wasn’t supposed to, but it’s just interesting and I wasn’t going to tell any-”

“How did you not get into- well, every college with a full ride?” Harvey asks him

Mike isn’t sure how to answer that, because he is pretty sure he could get into college if he just finished High School, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to prove that quite yet. But he knows he has to tell Harvey something, so he just blurts out: “Because I dropped out of High School.”

“You what?” Harvey exclaims. “You said you were taking a gap year and saving for college. Did you just lie to me?”

“I did say that,” Mike says, panicking as he comes up with another lie. Luckily, he has become quite good at it, so he lies: “I’m taking a gap year before I finish High School, because of unrelated reasons. I need to survive until then and it won’t hurt to have some savings built up.”

“This conversation is not over,” Harvey tells him, “but you did just give me leverage and save me a headache. So, I’m going to call Christoffersen, threaten him, call in a meeting with the four of them and then you and I are going to have a talk.”

Mike swallows and nods. His heart is beating irregularly with fear as he watches Harvey pick up the phone. He flees the room, locking himself in the bathroom to have a minor breakdown.

Okay, Harvey knows he has lied.

Harvey is mad about it.

Holy fuck he is so screwed.

This is the moment it all comes falling down, Mike thinks. He is going to get angry and yell at Mike before figuring everything out and then it all comes crumbling down around him and he’ll have to find a way to keep his life together as it falls apart once more.

No, he can’t panic. Panic is bad. He needs to focus. Okay, take a deep breath and think. Harvey is upset he lied, he’ll just have to convince him it isn’t that bad and not tip his hand more.

He calms himself down, before coming out the stall, splashing some water on his face and taking himself in through the mirror.

His reflection looks tired, but he always looks tired these days, so that won’t be suspicious. He naturally still has a babyface, but overall he looks fine and not at all like someone who just had a breakdown. Though he supposes he has become quite good at hiding.

Taking another deep breath, he prepares himself as he makes his way back to Donna’s cubicle, greeting her softly.

Donna regards him for a second. Then she says: “He hates being lied to, especially by those he trusts. Why didn’t you just tell him?”

“Yeah, because I really wanted to tell the very successful lawyer, who is also my boss and putting part of his promotion in my hands that the kid he was hiring was a High School drop out, who despite his smarts is failing to make something off himself,” Mike replies, sounding exhausted to his own ears.

It’s pretty close to the truth anyway and he doesn’t feel bad for saying it when he sees Donna’s face mellow slightly. She leans in and whispers: “I’ll soften him up for you.”

“Thank you, Donna,” he says emphatically. He is so glad, he decided to keep her on his good side right now.

She pats his cheek, kind of condescendingly, but he lets her, because he 1) deserved that and 2) she is going to make Harvey not mad at him anymore.

He waits by her desk as she goes in and watches as Harvey says something, still frowning, before Donna puts her hands in his sides and replies with a pointedly raised brow. Harvey sags in his chair slightly, before making a gesture to which Donna smiles victoriously, as she turns and walks out of the office again.

“Harvey wants to see you,” she tells him.

He nods at her, lips pressed into a tight line as he makes his way into the office of Doom. It might be a bit dramatic, but he feels justified in how this can backfire should things go wrong.

Harvey is sitting in his imposing chair, doing nothing to make Mike feel more at ease. He regards him for a moment, then says: “Donna says I should hear you out.” He looks away for a moment, nearly pouting, “And that I was a bit harsh.”

“I mean, I get why you don’t want me to lie to you,” Mike gives in slightly, trying win a bit of good graces and feeling bad about the mix of lies and half-truths he’s about to tell Harvey. He likes the man, who has become a mentor and friend to him, but he has enough self preservation to know that lying will be better in this situation.

“You do?” Harvey challenges.

“Yeah, you hired me, you are not only liable for me, but I also reflect on you,” Mike explains, rising to the challenge without being stupid about it. “Me lying to you is bad for your reputation, should it come out.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “And it’s just not nice.”

“I guess you do know,” Harvey says. “So why did you do it?”

“Look at you, man,” Mike gestures. “You are this successful lawyer, who actually acknowledged my existence and seemed impressed by me. You were about to become my boss and I wanted you to at least not think me an idiot. Besides, I am truly interested in the law, I’ve wanted to be a lawyer since I was eleven and I guessed having you think well of me was a good move.”

“If you want to be a lawyer so bad, why aren’t you finishing High School right now?” Harvey asks, which is a valid question.

“I need the money,” Mike shrugs, it’s the most honest answer he can give.

“What for?” And Mike doesn’t blame Harvey for how suspicious he sounds. Having someone tell you they need the money is almost never a good sign. Mike knows it isn’t for him, but he doesn’t want Harvey to know that. His contract is almost over, this merger on the cusp of being signed, he isn’t going to mess with the status quo now.

“It’s just me and my Grammy. We need money to live, Harvey. It’s kind of how the world works,” Mike says. “I can put off education until we’re on steadier ground. She has had to stop working recently, I’m just getting us through a rough patch.”

Harvey gives him a look over and Mike tries his hardest to not squirm. “Alright,” Harvey says, Mike has apparently passed whatever test that was. “Just stay out of trouble between now and tomorrow evening. I can’t have you ruin this deal.”

“Of course, Harvey,” Mike promises.

“Good. These need to be delivered to all of them except Christoffersen,” Harvey replies, as he hands Mike a stack of files. They have returned to how they have always been and Mike is glad for it.

And that is apparently that. No more words are wasted on the lie and Mike bikes his legs out from under him as he races by all the offices, with the three in foul moods as they learn of Christoffersen’s deceiving trick.

Naturally, the fact that he has gotten away with it for now, means that he comes home to something terrible.

All the lights are still of when he gets home and when he calls out to Grammy, he doesn’t get a response. Immediate panic grips his heart and he starts flicking on the lights and calling her name as he rushes through the appartment in search of her.

She is on the floor next to her chair when he finds her. He drops to his knees, heart pounding in his throat as he asks: “Grammy?”

To his relief, she blinks and only looks confused not hurt. When she sees his look, she says: “Oh, Mike, don’t look so worried now. I must have slipped in the puddle, just happened.”

Mike doesn’t see a puddle, though he doesn’t mention it. Instead he checks her over, making sure she is okay and safely in her bed. She is naturally tired after that and nods off easily, leaving Mike to drown in his worries.

It’s not going well with Grammy. Her bad days are starting to outnumber her good days and Mike can’t do anything to make it better.

She needs help.

He needs help.

He can’t keep doing this. He isn’t there for her like he needs to be and if he was, he would need to stop working, which he can’t, because the moment he stops they go down in debt.

God this is a mess. How did he ever let it get this bad? A small voice gives him the answer he has been denying for a long time: You let it get this bad, because you aren’t ready to let her go. You’re being selfish by keeping her here. You’re afraid to live without her and you know that the moment you let her go, you’ll be placed in foster care and disappear.

The moment the revelation comes, he is hit by a wave of despair and self loathing. He is hurting his own Grammy. He’s not doing right by her like this. She deserves good care after all she has done for him and he is taking that from her.

Determination comes over him. He needs to get her into a good home. He’ll figure something for himself out later, maybe they won’t even ask questions and he can keep living in their apartment by himself. Or he can use the profits of it to keep her in the home while he goes and lives with a foster family. Or on the streets if he has to.

Right now, he just needs money. A lot of money. Like $5000 kind of money. And quickly.

A terrible idea springs to mind.

With shaking hands he grabs his phone and dials a familiar number. He tries to convince himself to hang up, to not be stupid, but he doesn’t know how else to get the money. His current job isn’t enough and he’s definitely not asking Harvey. The man nearly went ballistic over something that Mike didn’t even need to disclose, he doesn’t want to think about how he’d react to what Mike truly did to him.

“Yo, Mikey,” Trevor sounds sloshed but happy when he picks up. In the background there’s a party going on and Mike can’t bring himself to feel hurt about not being invited.

“Hey, Trevor,” he knows his own voice is shaky, fortunately Trevor is too drunk, high or both to pick up on it. “Remember when you said you’d be happy to hook me up?”

“Finally decided to join the good life?” Trevor practically cheers.

“Maybe,” Mike still isn’t sure about his decision, but he has to consider it with all the facts at least, he owes Grammy that. “Could I- Could I make $5000 with one delivery?” he asks.

“$5000?” Trevor repeats. “Easily, man. I can set up next week. Come by Tuesday.”

“I’ll be there,” Mike promises before hanging up, a weight that should have been lifted, pressing more on his shoulders than before.

When Grammy forcibly stopped working last year, he had seen for himself that she needed help. So, he’d done some research. To get her into an affordable home with the care she needs was $5000, he might need to move her when she gets worse, but he has hope that it will take a while and he’ll have the time to get a good job, before it gets to that point.

But he had also thought he could scrounge the money up by dropping out and working hard, before she truly needed to go into a home and that clearly hasn’t worked out either.

Fuck, he just didn’t want see and now it was too late.

He’s sure that if he calls for help someone will come and take care of Grammy, but then he’d be put in the system and she in a state facility and he doesn’t want that for her. He’s also in too deep with Fly Delivery and Harvey to tell someone.

Mike knows exactly how he ended up like this, but still he is left to wonder why he got there, when he really thought he’d made all the best choices.

It just isn’t fair, he thinks. It’s not fair how he has to loose his parents to a car and then his Grammy to her age, while unpaid bills are piling up. It’s not fair that he had to give up his future to help, not fair that even when he tried his best it’s still for nothing.

Before he’s even aware of it, he’s crying, sobbing quietly on the couch to make sure he doesn’t wake Grammy as the despair of his situation washes over him.

The next day he wakes up on the couch in his clothes from yesterday. His eyes are crusty with leftover tears and his back aches from the uncomfortable position. Most of all, however, his shoulders feel heavy with what is to come.

Today is the last day working under Harvey. After this he’ll go back to running errands for just anyone and no one will ever know the lies he told there. Except of course if he gets caught committing yet another crime by delivering drugs for Trevor. It’s a stupid thing to do, he knows the odds, but it’s for the best.

With a heavy heart he collects the last of the paperwork for the negotiations happening today. It’s almost funny, he muses, as he goes through the familiar motions of listening to Hafler complain, politely talking to Thomas, letting Christoffersen yell at him, before waiting for Jones. Nothing has changed for them, but everything has for him.

In the office he stops when he sees Donna and Harvey talking by her desk. They haven’t noticed him yet and he doesn’t announce his presence when he hears his name, too curious for his own good.

“How do you know Mike wants that?” Donna asks.

“He wants to be a lawyer, Donna, I know what that’s like,” Harvey replies. “All he needs is support and a kick in the ass to get him going. He can go places.”

“You care about him,” it almost sounds like an accusation, but it’s too delighted and fond to be one.

Harvey is silent for a moment and Mike can’t help, but hold his breath. “He reminds me of me, I suppose,” Harvey shrugs then. “And I know I needed a friend in that time.”

“Like Jessica?”

“Exactly,” Harvey agrees. “She got me out of that mail room and into Harvard. I would be nothing without her, I can be that for someone now.”

“As long as you know what you’re doing,” Donna says and Mike knows the end of a conversation when he hears one.

He quickly jumps back, pretending to just come walking up to them, saying: “What are you two gossiping about?”

“Just going over my planning for today,” Harvey lies straight to his face. “Not that is any of your business, though you’re not really one for keeping your nose out of it.”

Mike blushes a bit, though it’s dampened by the fact that he knows that isn’t what Harvey was really talking about. Instead he just cocks his head and shoots back: “My curiosity paid off, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” Harvey gives in, which is more than Mike expected of the lawyer. “Last day, hopefully. I sign this deal today, do the paperwork tomorrow and have my promotion once everything is finished up at the companies. The only time I’ll ever have to see those four again is when they come here to sign, then they’re off to retirement and out of my mind.”

“Are you that happy to get rid of all your clients?” Mike asks with a laugh. Talking with Harvey makes the dread of the world seem less heavy, the man always seems to be in control, like nothing can go wrong as long as he is here. A protective presence Harvey would hate to know he has.

“I’m never glad to be rid of clients, I’m always happy to not see them for a while that’s all,” Harvey grins. “Now, do you have the last of the paperwork?”

“Yeah, here you go.” Mike hands it to him with a flourish.

“Thank you,” Harvey says, flipping through it. “You’re probably going to have a slow last day, but I need you here in case something is forgotten and needs to be picked up fast. So, you can hang around Donna or whatever it is you do, as long as you stay close. I need you to go immediately when I call, so do things that you can drop.”

“Aye, aye captain,” Mike assures him.

Harvey rolls his eyes then walks away towards the conference room he is in to get ready for the meeting today. Watching him leave makes the heavy feeling in his chest return. He nearly calls out, spilling his guts to Harvey, but instead he lets the man go.

It’s his last day, he reminds himself, he doesn’t need to fuck over the last good thing in his life right now.

Donna, of course, notices something is up. She raises a brow and holds up a cookie, asking: “Want to tell me what’s eating you?”

“Not really, no,” Mike replies honestly. He doesn’t know what to even say, because no lie he can think of comes close to the truth of what’s crushing him.

“Alright,” Donna surprises him by not pushing. “But I’m here if you want to talk.”

On some level Mike wants to tell someone. Wants to go to someone he trusts for advice to tell him that he’s being stupid. If he is honest with himself, he just doesn’t want to be responsible for everything, even just for a moment. He wants to put his troubles in the hands of another and just let them be solved.

It’s exhausting to be an adult, to have to decide every little thing around you. To have not only your own, but the life and well being of another in your hands as well.

He doesn’t want to make all the decisions anymore. He doesn’t want to weigh one option against the other and decide what will be the best, praying that whatever he does won’t come back to haunt him again.

A small part of him wants to have someone hear him and tell him that what he’s thinking about doing is a bad idea. That he shouldn’t do it. That he should find another way. That he will be offered another way.

He thinks back on the conversation he overheard. He remembers Harvey telling him how Jessica got him out of the mail room and into Harvard, how she made a success out of a screw up.

Harvey wanted to do that for him.

Him.

It sounds almost untrue that the great Harvey Specter would see the potential in him. However, it is also right, because Harvey has been the only one who has ever truly seen Mike, seen what he can do, how good he is at what he does. The only one who has given him a chance.

And how tempting it is to try and get that support, get that push towards greatness he has longed for his entire life.

But he knows he should refuse when offered. Harvey has already given Mike enough, a little taste of the life, letting him help, even if he really should have reported Mike for reading all those documents. He has already put Harvey in jeopardy by signing on for all that, he can’t drag Harvey down with him even more. He just can’t.

Still, that is a hard sell to the corner of his mind who wants nothing more than to get help, get that push, get away from all the problems that make his life suck.

“Mike?” The sound of his name snaps him back and he sees Donna looking at him in concern. Once he has acknowledged her, she frowns: “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he lies. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just busy up here,” he waves in the direction of his head.

“Well, don’t let it get too busy up there, okay,” she tells him gently. “It’s not good if you get lost in the foot traffic of your own mind.”

He smiles at that. “That’s a fun metaphor.”

“I have my moments,” she replies. “Now, I also have boring staple work that I don’t want to do and a lot of gossip, so sit down.”

Mike gladly sits down on the stool that appeared in Donna’s cubicle on his second day. He has spend a lot of time there and is probably more aware of the coming and goings of Pearson Hardman than the average employee.

It’s a relief that Donna is acting normal and not pushing. He needs to be able to just sit and listen to her. It keeps his mind distracted from darker things.

In the end, Mike is only send on a coffee and lunch run, which he would roll his eyes at, since that is technically not his job. However, he’s happy to have something to do, so he goes out anyway, returning with the food.

The four CEOs all still look unhappy to see each other and Harvey looks about ready to pull his hair out. Mike decides to save him a little bit.

He comes in with a smile. They have taken a break for lunch, but are all ignoring each other. He, in turn, ignores the tension in the room and happily says: “Hi, I have everyone’s lunch!” He pulls out the first one, “Ah, grilled corn salad, probably not like the missus makes, but you’ll see her soon, Mr. Jones.”

Jones takes the food with a smile, looking less tense than before.

“And then, let’s see, a chicken salad sandwich. Here you go, Mr. Christoffersen,” he hands the frowning man his sandwich. “They put an extra cookie with it, but I won’t tell, don’t worry.”

Christoffersen has been on a diet for some time, which is well known. Mike has often come into the office to him looking angrily at a salad. And if he asked for the extra cookie instead of it being an accident, well then truly no one has to know that.

Naturally Christoffersen doesn’t smile, but he looks less angry and content when he sees the extra cookie.

Mike is already moving on to the next lunch. “A Mediterranean chickpea salad with extra onion and feta, less bell pepper and no lemon juice. I checked twice, Mr. Hafler.”

Hafler inspects his lunch closely, but Mike is used to his work being scrutinized. However, it passes inspection and Hafler gives him a nodded thanks.

“And an Italian pasta salad for you, Mr. Farone,” Mike pulls out another container. “I went to the little place on the corner as asked. Mrs. Rossi sends you her best.”

He doesn’t know Farone very well, but the man seems pleased to hear it and nods politely when Mike hands him his food. Success.

Then he turns to Harvey and says: “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get. So, mystery lunch of,” he gives a dramatic pause, “a hotdog.” He winces apologetically as he hands it to Harvey, “I know it’s not what you asked for, but they were closed and this was the closest alternative I could find. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Harvey assures him, taking the hotdog. Mike hopes Harvey remembers it being victory food and gets a little hope from it.

His whole act has at least ensured that there’s a more relaxed atmosphere in the conference room and he leaves feeling like he did something right.

The initial agreement is signed at 5 PM, perfectly on time and to be fleshed out at a later date. Mike sees them all shaking hands, looking like they can’t wait to leave, before watching them go. In a weird sense, he’ll miss them.

However, he doesn’t feel the need to say goodbye. He doesn’t think they’ll even care if he tries, no matter what he has done for them this past month.

But he does want to thank Harvey and say goodbye. Luckily, once the man has seen the four out, he comes their way again. He greets with: “Forrest Gump? Really?”

“I thought it was fitting,” Mike replies.

“Well, stupid is as stupid does,” Harvey tells him with a smirk.

“Rude,” Mike says to the quote. “But I see how it is. I’m leaving and you’re just waiting to kick me out.”

It has broken some sort of spell by acknowledging this is now over. Harvey sobers up slightly from his victorious high. “No, Mike, you did good. Thank you for coming in there and saving me. I was about three seconds away from strangling Hafler with his tie.”

“He did have a pretty ugly tie,” Mike agrees, making Harvey snort. “But, I had fun with this project,” he says turning serious again. “Thank you for having me on board. I’ll probably see you in passing after this.”

“You’re going to continue working as a bike messenger?” Harvey asks, sounding a bit too casual for him to be it.

Mike wants to look to Donna for help, but finds she has subtly removed herself from the situation, so he’s on his own. “Yeah,” he answers, which is technically true. “Not much else for me to do right now.”

“Can I talk to you about that?” Harvey says and Mike knows what’s coming.

He nods anyway.

“Lets go into my office,” Harvey offers.

Mike follows after him into the office he has been many time before. He still hasn’t flipped through the records, which he’s sad about, but he does know who signed all the different balls lining the windowsill. It’s a good office. He’ll miss it.

Harvey doesn’t beat around the bush. As soon as he sits down, he says: “You have a lot of potential, Mike. You can go far and I want to give you a chance to do that. If you finish High School, I can convince Jessica you’re worth investing in. Pearson Hardman can get you the funds to get through college and law school. You’ll be guaranteed a job here to repay us in cases won. I can get you your dream of being a lawyer, kid. All you have to do is say yes.”

And by god does Mike want to say yes. He wants to grab Harvey’s hand and shake it saying yes over and over again. He wants to grab this opportunity with two hands and run, leaving his shitty life behind him.

But he can’t leave it behind him, because it has Grammy in it. He can’t finish High School and get the money to get her situated. And he can’t say yes to Harvey when he’s about to do something that might get him arrested.

They can’t be tied together more than they are, should that happen. Because just signing a kid, a fraud, without knowing, is different than offering to put him through college.

Still, as much as he hates himself for it, he hesitates for a moment, the yes itching to get out of his mouth.

It’s an itch he stamps down before it can get anywhere. He shoves it right by the part that wants to explain to Harvey why he is really saying no, the part that wants him to tell Harvey everything so that he can tell him he is an idiot for considering what he is about to do.

“That’s-” he starts, “That’s a very generous offer, Harvey. I- It means a lot that you think I can make it, but I can’t accept it.”

“Why not?” Harvey frowns. “It’s your dream and it won’t cost you a thing, besides hard work. And I know that’s not stopping you.”

“I know that, but I’m not in a position to finish High School and I can’t expect you to wait for me to get my shit together on that front,” Mike tells him, staying close to the truth. “I have too much responsibilities to do that right now. It might take a few years before I can. I can’t accept this offer, knowing that you should focus on different people, who are more likely to get there.”

“Mike…” Harvey starts, but Mike cuts him off: “No, please, Harvey. I know this is a good deal, trust me, I know. But I am asking you not to push. I don’t want to refuse, but I have to.”

Harvey sighs. “I don’t get it, but I respect it, because you have earned that respect.” The comment slashes through Mike’s heart. “But, you have my number. If you ever decide to say yes, don’t hesitate to call, alright? If you change your mind, I’m right here. Sometimes you just need to think it over for a second.”

“Thank you, Harvey,” Mike is glad this hasn’t turned into an argument. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Harvey replies.

It’s a bit awkward after that, but they say their goodbyes with Harvey assuring Mike that he’ll call for urgent deliveries if needed. And before he knows it, Mike is standing outside Pearson Hardman, having said no to the greatest chance in his life and leaving the best month this year behind him.

At home, Grammy is clear minded and Mike greets her with a kiss on her cheek and tells her how his day has been.

They’re sitting in the living room after dinner when Grammy suddenly says: “I’m so glad to see you happy again, Micheal. You’ve been carrying so much and I know how hard it has been on you. This Harvey gentleman seems like he has the best interest at heart for you. It’s so good to see you get the chance to apply yourself like you were meant to. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you succeed like that.”

Mike’s heart constricts.

Is he making another mistake for Grammy’s sake that she’d hate if she knew the extend off? Could he keep lying to her? What if he is making a mistake again? What if he gets caught?

He’s been trying so hard to figure out what’s the best thing for Grammy that it never occurred to him to ask her, yet here she is, offering it to him on a silver platter. Grammy has given everything to give him a chance to succeed and he’s throwing it away.

It hits him that he needs to go to Harvey. Needs to tell him everything and hope, pray, beg with anything that might exist, that this will go right.

“I- I need to do something,” he stammers, before racing through getting Grammy to bed, promising to be home before midnight and not do something stupid.

The New York air is cold against his skin, wind whipping around his ears as he speed through the still busy streets of the City that Never Sleeps. His home with it’s familiar drunks, tired workers and celebrating businessmen and students.

He parks his bike in front of Pearson Hardman and goes straight up to Harvey’s office. He hasn’t thought about what he will do if the lawyer isn’t here, but as he predicted, Harvey is still working hard on finalizing everything and looks up in surprise as Mike pushes open the door to his office, interrupting his work.

When he realizes who is in front of him, he smirks his ‘I’m the best closer’-smirk: “Changed your mind already?”

“Yes, but before you actually help me, there is something I need to tell you,” Mike rips off the band aid, knowing that if he doesn’t he’ll never come clean. “I’m about to do something stupid and I need you to tell me I shouldn’t be an idiot.”

Harvey suddenly notices how serious Mike is and he straightens up, a frown coming over his features. “What is wrong, Mike?” he asks, a warning in his tone that Mike hates he’s going to ignore.

“My friend offered me to do a drug run for $5000 on Tuesday and there are too little reasons to say no, even if it’s the smart thing to do,” Mike confesses.

“Are you stupid!” Harvey exclaims. “That’s illegal, Mike. Why would you even think that’s a good idea? You’re smarter than that.”

“Because I need the money.” Mike is close to tears. “Grammy needs to be put into a nursing home and I need the amount to get her in, because if I bring her to a state facility they’re likely to check me and I will loose her forever, because I have been lying even more. My name isn’t Mike Sorkin, it’s Mike Ross and I’m only sixteen. CPS is going to get me if I don’t.”

It is deathly silent in the office.

Harvey’s face turns to stone, becoming completely unreadable.

Mike wants to break the silence, ask what he is thinking, but he doesn’t want to be the one who breaks the dam and he isn’t sure he can keep the tears at bay if he opens his mouth.

“You’re sixteen?” Harvey repeats slowly, the words cold. “You lied when I hired you?”

“I- I lied when Fly Delivery hired me,” Mike whispers, a single tear managing to get past his defenses. “I needed as many hours as I could, even night shifts. And the minimum wage is higher above eighteen.”

“Are you fucking serious, Mike?” Harvey yells. “Do you have any clue what this can do when word gets around? I worked you to the bone with this deal. You signed forms. I am liable for you and now you’re a child? What were you thinking?”

Mike nearly breaks under the wave of words, more tears falling. He knows he looks pitiful, but he isn’t going to let it stop him from explaining: “I- I was going to void any contracts I signed if I ever got found out. I’m a minor, I can do it. If it came back for me, I was planing on trying to weasel out from under it through that.”

“God, you need a miracle to pull that off,” Harvey sighs, nearly collapsing as if strings were cut. “I can’t believe you thought that would work.”

“I had to try,” Mike says, suddenly angry. “What else was I supposed to do? If I went into the system, chances of my succeeding dropped even more and Grammy wouldn't get the care she deserves. She gave up everything for me, I couldn't let her rot in a home somewhere!”

He heaves more angry breaths, before he’s tired of being angry, just like he’s tired of the stress, of feeling responsible for everything.

Softly he continues: “And it wasn’t so bad when I started, I thought I could take care of us until I was eighteen, then get her the care she deserved, before finishing High School. I was supposed to be a senior this year, since I skipped two grades. But she got worse much quicker than I thought. I can’t put it off.”

“So, what? You’re going to do a drug deal, get her into a nursing home, pray they don’t find out about you and then continue to work? Never finish school?” Harvey lays out as if it isn’t more complicated than that.

“That’s the plan,” Mike agrees anyway, because this is really what his future looks like. “I don’t see another way,” not unless you give me one, hangs unspoken between them.

“I can’t give you the money,” Harvey shoots him down before he can start to hope. “If it comes to it, I can still claim I was just your boss and never looked closely into it. I didn’t know when we worked together and I’m not tying myself to an anchor. You’re a good kid, Mike, but I can’t risk what I’ve built for you.”

The words are a punch to Mike’s gut. He hadn’t expected an open armed welcome with the news he bore, but this flat out rejection is a surprise. He needed Harvey to tell him he was being stupid before helping him. Not tell him he was stupid, before showing him being stupid was his only way out.

He- He just jeopardized everything for nothing.

Tears are now truly flowing down his face and he doesn’t even care about that, because Harvey has just sealed his fate and his life was never meant to be like this. It just happened to him.

“Please, Harvey,” he starts, unsure of what he would even say.

“No,” Harvey shakes his head. “I am going to do you a favor by not calling Fly Delivery and informing them of your fraud, but that’s all. Consider the offer from before off the table and your job as urgent delivery boy over. Now get the hell out of my office.”

Shocked Mike does as he’s told, stumbling back along a familiar route, not even seeing anything as the elevator goes down. All he can do is keep moving along on autopilot, like some sort of zombie.

Outside the world is still cold, matching the clammy hand that is grabbing Mike’s heart.

This is it, he realizes, his world is coming down around him and his last escape route just fell through. He’s beyond return and he has nowhere to go anymore.

Mike can barely believe it.

Just this afternoon his life was the best it had been in a year. Harvey was so proud of him for finding leverage, he even wanted to help him, made Mike feel like he could maybe reach out and for once his hand would have been taken instead of being slapped away.

Of course the one time he tries to call out, let someone know he’s drowning, it immediately blows up in his face. He should know better than to expect that something in his life goes well.

He should know better than to hope.

~~

A/N:

Y’all already knew it couldn’t stay all good and fun, welcome to the crash and burn, hope it hurt :)

I finally got my Lemmin Inc. easter egg in there, like with all my suits fics, lmao. I really wanted the companies to be Atlas as a reference to Mike attempting to carry his world on his own, but I needed to do a shout out to be fictional shady company xp

It’s a bit of a longer chapter, but it’s deserved to get maximum impact and the next one will probably be a bit shorter because it will be a quick Harvey POV, so get excited!

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Sugar daddy! Mafia Levi x super model!(fem) reader

Setting: modern au

Warnings: sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship, mafia, violence, mentions of drugs, 18+, no minors, sex while on the phone.

Another photo shoot done another pay check on the way.

The supermodel had just finished up a tiring photoshoot, sitting at her make up station the make up artists proceeded to take off her make up and while they did so she looked at her cellphone to check for any messages. Well, a message from one person in particular.

“Do you have any plans tonight?”

“Hm? Yes, I do. A friend of mine are going to celebrate my photo shoot and deal.”

That friend the supermodel was referring to is currently her sugar daddy, a wealthy and handsome sugar daddy. Not very tall but that didn’t phase the supermodel, as her sugar daddy was actually a friend and fan of hers.

Being easy on the eyes helped too.

“Awesome, when does he get off work?”

“..Soon.”

However, there was a catch.

The supermodel didn’t quite know what her sugar daddy, she did know that whatever he did he was quite wealthy with all the luxury jet black cars, house, and of course letting her have the black card for a few weeks.

Just to be sure she sent her sugar daddy a text message to make sure he remembered their date that night.

Which was a good thing.

“Hey, Levi you have a text message.”

The sound of a fist hitting a jaw following the by the sound man groaning in pain. Face first in the cold hard ground arms tied up was a drug dealer who was “getting off easy” for not having Erwin’s money by Levi. The bruises and black eye were grateful that Erwin’s right hand man was taking a break as he took off his black gloves and gave his cellphone attention now.

Mike Zacharias was the one who offered to continue letting the drug dealer get off easy but Levi declined as he placed his cellphone in his pocket. However, he did pull the drug dealer’s hair and gave him a warning.

“I don’t have time to stay, I have other places I have to be. But rest assured if you don’t have Erwin’s money by Friday, I’m going to have a visit to your mother’s house.”

Cold and stern with his warning Erwin’s right hand saw the absolute fear and earnestly agreed to have Erwin’s money by Friday. Not saying anything else Levi left to go home to get ready for his date, of which he was late for.

However, he did make it up by giving her not only her weekly allowance but a pair of Louis Vuitton that were awfully expensive. Once Levi saw her smile and gleam in her eye he knew he was saved as he got to enjoy (Name) talk about her photo shoot and big deal she able to land. Levi told her congratulations and told her that he was proud of her, he also complimented her on her dress and well put together she looked tonight.

Levi always dressed nicely on their dates, suit and tie with his black hair slicked back making both dangerously attractive. Thinking about taking off that dress off his sexy sugar baby so much he was taken back by her simple question.

“What do you do for living, Levi? And don’t you lie to me.”

Stern in tone but a bit worried about what her sugar daddy would say she braced herself for what he would say. While Levi was a bit confused about the whole thing thinking to himself why she brought this up now and what would happen if he lied.

“You want to know what I work as? It’s really boring you wouldn’t want to hear about it.”

“I still want to know and don’t you lie to me. Because I have ..I have proof.”

Proof?

Levi for once in his life was nervous as he recalled doing something’s that weren’t legal by any means. Further more, (Name) could have been hurt if she really did follow him. Moving slightly in his seat Levi scratched his the side of his cheek thinking to himself he would have to pull out the big guns while (Name) watched with a serious expression on her face.

“What kind of proof, princess?”

“Princess” was definitely Levi’s way of trying to get past this conversation, the big guns so to speak.

“Pictures of you, Erwin and Mike at a strip club. Do you guys own the place because you were there a lot this week.”

“(Name), you can’t be spying…You could have died.”

Levi muttered his last few words that (Name) couldn’t make out but she still persisted in knowing what was Levi’s job occupation and now Levi had to make a difficult choice.

Either keep her in the dark and be loyal to Erwin or betray Erwin and roll the dice.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. I don’t own that strip club..but Erwin, Mike and myself were planning a surprise party for my uncle this Saturday. It’s going to be at the strip club.”

Sly.

“For your uncle? Well, okay. But just to make sure I want to talk with Erwin to check.”

“Erwin? Oh, he’s busy right now.”

“Mike, then.”

“Damn, he’s busy too.”

“Well, I want to talk to someone and until I do…No sex.”

Mentally cussing Levi had to come up with another plan, so he tried calling Erwin and for once the mafia don answered and like always Erwin could pick up on what was going on and vouched for his right hand.

There was just one more problem.

“Okay, so you don’t own a strip club..what do you do for a living?”

“I work for Erwin.”

“…Oh! You’re his assistant? He told me he was an investment banker when we meet after the runway show.”

“Right.”

Drinking his tea Levi kindly rolled with it as he was able to keep his sugar baby and keep his loyalty to Erwin.

“Well, that’s all you had to say. Now, your texting habit. Can we fix that?”

“What’s wrong with my texting habit? I text back.”

“Yeah, four hours later. Do better please.”

“Sure thing, princess.”

While cliche (Name) did like it when Levi called her princess, he knew it too. So after dinner the two went to have a supposed quiet night at (Name)’s home, but this wasn’t the case. As soon the two arrived home the two stripping each other’s clothes and of course having a passionate time in the bed.

Tonight would be a bit different.

The bedroom was anything but quiet while Levi currently had his cock buried deep in his sugar baby’s tight cunt and wet cunt as she was ontop of him riding his thick cock to her pleasure. The moans and whimpers came from both parties as they enjoyed each other, both seemingly addicted to one another.

The sound of a phone vibrating on (Name)’s bed side table caught their attention, Levi knew it was his and simply huffed a “Don’t worry about that.” While giving (Name) a harsh slap to her ass, and while it was harsh it felt good to her as she moaned a “it’s Erwin though.”

Levi groaned a “fuck” as he knew what it would be about, most likely another drug deal. If (Name) thought she was going to get off Levi’s cock then she was wrong as Levi managed to grab his phone and talk to Erwin while enjoying (Name) continue to ride his cock.

Keeping his voice down as he somewhat listens to what Erwin told him as he admired the view of seeing (Name)’s breasts bounce. This was certainly new to the mafia member enjoying the feel of his sugar baby’s cunt while talking to Erwin on the phone was certainly a little thrill for him and when he ended the phone call with his boss he didn’t hesitate to fuck his pretty sugar baby’s cunt to his heart content.

As old habits die hard whenever he had the chance whoever he was on with and if his sugar baby just so happened to be nearby he would have her on his cock. Whether that be cockwarming him or riding his cock it was a new habit that Levi acquired and it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Levi did give her more gifts and money because of it not that the super model was that attentive to the money as getting to ride Levi’s cock was a gift in its own right, the money was the bonus and as long as she was Levi’s sugar baby she would truly be his princess.

✨Rukia-Writes✨

💎💍TO CATCH A THIEF💍💎

Prompt: Inspired by the song: To Catch A Thief by Lovage

Word Count: Really Long, girl 😩

Pairings: 1930’s Mob! Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, smut (implied), murder, manipulation.

Tagging: @ziasaph , @marlananicole , @akiko-tanaka , @nicolewoo , @saccreigns , @mindofasagittaruis , @reigns-5sos , @auawdo , @lustyromantic , @babydee17 , @yungbludjazz360

Notes: As cliche as it sounds, I’m a truly lover of music and love different genres. I love to be able to show different types of bands/ projects/ music that sometimes people might not even know exists. So this little fic is inspired by one of my favorite music projects EVER: LOVAGE (it has Mike Patton on it, so of course I would love it! The man has been my musician crush since I was 9 years old! And he’s amazing, so). Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) You can check them out on my Masterlist. Okay,now let’s get to the fun part, shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

Of course I’ve heard of them and of course they’ve caught my interest! The Reigns’s and Uso’s were one of the biggest gangsters families among the USA, who were responsible for the biggest robberies across the country.

The current rumors spreading around the neighborhood swore they were here, hiding from the authorities, in our small little town.

And I would give anything to meet one of them. As the daughter of a prostitute, my only fate was to follow my mother’s footsteps but I am more ambitious than that! The only way to prosper in life is to be completely feared. Be feared not respected as Machiavelli himself taught. And I know, for a fact that, that is completely true! Growing up in the red light neighborhood had proved to be quite the life lesson, actually. ‘Don’t trust the police’, ‘Make alliances with criminals’, ‘Trust no one’, ‘Don’t snitch’, ‘You never hear or see anything’, ‘Mind your own business’, ‘Don’t allow people to mind YOUR business’, ‘Show no emotions’, ‘Always be smarter than your enemies’, were a few of those rules. People think that, for a woman to be perfectly successful in the 1930’s she needs to be a trophy wife, nothing more than a beautiful face with zero brains and a pair of open legs to a rich husband. But they are wrong! You see, any woman can use her beauty and charm to manipulate and conquer whatever she wants, but she can only maintain that manipulation power if she’s smart enough. I’ve had the town mayor, Mr. Heyman, gift me a beautiful diamond crown (that originally was meant to be his wife’s birthday present) just with some charm and sweet nothings whispered to him. I didn’t needed to warm his bed for it, I just had to be smart enough to understand his weaknesses and say the right words! I know what I want, so I get it, and believe me when I say: I will have Roman Reigns all to myself.

Things were disappearing in my neighborhood

Once again somebody was up to no good

I saw that you were wanted, but not like I wanted you

And that's when I knew I had to be with you

And that's when I knew if I didn't, I'd be through

To end my grief I'd have to catch a thief

Your love was my relief my love is your release.

Ah! Mayor Heyman’s high society ‘charity gala balls’ (aka meet your husband’s new mistress), were the most futile yet amusing events of this town. I wasn’t a high society woman, economically speaking but again I’m good at saying the right things to the right people. So it’s no surprise to see my name in the mayor’s guest list.

I entry the big doors of the city hall wearing my most recently acquisition: an emerald green velvet dress (gifted by the Senator John), my high heels (Another gift from Mr. Smith, the banker) and my hand purse (from the all so lovely Mayor Heyman)...Speak of the Devil.

“Y/N” He greeted

“Oh, Mayor Heyman. What an honor” I smiled sweetly

“Believe me, it’s my honor, dear” He kisses my hand in an flirtatious way. And it’s a good thing I’m great at keeping my gag reflex in control.

“Oh please, I’m the one who has to thank you for always reminding little old me for your tremendously chic events. I can’t express my gratitude enough for you always having so much compassion in your heart!” I scoot closer to him, slightly fixing his tie “It is such a shame that you’re a married man, mayor Heyman, I would have loved to be your wife” I whispered softly

He gulped “I can change that” He smirked

“Oh please, mayor!” I stepped back with a offended look on my face “As a Christian woman, I cannot support divorce! That is some type of thinking that will lead us directly back to sodom and gomorrah! I can’t believe you just said that to me” I make the sign of the cross

“I am so sorry, Y/N it was not my intention-“

“I am not a prostitute or a home wrecker, mayor Heyman! I am a woman devoted to the Lord and I will not accept or tolerate that type of language or insinuations towards me!”

“I am deeply sorry Y/N, I truly am! Let me make it up to you. Here” He fastly signed a blank check “Please take this”

“I can’t” I whisper, pretending embarrassment

“Please, Y/N! It’s the least I can do. You can use it for whatever you want, no matter the price. I could never offend you! You’re such an amazing woman. Please accept it!” His pleading eyes let me know I had him hooked.

I ‘reluctantly’ accepted “Well, thank you, so much” I murmur with tears upon my eyes

“No, I’m the one who has to thank you, for dismissing my ogre behavior” He smiled “I’ll leave you now, so you can fix your makeup”

“Thank you, mayor Heyman”

Once he’s out of my sight, I can drop the naïve girl routine.

“Impressive” A deep male voice spoke from behind me

When I turn around, my knees almost failed me... it was him.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask

“The little stunt you just did with the mayor, was truly impressive. I swear that if I didn’t saw you get out of your naïve christian woman character I would have one hundred percent believed too” He smirked

“Mr. Reigns. That’s a compliment coming from you”

“You know who I am”

I shrugged “I’ve heard a few things here and there”

He gets closer to me, until our faces almost touched

“Yeah? Tell me, Y/N. That’s your name right?” He asked and I nodded

“What have you heard, Y/N?”

“How your the head of the table on your family’s business” I mumbled

“How does a woman like you, know about my family’s business, Y/N?” He walks forward, making me step back until I my back reached a closed door.

“I was raised on the streets”

Roman’s eyebrows raise in surprise “Really? You don’t seem like the streets type” He said, caressing my cheek.

“I had to learn how to be more polished if I didn’t wanted to become a hooker”

“I see” He buried his nose on my neck, inhaling deeply my perfume as his hands rested on my waist “And I imagine your perfume is also a result from a similar scene with the mayor” Roman whispered in my ear

“The senator not the mayor” I cackled

He amusingly laughs on my ear “You have friends in high places, huh?” His hands moved up, cupping my breasts through the dress

“People use what they have, Mr. Reigns” I look into his eyes “You use you intimidating strength” I squeeze his biceps “And I use my womanly charm” I batted my lashes “They’re both means to an end”

Come into my window

It's open every night

That's where I'll be waiting

I'll keep off all the lights

I'm lying on my bed

Crown jewels on my head

The loud knocks on my front door made me quickly get up. Going down the stairs I can see a tall manly figure waiting for me to come and answer. I grab my Colt 1908 Pocket Hammerless gun from the little drawer on my cupboard.

Placing my finger on the trigger I opened the door.

“Yes?” I ask harmlessly

“Mrs. Y/N?” The tall Samoan man asked

I nodded once

“My name is Jey and I’m here in behalf of Mr. Reigns”

I nodded again

“Why don’t you come and take a ride with me?” Jey coldly smiled

I'd never give you up

So come in from the cold, let your guard down

I'd hide you from the cops

Don't be frightened now my love

I'll take the life of crime, all to make you mine

The hotel room is big, fancy and very expensive by the looks of it. If I had to take a lucky guess, I would say that he’s not paying for anything in here, it is all a curtesy from the mayor.

“I’m glad you came” Roman smiles

“Did I had a choice?” I tilted my head

“No, you didn’t” He chuckled “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“Are you going to drug me if I say yes?” I joke

“Depends on your answer to my proposal” He smirked

“Proposal?”

“Yes” Roman got up from his chair coming to stand in front of me

“You see, Y/N. You’re a very, very interesting woman. Ambitious, smart, charming, intelligent and gorgeous. You’re not easily scared, in fact, it looks like you enjoy danger” He pulled me closer to him, until our bodies were pressed together “I could use a woman like you in my business. At the gala ball you told me about your goals in life and I could see with my own eyes you successfully work your magic on every men in that room. So, what I propose to you is: come with me, I’m leaving town tomorrow and I would like for you to come with me, be a part of my team, use your looks and your brain to our favor.”

“And what’s in it for me?” I asked

“Money, power, jewels...Anything you want” He sincerely said

“What if I would like to add you to that package?” I whispered

Come in off that roof top

You're so handsome dressed in black

See you in the shadows

I'd like to see you on your back

Take this precious treasure

And I will treasure you

Roman smirked “So be it! If you want me too, then you can have me”

He leaned down, capturing my lips in a famished kiss. Pushing me down on the bed, his broad body hovering over mine, grinding, kissing, biting, panting, pounding and moaning until the first rays of sunshine from the next day peaked through the curtains...

6 MONTHS LATER

“What do you say about we take a drink, Mrs. Reigns?” Tony, my husband’s arch enemy and Capo of the Italian Mob asked

“I would love to” I smile sweetly as I hook my arm in his. Going to the back alley.

“I figured it was already time for you to leave that husband of yours for a real man, you know? And I knew you would come to me, sugar” Tony winked

“You’re right, Tony. I do need a real man” I smirked to the shadows when the gun fired.

Tony’s body fell down by my side on the dirty alley street

“But you didn’t thought you were that man, right?” I cackled

Roman’s arm circle around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

“Hello Tony” He smiled “Did you really thought you could have her?” Roman chuckled “C’mon, we both know she’s too much of a woman for you! You can’t handle it! I bet you’re regretting to have thought with your dick now, don’t you?”

“She will leave you eventually Reigns. Just wait for it!” Tony spat

I pressed my high heel on his chest wound, pressing it down and making Tony scream in agony

“You watch your mouth, you fucking fat pig! You know nothing, you ARE NOTHING! I would never leave Roman for you” I laugh “I will never leave him for anyone” I smile at him, aiming to his head and pressing the trigger right afterwards.

We'll run away my dear

Some place special have no fear

We'll even change our names

We'll be kinky, we'll be strange

I'll take the life of crime, all to make you mine

All to catch a thief

Your love is my relief, my love is your release

Your love is my relief, my love is your release

All to catch a thief

“You are perfect” Roman whispered, kissing me vigorously in front of Tony’s dead body. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here” He opened the passenger door of his Rolls Royce and I enter it.

Once we’re driving through the highway he says

“I can’t wait for us to get to the hotel” Roman kisses my hand, intertwining our fingers “I’m going to fuck you senseless” He growls

And I can’t help the happiness smile that spreads on my lips..

3 & 3 bella x jacob for your fic ask game? 👀👉🏻👈🏻

Thank you for the ask! I almost went wayyy overboard with this so I had to rein myself in lol I hope you enjoy it! Just a sweet little date to the movies (1.2k words) warning: this was not proof read lol so ignore any mistakes please

It was Billys idea for Jake and I to go to the movies, or rather, it was his idea for us to leave his house and suggested the movie theatre to ensure we’d be gone for a length of time. Billy Black, while a fan of both his son and I, is not a fan of having his living room dominated by us. After our latest movie recorded over his baseball game he told us we had to find another place to go, and that once the MLB season was over we’d be allowed back in the house. This seems to affect Jacob more than it does me.

“I don’t see why he can’t just go watch with Harry or your dad or something,” He complains to me after we pile into my truck, him taking over the drivers seat because apparently I make him nauseous. No, not me, my driving abilities. It’s a common argument in our relationship although our arrangement of him driving works better for both of us. I get to look out the window and choose the music, he is saved from the migraine and stomach ache my driving supposedly causes.

“That’s his house, we shouldn’t be kicking him out,” I say while sliding through radio stations. “Besides this way we get movie popcorn not the microwave stuff.” This way I am also forced to dress in something other than sweatpants and a big t-shirt, which seems to be my uniform whenever I’m at the Blacks. This is my first time wearing jeans in nearly a week, the texture is familiar and rejuvenates my confidence. I mentally thank Billy.

“That’s my house,” the boy next to me says, sounding just a little bit like a scorned toddler. “I should get some rights to the TV.”

“You get TV rights once baseball is over,” I say, rephrasing what his father told us. I have no idea when the baseball season officially ends, or even when it started. And, I don’t dare say this for fear that Jake’s mood will remain negative, but I think another sport comes after baseball. Maybe football? Or hockey? Jacob will likely not get TV rights until he moves out and buys his own TV.

“Yeah, yeah, just not the same thing.”

The drive into Port Angeles, which houses the nearest theatre, is comfortable and quiet except for new age rock playing through the speakers. Jake has tried to install an aux input, so I can play music from my phone, but I won’t let him. I enjoy the radio, and besides there are too many choices on my phone.

The movie theatre is dead. It’s not a deal day and no new movies have been released, or at least not any popular movies. The theatre is hosting Actress Night, where they showcase some of the highest ranking movies from an actress previously voted on. It’s Julia Roberts tonight, Jennifer Aniston tomorrow, and some other woman we’re way too young to know the name of after that. Jake purchases us two tickets, I pick up the bill for popcorn and drinks.

This is one of my favourite things about being with Jacob. It’s so easy. He pays for some stuff and I pay for some and sometimes when we’re both broke we just sit at home and eat stale pretzels while watching Real Housewife reruns. I don’t have to worry about owing him money or the scales of our relationship being tipped unevenly.

The room which hosts our movie, Pretty Woman, is nearly empty except for a few middle aged couples sitting near the front. “I’ll never understand why adults congregate at the front like that, it must hurt their eyes to be so close to the screen,” I mumble as we pass two men sitting so close their heads are tilted completely upwards just to see the opening advertisements.

“Or,” Jacob tells me, “They’ll be too busy getting funky to watch.” That’s the other thing with dating Jacob Black, he enjoys saying things that he knows get under my skin. He’s brash, bold, saying whatever he wants. I’m a little more timid, and this is something I never forget when I’m with him.

“Ohmigod.” I duck my head, grabbing his wrist to pull him up the glow-in-the-dark stairs. “I doubt they’re… getting funky.” His wrist twists and I end up holding his hand, him stepping up to be on the same level as me.

“Bella, come on, adults always come to the movies to get freaky-”

“Stop with the lingo or I leave,” I bluff. “No more funky or freaky, got it, Black?”

He squeezes my hand once, smiling down at me with mild humour, russet skin illuminated by the stairs. I love his smile. “Alright,” he agrees with a sideways pull of his mouth, trying to hide a laugh. “But you better not be expecting anything spicy from me tonight.” A woman turns over her shoulder to look at us, a frown impeding on her expression. Jake notices this and guffaws a little too loudly. “Come on, let's go.”

He pulls me up the stairs to the very top level, my feet all too willing to carry me away from the scowling woman. We sit in the middle of the row and I can hear Jessica in my mind, the back row is for more than kissing. I should know, Mike and I always sit in the back row. Angela had a field day with this information, by which I mean every time she and I went to the movies she would actively avoid the back row so as to not contaminate her clothing with the supposedly filthy seats. Now, sitting next to my boyfriend in the more than kissing row, I am feeling a little worried about the state of our seats.

The movie title rolls as Jake slides his phone off and places it in my purse, which he dutifully places on the seat next to him. “To make sure nobody snatches it,” he informs me, even though out of all twelve people in the room, we are the only ones up here. The popcorn stays on his lap, pushed against the arm rest so I can access it without needing to lean all the way over. He won’t let me hold the bag, which is my own fault. I tend to hoard my movie snacks and he is most definitely not letting that happen.

As the movie opens, Julia Roberts dressed scantily, Jake takes my hand in his as I reach for popcorn. “If you finish this within the first fifteen minutes I will be very disappointed in you.” He whispers it, sending a pointed look at me, as if I’m known for my Olympic-level popcorn eating skills. I am not known for this skill, and the only person aware of it is Jacob Black and he seems hell bent on making sure I don’t eat my share and then his.

“You’re such a nerd,” I whisper back, but even I can hear the smile in my voice. He releases my hand for a moment before recatching it and twining his fingers through mine. We sit like this for a while, hand in hand, me craving a sticky handful of popcorn and him all too happy to watch me struggle to eat with my free hand.

The movie continues, Jake whispering criticisms in my ear as new events and plot turns take place. When Julia is denied help at the expensive store he whispers, “I would have served her,” then with a look at my expression he quickly back peddles, “not ‘cause she’s pretty but ‘cause she deserves respect and service. You gotta treat people fairly, you know.” Then we lapse back into silence.

The movie ends, I take the empty cups and popcorn bag, Jake takes my purse and informs me that it brings out the honey shades in his eyes. I’m not sure he even knows what that means, but let him hold my purse because he enjoys doing things like that. Sometimes I bring my purse even when I don’t need it, just so he can hold onto it.

29 from this prompt list with cake? 🥺🧡👉🏼👈🏼

aria, my darling, thank you for sending this prompt and giving me a chance to write cake for the first time 😌

this ended up being longer than I thought, hope you don't mind

you can also read it on ao3

***

Luke is in the break room, throwing sweet corn kernels at Ashton, trying to get them to stick to his hair without him noticing, when he hears the rumor.

Michael, the biggest office gossip, walks in and flops down next to Ashton. “Guess what?”

“What?” Ashton replies, not even looking up from his phone, missing the way Michael pouts at him.

“You’re supposed to guess.”

Ashton sighs heavily, mostly for show, because Luke can see his lips tugging up into a smile, face slipping into an overly fond look. He can never hide his fondness when it comes to Michael. “Alright, did you find out who’s stealing the M&Ms from your desk? Did you get another dog? Did robots take over the world?” His voice drips sarcasm, but Michael doesn’t care, delighted to have Ashton’s attention on him.

Luke wishes Calum was here to see this, he’s his partner in suffering when it comes to witnessing the weird thing these two have going on, where they flirt and pine, but neither makes a move. But the asshole was called in for a meeting right before their lunch break, leaving Luke to deal with their friends on his own.

Lifting one finger at a time, Michael replies, “No, I wish and, even if that’s highly possible, no.”

“Ok, then what?”

“They’re firing someone from the department,” Michael whispers, even though they’re the only ones here. Well, them and Alex from Finances, but Luke’s pretty sure he’s currently sleeping with his eyes open.

Luke gasps and Ashton’s eyebrows disappear behind the curls that fall over his forehead. “What? Who? Who told you that? I’m the head of our department, how do I not know this?”

Michael shrugs. “Jack heard it from Roy, who was told by Ashley, who heard the big man talking about it with his assistant. Something about budget cuts or whatever.”

“Oh man, that sucks, guess you better start packing your things, Mike,” Ashton jokes, grinning at him.

“Fuck you, no one’s firing me, I’m a fucking delight.“

“You’re a walking, talking HR violation.”

Michael swats at his arm. “Shut up, your life was miserable before I came to work here.”

Luke wouldn’t know about that. He started working here six months after Michael had started, so he doesn’t know just how miserable Calum and Ashton, who came here roughly at the same time, two years ago, were before Michael and Luke showed up.

Wait.

“Shit, what if it’s me who’s getting fired?“ Luke asks after realizing he’s the newest hire in their department. If they were looking to give someone the boot, save some money, he would be the obvious choice. Last one in, first one out and all that. “Guys, I can’t get fired!“

He needs his job. He has bills to pay, two mouths to feed, Petunia’s and his own, and a fuckton of student loans breathing down his neck. And he could always start over, get a new job, but. He doesn’t want to. He likes it here. Their office is only a short walk from his apartment, there’s no strict dress code and he has friends. Plural! Which is surprising considering Luke is clumsy and awkward and making friends isn’t easy for him.

But he was lucky enough to be given the desk right next to Calum’s, and to have Ashton assigned as his supervisor, and to bring Michael’s favorite snack food on his first day and offer some to him during their lunch break, instantly winning him over. Somehow, Luke managed to win them all over, awkwardly worming his way into their little group, but he doesn’t think he’ll manage to do it again.

More importantly, he doesn’t want to.

Luke knows he won’t find coworkers like them anywhere else, no one who shares their M&Ms with him like Michael does when they’re not suspiciously being stolen. No one who offers to buy him lunch when he inevitably forgets his wallet at least once a week, like Ashton does. No one who exchanges cute silly notes back and forth with Luke while they take their calls, like Calum does.

“You’re not getting fired, Luke, I’ve said nothing but good things about you to our boss in the last six months,” Ashton tells him. That’s nice of him to say and Luke feels a little bad about the kernels currently stuck to his hair, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s been here less time than anyone else.

“What do you say to our boss about me?” Michael asks, waggling his eyebrows at Ashton. “Other than telling him I’m the love of your life, of course.”

Ashton raises an eyebrow at him. “Why would I tell Mr. Hanscom you’re the love of my life, Michael?”

“Okay, but I don’t hear you saying I’m not the love of your life.”

Ashton groans, light dust pink on the high points of his cheeks. “If anything, you’re the bane of my existence,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it at all.

Michael grins, “Oh, Ash, you say the sweetest things,” he says, and Luke watches Ashton struggle not to get too flustered when Michael gets all up in his space, batting his eyelashes at him.

Luke’s whole body slumps with how hard he rolls his eyes, head lolling back from the force of it. “Guys, maybe stop flirting and focus on my problem, yeah?”

Ashton clears his throat, leaning back on his chair and away from Michael, neither of them looking too happy about it. “There’s no problem, Luke, you’re not getting fired, most likely it’s just a rumor.

“It’s not a rumor!” Michael jumps, offended that he would question his sources, he takes his gossip very seriously.

Ashton pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Not helping, Mike.”

“What’s not a rumor?” Calum asks, walking into the break room, carrying his lunch.

Because of his meeting, he’s actually wearing formal clothes today, a white button up with its sleeves rolled up and tight, black dress pants, as opposed to the usual shirt and jeans. Luke takes a moment to appreciate the rare sight, eyes lingering on the exposed forearms, the peeking tattoos, the thick thighs. He swallows loudly, throat feeling suddenly dry because Calum always looks good, but today he looks particularly sexy.

His thoughts have him blushing to the tip of his ears and he quickly tears his eyes away, looking down at his corn before he gets caught ogling. Throwing them at Ashton seems as good a distraction as any, safer than basically undressing Calum with his eyes, so he goes back to it.

“That you like dick,” Michael says, sniggering at his reply. Ashton sighs, though his lips curl up the tiniest bit, and Luke has to bite down on whatever sound was about to come out of his mouth at the mention of Calum liking dick. Luke still remembers the first time Calum admitted to that, and how he almost choked on his coffee that day. He doesn't want it to happen again.

Calum just shrugs, sitting down next to Luke. “You’re not wrong.”

“Mike says someone from the department is getting fired and Luke thinks it’ll be him,” Ashton explains.

Calum shakes his head, looking between the three of them. “Luke’s the best, he can’t get fired,” he says, not missing a beat, making Luke’s heart flutter. “If any of us is getting fired, it’s probably Michael.”

Michael gasps in indignation. “Hey!”

It makes Ashton giggle and Luke notices how Michael’s indignation dims, features softening when Ashton’s whole face scrunches up in a way that, even Luke has to admit, is quite cute. “I said the same thing,” he tells Cal, who gives Ashton a fist bump.

Then Calum faces Luke, “No, but seriously, they can’t fire you, you’re like, my favorite person here.”

Ashton and Michael immediately jump at that, their voices heavy with indignation.

“Hey!”

“Excuse me?”

Luke laughs at their outrage and the way Calum grins in delight, all squishy cheeks and crinkly eyes. He won’t admit it out loud, but Calum’s definitely his favorite person here too. His favorite person ever, probably.

“Oh, like you guys aren’t each other’s favorite person here or anywhere, really,” Calum deadpans when both Michael and Ashton start listing every reason why they should be his favorite.

That shuts them up quickly, both of them going red in the face, Ashton goes back to his phone and Michael makes himself busy by collecting the kernels that didn’t get stuck in Ashton’s hair and landed on the table.

Calum looks pleased with himself and gives Luke a conspiratorial wink before going back to his lunch. Luke offers him some of his corn and accepts the pickles Calum carefully picks out of his sandwich. He’s going to miss lunches like this, sharing food and conspiratorial looks with Cal, picking on Michael and Ashton.

It really sucks that he’s probably getting fired.

“You’re not getting fired,” Calum says and Luke wonders if he actually said that out loud or Calum just knows him that well. “I won’t let them.”

Luke snorts. “What would you even do?”

Calum shrugs, shoving some chips into his mouth. “Tell ’em they have to fire me too, we’re a package deal now, Luke, you and I.”

He smiles, he likes the way that sounds. You and I, like him and Calum are, well, something. He doesn’t think his plan will work, it would probably end with both of them not having a job, instead of just Luke, but he appreciates Calum’s effort to get him to relax.

And it works. Luke feels himself relax. Right up until Ashton growls, “Why is there fucking corn in my hair?” And Luke tenses up again, trying to hide his corn from view, but Ashton still sees it, narrows his eyes at him before he jumps to his feet and starts chasing Luke around the break room, threatening to take back every single nice thing he said about Luke to their boss.

Luke really hopes Ashton is lying, because, how is he going to find another job where he gets to spend his lunch running from his supervisor while his other two friends laugh uncontrollably?

* * *

In the end, Ashton catches him and he shoves a bunch of corn kernels down Luke’s shirt in retaliation, but by then, he’s laughing along with Calum and Michael.

Luke’s laughing too, obnoxiously loud, considering there are people that aren’t on their lunch break and are trying to work, but at least, he forgets about the threat of getting fired.

Until two days later when Sarah, Mr. Hanscom’s assistant, stops by his desk. He’s in between calls, drafting an email and trying to decide how many exclamation points are considered too many when he notices her looming over him.

“Good morning, Luke,” Sarah greets him politely.

“Hi, Sarah, your computer working okay?” Luke asks, because sometimes her computer freezes for no reason and Luke’s helped her with it before.

“Oh no, yeah, it’s working fine, whatever you did last time fixed the problem.”

“Cool, um, can I help you with something else?”

“Yes, actually, are you busy right now? Mr. Hanscom needs to see you in his office.”

Luke’s stomach drops, his smile disappearing from his face when Michael’s words come back to him.

This is it, he thinks, I’m getting fired, holy shit, I’m being fired.

He tries to keep the panic from his face, clearing his throat, he asks, “Oh, did he say why?”

Sarah’s expression stays blank when she says, “Just that he needed to talk to you.”

Next to him, Luke hears Calum, who was in the middle of a call when Sarah showed up, hang up his phone and then there’s the sound of his chair scraping against the floor as he moves closer, his head peeking around the division between their desks, clearly eavesdropping. Luke can see Michael and Ashton trying to do the same from their own desks, curious as to why Sarah is talking to him.

Michael catches his eye and mouths something at Luke, but his brain is using all of its strength not to start crying.

He gulps loudly. “Well, I’m writing an email, but I can be there in fifteen minutes?”

“Good, that’s good, the sooner the better.”

The sooner they get rid of Luke, the better.

His voice is weak when he says, “okay,” but Sarah must not notice or must not care, because she simply turns on her heels and starts walking away.

Michael, Ashton and Calum are on him as soon as she disappears around the corner.

“What did Sarah want?” Ashton asks, leaning on Luke’s desk, a little frown between his eyebrows.

“Bro, what did she say?” Michael questions urgently, almost at the same time as Ashton.

Calum speaks softly, wheeling his chair closer to him, “Luke, are you okay?”

He can’t bring himself to reply to any of them, knowing his voice will inevitably crack, because he’s not okay. He’s about to get fired. He’s about to get fired from a job he likes and lose his friends and lose Calum, sweet, gorgeous Calum, who Luke has been crushing on since day one. Since he lent Luke a TidePen after he spilled coffee on his shirt during their first break together so Luke wouldn’t have to spend the entire day, his first day resisting the urge to explain to every new person he was introduced to that no, he didn’t wear a stained shirt on his first day on purpose, he’s just clumsy and an idiot.

Over the last six months, Calum only gave Luke more reasons to fall for him. From buying a toy for Petunia after Luke mentioned she was feeling a bit down from spending so much time alone at the apartment while he was working to inviting Luke out for drinks after work, introducing him to their coworkers, but never leaving him alone, somehow sensing how awkward Luke felt around new people.

Luke simply couldn’t help himself, Calum is so nice, so handsome, so funny. And he likes Luke, though he’s not sure if his feelings are the same or not. That’s why he never could bring himself to ask Calum out, choking on the words everytime he even thought about it.

But Luke had a plan, a long-term plan. He was planning to ask Cal to be his date to the company holiday party, but now. Now, he won’t be able to do that, because he won’t be invited to the party, since he won’t be working here anymore.

Because he’s getting fired.

He feels the familiar sting of tears behind his eyes and fights to keep them inside. They haven’t even fired him yet, he should at least wait until they give him the news to cry.

“Oh no,” Michael whispers, probably noticing Luke’s eyes watering. “She told you you were fired? Just like that?”

Ashton swats at his arm, giving him a stern look.

Luke swallows the lump in his throat, but his voice still sounds rough to his ears. “No, but she said the boss wanted to see me, so I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening.”

“Shit,“ Luke hears Ashton mutter, he keeps trying to meet his eyes, but Luke won’t let himself look at him, knows that if he sees the concern on his face, he’s gonna lose it. “Listen, I’ll talk to him, okay? Maybe we can convince him to let you stay.”

“I don’t want you to convince him, if he doesn’t want me here, I don’t wanna be here.”

“But we want you here,” Calum says, and Luke can hear the pout in his voice. “You’re the best thing to happen to this company since the coffee vending machine.”

Luke knows Calum’s trying to get him to laugh, but he can’t bring himself to do it. “Yeah, well, clearly our boss doesn’t agree,” he says, voice cracking at the end. Goddamn it, he really is going to cry right here on his desk, isn’t he?

The desk that’s soon not going to be his.

Which sucks because he really likes his desk. He likes how there’s enough space for him to fit his legs comfortably underneath it, the pictures of his family that are placed on it, the penguin sticker sticking to the side of his computer. Most of all, he likes that it’s right next to Calum’s.

He wonders who’ll be lucky enough to get this desk and have Calum next to them all day. Maybe they will have better luck asking Calum out than Luke did. Maybe they’ll get to keep the job, unlike him.

He blinks, and there they are, the tears. So much for waiting until after he no longer works here to embarrass himself by crying in public.

Distantly, he hears Michael and Ashton talking, something about going on strike, convincing their boss to give Luke one more chance. He appreciates it, but it’s only making him want to cry more, because he’ll fucking miss them.

And Calum, who reaches out for Luke, gently stroking his arm. The sting behind his eyes gets stronger and more tears fall out.

“Oh, Luke,” Cal whispers and Luke can’t take it. He feels embarrassed, he feels sad, and he still has to face his boss and hear him say what Luke already knows he’ll say.

He needs to pull himself together, he can cry when he gets home, right before he starts looking for a new place to live, considering he won’t be able to afford his rent very soon.

He stands up, forcing Calum to drop his hand from his arm and look at him with big, sad brown eyes. Michael and Ashton also look at him, pausing their conversation. They quickly notice the tears, which make Michael frown and Ashton reach out, like he wants to hug Luke, but he steps back. If Ashton hugs him, he won’t stop crying, he’s sure of it.

“I’m- I should probably-” Luke clears his throat a couple of times and manages to croak out the word, “bathroom,” which is probably the best he can do at the moment.

Before they can say anything, Luke turns around and all but runs down the hall, to the bathrooms. More tears fall from his eyes, but he keeps in any noise that might let people know ‘hey, Luke’s a baby and he’s crying because he’s getting fired,’ until he gets inside and closes the door behind him.

He doesn’t check that the stalls are empty before letting out the first few pathetic sobs, but he really hopes they are, or he’s about to have a very awkward situation in his hands.

When no one comes out of the stalls to give him a weird look, he lets the tears run freely.

Luke hates crying, but he knows if he shows up at Mr. Hanscom’s office without at least letting some of the tears out beforehand, he’ll burst into tears the moment he walks in. He intends to keep some of his dignity and not cry in front of his boss, even though he’ll know Luke was crying, because his voice gets all nasally and croaky when he cries and his face gets super blotchy.

That’s not enough to make him stop though, so he can go about making himself look a little more presentable, the tears simply just keep coming.

They’re still coming when the door opens and Luke bolts upright from where he was leaning against the sink, facing away from the door and furiously wiping his eyes.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I was just-”

“Hey, it’s just me.”

Luke glances at the door, and though a little bit blurry, he sees Calum standing there, a tentative look on his face as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, and Luke feels a surge of affection for him, and then more tears because, where is he going to find someone like Calum? Someone who comes check on him, and who brings Luke coffee in the mornings because he knows he sleeps in most days and doesn’t have time to get any, who offers to take over calls from rude customers because Luke can’t think when people are yelling at him, who gives him a ride home when it’s raining even though Luke lives close by and their apartments are on opposite sides of town.

He’s not even that sad about the job anymore, he’s sad about missing all those things, missing Calum.

“’M not, I’m a mess,” Luke tells him, hoarsely.

Calum gives him a soft smile. “You’re always a mess,” he says, locking the door, even though Luke’s pretty sure they’re not supposed to. People might get the wrong idea, might think that he and Calum locked themselves up in here to hook up or something (which, Luke has to admit, he has imagined a couple of times when he’s alone at home). He’s pretty sure they could get fired for this.

Oh well, Luke’s already getting fired anyway.

Another sob escapes him and Calum’s expression turns pained. “Oh, Luke, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, I’m getting fucking fired.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh please, why else would Mr. Hanscom want to see me?”

“To congratulate you on doing such a great job?”

Luke scoffs at his suggestion. “Cal, you’ve worked here for two years, did he ever ask you to go to his office to give you a pat in the back?” Calum grimaces, shaking his head. “Exactly, might as well start packing my things, not that I will have somewhere to take them to, because I’ll be getting kicked out of my apartment soon, when I can’t afford to pay rent. Damn it.” A few more tears run down his face. At this point, he’s sure his eyes are so puffy and red, he might as well wear a sign that says yes, I just cried my eyes out in the men’s bathroom, mind your own business.

He closes them so he doesn’t have to look at his reflection or at Calum, who’s probably looking at him with a pitying look.

He quickly opens them again when he feels a pair of hands, big, warm hands on his cheeks, cradling his face. He blinks away a few tears and there’s Calum, his face only a few inches away from Luke’s, “Hey, breathe, whatever happens it’ll be fine. There’s a chance that you won’t get fired, but if you do, it’s okay, we’ll figure something out.”

“We?”

Calum nods. “Just because they’re cutting you off doesn’t mean I am, or Ash or Mike,“ he says and Luke feels something ease inside him. He might have been just a little worried that, just because he didn’t work here, his friends would just forget about him and go back to the way things were before Luke started working here. It’s nice to hear that’s not the case. “We’ll help you find another job, you won’t get kicked out of your apartment.”

And that’s very nice of Calum to say, but, “I don’t want another job,” Luke says with a frown.

Calum snorts. “Come on, you can’t possibly love it here so much, they don’t even pay us that well.”

“No, but you’re here,” Luke says and okay, maybe he didn’t mean to blurt that out, but his head hurts from crying and that’s probably messing with his filter a bit.

Calum’s eyes widen a little and Luke figures he might as well come clean, go big or go home and all that, even though he’s already going home.

He takes a deep breath. “I like working with you and having lunch with you, I like that I can make faces at you when I’m on the phone with an annoying client and pulling pranks on Ash with you and stealing Michael’s M&Ms with you,“ Luke sighs, “I just like you, and its pretty fucking inconvenient that I’m getting fired, because I was planning to ask you to be my date to the holiday party and now I can’t.”

“Luke,” Calum chuckles, “The holiday party is two months away.”

“Yeah, I know, but I was hoping I could figure out if you liked me by then.”

“You mean, you haven’t figured it out already? ’Cause according to Ash and Michael, I’ve been pretty obvious.”

Luke shrugs, acting all nonchalant when in reality, his stomach is doing all kinds of jumps. “I’m a bit slow on the taking, maybe that’s why they’re firing me.”

Calum laughs, right there in Luke’s face, and he looks so beautiful, Luke’s breath catches in his throat. “Yes, but you’re cute.”

Luke feels a warm blush rising to his cheeks, he knows Calum can feel it too, with his hands still cupping his face. “Too bad that won’t get me hired anywhere.”

“I can think of a few places where being cute will get you hired.”

Luke purses his lips in thought. He doesn’t miss the way Calum’s eyes dart down, the way he licks his own lips, like he’s thinking about kissing Luke. It makes butterflies explode in his stomach. “Better add it to my resume then, the sooner I get a job, the less likely Petunia and I will be homeless.”

“I’ll write you a recommendation letter,” Calum says, his thumbs rubbing lazy circles on his cheeks, wiping away the tears that are drying there and hey, Luke’s not crying anymore! “Though you might have better luck if Ash writes you one too, I don’t think they’ll take a recommendation letter written by your boyfriend very seriously, with me being a little biased and all.”

Luke inhales sharply, eyes widening slightly. “Boyfriend?”

Calum hesitates, realizing what he just said, trying to gauge Luke’s reaction. “Yeah, if that’s something you want?”

Luke nods. “Hell yes, I want that.”

Calum beams at him, and Luke can’t help but give him a dopey grin in return. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He’s not that much taller than Calum, but right now Luke’s wearing boots while he’s wearing vans, so Calum has to push on his tiptoes to kiss his right cheek, and then again to kiss his left one. “Come on, I’ll go with you to Mr. Hanscom’s office, we can tell him I crushed your fingers with the printer and that’s why you’re crying.”

Luke lets out a wet laugh. “My hero.”

“You know it, baby,” Calum says with a wink and Luke has approximately three seconds to freak out about Calum calling him baby before his brain short-circuits entirely because Calum’s kissing again, on the lips this time.

Since meeting Calum, Luke has imagined what their first kiss would be like many times and, even though he never thought it would happen in the restrooms, after he cried his eyes out and right when he’s about to get fired, he’s completely over the moon about it.

He covers Calum’s hands with his own, where they’re still cradling his cheeks, and pushes back against him, sliding his lips against Calum’s. They keep the kiss short and sweet, but Luke’s still panting when Calum pulls back, falling back on his heels and grinning dopily at him. “Sorry, I had to do that, I’ve thought about it for too long.”

“Kissing me in the bathrooms?”

“Just kissing you, really,“ Calum admits, a slight blush in his cheeks, “Though I have to admit I’ve imagined sneaking in here to make out with you one or two times.”

Luke chuckles. “It’s usually a supply closet for me, but same.”

Calum laughs, but the sound dies in his throat when the doorknob rattles behind them. Luke and him exchange a wide eyed look, before giggling.

“We should go before they return with the key,” Calum says.

Luke nods, checking himself in the mirror. He doesn’t think he looks that bad, his eyes don’t look that puffy and his face is slowly making its way to its usual pale color. He might be able to pass it off as just allergies, if anyone asks. “I should be heading up anyways, I told Sarah I would be there in fifteen minutes.” Not that he thinks it matters if he’s puntual or not, if he’s there to get fired. “Are you really coming with me?”

Calum gives him a half smile, nodding. “Of course, I wanna know if we have to head over to HR to sign the Consensual relationship agreement thing.”

Luke scrunches up his face. He forgot that was actually a thing. “I don’t wanna do that,” he says, “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m getting fired.”

Calum grabs his hand, locks their fingers together. “Maybe it is,” he says, giving it a squeeze, “we didn’t have to wait until the holiday party to get together,” he winks at Luke, “that’s two months of kisses, dates and blowjobs we would’ve wasted.”

Luke laughs nervously, face going a little red. “That would’ve been a shame,” he says, “Though I was looking forward to us wearing matching ugly sweaters and cornering you under the mistletoe at some point.”

“We can still do that, you can be my date,” Calum smiles, “And if you don’t get fired, you can ask me out, stick to the plan.”

Luke snorts, “If I don’t get fired, he says.”

“Hey, I’m still holding on to my hope,” Calum shrugs, unlocking the door and peeking outside to make sure the coast is clear, before dragging Luke out with him, “I’m not ready to go back to dealing with Michael and Ashton’s crap on my own.“

Luke pulls a face, lets Calum drag him towards the elevator. “Oh, I definitely won’t miss that,” he says, even though he knows he will.

But as it turns out, he doesn’t have to worry about missing that, he doesn’t have to worry about missing anything. He doesn’t get fired, his boss just needed him to fill out some personal information that Luke forgot to give when he started working there.

Calum gets a massive laugh out of that and he knows Ashton and Michael will too, but Luke doesn’t even care that Calum gets to say “I told you so,” not when he drags Luke into a supply closet right after he says it, so he can kiss him stupid.

11 hours - part three

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: we got some spicy things happening this chapter folks!! a lot of natasha too and plot and a tiny bit of fluff at the end. i hope you enjoy!! let me know what you think. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one | part two

Mrs Shoreditch had agreed to meet you at the cafe you’d been inhabiting daily as you kept watch on Steve’s shop, and you’re waiting for her now at your usual table with unusual trepidation. Your leg is bouncing under the table, you’re darting looks left and right down the street trying to catch sight of her. You have to finish this job - seeing Bucky last night confirmed that. Looking into his friends and his life feels wrong, and you want to end it as soon as possible. It’s none of your business unless Bucky wants it to be.

She’s late, one o’clock ticking by and then some, anxiety hiking with every passing minute. The file on her husband sits unremarkable on the table in front of you, and you drum your fingers against it unconsciously. The sooner this meeting is over the sooner you can move on with your day, maybe go see your dad, take on some normal clients who don’t have eery connections to your personal life and keep you up at night.

Someone approaches the table and you’re about to feel relieved, until you look up and instead of seeing Mrs Shoreditch apologising for her tardiness you find Natasha standing before you. She blocks out the sun, a ring of red wisps escaping her ponytail lit up like a halo behind her head but the calculating look in her eyes is nowhere near angelic. She looks nothing like the girl you met at the party - gone is the sundress, replaced by an outfit weirdly similar to yours. Leather jacket, skinny jeans, Docs and chipped black nail polish you catch as she wiggles her fingers at you in that same, condescending wave.

“Natasha?” You can’t believe she’s caught you, but you’re technically not doing anything wrong right now - you just feel like you are, with the way she’s looking at you like a ‘gotcha’ moment not gone your way.

Natasha nods, smirking, and says, “What a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, but you know neither of you believe it. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting Steve,” she says. It takes everything in you not to glance over at the tattoo shop, giving yourself away. You bite the inside of your cheek and keep your eyes trained on hers, furrowing your brows in an approximation of confusion. She waits a beat, you don’t think you’ve convinced her, but then she says, ”He works over there.”

She jerks a thumb to the tattoo shop and you nod, following her finger with bone-deep relief. It doesn’t last long, tension eating it’s way back up your spine as she asks, “What about you? I haven’t seen you here before.”

Been here every day, lady, you think, but say with a tap to the folder on the table, “Work. Meeting a client.”

“Oh?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. She doesn’t question you further, but that in itself is suspicious. Everyone always presses for more with your vague answers - client? For what? Announcing you’re a private investigator kind of ruins your confidential reputation so you often have to work a lot harder than this to keep your work life private. Natasha doesn’t press it, though. Like she already knows. Dread curls low and heavy in your gut.

At that moment, Mrs Shoreditch finally shows up. She doesn’t seem harried, out of breath, or concerned she’s late in any way, shape, or form. She takes the seat opposite you, offering you a smile and placing her ridiculously expensive handbag on the table. With blonde hair tossed over one shoulder, to your absolute horror she looks up to Natasha and smiles at her, too. Recognition, as Natasha returns it.

“You should come over to the shop when you’re done,” Natasha says to you but it sounds more like a demand than a request, shattering the silence with a sledgehammer. You’d miscalculated, somewhere. Something isn’t right.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, making eye contact with Mrs Shoreditch and hoping Natasha understands. You hardly think Mrs Shoreditch would want you going in there after you reveal that’s the place her husband has been shovelling her money into for months. Mrs Shoreditch avoids your gaze, however, picking at her perfect manicure. It clicks, then. You’re so fucking stupid.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha says, ignoring what you said entirely with a sparkle in her eyes that doesn’t bode well for you. She crosses the street, gone in a second, and you turn back to Mrs Shoreditch as a numbness creeps into your veins.

She’s a typical socialite, perfectly up-kept in every aspect and dressed to the nines even for a rubbish cafe in Red Hook. You didn’t think she was capable of hoodwinking you, and maybe that’s where you first went wrong. She finally meets your eyes, apologetic and almost tearful. She reaches a hand out, resting it on the file you’d prepared as if she realises last minute trying to touch you is a bad fucking idea.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I’ve been wasting your time-“

“Natasha hired you to hire me,” you say, cutting her off with the coldness in your voice. She nods mutely, retracting her hand back to her lap as if burned. “You already knew about Mike’s other bank account.”

“Yes,” she admits, rolling her lips together. At least she has the decency to look ashamed. “Ms Romanoff said she’d pay off an instalment of Mike’s debt if I hired you, and I- I didn’t ask questions. I’m so sorry, you seem lovely-“

You don’t wait to hear her finish, standing from the table and leaving your useless file behind without a second glance. You head across the street, for the first time approaching the front door of the tattoo parlour. Natasha knew you’d come here eventually, knew you’d see Steve and start putting dots together. She baited you here, but why? You were Bucky’s fuck buddy, nothing more. Why play this game at all?

You take a deep breath before shouldering the door open, entering the permanent twilight of the shop you’d come to know so well through the lens of your camera. It’s cool in here, the street noise dampened so all you can hear is pop-punk playing low through speakers and the buzz of the tattoo gun. Steve is at the back, bent over someone’s arm and doesn’t break concentration when the bell above the door rings, announcing your entrance. Natasha waits, however, hip propped up against the counter and smiling as she sees you stop at the door, not daring to enter further.

“What do you want?” you ask, calling out across the shop. It draws the attention of the two guys in leather, Steve’s regulars, sitting on the couch in the waiting area. They eye you suspiciously, as does the kid who mans the cash register you often see doing homework instead of his job. Natasha pushes off the counter, beckoning you to the back of the store where you know Steve’s office to be. You follow, heart in your mouth, aware you’re walking further into the trap you hadn’t even known had been set for you.

Natasha closes the door behind you and takes a seat at the desk, covered in stencil designs and files which she seems to entirely disregard as she crosses her feet on top of them, dirt smears be damned. You sit in the chair opposite, back ramrod straight with how uncomfortable you are, and wait for an answer.

“You’re smart,” she says, which is not what you were expecting. You blink, confused by the compliment, and Natasha smirks. “And a lot more observant than Bucky gives you credit for.”

“It’s my job,” you say, unsure of what to give away. Obviously she knows you’re a private investigator or you wouldn’t be in this mess, but she doesn’t know what you know. Not yet, anyway.

“I know,” she says, inclining her head, “I googled you.”

That makes you uncomfortable. Bucky doesn’t even know your last name, how does she? All that she would’ve found is your business website because you’re not stupid enough to put your life online, but still, the thought that she had been trying to look into you makes your blood run cold. You’re starting to really regret going to that party with Bucky - if Natasha’s weird behaviour then wasn’t a tip off, then your deep-dive into their secret lives has clearly shown you there’s a lot more to Bucky than he was ever intending of letting on. Natasha’s intervention in your job merely confirms what you’d already figured out.

“Why did you get Mrs Shoreditch to hire me?” you ask. Natasha regards you for a second, thinking, and it’s a look that reminds you eerily of Bucky.

“I wanted to see what you’d find,” she says. You feel your jaw clench, despite yourself - she’s being evasive even now, and it’s like she can read your frustration because she smiles then, says, “And I wanted to see if Bucky’s choice to trust you was a wise one.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” you say, defensive, too quick. She raises her eyebrows. Frustrated at this cryptic and frankly dramatic conversation, you ask, “Can you just tell me what you want? You’ve wasted weeks of my time and I think I deserve to know why.”

“As I said,” Natasha said slowly, clearly amused at the rise she’s managed to get out of you, “I want to see what you found.”

“Are you going to pay for it?” you snap. You don’t want to tell her - you don’t know why. Clearly, she already knows far more than you ever will, but this is the only thing you have over her and it feels like the most important thing in the world in this moment.  

Natasha rolls her eyes and says, “You’ll be well compensated, don’t worry.”

You have a small stare off with the red head before you huff, conceding. That was a fight you were destined to lose, anyway. You grab your laptop from your bag and send a quick email of everything you’d collected to Steve’s business email. His monitor pings with a notification and and you raise your eyebrows towards it, watching Natasha unfold her legs off the desk and lean forward to start reading. You don’t trust her with your laptop as far as you can throw it, so you make sure it’s shut down completely before placing it back in your bag.

Natasha reads for a long time, because you’d found a lot. Her eyes dart across the screen almost too-fast, the set of her mouth growing tenser and tenser as each silent minute passes. You feel a weird, sick sense of satisfaction at that - clearly, you’d surpassed her expectations.

You had been thorough. Pictures of Steve, the kid working the counter, the regulars who park their bikes at the back, the bikes themselves, the inside of the shop from your window vantage point, Sam at one point, Natasha at others, meetings they held and rough angles of deals gone on inside the shop. You couldn’t get a clear shot, but you saw them exchanging money with leather-clad strangers for something. The long hours after closing they spend at the tattoo shop doing everything but tattooing is all captured and saved on your computer. You’d written up a run-sheet of the shop’s routines as well, based on what you’d observed from your little cafe spot - Natasha spends longer looking at that then anything else, mouse hovering over the word you’d written at the bottom. Gang?

You’d researched them all, except for Bucky. He never appeared at the shop while you were watching it, and it gave you the perfect out to leave him alone in your investigation. Steve and Sam had wrap sheets longer than your arm, and Natasha notably had nothing online at all. None of them had social media, which is weird, and the only photo you could find dated back to a highschool cross country picture of Steve and Sam, first and second medals respectively. You refused to look for Bucky. It made you sick just thinking about what you’d find on him, so you decided you just didn’t want to know. Not like that, behind a computer screen in your apartment with a bottle of red-wine half gone beside you. Bucky doesn’t belong there.  

You could have kept digging, given more time. It had been eating at you, though, consuming the hours you were supposed to be sleeping and waking you up when you finally closed your eyes. It didn’t matter how much you found, ten more questions would arise from it, and you were becoming obsessed. So you decided to end it. Clearly, you’d come to that conclusion a bit too late.

“Bucky doesn’t know your last name,” Natasha says, suddenly, shocking you enough to flinch. She doesn’t look away from the screen, but goes on, “He doesn’t know you’re a PI, where you live, what you do in your spare time. He knows noting about you, but he doesn’t seem to care. I told him that was stupid.”

You swallow past the hard lump in your throat. You knew Natasha hadn’t exactly warmed to you at that party but you hadn’t expected this level of- what would you even call it? A threat? You feel threatened, a metaphorical knife to your throat as Natasha finally looks at you again, pinning you down with a cold green stare.

“He’s not in any of this,” she says, tapping a fingernail on the keyboard to emphasis your research. It’s not a question, but you know what she’s asking.

“I wasn’t hired to look into Bucky,” you say, refraining from adding because I have self control and I don’t need to invade his privacy to have sex with him. “Anything I need to know, I can get from him.”

Natasha is silent for a long time, staring at you, and you don’t dare look away. This, too, is a test. After god-knows how much time has passed, she stands and you do too, hurrying to grab your bag and meet her at the office door she holds open for you. Conversation over, you suppose - you’re starting to get used to Natasha’s cryptic ways even if they piss you off beyond belief.

“Delete everything you just sent me,” she says. You scoff, rolling your eyes at her, but she stares you down with the darkest, scariest look you’ve ever received from someone who’s a head shorter than you. You think about that word you’d written in your notes, gang, after one too many red wines and thinking back to the way Natasha looked at you when you described them all as a family. Maybe you shouldn’t argue with her, given everything you’d experienced today.

“I’d cover that window if I were you,” you say, instead of answering. A muscle ticks in her jaw but she says nothing else, so you take your leave. Steve waves awkwardly as you go but you ignore him, shouldering out of the shop and practically running down the street.

Energy burns in your muscles that you can’t seem to get rid of, even as you chose to walk all the way back to your apartment which takes over an hour. It’s anger, you realise, fisting your hair and pacing around your apartment like a crazy person. Uncontrollable rage at being played with, tested at every turn, and for what? You never asked to be a part of this game. You’d never done anything but exactly what Bucky asked and it still wasn’t enough.

Your phone begins to ring, Bucky’s name flashing across the screen, and with a scream of pure frustration you throw it full-force into the nearest wall. It makes a dent in the drywall, falls to the ground and the impact shatters the screen but that won’t stop it vibrating uselessly against the floorboards as Bucky rings and rings and rings.

You won’t pick up. This time, or ever again. And not just because you’ve now fucked your phone beyond repair, either. You never asked to play this game, so now you’ll take yourself out of it.

***

This is exactly why you keep yourself so guarded - cutting people out is easy when they have nothing to hold onto. You change your phone number when you go to get it fixed, and it’s like Bucky never even existed. He doesn’t know where you work, where you live, and you don’t go back to any of the bars you went to with him. It’s easier than breathing to remove him from your life.  

The same cannot be said about removing Bucky from you.

He’d crawled inside your ribcage and stayed there, burnt a cigarette hole in your heart to claim it as his and you hate that. You never allowed him to do that. So he might not be physically in your life anymore but he’s still there, a ghost of a hand on your throat and an ache that might mean you miss him.

His friends are crazy and he’s in a gang, you tell yourself daily, like it’ll help. Like you believe it even slightly. It’s better this way.

“You’re quiet, kroshka,” you dad says, handing you a cup of tea. You remove your thumb from your mouth where you’d been gnawing at a hangnail to take it, smiling up at him in thanks. He doesn’t go back to his armchair, though, rather kicking a cushion off the couch to sit beside you. You dip with his added weight, closer to him, and he allows you to rest your head on his shoulder while you both blow on your teas in unintentional tandem.

“Kroshka is tired,” you mumble. He clicks his tongue at you, which is fair. Shit excuse, anyway. You sit up, twisting to face him, and ask, “How do I know if I’m overreacting to something?”

“With you, overreacting is baseline,” your dad says, grinning as you slap him on the arm. He takes a sip of tea and says, “Tell me.”

“No,” you say, aware you’re being a brat, but what are you going to say? This woman tricked me and she’s smarter than me so I cut the guy I like out of my life because I can’t let anyone in or I feel like I’m going to die? Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.

“Well,” he says, giving you an unimpressed look, “If you’re questioning whether you’re overreacting, I would say there might be some truth to the feeling. It’s not like you to be unsure, though. Are you sure everything’s ok?”

“Yes, papa,” you sigh, going back to leaning on his shoulder. He might have a point. “You’ve just raised an idiot.”

“I did no such thing,” he says, placing his tea on the side table to pull you into a hug. You feel small, like you’re a little girl again, and you close your eyes against your father’s chest. Maybe you can just stay here and forget about the mess you’ve made of your life. He rubs circles into your back and says, “You’ll figure it out.”

“Ya lyublyu tebya, luna,” you say softly. I love you, moon. You’ve been saying this since before you can remember, your dad whispering it into your hair when he tucked you in at night or you calling across the playground when he’d drop you off at school. In your secret language so no one else knows, a message just for him - from you to your entire world.

“Lyublyu tetbya bol’she, zvedzdy,” he responds, kissing your hair. Love you more, stars.

He sends you off with a bag of donut holes, an obvious reminder you’re both not actually Russian but New Yorker to the bone, and you eat two on the subway ride home while you think. Deleting Bucky from your life is instinct, protection - he’d gotten too close. But really, when you allow yourself to examine the tight knot of feelings sitting in the base of your throat, what’s making you run is guilt.

You crossed a line, investigating his friends. You pried into the life he very purposefully kept you away from and you’d changed your number not because you didn’t want Bucky contacting you anymore, but because he might decide not to and you couldn’t live with watching your phone for a notification that would never come. Natasha will have told him everything by now, probably even showed him, and he’ll never trust you now. You’d blown it. You could be angry at Natasha for baiting you into doing it, but she never would have felt the need to if you had just been honest.

You stuff another donut hole in your mouth to stop yourself from crying. It works only a little bit.

The apartment feels colder, lonelier than it ever has even though being alone was what you thought you wanted. It just allows you to think of Bucky some more, curled up on your couch with the bag of donut holes now empty on the coffee table, sniffling into the sleeve of your hoodie. His smell, the way he always runs hot, the callouses on his hands probably from working in his garage you’ll never get to see now. Stubble, short-shaven hair, tattoos all down his left arm you never gave proper attention to. You can’t remember them all. Just the star, red and big in the middle of his deltoid. You thought you had more time.

“Fuck it,” you say, fishing your phone out of your jeans pocket. Bucky might not have your number anymore but you have his. Maybe if you just called him and heard his voice for a second, just that rumbly ‘hello,’ it might scratch the itch driving you insane. Before you can dial though, you get a notification from your banking app - a deposit from a new contact.

Natasha Romanoff jumps out at you, stopping your heart in your chest. Does she have a sixth sense for any time you so much as think about Bucky? She’s transferred you an obscene amount of money, and it takes you far too long to realise she’s paying you for the Shoreditch case that turned out to be one giant trust test you spectacularly failed. The reason you’re being a pathetic mess alone in your apartment pining over a guy who, as Natasha said herself, doesn’t even know your last name. Get a grip, Jesus Christ.

You open up the notification just to check it’s real and she really did triple the quote you’d given Mrs Shoreditch. That’s when you read what she’s written as the name of the transaction - an address for somewhere in Queens. You should probably at least think about jumping up, grabbing your jacket and practically sprinting from your apartment to an address sent to you by someone you’re 99% sure is part of a biker gang, but you don’t. You have a pretty good idea of what that address means, and curiosity is your biggest vice. Natasha’s sending you a cryptic message and you might not quite understand what it means just yet, but you’re certainly not going to ignore it.

Half an hour later you’re standing across the street from White Wolf Mechanics, hiding in the gaps between street lights and watching Bucky fix up a motorbike. The three huge roller doors are all open, letting light spill out onto the street as well as the thump of a baseline from a song you recognise, because you showed him it. Natasha sits on the work bench cross legged, scrolling on her phone and occasionally handing Bucky tools as he asks for them. He stands, wipes his hands on his skintight black t-shirt and says something into the depth of the shop. Sam appears, grinning wide and tossing a greasy rag at Bucky’s head which he catches easily.

He seems well, and that makes you happy. It’s only been a couple of days since you last saw him but it might as well have been months from how much you’ve spiralled. He might not have even noticed you’d separated yourself from him, and that thought makes you sick. You should go. You need to go. But your feet carry you across the street, jogging into the shadows so they don’t see you. You’ll hear his voice and then you’ll go.

You linger by the farthest roller door from them, sticking outside the pool of light and half-hiding behind the wall of the shop. You can still see them, though, Bucky’s face now turned towards you as he learns over the bike. Brow furrowed in concentration, and you want to smooth out the dent between them with your thumb but that’s not for you anymore. It never was.

“Have you talked Sam about it?” Natasha asks Bucky. You watch him glare at the part he’s holding in his hands and his whole body stiffens. He keeps his back to Natasha so you can see the anger play across his face clear as day.

“What’s there to tell?” he snaps. “You’ve taken care of everything, fuck what I want, so what’s the point?”

“Cut it out, James,” Natasha snaps back, “You know I was protecting you.”

“When did I ask,” Bucky grits out through a clenched jaw, throwing the part to the ground so the clang of metal on stone echoes out onto the empty street, making you jump. He balls his fists up at his sides and says, “You were out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says evenly. She unfolds herself from the table with an unfair amount of grace and steps behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bucky sighs, shoulders curling in and tension leaking out of his body. You want to hug him, but you will yourself to stay where you are.

Eventually, Bucky shrugs off Natasha’s touch and says, like a moody teenager, “Whatever.” Natasha rolls her eyes, watching him go back to work on the bike with a bit too much aggression that is strictly necessary. She hands him the part he threw silently, and it takes him a beat to unclench his fists and take it. A peace offering, you suppose, in Natasha’s strange language. She doesn’t go back to the workbench, rather staying by Bucky’s side despite his annoyed grumble.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she says, “You proved me wrong, and I’m not too proud to realise that. I am sorry.”

Bucky looks up at her, as confused as you feel because where the fuck did that come from, and says, “Proved you- have you completely lost it?”

But Natasha isn’t look at him anymore. She’s looking at you.

Busted, you think, and you consider turning around and running before Bucky can see you. It’s a bit late for that, though, so you step into the light of the shop and halfheartedly return Natasha’s welcoming grin. It takes Bucky a second, snapping his fingers in front of Natasha’s face like he’s worried she’s actually gone in insane before he follows her eyeline and lands on you.

You’ve never seen Bucky shocked before, but he looks it now as for the second time the spare part he’s holding hits concrete with an ear-grating clang. You flinch at the sound despite yourself, and that seems to shock Bucky back into action. He whips around to glare at Natasha, pointing at you as he does.

“What did you do,” he demands. Maybe coming here really was a bad idea after all.

Natasha, ignoring Bucky completely, walks over to hold out her hand for you to shake. I’m lost, you think, as she says, “Let’s start again. I’m Natasha, James is the only family I have and I’m neurotically protective of him. He’s right to trust you, as much as it pains me to say I’m sorry for meddling in your relationship.”

You don’t take her hand. You’re not entirely sure you want to forgive her just yet, even if she did extend the olive branch to get you here. You fold your arms over your chest and say, “Next time, if you want to know something about me, just ask.”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, retracting her hand back to her side and you hate the way she always seems to be laughing at you. Natasha ducks her head, smirks, and disappears into some back office without another word. It’s just you and Bucky, the body of a bike between you as well as the weight of all the things you never said that’s all out in the open now. You’re looking at each other like you never have before, eyes open to the vast chasm of secrets you’ve both been keeping, and for the first time since you met Bucky you keep your distance.

“So,” he says, folding this arms over his giant chest. Not fair, you think, as his biceps flex against the tight sleeve of his t-shirt. Bucky averts his eyes to somewhere beyond your head and says, “You’re a private investigator.”

“You’re in a biker gang,” you reply, mimicking his folded-arms tight-lipped expression. He raises his eyebrows in a silent touché, and now that it’s out in the open you feel something inside you break off, slide down the tense hunch of your shoulders until you feel weightless. You should want to lock up tight, keep Bucky out because he’s gotten far too close already - you should use this blight as an escape. Somehow, though, having Bucky see you like no one else really has doesn’t feel as scary as you thought it would. Maybe because you have something of him, too, tucked against your head and healing that metaphorical cigarette burn. A secret for a secret. You can work with that.

“You changed your number,” Bucky says, and he’s walking over to you now. Guard dropped, hands by his sides, pinning you in place with his eyes on yours for the first time in what feels like centuries.

“I was scared,” you say, coming out more like a breath than a sentence, too transfixed with Bucky being so close to you when you never thought you’d get this again. He smells like car oil and sweat, but you’ll take any gross combination over nothing at all. He places his greasy hands either side of your neck, pulling you closer so practically standing between his legs.

“You know,” Bucky says, rubbing his thumb over the protrusion of your collarbone like he’s trying to turn your brain and legs into jelly, “Nat doesn’t have a high opinion of a lot of people. She means a lot to me.”

“She’s terrifying,” you say, and Bucky throws his head back in a laugh that has you grinning like an idiot. That sound settles warm in the pit of your stomach, spreading through all the dirty guilt and fear you’d been living in for the past few days. Biting your lip as you sober slightly, you say, “I’m sorry for prying, I should’ve just-“

“Don’t,” Bucky says, stern, shutting you up pretty effectively. “I’m sorry Nat is a nosy bitch-“

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice comes from the back office, startling you both into laughing even as Bucky turns to face the door with a murderous glare on his face.

“Don’t you have anything better to do!” Bucky yells, voice thundering through the echoey garage. He waits few beats for absolute silence, neither of you convinced Natasha had actually left, but it’s the best you’re going to get. He turns back to you, small smile on his face so at odds with how rough and messy he looks. Hulking muscle and scars and tattoos and you should be cautious, should be running, shouldn’t be letting him back you up until you hit the wall and he can pin you there with his hips pressed into yours.

But you’ve never been one to ignore something as intriguing and mysterious as Bucky Barnes, no matter how dangerous it might be. Bucky slides one hand up from your neck to splay across your jaw, fingers pressing almost too tight into the soft skin, and you should run from this, too. A reminder, a promise, a warning. You let him.

“Are we even?” Bucky asks, mumbled into the minuscule space between you. You can’t find your voice so you just nod, and Bucky cocks his head to the side as he asks, “You can still leave, y’know. I’ll understand.”

“No way,” you say with a vigorous shake of your head, probably too quickly if Bucky’s amused smirk is anything to go by. You shut him up real quick with a roll of your hips into his, watching with a sense of victory as his expression darkens and he tightens his grip on you. You say, eyebrows raised, “I’ve still got way too many questions.”

“Like what?” Bucky asks, but he’s not got his full attention on what you’re saying anymore, too busy using his grip on your jaw to tug your head to the side and kiss up your neck, warm and open-mouthed with just a bit of teeth.

You nod your head towards the bike he was fixing before, drawing his attention for a second as he flicks his eyes in its direction before resuming his trail of bruising kisses. A bit breathy maybe, you say, “Ever fucked someone on a motorbike before?”

“Absolutely not!” you hear a male voice practically scream, and soon enough Sam is practically running out of the back office with a smirking Natasha on his tail. “This is our place of work! It’s sacred!”

“Go home, Sam,” Bucky says into your skin, still loud enough for them to hear but he doesn’t get off you. You’re blushing, making eye contact with Bucky’s friends and wishing the ground will swallow you whole but Bucky just digs his teeth into the crook of your jaw and grins as he watches your eyes flutter shut. This mixture of embarrassment and unadulterated horniness is making your brain short-circuit.

“My eyes!” Sam cries as Natasha grabs him by the wrist and drags him from the garage. Not without a wink sent your way, and you’ll find time to be humiliated by that later. Right now, you’ve got Bucky’s mouth on yours to contend with and it’s going to take all of your attention.

Part 4

~~~

let me know what yall think of this part!! THANK YOU

Welcome to the Industry of Porn

Paring: Avengers X Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, heavy smut, drinking, slight angst in later chapters, fluff if you squint, and my English as usual.

Word Count: 2,357

Summary: AU where the Avengers are Pornstars. It’s pretty self explanatory. 

Chapter: 1

Chapter Tittle: Sticky Fingers

A/N: This first chapter was edited so much from its original draft. The smut is less cringe in my opinion, but it still holds the same idea. I think that's what's going to happen to most of my chapters for this book (if you’ve read the original version which can literally be found in my other sites sans now the first chapter, you would see how different it is now). I really would like to leave the old version up to see how my writing style has changed, but I don't want to create a whole new book for that. Because I'm editing the whole document, technically destroying the first draft. But oh well...I don't have any new ideas for this yet, so don't expect any new chapters from what I have posted. 

At the age of 21, you found yourself living in an apartment with your college roommate. You had dropped out of college around a month or so into the fall semester of your last year. It had taken you that long to call it quits, and it had been stupid, really, but you couldn’t take it anymore. Not only the prior year your grades had gone to the floor and you’d fallen into a dark corner in your life that had taken the help of some of your friends and your roommate from your first two years had been nice enough to rent you a room. She lived off campus as her parents had given her the money for the first two months for the rent, it was up to her to keep on paying it.

Your parents had no clue about your reckless decisions and for the time being you were planning on them not finding out. It was wishful thinking, but that’s what kept you going even if as the days passed by it seemed less likely to happen.

Living in L.A was not easy, especially when you had no job and only lived by the money your parents sent every other month to make sure you had enough. They knew you had no job, and they were okay with it because in their mind you were working your butt off. Journalism was supposed to be what you were majoring in, but college had put a dent on the beauty you had seen on it before classes started to make you ill. It was ridiculous to say the least, the amount of stuff you had to submit with barely any time to truly make it happen.

In this city everything was expensive, and it was easy to point out those who could really afford to live here by choice, and those who came here to study. You felt like a fish out of water as you were not a girl from a big city, in fact, you grew up in a beautiful small town in Montana. Everyone knew each other, even if you weren’t friends with that person, you knew who their cousin Mike was, or you knew if their uncle Bob had gone to prison because he had been drinking and causing mayhem around townhall.

Sure, you missed home, and there was nothing compared to the noise of the small town that even though loud it was familiar and welcomed. But like many of those who only knew that town, you wanted out as soon as graduation came around. You wanted a sense of dependency, but just like everyone else, you had failed to see the reality of making such big change. Even now, after three years in L.A., you didn’t regret it—only on those long nights that the silence got too loud for your harsh mind.

But as another dull day in your life after having dropped out came, you were sitting in front of your laptop doing nothing but stress over the hopeless job hunt. Most days were like that, staring into the bright screen as the jobs were too demanding of you or not your type of gig. As much as you told yourself to not be picky about the jobs, it was impossible for you to skip past the one in search of servers. You didn’t have personal experience, but your friends had enough to warn you off of the nightmare it was.

You swore under your breath as you groaned out your frustration; every job position you did end up digging further asked for either some previous experience or a college degree. Fucking hell.

As you rolled your eyes and set your forehead on the desk’s border, your stomach gave a growl that made you scrunch up your nose. You had forgotten to eat something after waking up, and now after hours of sitting in search of a miracle, your stomach protested in hunger. With a sigh that escaped your nostrils, you walked out of your small room and walked down the hall toward the kitchen. You stood there for a solid minute before deciding on what to eat. Grabbing some wheat bread, you set two slices on a clean plate and went to look for the almost empty container of Nutella and the almond butter. As you spread the almond butter on the bread, you noticed the silence the rest of the apartment had fallen. You were home alone. You had forgotten that Cassie—your roommate—had gone out with her photography class to work on a project for their senior capstone.

Glancing at the clock on the wall above the counter, you grinned to yourself as you saw that she wasn’t coming back for another hour and a half, thus giving you enough time alone to do what you have been prolonging for a couple of weeks now.

Inhaling your quick snack, you put the knife and plate in the dishwasher and washed your hands before heading back to your room.

Unplugging your now charged phone, you grabbed your headphones and threw yourself on top of your bed. Getting rid of your shorts, and t-shirt, you positioned yourself in the middle of your bed, slightly blushing at the whole situation. No matter how many times you’ve pleasured yourself, the blush on your cheeks never failed to appear. It had been weeks since you last had the mind to destress like this, and the fact that you haven’t dated in what feels like forever only added as to why you were becoming sexually frustrated.

Finally getting the headphones untangled, you plugged them in and soon you found yourself opening a tab on safari on the private search. You didn’t know what your mood wanted, so you decided to go to a general website and soon cringed at the amateur and more realistic videos they had on the trending page popped up. You scrolled for a minute before opting for just looking up your favorite channel, The Avengers.

You had found the site soon after your curiosity peeked at the age of 14. They had the hottest pornstars you've ever gotten off to, and what made it better was that, unlike most acted out scenes, they made it seem like an actual movie scene. Most of their videos were connected, others were just segments, and others were holiday specials. They had everything. You had probably seen most of their videos hundreds of times, and unbeknown to anyone, you had a subscription under your ex’s name. The fact that he had yet to cancel the subscription made you wonder if he knew and enjoyed the perks as you did. He probably had no clue you had used his card, he probably thought he’d done it.

Once you had logged into your account, you noticed that there were a couple of new videos added to their page. You read their tittles and not even two videos down you had clicked one at random to surprise yourself. When the video loaded, you silently squealed when two of your favorite characters/actors appeared on screen and started to talk. Black Widow and Captain Rogers were looking around what it seemed like an old run-down warehouse. The plot of the video was simple, they had received intelligence that some HYDRA (what they called their bad guys) soldiers had been spotted coming in and out of the place as of recently. As they talked, you marveled at their beauty, and at how hot they looked in those costumes of theirs. At times you wished you could be part of that, and the idea of getting wrecked by them only made you rub your legs together as your body started to heat up at the thought.

Not sooner had they reached nowhere with their search of clues, the scene had turned to Cap admiring Black Widow in her usual tight attire. And as one thing led to another, Cap had pulled her in and kissed her hard on the mouth with her only melting around his big arms. But your excitement grew as you noticed how the camera now showed a lurking Winter Soldier—another of your favorite characters. while the Soldier was behind them, looking from the shadows. Soon enough the redhead that was Black Widow freed Cap of his clothes as he pulled down her own. She kneeled when she had pulled down the suit he wore, and without warning she started to lick the man’s hard and thick length.

Your hand that was on your lower tummy now trailed touches on your body, and unconscious action from your part, as it only aided to the ever-growing need between your legs.

When she started to suck him off with the obscene act of deepthroating, your fingers played with your hardening nipples. You were now biting your lip as you only took in how she worked her way down to the base of his cock. He never failed to praise her, to voice his pleasure to her, and to the now you admired the aroused Winter Soldier.

After some minutes of the redhead gagging around him, and some minutes of you playing with your now hard nipples, Cap pulled her up, and as she stood she glanced at the man behind them. The Winter Soldier had been caught, and before he could escape, Cap invited the man over. With slight hesitation he walked over toward them, but soon no ounce of hesitation was found in his body as Cap pulled him in for a heated kiss.

You let out a small whimper as your fingers had now found themselves slowly rubbing your clit atop your underwear that now was covered by a damp spot. The man was rid of his armor as the redhead took it upon herself to leave him in the same level of nakedness as her. But not sooner had she kneeled and sucked on his hard member, had she been pulled up again and pressed flat against a table-looking surface. Both men gave a nod to the other, and Cap positioned himself behind the Black Widow while the Winter Soldier invited her to suck on him like she had wanted before.

And like that, the woman found herself being used by them as one of them fucked her from behind, smacking her ass every so often, making her almost as red as her hair while another man gripped said hair allowing him to use her throat as he pleased.

You were now panting as your fingers rubbed your hard and wet clit. The hand that held the phone started to slightly shake as the rubbing continued, but you almost dropped your phone when two of your thin fingers entered your needy hole.

By now the men had changed positions as the woman had already twitched and moaned out her first orgasm. And they keep like that until she squirmed and came on the other man’s cock. Neither of them giving in on their orgasm.

The Soldier pulled her up, and the Black Widow’s legs seemed to shake as she tried to keep herself upright as the men walked her over a little to the side as they now enclosed her with one of them pressed on her back while the other pressed her front. A messy three-way kiss ensued, and now your fingers seemed to not be enough as you felt yourself near your orgasm but always needed something more.

But not sooner had you added another finger to your soaked sex, you moaned at what came next.

The men had entered the woman, each filling one hole at a time. Cap was inside her used pussy while Winter Soldier slipped his cock inside her asshole. You and the redhead moaned at the same time; she felt the stretch and fill, but you saw it as the camera now provided a view from a better angle. With only seconds to assimilate her situation, she soon started to shamelessly moan and squeal at the feeling of being used like a toy between two men.

The rhythm they had set was merciless, and the clapping of skin, the squelching of her wet pussy only made you dizzy. You had removed your ruined underwear, and in seconds each foot went to a side of your bed to keep your legs open as the thrusting of your fingers brought you closer to your orgasm.

The groans, moans, whines, and dirty talk was making you now lose some of the grip on your phone, but you kept on going even as you twitched and forced your legs to keep themselves spread open as your thin fingers did their best to get you off.

And the people that were making you approach your orgasm seemed to be reaching theirs before you as both men came after the woman between them had gotten her third orgasm. They came with groans and whimpers, but soon pulled out of her, and just before you dropped your phone as you came with a loud whimper around your soaked fingers and hand, you saw how the cum from their deed dripped out of her as the camera greedily caught the filthy show.

It took you a couple of minutes to regain the feeling of you body back, and as you calmed yourself down and proceeded to clean yourself in the bathroom and put some clothes back on, you neglected to see you had clicked out of the video and managed to click on one of the many ads of the website.

When you grabbed your phone after feeling much lighter than before, you noticed the foreign page you had clicked on. And as you scanned it over, you noticed it was an ad claiming to be looking for new ‘talents’ for the industry of porn.

You read over the ad, made sure it was legitimate. And after you had your little fit of giggles as you told yourself that you couldn’t do porn, you looked at your forgotten job hunt that your laptop had been mocking you with earlier.

And just like that you found yourself closing all the other tabs and typing the most random of google searches you’ve ever made: requirements to work in the industry of porn.

I don’t remember if anyone wanted to be tagged for this, but let me know if want to be tagged for the updates!

Welcome to the industry taglist:

@ginger-haired-queen​

Permanent Taglist:

@musiclover812 

@cnco-ravenclaw-46​

@teapartydreams

Black market hormones: How red tape is forcing a trans generation to self-medicate

 HORMONE THERAPY: Treatment for trans people in the UK is woefully inadequate, forcing many to consider risky alternatives

Lachlan Mykura reports on the difficulties of treatment for transgender people, documenting his own experiences and the bureaucracy surrounding them.

Transgender issues have long been a source of controversy and debate. In recent years, these issues have come under the spotlight. Younger generations are more able to explore their gender, and the concept of a strict binary is being slowly replaced with a far more fluid and flexible umbrella.

Not everyone who is transgender will transition medically, but for those who do it can be an arduous process bogged down by bureaucracy. While it is important to note that those who choose not to transition, or have no desire to transition, are valid, this article will specifically focus on the people that do.

I am Lachlan Mykura, and I am FTM - female to male transgender. My transition has been marked by wait times, delays, gatekeeping and uncertainty, so I did what a growing number of transgender people are doing. I decided to start taking hormones without a prescription.

To understand why I, and many other trans people do this, we need to look at the system and its failures. There are currently seven NHS gender identity clinics (GIC’s) in the UK, with plans for three more in Manchester, London and Merseyside. In 2015 there were 1,408 referrals to these clinics. In 2020 there were 2,728. With only seven clinics for thousands of referrals, wait times for NHS GIC’s have skyrocketed, and many clinics no longer publish their times, estimated to be years. Indeed, many of them seem to have completely ground to a halt.

One such clinic, The Laurels in Exeter, has 2,592 people currently on its waiting list, and yet saw only 2 people in 2020. One patient has been on the list for nearly 6 years, 17 times the NHS legal guideline of 18 weeks.

Many GP’s are uneducated or unused to trans issues, and don’t know the proper procedures for referring patients on to a GIC. I found this myself when I was beginning to consider medical transition, with one GP outright telling me they didn’t know how to help me.

Nearly a year later I managed to get a referral, and my waiting game began.

These wait times add to an already time sensitive process. Transgender people under 18 cannot go to most GIC’s. Tavistock is currently the only GIC that will see underage patients, and even getting to this clinic before you become 18 is a struggle.

Although transition can be successful at any age, the younger you start medical transition, the better the results are likely to be, especially for male to female (MTF) patients. By the time you can start hormones on the NHS, you will likely have gone through puberty entirely, and will have the sex characteristics of your assigned gender at birth (AGAB).

The NHS is a clumsy beast when it comes to gender care, and with the rapidly rising number of referrals, it may fall even further behind.

The NHS is also not currently very supportive of non-binary people looking to transition. A diagnosis of gender dysphoria is necessary to start hormones, and while the NHS has become more accepting of non-binary identities in recent years, some non-binary people may struggle to meet the criteria.

If you don’t want to wait for NHS treatment then there is the option for private treatment. In the UK this comes in the form of two providers, Gendercare and GenderGP.

Gendercare is a private network of doctors, and is staffed by some of the most experienced gender specialists in the UK. Unfortunately, this means it also has a price tag to match. Each of the doctors working at Gendercare set their own prices, but most tend to be around £300 for an initial appointment, and then £150 for follow ups, which are necessary to start on hormones.

GenderGP is a cheaper alternative, although the quality of treatment they offer is arguably worse. They are a telemedicine service, working on a system of ‘informed consent’. This means that during their consultations, they will tell you about any possible risks and effects of the treatment, but the end choice to start hormones is down to you. They don’t require any formal diagnoses. On paper, this sounds like an excellent choice, and I originally decided to go with them, paying my £65 initial appointment fee and talking to one of their psychologists.

However, GenderGP is not the most reputable service. Doctors Helen and Mike Webberly, the couple who started the service, have both been struck off by the GMC for providing hormones and puberty blockers to those under 18. This gave me cause for concern, but having seen firsthand the politicization of trans treatments, especially for those under 18, I thought that this wasn’t enough for me to stop using their services. The nail in the coffin for GenderGP came in October 2020, when their pharmacy, ClearChemist, said that they would no longer be working with GenderGP. This put GenderGP’s ability to prescribe hormones in jeopardy. Even though their services were cheaper, faster and accessible online, I didn’t know if they could fulfil what they promised. I decided to switch to Gendercare instead.

“The NHS is a clumsy beast when it comes to gender”

TESTOGEL: One of the forms of hormone treatment available to FTM transgender people.

I contacted two of the doctors working for Gendercare, who I thought would have the shortest wait times. One of them said that he could not accept me as a patient, and the other said that he could offer me an initial appointment in January 2021. Progress.

This January appointment would be followed up by another appointment or two with one of Gendercare’s endocrinologists. I would have paid around £1000 without even being sure I could get a prescription. As a student, I had more important things to spend money on, like instant ramen and rent.

I was sitting with friends one evening and the topic came onto hormones. I was lamenting the trials and tribulations of transgender treatment in the UK when one of the friends I was with, another trans man, piped up “I could give you my spare bottle.”

 Bingo.

 I thought about the prospect for a while, I knew people who took testosterone without a prescription and their transitions were going well. However, I was really nervous about it, I had no way of knowing my hormone levels, I wouldn’t have a consistent supply and, well, it just wasn’t a very good idea.

I did it anyway.

A few weeks of soul searching later I realised that I had known I was trans since I was a young teenager. I had been sitting on these feelings, hoping they would ‘go away’ or second guessing myself as to whether or not I was ‘really trans. But they hadn’t. They had stuck like toilet paper on a shoe throughout my teenage years and into my twenties. My excuses of waiting until I was an adult had no weight, after all, I was an adult now. Years of waiting, doctors appointments, and questioning and now here I was, being offered hormones on a silver platter over a glass of wine. I had to take it.

I contacted two of the doctors working for Gendercare, who I thought would have the shortest wait times. One of them said that he could not accept me as a patient, and the other said that he could offer me an initial appointment in January 2021. Progress.

This January appointment would be followed up by another appointment or two with one of Gendercare’s endocrinologists. I would have paid around £1000 without even being sure I could get a prescription. As a student, I had more important things to spend this money on, like instant ramen and rent.

I had no way of knowing my hormone levels, I wouldn’t have a consistent supply and, well, it just wasn’t a very good idea. I did it anyway.

Gel is, in my opinion, the easiest and best way to take testosterone, the other popular one being injection. Gel is a daily application which means that your hormone levels don’t suffer from the same rises and falls that weekly injection causes. However, with these smaller doses comes slower changes, on average.

I wasn’t too worried about this, since I didn’t really want incredibly quick changes when I had no access to a specialist to help monitor my levels. Injections are also cheaper than gel, but I didn’t need to worry about that, after all, I was getting mine for free. Besides, even if I didn’t hate needles, I wasn’t about to go injecting myself with drugs unless a doctor had told me to.

In order for trans men to do their injections, they need to be shown how to by a nurse, generally at their first appointment. If done wrong, injecting testosterone can cause pain, swelling, and infection.

The gel I use is called Testogel. Testogel dosage is measured by pumps, the bottle is designed so that each pump will give the exact same amount of gel. I started on one pump, since I wanted to stretch out the amount of gel I had for as long as I could. I didn’t know if I would be able to get another one on time, and I was fully aware that I was relying only on the generosity of my friend.

The changes have, as expected, come rather slowly. I have been on testosterone for around a month and a half now, and, unfortunately, I’m no closer to resembling Chris Hemsworth or Zac Effron than I was when I started. All in good time. What I have noticed is that my voice has dropped, and I’m plagued by embarrassing voice cracks at the worst of times. Every man has to go through them at some point and I’m no exception. God help me when I get stuck trying to grow a beard.

None of my fears about making a mistake have come to pass. I have been happy with all the changes, which is not something I could ever say about going through my first puberty.

The reasons that people choose to self-prescribe hormones are vast, not least because of the cost and time that goes into getting a prescription legally. The reasons, however, run much deeper than just personal cost.

Transgender treatment is a subject of fierce debate worldwide, and the UK is no exception. Recently, a lawsuit was brought against the Tavistock GIC by a woman who started taking puberty blockers when she was a teenager, and then detransitioned at 23. She believes that the NHS did not take enough precautions before prescribing her puberty blockers - which are fully reversible.

As a result of this, under 16’s in the UK may now no longer be able to give informed consent to start taking puberty blockers before they start on hormones at 18. While people who detransition are facing a very difficult time in their lives and deserve support, the backlash falls on actual trans people.

TERF groups (trans exclusionary radical feminists) see these detransitoners as martyrs who have been brainwashed and victimized by ‘the trans cult’. As a result, actual trans people face not only increased waiting times and inaccessible appointments but also increased media scrutiny and online vitriol.

Trans issues are in the limelight. Recently, Elliot Paige, who plays Vanya in The Umbrella Academy, came out as FTM, becoming one of the most high-profile celebrities to come out transmasculine. Trans men are often left out of public conversation, as trans women are more often the focus of transphobic tabloid media and TERF rhetoric. With more and more people coming out, either as transgender, or in support of transgender rights, trans treatment should hopefully become more and more accessible.

Written December 2020 By Lachlan Mykura

Don’t Call Me Angel - Detective Meares x Reader (Needle)

GIF CREDIT: X 

All responsibility out the window here, I can’t claim any, it’s all Mendo Nation’s fault! No seriously they came up with it, I’m innocent I swear!

Author’s Note: “How did we get here!? Who brought us here!?” 

I stg, @mendelskrull​ and @crawlingmist​ started me on this damn man with digging up (and creating) gifs I didn’t even realise were a thing. And then I was like ‘you know I think I can probably get something out of him!’ and kinda dismissed that 500 words as all we were ever going to get.

Oh no. Then - rightfully so! - I did some campaigning for him on Twitter polls and now I’m here. 

I digress. I wrote more for Meares, and you’re welcome.

Disclaimer: This is not my idea/plot and is a joint effort of the Mendo Nation - who let me go ahead and write it / Needle naught to do with me / gifs & lyrics not mine

Premise: When Meares turns up at a crime scene and finds a second potential victim he’ll do anything to see the killer brought to justice, for her. If he can figure out who the killer is...

Words: 8277

Warnings: TW potential rape discussed / sexual connotations / sexual pre-amble / swearing / kidnap / I really tried to make that last scene as far from non-con as I possibly could but I still want to put a warning for it jic.

____

Don't call me angel when I'm a mess Don't call me angel when I get undressed You know I, I don't like that, boy I make my money, and I write the checks So say my name with a little respect All my girls successful, and you're just our guest Do I really need to say it? Do I need to say it again, yeah? You better stop the sweet talk And keep your pretty mouth shut Boy, don't call me angel, You ain't got me right Don't call me angel, You can't pay my price Ain't from no Heaven,Yeah, you heard me right Even though you know we fly, Don't call me angel You sizin' up my body, oh yeah Don't you know that I bite when the sun set?  So don't you try come around me Might work with her, but not me, oh yeah Don't you know that I bite when the sun set? Keep my name out your mouth I know what you about So keep my name out your mouth I appreciate the way you watch me, I can't lie I drop it down, I pick it up, I back it off the county line I fell from Heaven, now I'm living like a devil You can't get me off your mind I appreciate the way you want me, I can't lie I drop it low, I back it up, I know you wanna think you're mine Baby, I totally get it, you can't guess so You can't get me off your mind We in it together, but don't call me angel

---

Abandoned building in the middle of nowhere – that wasn’t so unusual, not for a crime scene anyway. This was the kind of place he half expected to be sent to. Not that he particularly wanted to go – another Detective had been on the case this morning, but apparently something a little more interesting had come up for them and so Meares was thrown the file. ‘So… where’s my crime scene?’ in fact, he wasn’t even sure he was in the right place by the fact there appeared to be no officers guarding the scene. Only the tape strung across the front of the building let him know that’s exactly where he wanted to be. Maybe they’d all just been lazy and decided to clock off for the evening? He ducked under the tape and flicked his torch on, which he still needed because the lights in the warehouse were so goddamn dim. But why had everyone left? The sheet was still over the body and to him that only signalled that the scene had yet to be fully processed. ‘Fucking bastards sending me out here…’  He huffed, ‘If they’ve all miked off drinking I swear to GO---D.’ He noticed how he was also alone out here and his partner, Detective Reddick, didn’t want to bother driving across town for it either. “Aw, nah, it’ll only take one of us. Report back..!” Cursing again, Meares approached the victim, he supposed he might have to start this alone. Bending over he grasped the corner of the white sheet delicately – having learned from previous crime scene interactions that sometimes he could be a little too flamboyant in his actions and there’d been a few ‘incidents’ – and stood to height as he pulled the fabric back from the body. Respect the victim - a little easier when he was alone… Meares guessed that sometimes he just liked being a show off and it was an unfortunate trait he couldn’t help. He jumped as he surveyed the body, just one glance over – his stumbled footsteps echoed around the warehouse, adding to the eerie atmosphere. Meares checked his papers, then the body, then the papers again, then the body… That was not a ‘white male, 20s, average build, deep lacerations, bruising and ligature marks’. This was a very naked (but very beautiful) woman; possibly around the same age bracket - but the body itself looked intact. “Okay. Who is out here pranking me now!?” Had someone switched files? Had someone told him the wrong location? No, no, how often did that happen? Everything else about his file was right, apart from the body. Meares tipped his head, tongue between his lips as he drew his eyes back up her. He rolled it with a small tsk sound, and then knew he was smirking. It was probably very inappropriate to think that a potential victim was hot, even when it was as confusing as to why this was the body in front of him. But her form dipped and curved in just the right places, her skin very nearly perfect… Meares wouldn’t have guessed she’d been dead too long, but also didn’t see any way that she could have died. He stepped carefully around her, her eyes may have been closed but she had an Angel face to match her body, Meares thought hard; ‘more importantly, why is she at my crime scene? And if she is here… where is the real body?’ He let his eyes linger on her for a little too long, and felt that guilty blush build up on his cheeks, travelling fairly swiftly to his neck… but the rush of blood travelled a little further than expected. NO. NO. C’mon, man… He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. But found himself suddenly sad that she was the victim; of course, every victim was difficult but as a detective he had to do his best to separate- “Is it her or her body, though? C’mon. You have nooo idea what she’s-” Meares paused, “Aw, great, I’ve finally cracked I’m talking to myself at a crime scene.” He stopped his walk, palm to his forehead for a minute, “Well, nothing like an expert opinion!” He looked her body over again. No, he was fairly certain there was no obvious sign of trauma. Nor anything to indicate any other type of foul play. And it still bothered him that the body was supposed to be male-! ‘It sure does feel like a set up…’ And of course, forensics had all cleared off. He took one more step towards her; maybe Meares just wasn’t thinking clearly enough. ‘Too distracted, obviously.’ But also maybe he just wasn’t looking closely enough. His eyes lingered on her face ‘Who are you? Why are you here? Who did this to you..? C’mon, darling, I need answers…’ Meares didn’t have a chance to think much more than that; her eyes snapped open. If he thought he’d jumped back before, his string of yelled expletives matched the pounding of his heart in his chest as his adrenaline spiked. Yeah, dead bodies did that, occasionally – but dead bodies did not then take dry choked breaths that then became something close to strangled sobs. That didn’t surprise Meares either; she’d practically been declared dead, she was in a middle-of-nowhere warehouse, naked, and a male detective was now standing over her and – by his own admittance – probably looking a little leery. When her eyes focused on him all he saw on her face was terror, she pulled her knees up, arms around her body to cover herself as she attempted to scramble away. Meares threw his hands up, immediately going for his badge, “Hey, hey! It’s okay! It’s okay! My name’s Detective Meares. It’s alright – I’m here to help… I promise… you’re alright now.” He wasn’t sure she trusted him, and her nails dug hard into her skin. Meares shrugged himself out of his jacket, levelling his voice off in hushed tones. “You gave me quite a scare there you know?!” He smiled as he held it out for her, “I’m here to investigate a body, although believe me I’m glad you’re not one… take it. It’s okay… We should probably get you outta here…” He watched her slip it on, buttoning the front up to look as modest as possible, but she still shivered. “You… got a name?” Her eyes raised back to his face, but suddenly she shook her head, “I don’t…” “Remember?” Her nod was certainly sad and he didn’t want her to panic and spiral, but anything he could get now would aid his case greatly, “Do you remember anything? Why you’re here, what happened? Anything about who did this? What about your clothes honey, do you know what you were wearing?” She continued to shake her head, and Meares certainly didn’t want to stress her out any more than he had to. “Okay, it’s okay, this happens. I’m sure it’ll come to you. It’s all going to be fine. But, I should really get you over to a hospital.” “I don’t-” “Honey it’s procedure, I don’t have much of a choice,” he held his hand out for her, “you’re safe with me. No one is going to hurt you.” She placed her hand in his delicately, and Meares felt like he was going on some kind of power trip, but not a bad kind of trip; she trusted him. He was going to protect her now, that was his duty. He pulled her up, trying to keep his eyes on her face. “Thank you.” “Hey, we’re not there yet, you can thank me later. Let’s make sure you’re all okay, right now. Come on, I’ll get you to the car and get you warmed up.” He didn’t touch her as he led her to it, opening the door; Meares would put the heat on for her, he’d pull up to the hospital and they could do tests and maybe he’d get some more evidence from her… And she’d remember too, once she was over the shock, he was sure. He slid his mobile out of his pocket, calling his partner as he jogged around to the driver’s side of the car, indicated that he should meet Meares at the hospital and they could figure it out from there. The detective paused, looking back at the building for just a moment as he opened the door… There was just once problem he couldn’t quite figure out here. “Where the fuck is my actual body, though?!”

** You kept glancing across to the detective as he sped towards the hospital, and you did mean that – Meares was running every light and had his blue lights flashing. He looked on the verge of his 40’s, messy greying black hair and piercing blue eyes – though the true colour seemed fleeting as they changed with his emotions. And those were all over the place right now, that much was obvious. Although he appeared to be being the gentleman, sometimes he couldn’t help but look over at you – and his glances to your body weren’t very fleeting, either. In a normal situation you supposed you would be flattered, but right now you were having doubts you could trust him to be taking you where he said he was. ‘No… He’s a detective. He surely wouldn’t take advantage of that?’ or, maybe he would; how much did you know about Meares anyway? Maybe not a lot; but he was very easy to read on the surface so you didn’t think that figuring him out was going to be much of a challenge. Eventually you started seeing the Hospital signs and could breathe a real sigh of relief; okay… you could trust him. Upon pulling up you noticed several other police vehicles waiting around outside – all with their lights also flashing. You gasped and visibly shrank back in your seat; Meares turned to you. “Don’t worry, I called for backup, they’re good guys. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He opened his car door. “I’ll be very quick, okay, just wait here. We’ll get you checked up.” You reached for his hand before he had a chance to leave and held him there for a minute, Meares thought that you might be about to thank him, but that wasn’t what came out of your mouth: “Y/N.” “…What?” “…My name. You asked my name.” You found yourself taken aback by how gentle and sweet his smile was, “Y/N, you remembered… That’s good progress. Real good progress.” His large hand enveloped yours for a second, “Excellent! Now just, wait here, the hospital will help you out!” By the time Detective Meares exited the car and found his partner he was panicking again, “God damn, Meares-! What the hell is going on!” “You tell me! They send me to a crime scene where somebody is supposed to have been cut through, and I find a live woman there? What happened to all the investigators!? Anyway, that isn’t the point, she’s sitting in my car, I don’t know who she is – she’s barely remembered her first name – she doesn’t know how she got there and she’s half naked! And that’s only cuz she has my jacket! Who does that to a girl and leaves her in the middle of a crime scene!?” Reddick wiggled his eyebrows, “Naked ehhhhhh?!” Meares immediately hit him, “No! She’s a victim, quite possibly a witness once we get through to her!” Although his face burned, it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought the same thing. “…Well they knew someone would find her in a crime scene?” “Logical if it was accidental but then evidence has been moved, where’s the logic there, huh?” “Maybe forensics has the body.” “…Then why send me with the damn report like a body is there?” “Because they don’t like you, Meares?” “Fuck that. No wonder this department is a laughing stock…” He sighed angrily, “Look, if we have the body, great, but someone has tampered with that scene, and there’s either a secondary scene for her, or new forensic evidence at this one. Get down there with some people and figure it out.” His partner groaned, “Why me!?” “Because I’M staying with the victim for questioning, and hospital test results. I found her, her mind is clearly fragile, right now I am the familiar face-!” “Shouldn’t you be telling the department all this?” Meares glared at him, “Quit whining! Sure, I’ll do it. Can you please get down there – I really don’t want to leave her alone too long!” “Fine… fine, I’m going, but then get them to come straight out to me.” Reddick peered around his friend, “She’s a good-looking girl.” “Y-Yeah.” Meares also turned on the spot, you were looking at the hospital nervously, chewing your lip, “She is.” “And you’ve seen her naked.” There was a waiver of amusement in the other Detective’s voice, Meares turned back to him, snapping: “Will you get out of here!” ** Meares hung around in the hospital as long as he could before they forced him to leave to conduct their tests. Not before he took your hands and promised you he’d be back as soon as they let him. You did trust him, you knew that already – right now he seemed like the only person you could trust; and he’d brought you to a hospital and he trusted them to take care of you. You took a deep shaky breath as he let you go, but you knew everything was going to be okay. Once outside he called his superiors to tell them the news. That he’d found a secondary victim and that Reddick was back at the scene to retrieve any other evidence – luckily that was met positively and a forensics team was dispatched. Although Meares did mutter something about lack of communication under his breath. He had to voice his concern now: “There were no police or detectives on the scene – things have been moved, or must be missing. Someone got a second body in there between them packing up and me arriving. And conveniently no one was around to see anything!? And if I just missed them, then I’d say the killer was watching us, or the building. You have the body right-!?” “Yes. Meares, don’t you worry about that.” “Why send me with paper work?! This all seems fairly suspicious to me!” He was rambling and he knew that he probably shouldn’t have let that become more than just a thought, but Meares couldn’t help it. “You’re not shouting conspiracy, Meares?” “Are you giving me reason to?” There was silence for a moment, before a heavy sigh, “We’ll put you on the case team, see what you can get from our live victim.” “Thank you, Sir. They’re going to call me when the tests are finished.” With that they both hung up, but Meares couldn’t help but think that something was going on: after all, he wouldn’t exactly have called that answer straight. Much more like a bribe not to mention it. Someone isn’t saying something Meares… Watch your back… Was the only conclusion he could draw, dropping his mobile into his pocket he leant his head back against the waiting room wall and closed his eyes. He’d figure it out; that was his job. *** He was woken by a nurse, who led him into a back room. “Well, it’s all fairly conclusive Detective.” “I do like easy.” Meares grinned, but she didn’t find his joke attempt amusing, so he cleared his throat, “What happened to her?” “A fairly heavy dosage of sedative. Ketamine.” “She was drugged? That makes sense… isn’t that like a date rape drug?” “Correct. Although the rape kit has come back negative. And she didn’t ingest it, it was injected into her.” “Someone really knew what they were doing.” She nodded, “She’s not a regular user?” “No. No recent tracks or scars in her skin, she’s clean apart from this.” Meares nodded, mulling the information over, “You say fairly heavy… enough for the memory loss she’s experiencing? There’s also gotta be a reason why I didn’t realise she was alive, right? But Ketamine elevates heart rate?” “In small doses – but this wasn’t a small does, Detective. As for her memory, I wouldn’t say so but it could be a stress reaction, we don’t know what else happened to her tonight, or at any other point. It doesn’t have to be related to the drug.” “I guess I’ll only find out when her memory returns.” “Yes, but she’s doing very well, she’s certainly open to talking to you – in fact she asked for you.” “No doubt, do you think she’s ready for questions?” “Go easy on her, Detective.” “Oh, I promise.” Meares nodded, and he meant it, “Just one last thing. I found her at a crime scene, we had a body that had been almost completely lacerated. When I turn up on the scene her body is in the same place. Could… could it have killed her?” “Any sedative in a high amount could yes, but not the amount in her. Perhaps it is only to sedate the victims until the killer is ready to…” the nurse paused, not willing to spout conjecture, “I will say this, at least, she’s very, very lucky you found her Detective. Less she become just like your body.” “On that, I’m sure we can all agree.” When Meares reappeared in the room that you’d been set up in, your heart couldn’t help but give a flutter of excitement – he surely was a very attractive man, and kind too, although you weren’t sure if you could call him your knight in shining armour. A knight in one-hell-of-a-suit, maybe. Though you noticed his shirt was untucked and his tie a little more slacked than it had been previously. You were dressed in a hospital gown now, but you were still clutching his jacket. His scent was unfamiliar to you, but it was one you liked. Meares sat next to you, once again taking your hand in his; you thought your pulse might run wild and suddenly felt light headed – but you controlled it. “How are you feeling?” “Alright, considering what happened… And thanks to you, god knows what would have happened if-” He stilled you, “Hey, you don’t need to think about that. Sounds like you were on one hell of a trip!” the grin indicated he had just cracked a joke, although your laugh was more embarrassed than anything else, “I… suppose.” “I’m sorry-” His eyes left yours, “I have… never been too good with my comedic timing. I wanted to ask though, Y/N, if you’d be up for answering some questions of mine?” You weren’t sure how much help you’d be, but you certainly wanted to help him. “Of course, Meares, anything.” Anything. His heart almost skipped at that, heat rushing back to places it had no business being. Anything was a big word, and he could think of plenty of things he wanted that were certainly not appropriate to bring up right now! He took a slow breath, c’mon. Be professional! For once! “Well, hey, we have your name now at least. And I have a little data on you from the hospital – with your consent to use it, of course. So, I know your address, we can get you back home, maybe that’ll help too.” Yes, he had your name, and you certainly liked the way he said it. “Oh, of course, use whatever will help your case.” Meares nodded gently, “Well, let’s start simple, do you remember what you were wearing?” “Uhm. Yes.” Although you chewed your lip, blushing – and he caught the red. “It’s okay, it stays in this room.” “Just a short black dress, off shoulder, low cut. Maybe even very low cut. Small split up the side… I remember… I remember thinking that I had to wear my sexiest dress. That was very important.” He raised an eyebrow, “Hot date?” “I-I don’t think so.” Although maybe you’d count this… interview… “Shoes?” “Good heels, yes. But also black, nothing fancy. Uhm, some… obscure brand that you only find in stores like T.K.Maxx…” “So we’re looking for a dress and heels. That’s good, you’re doing great.” He squeezed your hand, “Anything else?” You shook your head, “No, I… I wasn’t wearing-” “Oh. Oh, no, that’s- That’s okay… Dress, heels. We’re hoping your items are at a secondary crime scene. So, any detail is good. Do you remember anything, about where you were?” “…Some crowded part of town. I know, that doesn’t help any but…” “Well, do you have any idea what time? We have plenty of ways of figuring out where – sounds like you’re heading for a night out.” “Yeah, uh, 9:30, maybe closer to 10?” You scrunched your face, “That’s habitual. I don’t think I was meeting someone…” “Well, there’s security footage in the busy parts of town as you can imagine, so, I’ll get a team working on that.” “Thank you.” You took his other hand, and instinct laced your fingers with his, “Meares, I… I don’t know what I would have done if-” “I said don’t think on it. You’re safe. Keep moving forward, okay? Well, okay, maybe any information you do remember would still be good!” You giggled, then gathered his jacket and held it out for him, “And for this, especially.” “Oh!” He looked a little bashful for a second, “It’s not anything anyone else wouldn’t have done.” “But it was you.” There was another silence of understanding as you looked into each other’s eyes; his really did change just like weather. “No…” His tone was quiet, and he pushed it back at you, “Keep it. It looks good on ya.” “Y-You think?” “Mhm.” That small smirk was playful, and made more than just your stomach flutter. Oh… “Well, I guess I should thank you once more, detective.” “Don’t mention it… Just keep talking, maybe that’ll trigger something.” He had the right idea, but for the investigation it proved rather fruitless. Eventually he stopped you, just because you were getting so worked up about it not being useful. But he did learn a little bit about your life, even the most random of details helped Meares build up a picture of you, and that could really help him figure out the ‘why you’. It wasn’t necessarily the same person that had done this to you as had killed the first victim, but if it was there could be a connection somewhere. Perhaps a crime of opportunity, but that was down to Meares and his detective skills to figure out. Some details that you could remember were patchier than others, and as you struggled with the want to give him more information you became less forthcoming with anything you thought was unusable. Meares had taken notes and finally pocketed his notebook. “Y/N, I promise you, everything you’ve told me is important. It helps us build a profile of the person we need to catch too. Maybe there’ll be similarities between you and our victim. Trust me, in an investigation like this no detail is useless or too insignificant. Everything counts. And you’re brave for going through this with me.” He stood, leaning forward he kissed your forehead and you gasped, making him think that once again he’d screwed up professionally. Though Meares was hardly sure he was thinking professionally at the moment; you were a nice girl. Someone he’d actually want to hang out with… that wasn’t just your body talking to him, although that was a somewhat delightful image still burned into his head. He would do anything to bring the person who had done this to justice, he vowed that to himself. “Stay in the hospital tonight, just make sure you’re okay and I’ll come back in the morning, alright?” You nodded, “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Meares.” Today, by the looks of his watch, but it was still dark. Not tomorrow until you’ve been to bed-! was a rule he liked living by. “Goodnight, Y/N. Try to get some rest.” You smiled, watching him leave, and wishing he didn’t have to go: “Goodnight Detective, you too.” *** Meares did turn up at the hospital the next day for you, and seen as they were good with discharging you, he offered to drive you home. At first you thought that would be fine but, under Meares’ gaze in his car, this time your heart kept running away with your thoughts. He really was gorgeous, and now you were seeing him in natural lighting those blue eyes were even more stunning. Even when you stole glances at him and traced that side profile… Should you be thinking this way about him? Meares was supposed to be investigating what had happened to you, after all. You doubted he’d be able to have a relationship with you; not when the investigation was open. He’d noticed these shy little glances of yours and could barely hold that smirk back, you must have been checking him out. Meares was fine with that of course – and this morning you’d walked out of hospital with his jacket on, and he wasn’t reserved about admiring you in it, especially now sitting in his car again. He knew your address but he was certainly taking the scenic route, Meares’ drive was leisurely at most. Once he did pull up at your home, you were both clearly disappointed. You hesitated, staring up at your front door. Thinking he should probably be being the gentleman right now, Meares rounded the vehicle to open the car door for you – but you just kept staring forward. “I don’t want to go.” Your voice was timid, but he still caught it. “What? Why? You’re home.” “I don’t feel safe here. Not alone.” You shook your head, seemingly shrinking back into your seat, “I can get people posted, or watching the house, if you’re not comfortable.” You shook your head again, “What if whoever did this is watching the house-!? What if they’re waiting for me to be alone, Detective?!” Meares opened his mouth to try to calm you down, but this time his joke faltered. He couldn’t forgive himself if something happened before he arranged for someone to watch out for you. “Y/N… I don’t know what else I can really do with you.” Your big eyes looked up to his, pleading, “Can’t I stay with you? For a little? Until I feel safe again.” He almost did a double take, and hoped he looked level and not like he was about to punch the air – a little like what was happening in his head – “…I don’t know if my supe’s are gonna like that. But I can sure ask. They might pull me off the case to do it. But your safety should be paramount, and you’re a key witness. It’s just-” You knew exactly what he was getting at but tilted your head, “Just what, detective?” Meares for once opted not to run his mouth, and swallowed thickly eyes flicking down your body again – he hoped inconspicuously – “…It’s nothing. Don’t worry. I’ll call them. I have a spare room, don’t you want to collect some things first… though?” So, Meares found himself dropping you at his house. Although he didn’t see how this was helpful for you, considering he still had to leave you alone and work on the case at the precinct. He guessed no one was going to think of finding you here. And, obviously, he was secretly elated… Even though Meares guessed he was about to get heavily reprimanded for this. And he was laid into quite hard, despite his – fairly calm – explanation as to why. Oh yes, of course he wanted to raise his voice, yell about it to be heard – but he didn’t think that would help him in keeping you at his. Upon offering to hand the case to someone else in exchange for making sure you were truly safe, his superior immediately scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve done the hard work.” “I don’t want to compromise anything!” “You should have thought about that before you agreed to let her stay.” “So pull me off, like I said. You have my write up… She’s scared, she doesn’t remember things, I found her… I just think giving her some familiarity and comfort right now is a good idea.” “Familiarity? In a house she’s never seen before?” “You… know what I mean.” “Just, be sensible, Meares.” “Yes Sir.” “You do know how to do that, don’t you?” Meares made the mistake of laughing, and it wasn’t met well, before he turned serious: “Y-Yes. Of course.” The case itself brought about good progress very quickly, with all your files back from the hospital and his own notes – coupled with what they knew about the victim, and witness interviews begun, the team were beginning to shape a picture of events. Fingerprints and DNA helped narrow the list of people who would have been around the warehouse recently, and soon interviewing witnesses became interviewing suspects. Your dress and shoes had been found well within a mile radius from the warehouse, and whilst sweeping the areas around, needles – one containing Ketamine – were also recovered with the DNA of both you and the victim. General consensus was the killer had tampered with the crime scene. That raised questions of its own; why, and how had they been able to? Meares believed that’d lead to some internal investigation – and he was still mindful to be cautious around others in the department - but right now catching this person was paramount. *** Your relationship continued to grow. Although Meares was very careful with what he told you. You understood why, this was his job on the line after all. But of course he kept you updated on your own case; he was determined to catch the person who did this. It was good to see how joyous he became the more information he gathered, and how Meares would always announce ‘we’re close!’ if you asked for an update. You weren’t sure exactly how true that was, considering he’d been saying that for weeks, but you couldn’t help but be happy that he was happy. Detective Meares made you feel safe, safer than you had been for a long time. And as you started to remember little pieces that would help him, Meares got excited to grab his little recorder to make sure he had everything right. You continued to get closer, and you were sure by now you’d outstayed your welcome at his place and you should be heading back home – but neither of you raised the subject of you leaving, and he never asked if you were safe enough to go home, even though it was obvious by your attitude and body language that you were. It started slow – to build to something more than the victim and the detective who had saved your life (probably), you were sitting on the couch together watching TV. Not even a movie, just news reports, but you leaned into him, head on his shoulder. For a moment Meares tensed – not in an uncomfortable, ‘I don’t want this’ way, but in a ‘is this really happening?!’ way. Meares didn’t dare breathe for a minute, and yet as if to prove how much you meant it, you cuddled into him a little more, soaking up his bodily warmth. Meares’ smirk was a little too smug, but you were smiling too, and your cheeks began to hurt as his arm snaked around your shoulders and he pulled you a little closer. Meares knew he probably shouldn’t be doing this. But, fuck it, when had he ever really listened to rules and procedure? You were beautiful, no, you were gorgeous. Wasn’t it the first thing he’d noticed about you anyway? He pulled your body into his, hand settling on your waist; and you didn’t complain. Maybe Meares was right, maybe you wanted him as bad too. Was that a good thing? Well, he knew he would certainly choose to believe it was.

 Pretty soon that dynamic changed, and cuddling on the couch turned into making out on the couch. It didn’t take much persuasion; he’d been staring at you like that ever since he’d first met you and you were certainly hot on him too. As you both leaned closer Meares tilted his head, smirking “Whatcha thinking about Angel Face?” And how you almost returned his smirk as you looked deep into those ever-changing blue eyes, “Kissing you.” Angel Face - That was his nick-name for you, even if he wouldn’t admit how he came to that conclusion, and it just stuck. You soon found out that if you ran your fingers through his hair Meares would groan into the kiss - and it was no wonder that he always liked his hair being messed up. Clearly it was even better for him when you did it. Professionalism be damned, the detective was not about to resist you. And he’d offered to be off the case, fair and square, he didn’t see how they could blame him now. Especially when you looked like that.

Being with him was just so easy; old enough to know better, young enough to still be playful - but he could bounce back from any fuck ups, a little headstrong and rough around the edges… No one was ever perfect though. A good man, even if he spent his time making inappropriate comments or jokes - just as often in content as in his timing. But all of that just made you love him more, that attractive face of his (not to mention his voice) was the best bonus. It only made you wonder what was under his clothes… after all, he already knew what was under yours. And you were fairly certain that was an image burned into his head.

This meant Meares had a particular way of staring at you; you wouldn’t call it predatory, but it had that kind of effect on you. Your pulse ran and your eyes widened and sometimes you struggled to breathe against the weight of his stare; drawing his eyes slowly up and down your body, tilting himself to get better views of you. The way his lips parted and he ran his fingertips over them, or sometimes his tongue before he smirked. Of course he wondered when he’d get to see you naked again. You weren’t sure if that made you more or less scared of it being an eventuality. Sometimes you shied away from him completely. Sometimes you had the confidence but found yourself unable to speak it.

Today was not either of those. Today the stars aligned all from a seemingly innocent sentence. If Meares hadn’t wondered aloud if you were ready to return back to your own house then you probably wouldn’t have had the opportunity to take his hand and turn him back to you. You found the words to be honest: “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be alone. Or without you. Again.” For the first time Meares saw something in you that he hadn’t before. Whilst the sentence had been said in all innocence there was a wildness in your eyes. An untameable force that somehow you were holding back. You very nearly stole his breath with that look alone. He kissed you hard and fast; slipping out of his own jacket before reaching out to pull your hips to his.

When he broke away from you, the look on your face was of slight wonder. Yet that wildness was still there - and the trembling he felt under his fingertips was not because you were nervous and scared. It was because of what you were holding back: this didn’t match the personality that you’d been showing off to him; shy and sweet and delicate. Meares wondered which was real, this or the girl he thought you were just pretending to be. Cupping your face in his large hands his next kiss was delicate, lips barely touching yours. “Don’t hold back now Angel Face.”

He found himself yanked back to you almost angrily by his tie, the look in your eyes not hiding now. Oh, you didn’t intend to.

 ***

 He was falling for you. And hard. Meares didn’t want to call it love yet, but he thought it could be. He wasn’t sure he was simply in lust with you - but he’d keep that option on the table. You were always lingering in the back of his mind, and now he knew what your sex was like you weren’t just an image of a naked body, but a whole experience. And every so often you’d use this to your advantage, and send him pictures that made him smirk and text eagerly back: ‘Bad girls get put in handcuffs, you know?’

 Of course, all this had to happen right around the time of the major case break through. And not a breakthrough Meares particularly wanted. One day he was called down to the forensics room, and was faced with a mix of items of both yours and the first victims. They had been through everything again, and again, and again and nothing. Meares hoped that today was the day they’d finally find something that would help. “Detective, we will have to simply call it.” “We can’t give up on them! The killer is still out there!” “There’s nothing more we can do. Nothing - if we go on evidence alone now, logically there’s conclusions that must be drawn.” Meares sighed and placed his hands flat on the table, stretching his body back behind him; “Give it to me again.” “There’s NO other DNA in that warehouse, on her clothes, nothing.” “No other person?” “None.” “No evidence that anyone else was involved?” Meares wanted there to be another angle, something beyond what he felt – with dread – that this was all building to. “No. And we have tested and retested everything.” As you well know, this seemed to say. “…What about our first body?” “Well, here’s the interesting thing.” “What?” And why hadn’t this ‘interesting thing’ been raised!? Meares knew he sounded more annoyed than he did elated at this potential breakthrough. “Same sedative.” “So what, they were coming back for her?” That didn’t make things any better. He certainly was glad he’d found you if that was the conclusion. There was awkward hesitation, before the technician cleared his throat: “…Prints on the syringe are hers.” Meares raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding: “They… forced her to do it to… herself?” “Meares…” The look was pointed, “You know what the evidence is saying.”

Meares set his tablet up on the kitchen side, staring at it hard, before taking a stylus and trying to connect all the dots virtually. He’d been trying to do this in the office all day - and he almost had it but there were blanks that he was drawing that he still didn’t understand. They could easily have forced you into it, he doubted they’d forced you to inject someone else. But he suspected they could have had you self-inject. That’s what Meares wanted, but that wasn’t what the evidence was saying. That was never what the evidence was saying.

He had to be sure, and he’d found the security tapes of the warehouse opposite: terrible quality of course, and grainy. They’d already been dismissed by the team as being insufficient to gather anything from. But if you looked hard enough, if you knew what you were looking for, you’d find it. And he unfortunately did. This figure that he was seeing was you. It had to be you - it wasn’t like he could see your face, but he was living with you. He knew your body, he knew the way walked, the attitude you put into steps. This wasn’t that shy act either, this was careful and calculating. The person he knew, sure, but there was a horrendous chill that ran up his spine. Like he was watching some kind of horror movie. No one else went in or out of the warehouse after you. Then you came back out - he fast forwarded all the police investigators turning up - but you returned later… then nothing, until he showed up. And Meares knew the rest.

 “Oh. SHIT.” His head bent forward and he rested it on the cold side. It’s you. It had to be you. Meares couldn’t help but admit his heart was a little broken, that he felt a little nervous and sick. Where were you? Were you here? A killer in his house; someone he trusted, he had feelings for, that he’d told about his life. Was everything you’d told him about yourself a lie? You didn’t remember anything, because there was nothing to remember. You’d killed someone, drugged yourself to make yourself look like a victim… watched the warehouse while the police did their work… but why? The why had him so confused. And it was a question he couldn’t answer. Meares wouldn’t put you in handcuffs until he had the whole story.

 But he heard the sound behind him all too late, and as he straightened to react you grabbed him. Meares didn’t really have time to struggle, you’d been watching him - and bless his heart he was struggling. With the truth - but he didn’t know the whole truth just yet. You placed your hand over his mouth to stop him from crying out and sunk that needle in; no hesitation in injecting the heavy sedative into his veins. “Figured it out yet… Detective?”

 ***

 Meares took a little longer to come around from the sedative than you’d have liked. No doubt it was the same one that you had used on yourself and your victim. Damn did he feel like an idiot. And drowsy. And have one hell of a pounding headache.

Didn’t take very many of his detective skills to figure out he was tied to a chair, hands bound too. He thought back to that first description; bruising and ligature marks. Looking around it seemed a little like he’d been put back in another warehouse. Though this one looked a little cleaner than the one he’d been investigating. Eventually his eyes fell on the figure approaching him; and Meares glared.

“You?!? It was you all along?!?” He sounded much more hurt than he wanted to, “Why would you do that?!?” You stopped a few feet from him, hands in your pockets, head tipped as you surveyed his body. It was slightly gratuitous, but he could hardly complain about it after what he’d been doing to yours. Meares supposed that he should be thankful he wasn’t naked. Then again...

You took a breath, and once again answered too honestly. “For you.” Meares squinted, disbelieving: “What the fuck!?” That made no sense. “Are you kidding!?” You shook your head, “Detective Meares I’ve been watching you for a very, very long time. And is it any wonder, just look at you.” You paused, biting your lip seductively. He hated to admit it was almost working, “...What better way to finally meet you? And the fact that you were the first man on the scene for me. Couldn’t have worked out better.” He swallowed, backing up as far as the chair and restraints would allow: “There’s better ways to get my attention.” “Oh, but it did... didn’t it. Get your attention.” You took a step back, but your eyes didn’t leave his, “Or I did.”

Meares face was illuminated fairly well by the dim lighting, and his cheeks flushed. Yes - but he’d only admit that in his head right now. Of course you’d caught his attention. Look at you. You were gorgeous.  ‘She’s a fucking killer though, Meares, c’mon!’ Although he wasn’t really listening to that reasoning anymore as his eyes flicked up and down your body once more. He found himself struggling against the restraints. You smirked, “I wouldn’t do that, they’re your handcuffs.” Meares did the unexpected and smirked back, with a raised eyebrow, “Little kinky?” You gave him a look of amusement, but disappeared for a moment into the gloom. That made him panic a little and strain against the cuffs and binds again. No luck.

When you returned you placed a stool in front of his chair and sat opposite him, twisting the keys to his cuffs around your finger. “You want out?” Meares stared at the keys for a long while, before looking back to your face, then the keys, and then your face once more. When that gorgeous blue returned to the keys, Meares took a deep breath; he wouldn’t lie, he was in two minds here. ‘What’s she gonna do if I say yes, actually this is weirdly turning me on. If it weren’t for the context I’d actually quite like her to be in charge if we’re gonna fuck?...’ His eyes returned slowly to your face but you recognised that swallow; you knew exactly where Meares’ mind was at and what you were doing to him. That man was craving you, even now. “What are you gonna do to me? You gonna kill me now?” “Nothing you won’t like.”

A shiver of excitement ran his spine and he cursed himself, the widening of your smirk meant you’d seen it, and the way his pupils dilated. “I want answers.” “I don’t think you do. You want means and motive. I saw opportunity and your jurisdiction.” “You drugged yourself, stripped naked and… no maybe that was for me.” You enjoyed the way that blush rose on his face again. “Yes, Although I wasn’t really meant to inject quite so much sedative. I’m sure your labs will figure I have enough immunity to have got back to the crime scene after stripping off before it kicked in. And yes, of course for you.” You tilted your head, arms folded for a second, “I didn’t meant to go that hard; and it did affect my memory momentarily.” “You’ve… also obstructed the course of justice.” “There was no attack for me to remember.” “And the guy you… lacerated?” You shrugged, “Just some guy.” “...You- he was a random vic?” “Not entirely, but I’m sure you know by now he won’t be missed.” “You can’t just… do things like that.” Meares’ look was hard, his tone disgusted. “No, but I did.” “You’re psycho-!” “Little emotional there, detective.” He scoffed, “You expect me not to be?!” His eyes narrowed and for a moment hurt genuinely flickered across his face: “I can’t believe I fell for you, can’t believe I slept with you. Holy shit what have I got myself into-!?” “I just told you…” Your voice softened, and you leant forward, hands on his knees you pushed his legs apart. That shade of red on his face got deeper as his eyes widened: “So what, we’re gonna hate fuck now?” Your head tipped and you said it almost sweetly, “Not exactly.”

For a moment you left your stool and sat between his feet, arms up over his left thigh you leant against leg, eyes almost pure and innocent. “Oh. FUCK!” He had to voice something in realisation, after all. “Baby…” You ran your fingers up his inner thigh and loved the way he tensed under you, “Just let me take care of you.” “Y-Y/N…” His breathing hitched, should he want this? Shouldn’t he watch this? This was certainly going to fuck up his case. If it wasn’t already fucked. “You’re so god damn sexy when you’re frustrated…” Your voice purred and his body threatened to shudder once more. Meares felt himself getting hot, and that feeling was very quickly travelling down his body. “Geez, will ya just do it?!” His voice a mixture of anguish and yearning. There was underlying lust there too you were certain to capitalise on. You were certain you’d probably let him go; you didn’t want to have to kill him… What he would do to you, you weren’t sure. But you knew the implications of his relationship with you to the case. Well, he had warned them.

 You smiled gently, eager to please, pulling the stool forward with your foot you sat back on it, leaning up to kiss him. “Do you want out of the cuffs?” He thought about his hands in your hair, about the control that would give him. “Mhm…” His voice wavered with what he was trying to hold back, you reached behind him and unlatched them, “Don’t worry, Detective, I trust you…” “I don’t know if I trust you,” then he smirked, “Angel Face.” You tsked him, giving him one last slow kiss, before your hands travelled to his belt, “I probably should have told you not to call me Angel… but that might have given it all away…” “Oh yeah…” Meares groaned at the sound of his zip coming undone and you sank back onto the stool properly. “That woulda done it…” You leant back on his knees, smile playful, “Just relax, Meares. Enjoy yourself.” “I’m not sure I’m gonna call it that right now.” You ran your tongue across your lips to wet them, “We’ll see, Detective… I’m sure you’ll find a way to appreciate this.” “Well…” He breathed deep again as you forced his legs a little wider, bringing his hands around, just itching to tangle in your hair, “Won’t say I won’t love the view…”

---

Cheers guys, I owe ya!  🤣

Just A Babysitter. (Part One)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: alcohol use

Context: (Y/n) lives/is close friends with the boys, and will do almost anything for them as she sees them as a family. However, since Star and Laddie joined the coven, she's felt a little distanced from them. (I say that the reader is female, but I'm pretty sure there is no explicit reference to gender that isn't easily overlooked, so it can apply to other readers, too.)

A/N: This started as a oneshot, but has now become a story of sorts, so I'll post it in parts. :))

Part Two , Part Three , Part Four , Part Five , Part Six , Part Seven , Part Eight

Irritation courses through me as Star drags me into the crowd of writhing bodies, the half-vampire laughing happily to both herself and Laddie, who is being pulled around by the hand, wincing when some greasy rocker tries to come closer to me even after only being there for two seconds, my elbow landing a hefty thump into his abdomen in order to get rid of him. The music is loud in my ears, though it isn't unpleasant at all, the heavy saxophone-laced rhythm lightening my mood a little as I start to move in time with it, keeping an eye on my two wards, especially Laddie, who has a tendency to run off. For a few minutes, we continue to enjoy the music before I feel her tense up beside me, someone having caught her rapt attention.

Looking over, I follow her line of sight to a brunette I don't recognise, the guy staring at her without abandon, even when who I presume to be his younger brother slaps his cheek. Instantly, I get a bad feeling about him, not trusting the way he eyes the girl beside me, no matter how endearing she may find it. I have the feeling she will try to lure him away from the crowd and make him her first kill; my hunch only confirmed when she passes Laddie off onto me and ducks out of the throng of dancers, leaving me to pick up her pieces again. Growling to myself, I swiftly lift the youngster onto my shoulders, putting on a false grin when he squeals in excitement, giving him some excuse about finding him some sweets back on the Boardwalk to get him to come willingly.

"Where'd Star go?" Laddie questions me, voice barely audible over the throbbing music.

"I don't know. Wanna go find her?" I respond, squeezing his legs gently when he assents, holding onto my head so he can steady himself. Ignoring the gradually building ache in my back, I follow the direction Star walked off into, giving the boy on my shoulders the strict instructions to keep an eye out for the half-vampire, offering him a chocolate bar as a reward.

Carefully, we make our way onto the Boardwalk, avoiding some of the more rowdy surfers and party-goers, my focus set on finding Star amongst the people lining the roads. It doesn't take me long, though I let Laddie point her out to me, allowing him the small burst of pride that likely accompanies the achievement, no matter how small it is. Heading over to her, I reach into my pocket and pass the boy the chocolate bar I always keep on me, smiling when he giggles in satisfaction, the sound of the wrapper being torn open quickly coming from above me.

"Hey Star. Find what you were looking for?" I greet, giving her a suggestive look when she acknowledges me, though it is obvious that she is still distracted.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I did." She replies, turning to walk away again, silently demanding that I follow her, knowing I can't disobey David's strict rules from before.

"Look! There's Dwayne and David! And Marko and Paul!" Laddie points out after a few minutes of navigating the heaving crowd, gesturing to the right to show us where he means, waving at the coven of vampires as we turn to approach them, my shoulders screaming for relief. Moments later, we break through the people blocking our view of them, greeting the laid-back vampires accordingly.

"Having fun?" Paul questions me in particular, knowing full well I hate having to watch over the irritating half-vampire, his voice teasing as he sends me a pointed look.

"Oh, tonnes." I respond dryly, letting Laddie down as Star climbs onto David's bike with him, wrapping her arms around his waist and looking at me with a small smirk on her face, the gesture inciting a pang of jealousy within me, before she glances off to the side, David following her gaze. Doing the same, I suppress the urge to roll my eyes as I recognise the brunette from earlier, instead focusing on helping Laddie onto Dwayne's motorbike, telling him to hold on tight. In response to this, Laddie smiles at me, Dwayne doing the same as he kicks his bike into gear, thankful that I did the job none of them wanted to do.

"Lets go, boys." David announces, looking at me expectantly, even though the term "boys" does not (necessarily) apply to me.

"I'll catch up." I mutter, before turning away and disappearing into the crowd, aiming for the bar at the edge of the Boardwalk, sighing as I hear the tell tale roaring of the motorcycle engines retreating over the cheerful music lingering in the air.

On my own, I manage to cut a path through the mass of people with decent success, quickly reaching my destination without any difficulty. Pushing open the door, I enter the dusky bar and head over to the counter, signalling for the bartender to take my order. By now, they all know my usual and will just prepare it for me without me having to ask, the tumbler of whiskey swiftly appearing before me, though I stop the blonde girl from leaving as she turns away.

"Leave the bottle, please." I request, pulling out enough money to pay for it from my jacket pocket, handing it to her in exchange for the large bottle of strong whiskey she places on the counter. Thanking her, I swill the liquid in my glass around for a few seconds, taking a drink when I'm satisfied with it, relishing in the burn that accompanies the flow of alcohol down my throat - none of them question my age anymore, not after the boys had a word with them.

I repeat this motion until the glass is empty, choosing to focus on that rather than the reality I face when I get home, back to the boys and their new half-vampire "friends". It shouldn't bother me, I know they all care for me and do their best to show me this, but something about Star and Laddie's sudden entrance to our way of life seems to make them forget this, most of my old friends' attention now lingering on them, rather than on me, like it used to. A bitter chuckle leaves me inadvertently as I think this, mentally calling myself selfish and pushing that last part down into the depths of my mind, knowing that I've had my fair share of attention from them in the past four or five years. I slam the glass on the table as the last of the amber liquid runs down my throat, shaking my head to snap myself out of my thoughts before heaving myself to my feet and walking out, taking the bottle of whiskey with me.

Upon leaving, I swiftly find my bike on the near-deserted Boardwalk, climbing onto it, only to take a moment to take a drink from the bottle in my hand, wincing as the strong alcohol burns its way down into my stomach. As I lower it, I notice a familiar brunette walking over to me, a curious expression on his face as he watches mine become one of confusion; it's not often that an interest of Star's wants to speak with me.

"Hey, can I help you?" I greet him as he finally arrives, looking him up and down a little to gauge his motive for approaching me.

"Err, yeah, I was just wondering where your friend is." The guy explains to me, frowning when I forget to disguise my eyeroll.

"Star? She isn't my friend." I correct him, not too willing to go into specifics with him.

"Star, huh? Nice name." He murmurs, almost to himself as if I'm not right there.

"If you like that kinda thing." I shrug dismissively, taking another drink from the bottle before offering it to him, giving him a small smirk when he accepts.

"Thanks," He says, returning the bottle to me as he continues, "You two aren't friends? You seemed pretty close earlier. You, her and those weird guys."

"Weird guys? Don't say that to their faces." I chuckle, grinning widely at him as he laughs in response, "I'm not close with Star, but the guys are my family, so I guess we're pretty close."

"Family? Like brothers or something?"

"Family in the non-biological sense of the word. They helped me through some tough times." I affirm, once again trying to avoid telling him the truth.

"Right. Well, do you know where they went?" The brunette questions me again, giving me another hopeful look.

"No, they never tell me anything anymore." I reply bitterly, even if the words are only half true, drinking again despite having to drive in a few minutes. What's life without a little risk, eh?

"I thought you said they were like your family?" He frowns at me again, believing that I'm holding something from him, which is entirely true.

"Yeah, but not even a family is completely truthful with one another." I remind him, deciding a stronger warning is needed, "Take it from me, of all the people you can hang with in this town, they should not be your first choice."

Yet more confusion etches itself onto his face at my words, going to say something before I cut him off.

"What's your name, by the way? I can pass it on to Star if I see her again tonight." I promise, though it is likely they will see each other again tomorrow, so there's not much point on my behalf.

"Oh, I'm Michael, or Mike for short." He informs me, smiling again as I reach out to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mike. I'm (Y/n)."

"Nice talking to you, (Y/n). Thanks for the advice."

"No problem." I laugh, looking at my watch briefly as I try to figure out the time, "Damn, I'd better get going, or the boys'll have my ass for breakfast."

Amused by my "figure of speech", Michael quickly says his goodbyes as I kick the bike into life, relishing in the feeling of the engine purring beneath me. Stashing the bottle in the compartment under the seat, I rev the motorcycle a little before applying he throttle, a delirious whoop of exhilaration escaping me as I charge off the Boardwalk and onto the most direct road to Hudson's Bluff, ignoring the angry protests of the civilians around me, concentrating on getting myself home instead.

Part Two

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“Stick a couple of bills here,” I hear Amber’s voice through the din of the dressing room.

“What are you guys doing?”  Sherry asks from somewhere behind me.

“Stormy said people are more likely to tip you if they see that you’ve already got some green on you,” Savannah answers, stuffing a couple of twenty bills in Amber’s top, pulling it down to reveal the pasties Amber’s glued on.

“Stormy’s full of shit,” I chime in. Stormy was a psychology undergrad and often believed she could use her classes to hustle a few extra dollars out of our guests.

“Well, it can’t hurt to try. Some asshole totaled my car and my insurance is only giving me a grand for it. Tell me what kind of car I can buy with that? Fucking HOA bitch breathing down my neck saying that it’s against the rules to have Suber driving through the gates.” Savannah says, pulling her own top down.

“What you should do is talk to Chianti when she comes in tonight,” Luxe answers, swiping her lips with bright red lipstick. “She’ll give you E for free if you take it in front of her.”

“Why would she do that?” Sherry asks.

“Because you’ll want to talk to the guys and let them touch you when you’re rolling. They end up staying longer and drinking more which means more tips for her.”

“And Mike is okay with it?” Savannah asks, doubtful.

“He must be, because she’s been doing it for months. Trust me, you’ll come out with a lot of money.” Luxe says, adjusting what appears to be a diamond choker around her neck. I watch as it catches the light in the dressing room, glittering. It doesn’t look fake.

I’m not the only one who notices; Sherry is also watching the other woman through her mirror. “You’re looking more dolled up that usual – What's the occasion?” She leans forward, smiling conspiratorially.

“An ex of mine is supposed to come in today and I want to remind him of what he’s been missing.” Luxe turns and makes sure that her skirt is short enough to show her thong underneath.

“Oh? You’re not holding off for you-know-who?”

I frown, “you-know-who" was clearly Bobbie Dominguez. The guy was a frequent visitor and had a running fling with several of the girls in the club, myself included. Not that any of us cared, he spent a lot of money on us and was very generous with gifts but he didn’t want you to see anyone else.  We’d had a fight last night because he had moaned Luxe’s name while in the private room with me – he had sent me a pair of red-bottoms I’d been eyeing as an apology. So, I’d forgive him, for now.

“Over my ex? Oh, God, no.” Luxe laughs. “My ex makes that guy look broke as fuck. Like, there’s not even a contest between the two.”

“Oh damn, for real?” Amber asks, squeezing in beside Sherry to check her make up. “Does he have a brother?” she jokes.  

“Two of them,” Luxe laughs. “If you want, I'll ask him if he'll bring the one that lives here the next time he comes out.”

There's a knock on the door, “You all decent in there?’ comes Mike’s voice from the other side.

I snort indelicately, we’re all strippers at his club; he sees us naked almost daily and still knocks. “Yes, Mike, we’re all dressed.” I answer.

“Good morning, Mikey,” Amber purrs but the man isn't paying attention. Instead, he's looking around the room and making notes of everyone that came in to pay house fees later.

He flips to the next page on his clipboard and looks to where we've gathered, “Good morning, ladies.” We all murmur our hellos, impatiently waiting to hear if we have any special assignments for the lunch shift. “I've already told the waitresses but, if any of our guests ask, you really love the steak today.”

“Any VIP reservations?” Luxe presses.

“Uh, yeah. One for Vegas. The guy booked three rooms at three hours each.”

My head swam, that was over five thousand dollars after the houses cut! “All for me?”

Mike shrugs his shoulders, “That's what he said.”

I could feel all the eyes in the room on me. “He knows that I don't have to do anything but dance if I don't feel like it, right?”

Mike holds up how hands, “I told him. I even told him that we don't do refunds and he said it was fine. I'll have Bruce outside the door in case he doesn't respect your choice.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, relieved. Bruce was 6’8” and built like a brick wall; men who felt like fighting quickly settled down when he approached. Nine grand was a lot of money to drop and not expect some sort of reward.

“That's it? Nothing for me?” Luxe tries, her pretty face scowling.

“Nope, that was it.” Mike says, adjusting his papers. “Okay, ladies-“

“What's the guy’s name? The one with the reservations?” She asks, her eyes narrowing at me. I narrow my eyes back at her, preparing to square up if need be – that bitch isn't going to come between me and my money!

“Luxe, you know I don't release that kind of information,” Mike sighs and starts for the door.

“Is his last name Volkov?”

Mike stops and turns to face the other woman, “You got a restraining order on the guy?” he asks, concern on his face.

“Can we talk? In private?” she asks and follows him out the door.

“Um, what was that?” Amber asks, hands on her hips. She's been trying to get Mike's attention ever since she's started here.

“Looks like Vegas bagged a rich one. Who is he?” Savannah asks, excitedly.

“I have no idea,” I shrug, “and I don't care either, but if that bitch thinks she's going to step in and take those reservations from me, I'll drag her ass out into the parking lot and make her eat the curb.”  

“I bet it's her ex,” Sherry cackles. “She was just saying how rich he was.”

“Oh shit,” Amber joins in laughing. “You really don’t know him?”

“I really don’t.” There are so many people in and out of the club – it’s possible I have met him but the name ‘Volkov’ didn’t ring any bells. Whatever was going on between him and Luxe would have to wait until after his appointment.

“Uh, Vegas?” Mike’s voice comes in and the other woman struts by, a triumphant look on her face. “Change of plans, I’m taking you off of the VIP rooms.”

“The fuck you will!” I roar, slamming a fist down on the vanity table, makeup clattering to the floor. The room is silent. I whirl around, knocking my chair over and grab the other woman by her hair, yanking down as hard as I could. Luxe stumbles backwards but catches herself and turns to face me. I let go of her hair and slap her, the noise of the contact is lost in the gasps throughout the room.

“LADIES!” Mike yells.

“Did you think I was going to let you come in and just take my money? Huh?! Think I was just going to sit back and do nothing?!”

“You don’t know anything about who you’re dealing with,” Luxe says, almost threateningly.

“Who? You? Please! What I do know is your little boyfriend doesn’t want you. He wants me. And, because you’re such a little bitch, Imma fuck him in the room – you can watch in the back. He’ll ask for me every single time.” This earns me the rise I want out of her. She reaches back to strike me but she’s slow and telegraphs her moves. I dodge back and spit in her face, making the other woman recoil and snarl in anger.

We grab each other’s hair and grapple, both of us trying our best to topple the other over. The room erupts in a chorus of laughter and squeals. “VEGAS! Please, this is for your own safety!” Mike tries again to stop our fight through words alone, but I’m not going to stop until the other woman is on the ground, motionless.

“She’s not doing it for me, dumbass! You think she’d really stick her neck out if he was dangerous?” I go to grab for her neck and she knocks my hand away – to her big earrings. I take the gold hoop into my fist and pull, the other woman screaming and being led forward to save herself from having it pulled through her lobe. “I’ll show you who you should be scared of!”

“Goddammit!” Mike swears and pushes between the two of us, using his body to break up the fight. “Stop! She says the guy’s heavy in the Russian Mob. I could only find articles from 50 years back, but it’s the same last name.”

“So?! Who you think he’s going to be mad at when she comes in instead of me? Think he’s going to pay the $9000 for the rooms? This bitch is trying to take money from both of us because she’s upset her boy don’t want to spend it on her.” I point at the other woman who doesn’t meet my eyes, rubbing on a rapidly bruising cheek.

Mike looks away, thinking it over. I use his distraction to kick at Luxe, knocking her to the floor. “Aw, hell – Vegas!” He wraps his arms around me, pinning mine to my sides so I can’t take a swing. I try to kick at the woman to get one last shot as he drags me away. “This is why I was going to give it to her, I can’t trust you not to start shit.”

“I’ll definitely start shit if you give it to her. Give it back to me, I’ll be sweet as sugar.”

i fall to pieces: chapter one - roger taylor x fem!reader

N/A: Hey! This is just the first chapter of this little mini series I’ll do. I was intending on doing a big ass one shot but I can’t force myself to finish it so I decided to post what I have and see if there’s actually any interest on reading this. It’s a 80s Roger x Stripper!Reader, in case the little banner didn’t gave it away. Let me know your opinion and reblog the fic if you liked it <3

N/A2: I edited this myself, so pardon me if there’s any grammar mistake or incoherence! (Doesn’t excuse me but) English it’s not my first languaje.

Summary:  When Y/N, a dancer at the Blue Velvet stripclub mets rockstar Roger Taylor, she’s torn between mistrust and flirting shamelessly but little by little they find a way to each other’s heart.

Warnings: There’s no smut in this bc i’m not up for it but there will be a few references to sex.

Words: roughly 3K

“Bring you ass here, Laura!” exclaimed Coco and you rejected the various shots that Laura offered you before she walked to Coco with a simple gesture of your hand. Applying the deep wine lipstick carefully, you smile in different ways in the mirror to try to get into this persona you had created for the club.

Working on the club night after night was taking its toll over you, and you were in desperate need of a vacation but you wouldn’t dare to ask Mike about it. Your rent was due in a week and you still needed a few pounds to get the amount of money you needed.

Maybe I should go on that date with that guy, Tate, you think. You already know him and how his crushes tended to go for the girl he had put his eye on—The fortunate chosen one would end up with a new shiny pair of brand shoes and a gold bracelet or a diamond necklace, all of that without even sleeping with him. Of course, those who did sleep with him could get a whole lot more but that wasn’t something that you were thrilled for— and he was certainly interested in you.

You walk out of the dressing room. The club wasn’t yet at its fullest, as it was fairly early yet. The lights, however, were starting to get lowered and soon the place would be bathed in blue and red.

“Busy night, Karma?” asks the new barmaid, Matt, you think. He’s been trying to get into your pants ever since he started to work, but you never pay him any attention.

“Not yet, Matthew,” you reply, passing by without looking at him and walking straight to a group of three men drinking beer and watching to one in particular.

They seem delighted with your presence as if you had chosen them for some special reason. By the end of two songs, you’re fifty pounds richer. It’s not the most you can get, but you’re tired and at this point of the week you don’t even care.

You walk to the bar and observe the club. It wasn’t the fanciest place, but it felt cheery enough for you after all this time. Sometimes it scared you how comfortable you felt there but you had to remember why you had started to work in a place like this.

A group of men enters, laughing at some joke probably, and they stumble to one of the black velvet sofas. As a dancer of the well-known Blue Velvet strip club—or as the owner preferred to call it ‘gentleman’s club’—, it wasn’t uncommon to see band members around. The almost-naked girls were beautiful and the alcohol was the good kind if you had the money, who wouldn’t be attracted to come? So when you recognise at least two of them as Roger Taylor and John Deacon, you’re not surprised.

You walk to the pole that’s right in front of them and start dancing, without looking at them at first, just to catch their attention. Bet they’re good money, you through, lucky me.

Much to your surprise, Roger requests for a private dance, just for him. That flattered you; you wouldn’t deny it. Rockstars usually picked someone else—like Ginger, with her long legs and big ass, or Coco, who had straight blonde hair and nice tits.

Of course, you had your charms, but usually, you would give private dances for rich and boring businessmen in suits. Never someone as exciting as Queen’s drummer.

With his blonde hair, mischievous blue eyes, and delicate yet strong features, he was, by far, the most attractive man you had ever met.

Despite your nervousness, you flashed him a flirty smile that he returned as you led him to a private room. He sits down on the black leather couch while you pour him a glass of whiskey.

“You don’t drink?” He says, taking a gulp and licking his lips afterward. You shake your head no with a little smile.

“I don’t drink while working, Mr. Taylor.”

He asked you then to not call him mister, to which you replied with a smile and an amused ‘yes, sir.’

“What’s your name?”

“Karma,” you replied simply, walking to the little selection of vinyl you had to play. “Do you like Pink Floyd? Or maybe Led Zeppelin?”

You know there’s a lot of magazines that gather trivial information like what’s his favourite band, or book, and even actress, but you never bother to buy them. You’re not greatly interested in keeping up with the life of any rockstar, to be honest. You’re quite busy trying to keep up with your own life.

He cocks his head slightly to the side, thinking for a moment before ignoring your question. “Why did you pick it?”

You weren’t bothered by his curiosity, although not many had asked you about it. 

You had earned your nickname in your first week when you slapped a guy when he tried to undress you himself. Whereas some of the girls believed you would be instantly fired, the owner warned you against taking the matter into your own hands next time and let it slide, saying you had to call security next time—unless it was urgent.

To the exception of a few regular clients, who had already heard the story, men usually came to ogle over your body and not to learn anything about you.

“Because I’ll punch anyone who has it coming,” you reply.

“When is that?”

“When someone tries to piss me off trying to get way too handsy when I don’t allow it,” you say with a light and joyous tone. Oh, how you would be happy to throw a punch or two to some idiots that believed that could touch with no consequences because you were wearing little clothes. You had gained pretty much all of your patience just working here.

He took the glass to his mouth again to cover a nascent smile, but you notice the corner of his lips curving upwards. 

It made you smile as well.

Despite the more than a generous tip that Roger gave you, you didn’t think he would come back and were pleasantly surprised to see him again two weeks later.

There was a certain lustful glow on his deep blue eyes, and you would lie if you said that the prospect of having his hands all over you didn’t send a jolt of desire straight to your core.

So you decided to end your dance by sitting on his lap, giving him a proper view of your almost naked tits, and taking his hands to slide them to your ass. 

A little flirting never hurt anyone, you think.

He grinned at you. “You’re not gonna hit me, right, love?”

“Of course not, sir.”

He squeezed your ass and you grinded against him trying your best to follow the rhythm of the music.

“When does your shift end?”

You almost stop on your tracks at the question but you laugh softly instead.

“We only provide dancing services, sir. Don’t let your hands on my ass confuse you,” you replied teasingly, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t seem offended by the insinuation on your word’s choice but instead amused.

“I was planning on wine and dine you.”

This time you do stop moving and look at him, slowly getting out of his lap and standing in front of him. The music keeps playing, but you don’t move at all as you watch him carefully, searching for any hint of…

What were you looking exactly? Something in his eyes that gave away his true intentions, probably, since you always guided yourself by your mistrust when it came to people, especially men who were older than you.

“You did, huh?”

He’s obviously only interested in seeing what’s down the skimpy lingerie, right?

But he seems sincere, so you smile. “Fine.”

“Can I get your real name now, love? I think I deserve to know with whom I am having dinner,” he asked, and you rolled your eyes, but smiled, nonetheless.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” The way he said your name, like savouring every syllable in his tongue, made your heart give a little jump on your chest. “Nice.”

Despite Roger’s best efforts to impress you and convince you to stay a night at his place, it takes two dates more before you finally agree to do so.

It’s not that you aren’t impressed you have enjoyed very much the expensive wine and fancy restaurants, but you truly enjoy his company and there’s this feeling that if you sleep with him once you will never see him again.

Not that you can see getting involved in a romantic relationship with him, but if you can just spend time with Roger, then you would take the most advantage out of it you could. 

“Sit down, put yourself comfortable,” he says, walking into what you assume it’s the kitchen and you nod.

You observe the spacious place. The walls are painted with a warm cream colour, which doesn’t exactly match the wooden furniture, like the shelving on the corner. You’re surprised to see the great number of books and before you realise you’re standing in front of the shelving, caressing delicately a book spine.

You take one out and look at the cover. On the road by Jack Kerouac. 

“That’s one of my favourites,” Roger’s voice says on your ear and you jump a little on your spot, which makes him smile. “Have you read it?”

“No. I was about to buy it once, but I choose another,” you say, opening a random page and reading whatever it catches your attention.

«"I love love," she said, closing her eyes, and I promised her beautiful love.”»  You smiled. Would it be just a coincidence that you had read exactly that paragraph?

“What’s so funny?” he asks and you read it out loud for him. Roger looks into the nothing, his blue gaze deep in thought. 

“That’s a good chapter,” he says simply and you nod, without knowing what to say. 

Had been reading something like that a too-bold of a movement? You didn’t expect anything from him, you couldn’t have the luxury to fantasize about him. A few dates can’t mean anything, do they?There’s a strange shift in the air, and you hate it. Ten minutes ago you were laughing and whispering silly things on the corridor while trying to open the flat’s door.

“Do you have something to drink?” you say softly.

“You can keep the book if you want,” Roger said and you looked at the book on your hands. It’s in good condition, which means it’s either new or he hasn’t read it that many times, but he said it’s his favourite and you feel a little bad thinking about taking it.

 “Oh, no, that’s fine. I couldn’t,” you say, shaking your head and leaving the book on its place.

“If you don’t want to keep it, you can borrow it.”

“I’ll think about it. Now, what about that drink, uh?”

“Yeah, yeah. You like white wine?”

“Actually, do you have something without alcohol?” you ask, sheepishly, and he nods. 

“Of course. You like Cola?”

You both sit down on the couch, facing each other, and drinking.“Y’know, we have been in three dates but I don’t think I know much about you,” he says and you bit your lower lip softly, which only brings his attention to your lips. He’s making conversation before fucking or is interested in knowing you? Men usually weren’t interested in hearing whatever you had to say, it was the sad truth and you had already gotten used to it. 

“Nothing worth of telling you, to be honest,” you shrug, taking a sip of your drink. 

“That’s a load of crap, and I don’t buy it,” he replies and you smile, before leaving the glass on the little coffee table. Getting closer to him, you finally connected your lips to his. It tastes of wine and the cigarette that he had been smoking earlier while driving.

“Let’s go to your bedroom,” you whisper before deepening the kiss. He pulls apart, getting up and taking your hand to lead the way. Chit chat can come later if he still wants to be around after fucking. 

You’re the first to wake up the next morning so you try to be as quiet as possible as you roll out of bed and go to the toilet to refresh yourself a little. You wash your face, trying to get rid of the eyeshadow under your eye as much as possible, and after you’re satisfied you tie your hair on a loose ponytail. 

You’re already dressed, so all you need to do is get your bag and coat, write him a note or say goodbye if he’s awake and leaves. You open the toilet door and go to the living. Just as you’re putting on your coat, Roger gets out of the kitchen with a water bottle on his hand and smiles at you like he’s thinking gotcha.

“Stay for breakfast?”

“I got things to do,” you lie quickly. Roger raises an eyebrow, probably questioning your answer. 

You’re one to value honesty but right now, you can’t bring yourself to spend more time with him. He’ll start to ask questions and that’s the last thing you want, as much as you like his company.

“Really? I’m starting to think you’re just using me for sex,” he says, with mocking hurt and you try not to smile. 

“That’s a low blow,” you accuse.“What you got?”

“Coffee, toast and pop tarts,” he recites with closed eyes like he’s mentally looking through his cupboard. 

You think he probably doesn’t have a lot of food right now since it’s the last days of the months. You wondered if someone did shopping for him and when was the last time he did? Did he ever do that? Was he able to do it now, being famous and all? 

“What flavour?” 

“Strawberry?”

“I want two,” you demand. Roger just nods with a smile. 

You walk inside the kitchen and sit on a stool by the breakfast bar and observe Roger preparing breakfast. He’s wearing a white shirt and black sweatpants; his hair is dishevelled but it gives him certain charm.

“You slept well?” Roger asks, placing your coffee in front of you. 

“Yeah, I think I can confidently say your bed is the most comfortable I’ve slept in.”

“You’re welcomed in again whenever you please,” he winks, taking a sip of his tea.

“Shut up,” you reply, taking a bit of your pop tart but you’re smiling.

“I’m serious, though, I’d love to repeat that. Dinner included, of course.”

“We’ll see,” you just say.

A long beat happens before you speak again. “Why are you so interested in me?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he says, sipping on his cup.

You sigh. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, I’m just saying it’s strange.”

He raises an eyebrow, and his blue eyes are inquisitive, looking at your face like he could find on your eyes the answer to your constant changes between being apprehensive and flirting shamelessly. “Why?”

“Because I- I thought men like you wouldn’t be interested in someone like me?”

“Someone like you?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think I can be interesting and, maybe, a good company but you could be with anyone you want,” you state like it’s obvious like it’s the kind of thing every man with a highly successful career thinks.

“And I want to spend my time with you, guess it’s because you’re good company,” he states, matter of factly but your expression must give away that you’re not so convinced so he takes one of your hands and interlocks your fingers.

“Look, I like you and as long as you’re willing to entertain my interest on you, I’m gonna keep asking you out.”He looks at your hands for a second before looking up to see you smiling down at him.

“Fine. I like you too, you know?”

“I know,” he replies with a cheeky smile.

“But I gotta go,” you say and he lets go of your hand. 

“Can I pass to the toilet?“

“Go ahead, you know where it is.”

After you’re done, you get out of the toilet to put your coat on and get your purse. However, you’re not exactly sure of how to say goodbye, so you stand awkwardly in front of him, close by the door.

“C’mere,” he chuckles, softly pushing you flush against him and cradling your face to kiss your lips with delicately.

“See ya soon, love.” He opens the door and you step outside on the corridor.

“Goodbye, Rog. Thanks for yesterday, I enjoyed it very much,” you smile.

He grins. “Well, of course ya did.”

“Don’t get too cocky now, Taylor, you lean towards him, your mouth close to his ear. “It wasn’t me begging last night, after all,” you whisper and kiss his cheek quickly, like fearing being seen, and start walking to the elevator.

He watches you with a smile until the elevator door closes.