#i go back and forth on whether the pun in the summary is a good idea

[princesssarcastia]

ALRIGHT NERDS it's reveal time. here's the fic i wrote for the rare pair exchange, the very first fic exchange i've ever participated in. it is the second-longest thing i've ever written and published for fandom, which is crazy.

Fandom: Mission: Impossible

Word count: 14,491

Pairing: Ilsa Faust/Ethan Hunt/William Brandt

SUMMARY:

Ilsa "dies" and has to find a place to lay low, outside of the narrative. There, she finds Will. He's spent years trying to make a home there, unsuccessfully—until now. Meanwhile, with the ever-watchful eyes of the Entity trained on him, Ethan pines desperately, wordlessly, so hard he might as well put down roots and call himself an evergreen.

Written for the lovely and prolific @brendaonao3; i DID geek out a little when i got the assignment, ngl. big fan of your top gun stuff!

[miraculousluvbug]

WINGLESS | Ch. 2

***WARNING: Season 4 Spoilers Ahead

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: Of all the people Rena could let slip that she knows Ladybug's identity in front of . . . it had to be Chat Noir.

< < < THREE MONTHS AGO < < <

Ladybug swung from building to building, the exhilaration of a job well done fueling the fire in her veins. Traffic it would seem had resumed immediately, the sounds of wheels on pavement and cars obnoxiously honking ricocheting throughout the city’s architecture. This didn’t surprise Ladybug, seeing as the city had grown quite accustomed to akumas blocking the roads. Once the tips of her toes touched a rooftop, it wasn’t long before she was joined by another pair of boots.

“That went well,” commented Ladybug as she swiveled to face her teammate.

Rena Rouge folded her arms across her chest and popped a hip, lips puckered in a frown. “Are you kidding, girl?”

Ladybug’s face fell. No, she wasn’t kidding. She honestly had felt it went well. Was she missing something? Did a disaster strike while she was focused on her lucky charm? Had her Miraculous ladybugs not corrected all of the damage? Were there civilians hurt somewhere--

Abruptly, Rena clapped her hands on Ladybug’s shoulders and squealed, putting a halt to Ladybug’s internal meltdown. “That went amazing! We’re like a well-oiled machine, you and me. I still can’t believe I get to do superhero stuff!” At the sound of Alya’s impromptu shrieking, some pigeons nearby took flight, cooing what Ladybug imagined was a bird version of crotchety old people grumbling. Not even the least bit deterred, Rena leaned forward into Ladybug’s personal bubble, eyes wide with excitement. “But what I really can’t believe is that I’m doing it all with my best friend!”

Ladybug relaxed her posture and let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. But she quickly regretted it when she got a nice, big whiff of crepes, urine, and cigarette smoke. Ah, Paris. Home, sweet home. However, noticing her thoughts were veering dangerously offtrack, Ladybug shook herself mentally.

So nothing had gone wrong. Rena was just being Rena and drawing out the suspense. Ladybug patted her friend’s right hand--which was still firmly squeezing her shoulder--and smiled sweetly.

“It sure is convenient that I don’t have to hide from you anymore,” the spotted-heroine remarked. “I think half the time I took so long to get to a battle because I always had to come up with excuses.”

Rena grinned with a knowing glint in her eye. “I might be impressed if your excuses were actually good.”

Rolling her eyes, Ladybug turned away from Rena, causing Rena’s hands to fall to her sides. “Hey, you try having to come up with five hundred different reasons you have to flake on your friends and see if you fare any better.”

Rena was about to sass her best friend some more, but the words caught in her throat at the sight of Ladybug hugging herself. She recognized this stance. Ladybug’s head was in what Rena deemed the “Guilt Grotto.”

Rena stepped forward to wrap Ladybug in a warm, girl-you-better-get-your-head-out-of-the-guilt-grotto-or-I’ll-tickle-you embrace when there was movement across the rooftops in her periphery. She craned her head to the right to find the familiar silhouette of Chat Noir vaulting his way over, a goofy grin clearly plastered across his face the closer he got.

In a matter of seconds, he landed squarely beside Ladybug, startling her. Ladybug, the epitome of grace that she was, did a series of awkward hand gestures before falling back on her bum, shrieking.

Chat Noir didn’t even look a teeny bit remorseful.

“Looks like I got here just in time!” he quipped, bowing and sliding his baton back into place on his suit.

Rena held out a hand for her friend as Ladybug voiced her question: “In time for what?”

Chat bounced on the balls of his feet. “Well, for the akuma, of course! You guys were having a quick team meeting, right?”

Rena and Ladybug shared a look. So that’s what he was so happy about. Ladybug opened her mouth to reply, but Rena beat her to it.

“Actually, we already took care of the akuma.”

Chat Noir visibly deflated. His ears drooped and his belt tail started to swish back and forth. “Oh.” He turned to the edge of the rooftop and hunkered down, letting his legs kick to and fro in an attempt to get rid of some of the adrenaline.

Ladybug winced. Chat did not sound happy. Hesitantly, she sat next to him. Rena then took a seat beside her, making her the middle. “Sorry, Chat. I know you like battling akumas more than I do.”

Chat nodded before murmuring, “Thirteen.”

“Hm?” Ladybug scooted closer to him to hear him better, their legs nearly touching. She leaned to her right to get a better look at his face and tilted her head innocently. If she were Marinette then, she might have fallen off the rooftop altogether, but she was Ladybug, and Ladybug had way more poise.

Chat didn’t answer immediately. Whatever it was that he was about to say, Ladybug knew it must be something important if he, the guy who was always upfront about his feelings, found it difficult to say. The guy who told her . . .

It’s precisely when something is important that it’s important to say it.

No matter what.

Ladybug gingerly rested a hand on his arm, hoping he understood what the gesture meant. It’s okay. Take your time. I’m ready to listen.

After a few more moments of staring at his feet, Chat Noir lifted his head so his eyes bore into Ladybug’s. They creased with . . . Was that worry? Sadness? Fear?

“Thirteen,” he repeated, a bit louder. “That makes it thirteen times you and Rena have battled an akuma without me. Since Montparnasse Tower.”

Ladybug was speechless. As she stared ahead, eyes unfocused, she tried her hardest to recall all the akuma battles. It was challenging as her memory loved to fail her when she needed it most. Had he really not been in any of those battles? Had it really been thirteen times?

Had he . . . had he really been keeping count?

Ladybug didn’t know what to say, but she knew she had to say something, anything. But what could she say? Was she sorry?

No, she couldn’t be sorry that the akumas had been defeated, that the victims had been rescued, that she had been able to do so quickly because Alya had been spending a record amount of hours by her side.

She couldn’t be sorry about any of that. She was only sad that he felt sidelined.

That was not her intention.

But she knew what the solution to that was.

And she would rather die before she let Chat Blanc see the light of day.

Somehow, knowing her identity had led to him being akumatized. Somehow, whether it was in an alternate timeline or when their memories had been wiped by Oblivio, she knew that what he said at Montparnasse Tower--that to know him was to love him--was truth. And Chat Blanc had told her what their love did.

Their love destroyed the world.

Their love had killed her.

Their love broke the moon, for crying out loud.

But, most importantly, their love hurt him.

Chat Noir had told her he loved her, many times, and she had even been considering giving his pun-spurting, jokes-at-the-worst-times self a chance. But being forced into combat with her akumatized partner had violently squashed any hope she had for them, for LadyNoir as Alya coined it on her blog. Ladybug would be damned if she allowed that to happen again. And if that meant encouraging him to move on even though it broke her heart . . .

Well, it wasn’t supposed to be easy being a hero.

Ladybug had this entire conversation with herself in a matter of seconds. She was careful not to let her face expose any of her innermost feelings, instead sporting an expression of neutrality. What she ultimately decided to do was tell him the only truth she had to offer. He hated secrets and she hated lying. What a pair they made.

“I wish it could be different,” she whispered.

And oh, how she did. She desperately yearned to tell him who she was, to know who he was, to tell him about Alya and Nino and all the other people she had entrusted with a Miraculous.

She wanted him to know how she grew up, what kinds of things she did at school, how she was utterly ridiculous when it came to her rotten luck (and she tried very hard to push a certain blue-eyed blonde out of her head the moment that phrase came to mind). She was sure he would snicker at all the times she made a fool of herself in front of Adrien, of all the ways she made her own life a living hell with her clumsiness.

Or perhaps he wouldn’t laugh. Perhaps he would pat her shoulder and uplift her with words of encouragement. She didn’t know. After the stunt he pulled with the balcony of candle-lit roses, the boy was a wild card, an enigma. He was complex.

And it thrilled her.

But no matter how she felt about him, they couldn’t know each other that way.

Sighing quietly, Ladybug brought her knees up to her chest and turned away from Chat Noir. If she had been watching him when she responded, she might have seen him look longingly at her, but she didn’t.

Rena Rouge did, though.

Wanting to make her friends feel better, Rena added, “Don’t you worry your pretty kitty head about it. I’m sure all those battles would have taken way longer if we weren’t already together.”

Ladybug and Chat Noir both stiffened. Chat’s gaze flicked from Rena to his partner over and over before they finally rested on Ladybug. “Uh, what does she mean by that?”

Ladybug shot a glare in Rena’s direction, but her eyes softened when she saw that Rena genuinely appeared surprised.

He didn’t know? Rena’s eyes asked Ladybug.

He didn’t know, Ladybug’s affirmed.

One would think Rena was Lady Luck because her pendant had decided that that moment was the best time to beep, and she couldn’t agree more. Now she had an escape route from this conversation. “Welp,” she clapped her hands together, “I’m gonna go chill in that fine-lookin’ alley over there.”

Before Ladybug could agree, Rena sprang from her spot and promptly disappeared. She was a regular magician, and her latest trick was leaving Ladybug with a rabbit to put back in the hat.

Or, er--a cat back in the bag. Whatever.

“What she meant by that . . . ” Ladybug began slowly, like she was addressing a wounded animal. Which, maybe she was but just, you know, emotionally wounded.

“Yeah . . . ” prompted Chat, signalling that he was not going to drop this.

Ladybug quickly jumped to her feet and began her ritual of frantic pacing. “Look, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while, but I didn’t know how to because I knew it would raise questions that I couldn’t answer--”

A blonde boy in white leather with somber blue eyes appeared in front of her and she dug her heels into the cement, skidding to a stop.

Chat Noir was behind Ladybug now, his voice soft and curious. “Bug?”

Ladybug was frozen in place for a few more seconds before she shook her head hard enough to give herself shaken-baby syndrome and nodded, satisfied that the aggressive head-shaking had rid her of he who shall not be named. She whipped around and started.

Chat Noir was incredibly close.

She didn’t know he had gotten this close.

Geez, his eyes were really cat-like.

He also had a really cute nose--

Ladybug, FOCUS!

Ladybug took a step back. She made it her mission to ogle his bell instead of looking into his dumb kitten eyes. “You--” she began, but Ladybug’s throat was suddenly dry. She gulped. “You know how much I hate secrets and lying. And I know how much you hate secrets and lying. So I’m not going to lie to you. But I may not be able to answer the questions I’m sure you’ll have, so please . . . ”

Ladybug grabbed one of his hands then and held it firmly between her own, pleading with every fiber of her being that this would communicate how much he meant to her even though she knew what she was about to tell him would make it seem like he didn’t mean anything.

Please forgive me, Ladybug’s heart supplied.

When he didn’t immediately take his hand back, she looked up at him. She looked into those dumb kitten eyes and knew without a shadow of a doubt--

She was a masochist.

This was going to hurt. He didn’t like when she was the only one to know Rena’s identity. He definitely wasn’t going to like that Rena knew hers. This would be so much easier if she wasn’t ogling those big, emerald green, beautiful, brazenly dumb kitten eyes.

But she was a masochist. And she needed to see them while they still held love for her.

“I told Rena Rouge who I am.”

There. She ripped off the band-aid. Straight to the point. Zero room for interpretation. After all, her worst arguments started because of her clumsy miscommunication.

Ladybug braced herself for an explosion. She had played this moment in her head a couple hundred times since exposing herself to Alya.

Yelling. There was always yelling.

Sometimes, he stomped away while doing that weird T pose where his fists didn’t connect to his hips . . . a pose she herself was guilty of, too.

Others, he chastised her about her thoughtlessness--to which she responded that she definitely thought about it long and hard that day.

Ladybug braced herself for an explosion because she was sure there was going to be one, especially after seeing him upset about her always running off to Master Fu. He hadn’t even known there was a Guardian for a while.

What she hadn’t braced herself for was the expression on his face.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

His head was bowed.

His eyes were closed.

A lone tear slid down his cheek.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Her heart thudded against her ribcage, screaming at her to run because he wanted her Miracul--!

No! She refused to finish that thought.

Her head yelled back that he wasn’t akumatized right now, that she wasn’t back there, that she wasn’t with him. She desperately tried to shove the image from her mind. This was more than she could bear. She just--she couldn’t take it! She couldn’t take it because . . .

Because . . .

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Because he looked just like him.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

He looked like Chat Blanc.

-----

Heya! Thanks for reading. ❤ Check out my Instagram for Wingless updates. I'm also posting pieces of a Wingless cover with each chapter update!

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[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct: Chapter 6

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6200 (yup, the words ran away from me!)

Warnings: Language, mention of death.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

To an untrained eye, need and love are as easily mistaken for each other as the real master's painting and a forgery.

Deb Caletti

Chapter 6

A low lit room- more fitting of an old jail than an art lock up- surrounds you with cool air that tickles the tiny hairs on the back of your bare neck, as you bend over double, digging through the equipment in the abyss of your bag. A gap forms between the waist of your jeans and t-shirt, revealing the tiniest bit of the lace edging from your bra band- a tantalising fact that catches Marcus’ breath, alerting you to his presence, “Hey, you ok?” you ask straightening up, “Did you find something?”

“Yeah, uh sorry. Think I just had a bit of dust in my throat,” Marcus stammers, utterly thrown by that glimpse of your underwear, as he tries to clear his throat and remember the reason he was standing in front of you, “So, uh, yeah, um- we found a couple of signatures from Paul Guillaume and Albert C Barnes- weren’t they the guys we had to look out for?”

Looking over the papers with your cotton gloves still on, you pour over the shaping of the letters that made up the signatures of the possible previous owners, “I dunno. I’m not convinced- the positioning of the letters seem odd- like a crude rendition of someone’s signature. Almost like someone’s faking their mum’s signature to get out of PE class. Only the thing is, you know the movement of your mum’s hand as she signs something because you’ve watched her do it a million times before. Those signatures do not seem real to me, personally.”

Marcus’ eyebrows raise as he crosses his arms, desperately trying to hide the smile that was creeping across his face. “You faked your mom’s signature a lot?”

“Poacher turned gamekeeper,” Élodie remarks as she crosses between the two of you, straightening your t-shirt up where it has caught upon the back of your jeans.

Marcus tries not to let his disappointment show. Calm down, Pike, you’re hardly a horny seventeen year old. But that was how you made him feel and certainly the uncomfortable pressure building in his jeans might prove otherwise.

“I don’t think we will necessarily manage to get this solved today,” you begin, “The section that Élodie looked at dates it reasonably within the time period but those signatures are now tingling my spidey senses. It’s probably going to need to be sent for further investigations at a proper lab. I’m about to look at it using the stereomicroscope- do you want to have a look with me?”

Marcus nods eagerly, earning a grin from you, and you start setting up the pieces you need- ensuring that the video camera is linked to your iPad so Marcus can see everything you are looking at in real time along with you.

Marcus drifts closer to the painting. You haven’t seemed to notice his closeness yet, and he half hopes you don't, as from where he’s standing the aromatically pleasing scent of your shampoo wafts dreamily from the dark shimmer of your hair.

“So tell me more about this piece. I love listening to you speaking about art. You make it seem like I’m looking over the artist’s shoulder as they’re painting it.” Marcus remarks, smiling when he notices the flush creeping over your cheeks that his words bring.

Impressed by your decision to play into his words rather than focus on how awkward you feel at the compliment, he loves how you fan yourself and flutter your eyelashes at him, “Monsieur, you flatter me! Well, looking at this piece it’s not difficult to imagine that Soutine may have had a longstanding beef with food. Though he was fascinated by food and frequently painted these edible arrangements, this stands as one of his most memorable and dare I say, raw interpretations.”

At these terrible puns, Marcus pretends to drum, “Ba da boom tish!”

“Do not encourage her!” Jacques shouts from the other side of the room where he is labeling the bags for the slide samples that Élodie had been collecting, “Once you acknowledge one pun, she’ll ensure that everything she says has one. Queen Nush of the dad jokes!”

“So at the meat of Soutine’s obsession,” Marcus half-snorts, half-groans, intending to encourage you as you add, “You find that a combination of not having anything to eat due to extreme poverty and using what food the family did have to practice Kosher traditions is largely to blame for his playing with his food rather than eating it.”

Marcus watches you flick through your phone so as not to interrupt the finally clear feed from the stereomicroscope focussing on how you bite your lip. You quickly google the Rembrandt that you want him to look at. “The remains of this omnivorous…”

“Oh you’re still gonna continue with that theme, yeah?” Marcus’ feels his lips curve at your humour, shaking his head at the ridiculous word play.

“Oh, I can keep this going all day,” you say with the cheekiest of winks, and Marcus hopes you will.

*****

“Omnivorous obsession,” you continue, “was based on his adoration of Rembrandt whose 1655 Flayed Ox was frequently salivated over by Soutine on his regular visits to the Louvre. Rembrandt’s carcass is noted for its vivid colors but when compared to Soutine’s, which was coated almost daily with fresh buckets of blood by his assistant, Rembrandt seems downright dull. The smell of rotting beef and fresh blood became so oppressive that neighbours called the police, who almost threw away the fermenting flesh before, what I can only assume was the Frankenstein-esque assistant, shooed them away like so many flies covering a carcass.”

“Always with the focus on the graphic elements of art,” Jacques calls out with a snort at your zombie-like impression before receiving a sharp nudge to his ribs to focus on the job Élodie has asked him to complete.

“Art is just a reflection of the things that humanity finds interesting and what can be more interesting to a temporal being than their own mortality or that of the creatures and objects that surround it?” At this statement, you tug Marcus’ coat sleeve away from the piece to come and look at the feed you have set up for him, “Come on you, we’d better focus or Élodie will have my guts for garters for not concentrating on what I should be doing!”

Marcus allows you to lead him over to a black metal folding chair to look at the feed, “So what are we looking for, Mademoiselle Pathologist?”

“Hah, did you just call her mademoiselle? She’s too old for that!” Élodie shouts in your direction.

Refusing to respond verbally to Élodie’s rudeness, you flick a finger up at her and turn back to Marcus, “Madame Pathologist will do- I am comfortable with my age. So what we are looking for are any bits of difficult to detect damage, fading, repairs and the ways paints and other coatings are distributed. Also if there are any strange fibres that we can spot using the double lens.”

Hovering the microscope over the bottom left hand corner, you start to scan the piece, “So what we’re looking for are any irregularities that we might not have picked up on a first scan that Élodie did to take the samples. The stereomicroscope helps us to understand the art in more 3D terms- so we can see something that generally looks flat becomes a landscape of hills and valleys.”

“Why’ve you chosen that corner to start?” Marcus probed inquisitively, wondering as to whether there’s method in your madness.

“Just felt like it!” You shrug and snort at his look of mock horror. “Nah, it’s where the signature is and ‘cos I’m not sure about the signatures on those documents you found, I want to take a closer look at Soutine’s over here. Kinda feels like a sensible place to start.” Your eyes squint as you drink in the images in front of you, snapping up when you hear a small grunt of consternation from your boss, “Have you found something, Marcus?”

“That’s weird. It kind of looks like the signature has been scratched into the art,” Marcus squints at the signature on the screen, reaching over to the table where the possible documents with Guillaume and Barnes’ scrawls lie, “Also, I am not an expert in graphology but the letter e looks consistent across the three names- they all arch at the same point.”

“Waouh- that’s a good catch,” Élodie agrees, pulling Jacques with her to look over Marcus’ shoulder at the finds upon the feed.

Jacques escapes Élodie’s clutch and starts to flit back and forth, checking between the painting and the feed with a mild look of confusion on his face, “This is preposterous. Why have they done the signature in a different medium to the one used to paint it? It’s almost like they want to be caught.”

“It looks like it has been lacerated by a needle,” Marcus scratches at his patchy beard in astonishment, “Spot on Jacques, it’s like they can’t even be bothered to hide their tracks.”

“Ok, I think we may have found one of our fakes,” a smile slowly creeps across your face, “Obviously, we can’t be definite -there are still so many tests that need to be done but I don’t think this is an original,” you shake your head with a half smile, “Élodie, I think we need to organise for this to be couriered back to the labs.”

An excited squeal from Élodie and a soft oof from Jacques puncture the cool air as she flies into his arms, squeezing him in sheer delight. As the pair embrace with joy, you and Marcus are left there- Marcus on the fold out chair, gripping the iPad tighter than necessary- I swear that man never quite knows what do with his hands- and you sitting cross legged on the floor with the stereomicroscope lying in your lap- grinning like idiots at each other.

✪✪✪✪✪

More coffee and cakes are devoured in the aftermath whilst you await a courier to come and pick up the likely forgery- you are not entirely sure that the blood in your body hasn’t entirely transformed into sugar and caffeine at this point. After checking alongside Élodie that the painting had been carefully loaded into a van, you sit next to her on the pavement outside the auction house.

“Do you know where Marcus and Jacques are?” you question as you sink onto the dusty ground next to her.

“Yeah, they’re inside taking an informal statement from the auction house owner before the local police quiz her properly,” Élodie rests her temple to your shoulder, “Today has been wonderful. I really like Marcus - from what I have seen of him. I think this will be a good move for you.”

“I do miss having you here though. Today feels like the first time I have had both of my arms. Since you returned to London, it has felt like a part of me has been missing.”

Hauling a deep breath into your lungs to try to quell that gnawing ache in your belly, you turn to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, “I am sorry, El. To be honest, I don’t even know where to start explaining what happened or even truly understand how everything fell apart so badly.”

The mountain wind decides to blow an icy gust that cuts through your clothes to the bones of you, “It was a normal undercover job- we’d been watching the comings and goings of the gang from a inside a local greasy spoon for ages-just trying to get a clear idea of what their patterns of behaviour were and it just all went South so quickly.

“Being a tiny caff on an industrial estate by the Thames, it was open 24 hours and the day it happened, it was during the middle of a night shift when the gang decided to up the ante. They’d obviously clocked that we weren’t exactly who we said we were,” you snort softly at the memory, “I mean Jas’ accent was a bit sus for being a short order cook but still.

“The gang openly marched the illegal immigrants out of the container and made them kneel in front of the caff as a lure to us, trying to get us to drop our cover. These fucking innocents just trying to find a better life and the evil fuckers just started executing them- one after the other. Jas just ran out there straight away- dropping his cover without any proper back up, a flak jacket or anything. His stupid, kind self trying to save at least one of them without a backward glance.

“I said the code word so we could have armed back up within minutes but I knew it wouldn’t be there quickly enough,” your voice starts to falter as your throat tightens over the words.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, chouchou,” Élodie squeezes the thigh nearest to her.

“I know but I should tell someone, somewhen. You’re probably one of the few who would understand.”

You pause, squeezing your eyes tight shut as you allow that stagnant, putrid box of memories to reopen, flooding your senses with the foul gangrenous smell of the past.

Having called in backup, you make the decision to slip out of the back door of the caff and run for cover behind the large communal bins. The incessant rain was giving zero sign of stopping and the noise was deafening as it bounced off the metal sides and drummed upon the tarmacked surface. You could barely hear the desperate negotiations that Jasper was trying to make for the lives of these poor, exploited humans.

From here, hiding amongst the shadows, you could catch the eye of one of the kneeling men and signal to him as to when he should try to make a run over to you. He’d reached his little finger out to the person to his right to alert them to the plan. Achingly slowly, tiny gestures had passed down the line of five remaining fellows, from person to person, notifying them of your presence and how you were attempting to save them.

You counted them down and then screamed for them to run. Gunshots rang throughout the air as they made a break for the supposed safety of the bins by you as blue lights and sirens swirled, announcing their arrival between the shipping containers. You counted them as they ran for their lives past you.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

But the gunshots…

Jasper.

As you ran to your former partner’s lifeless form, three more shots rang through the air, taking out the associates who’d been ruthlessly gunning down their illegal chattel. Jasper lay there in the harsh headlight of the armed response unit car, his apron and chef’s jacket were no longer the starchy white that glowed under the strip lighting of the kitchen but his skin had taken on a similar pallid tone as his life force pooled around him, staining the oily surface with a bloody bloom. Knelt there with the grit from the floor biting into the skin of your knees, you held his head in your lap, stroking his cold cheek as a shadow cast across you both.

“He’s gone, Nush.”

Tears course down your face in tiny rivulets and spill into Élodie’s hair, “If I had said yes at Fourvière. If I had accepted the position St Vincent had offered me, he’d still be here. He would still be here.”

After putting a hand on each cheek, Élodie then taps you upon the nose making your red-rimmed, watery eyes look into hers, “You didn’t shoot the gun. You didn’t kill him,” she says so matter of fact that you almost feel an inclination to believe her, “You have to stop blaming yourself at some point.”

“He made the decision to go out there without back up or any protection. If I remember correctly, it was Jas’ decision to head back to London too, effectively ending the freedom you had out here,” she adds gravely, “Everyone has to make decisions, Nush. Ours just tend to have more life or death outcomes and remember, the choice you made- you saved five people.

“As for marrying him, you didn’t want to and I don’t know quite how to clearly say this but you don’t have to marry someone because they ask you. Or because you think it’s the right thing to do. You saying no to him, had zero implications in how his life ended,” Élodie smooths a tendril of hair that has escaped your plait behind your ear, “Your relationship didn’t have a true balance because you spent so long trying to hide it- everything feels so much more amplified if you are constantly watching your coattails.”

Rubbing the exhaustion from the onslaught of emotions from your eyes, you turn to face Élodie, “What if that’s it? What if that was my chance of happiness?”

“Okay so you’re now fully in the ridiculous territory, idiot! So bloody naive,” Élodie rolls her eyes and slaps your knee, “ There’s no one person out there- nobody is perfect for you. There are just people who enter your life at different times and there is a certain compatibility…”

“Like you might want to jump their bones,” you giggle through the snot.

“Yep, that definitely helps! But after a while, other stuff comes up and again, you have to make those decisions whether you want to move to the next one or work at the relationship you have,” Élodie says frankly, “ Your first proper grown up relationship wasn’t ever truly allowed to develop into something normal and healthy but please don’t ever think for a second that is all you deserve or will ever get.”

“More happened than just Jasper’s death,” you confide in your ally.

“I know sweetheart. You tell me when you are ready,” Élodie pats your leg, “You will always have Jacques and I here for you. And I reckon Pierre would take you back in a heartbeat if you ever need to escape Marcus, not that I think you will.” You feel a little confused by Élodie’s last statement but don’t have time to swell upon it as the door to the auction house swings open.

Noticing two figures- one wiry and talking rapidly with his hands, the other broad and showing great interest in what the other has to say- walking towards you, you offer Élodie a hand up from your pavement seat. You feel a gentle hand brushing over your bottom and crane your neck to see who it belongs to, “Well, I’d hate for you to make my car any dirtier,” Élodie winks at you.

✪✪✪✪✪

The trip back to Lyon didn’t allow for any more rest for tired eyes against cool car windows. Excited chatter filled the car as between the four of you, you were all busily beavering away from making shouted calls to the science laboratories in Interpol- calling in favours to get your samples tested first- to fingers tapping on screens, flinging emails back to offices trying to inform everyone who needed to know. Although the journey was far longer, it felt as though five minutes had passed from the moment you’d left the auction house- the exhaustion from your disclosure to Élodie giving way to the adrenaline pumping through your veins with the excitement of having found a piece of the puzzle.

Jacques quickly parks in the Interpol car park, where you all pile out of the car, heading back towards the offices. As you walk together, you hear Marcus answer the phone to Andy back in London, filling him in on the events of the day- thankfully leaving out the parts where he’d talked you through a panic attack or accidentally held hands with him.

You didn’t need anyone else in the London offices thinking you were unprofessional. There were enough of those already.

Marcus. So much of the fear has ebbed away about the new role, and in such little time, thanks to your new boss. This straight-speaking American, who makes you speak up and want to stand up a bit taller. For the first time in what felt like forever, work doesn’t feel like a chore to pay the bills for a small, damp flat in South London. It isn’t so much the work as you know that like the back of your hand- it was that feeling of appreciation.

That feeling that someone sees what you can offer and values your contributions- not just as some rookie in an established office but as an equal. You know you are lucky- you get to use all the knowledge from your art history degree (oh how your family had groaned in consternation- doctor or lawyer- those were the proper options. Y’know, a proper career path not something seen as being so wishy-washy) and use it to protect the beauty of art from the shadier underbelly. Not that you could ever explain that part to your mum or her sisters, who just thought you were in some IT job with ridiculous hours.

In fact, it was the first time. You’d worked your way up from being a rookie with Stephens and although you'd got to work in a field with which you had a borderline obsession, you were still always seen as the new kid, even though others came and went after you’d joined and that got a bit wearing, especially when you’d hit your thirties and as you edged ever closer to your forties, it had bordered on the ridiculous.

But Marcus. He didn’t just listen to what you had to say, he positively encouraged you to speak- never expecting you to hold your tongue or wait for the “grown ups” to stop talking.

“Hey, Earth to Anushka,” those ridiculously warm eyes try to call your attention into focus.

“Sorry, heard you on the phone to Andy and took the opportunity to disappear with my thoughts for a bit. It’s been a bit of a day, hasn’t it?” you mutter as the knuckles of your hands almost rub holes in your eye sockets.

“Yeah, I thought we’d find zip on our first check as a team but that was something else,” Marcus nods, pouting his lips in thought, “I honestly thought it was an authentic piece when I found those signatures- just shows how careful we have to be with these crooks.

“You look about ready to collapse- that sleep on the way over, not help? I was about to ask if you fancied grabbing some dinner together but you’re dead on your feet.”

“Didn’t really get much sleep last night. Was kind of dreading what today would bring but,” your hand extends to squeeze Marcus’ forearm, “But you’ve made today far less painful than it could have been.” You feel a warmth creep through you, blooming from the spot where Marcus has placed his hand on top of yours, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles upon your skin.

“How about a slow walk back to the hotel, we grab some pizza on the way back and sit and watch Sharknado 4 this evening?” you suggest, still not removing your hand from his arm, ”I need to eat something other than breakfast pastries today.”

“Hmmm, I would say that dinner is the best time for breakfast food but yeah, probably best that we find something a bit more substantial,” Marcus relents reluctantly like a petulant child as Élodie and Jacques turn towards you both.

“Oh, why the sad eyes, Marcus? Has she been mean to you? ” Élodie teases, “We have contacts- we can make her disappear…”

Jacques shoots you a despairing look from under his arched eyebrow. The aching sadness returns in your tummy- you’ve missed them so much and missed out on so many special moments with them, “Oof, hey Nush! This isn’t goodbye- no matter the threats Élodie makes upon your life!”

Élodie leans in to sandwich you between the pair of them, “No, Marcus has given me your phone number and your email address- and he has promised me that even if you don’t respond to my communications, that he will send regular updates.” You look over at Marcus, who sends you a sheepish grin and a slight shrug of his shoulders, flashing that goddamn dimple in his right cheek.

“Élodie, are you going upstairs to get everything ready?” Jacques questions his wife, “ There’s only twenty minutes before I need to pick up Xavier from my parents so I’d probably better head off. Can you grab a taxi home afterwards? Nush, I love you and I will see you soon.

“Marcus, it has been a pleasure. I will ensure that all the details are shared with you in London. Let’s keep the lines of communication open between us, oui?” A firm handshake was not the only thing to pass between the men, as Jacques pats Marcus on the back and they wordlessly share a thought, Marcus’ eyes flickering back to you with a small smile.

“Come on, let’s find food and a film before we collapse,” Marcus beckons you towards him with a wave back to Élodie and Jacques before they head off in their respective directions, Élodie’s hand stroking yours as she walks away.

✪✪✪✪✪

Half an hour later, you find yourself standing barefoot outside Marcus’ hotel room door, oddly nervous about knocking. Your hair hangs in waves around your shoulders, still holding some of the twisted kinks that the plaits you wore it in had formed over the course of the day, face scrubbed but you are second guessing your choice of wearing pjs to your new boss’ room. Not that they were in any way indecent- just a good old pair of cotton jammies from M&S and you’d kept your bra on underneath, because not even the worst war criminal deserves to be tortured by the sight of you with your bra off. Just as you were about to head back for a hoodie to perhaps offer an ounce more decency, the door swung open and a slightly surprised look adorns Marcus’ face.

“Hey, I was just about to check where you were. Pizza’s getting cold and you should probably have something warm in your belly that isn’t coffee today!”

“Oh, I was just going to swing back to my room for a hoodie,” you awkwardly mutter in the direction of the deliciously soft looking man, wearing grey joggers and a white t-shirt in front of you.

A small pout crosses Marcus’ lips, “Come on, if you’re chilly, the pizza’ll warm you up but if you’re still cold after eating, you can grab one of mine- that is if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” he checks by lowering his eyes and gently lifting your chin.

Deciding not to keep the pizza waiting, you nod and shuffle past Marcus, the plush carpet deliciously soft underfoot, “I haven’t forgotten that we were halfway through a conversation this morning when El and Jacques arrived to pick us up. You want to tell me why you don’t feel like you are where you feel you should be?” you don’t look at Marcus as you ask him, picking the olives off the top of your pizza.

“I thought you said you like olives?” Marcus questions confusedly as he grabs a slice himself.

“Oh I do, but I’ll eat them afterwards as I like to savour them by themselves,” you giggle at your weird pizza eating habits, “Was that a wish to evade the question? Would you prefer to put on a film?”

“Hah, no! You’re full of quirks, y’know? It’s cute,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Cute?” you raise an eyebrow at this affectionate comment, “Eh, I dunno. I don’t think you can get to almost forty without embracing your quirks at some point.”

“I just hoped that by this point I’d be married with 2.4 kids, a dog and a nice house. Y’know, settled- never taking it for granted, obviously but comfortable with a family,” there’s a flicker of pain that passes through Marcus’ eyes as he speaks and it cuts through you like a knife.

“How on Earth are you not in a long term relationship with a lucky person? From what you’ve shown me over the past two days, you’re kind, considerate and thoughtful- although you should never tease a woman about her supposed snoring,” you pull an ugly face at him, sticking your tongue out and wrinkling your nose to diffuse the tension in his forehead, forcing him to laugh.

“Oh, I was married once and had long term relationships but neither worked out, sadly,” Marcus shrugs, focussing intently on his next pizza slice, “Can’t the same thing be said about you? You’re a beautiful, funny and intelligent woman and although you are a menace to yourself and those around you with a coffee cup in your hands, I don’t get why you haven’t been snapped up.”

Grabbing the pizza box and Marcus’ hand- pulling them both towards your room, you say, “Come with me.”

Thrusting the pizza box towards his hands, you put the keycard in the door and the light flickers to green. Guiding Marcus by the food container through the room to the balcony, you swing the French doors open to be greeted by a stiff Alpine air and the twinkling lights of Lyon spreading towards you.

“As you know from today, I was here in Lyon before. My partner and I were seconded here to work alongside Interpol on an art smuggling case- that’s how I knew El, Jacques, Pierre and everyone else from this morning’s meeting. We weren’t just work partners, we’d been hiding a romantic relationship for just over a decade in London as we knew that our supervisors wouldn’t allow us to continue to work together,” you clear your throat and see a flash of concern from Marcus seeing how much your hands were trembling.

He reaches for your hand with the lightest of touches grazing your ring and little fingers but not letting go.

Drawing a deep breath, you continue, “You see the beautiful cathedral up there- Fourviere?” you catch Marcus giving a gentle nod as he looks in the direction of your hand, the one he’s not holding, “Jasper asked me to marry him up there. And I, um… I said no.” Your eyes guiltily shift to the left after owning up to your shoddy track record.

“I mean, I did love him but I couldn’t offer him what he wanted or needed from life or from me. We’d hidden too long in the shadows and the thought of trying to explain everything to our families, to our friends, to our workplace was just too overwhelming. I had a lot more to lose than him.

“As you said earlier, our work is very much an old boys network and as a mixed race woman against a white man- who’d got his position due to a bit of nepotism as his uncle was our London boss- I stood to lose so much more. I have always had to work harder and to be a more impressive candidate to be taken as seriously as any white man in the room.”

“Had we returned to London as a married couple, there would have been so many unspoken questions about when we would think about having babies so there’d never be a chance of going any higher for me. And although seeing El and Jacques today- they have it so balanced. El was telling me that they split her maternity leave equally and that even now their baby is one, they have flexi working times so although they have such a little one and such intense jobs, they can still be there for bedtimes and neither of them be sidelined. But I know that’s not how it would have worked with us. Jas would have worked full time and I would have been a simmering pot of resentment.”

You notice that despite your confession that Marcus still hasn’t stopped holding your hand and regardless of the evening chill, warmth spreads through you at the thought that you haven’t entirely repulsed him with your actions.

“Where is he now? DId he ask for a transfer when you headed back?” Marcus gently questions.

“He took the ultimate transfer. We were working together undercover and he was shot multiple times trying to save some people from being murdered,” with a small shrug, you take your hand back from Marcus despite the comfort it is bringing you and cover your face. As you do so, he pulls you towards him, holding you tightly into his chest, resting his chin on top of your head.

With a gentle push back from his broad chest but without leaving his arms completely, you tilt your face up at him, “In fact, other than Jas’ death the bitterest pill was me being transferred out of the department. As you can probably imagine, a lot of shit went down after that night and a lot of the blame from it was laid at my door. Whilst it was all happening, I wasn’t allowed to have any contact with work colleagues and of course, your family can only know so much of what’s going on when you follow our line of work.

“So, I spent eight months in a stupid kind of limbo- being paid full whack whilst sitting at home, mourning a man who I’d been with for a quarter of my life but didn’t want to marry.” Shaking your head slowly, you continue, “That’s why I was a bit of a mess today- I kind of dreaded seeing everyone and how they might blame me for everything that happened with Jas.”

“Shit, I’m sorry sweetheart,” with that affectionate nickname confidently trickling from Marcus’ lips, you look up and smile broadly at him, “I am sorry that you went through all that. I have to be honest, as I am a terrible liar- there is a part of me that is glad that our paths have overlapped- I just wish it could be under happier circumstances.”

“No,” you pat him upon his chest, “You don’t get to our age without some kind of baggage and in our occupation, it’s hard for most people to understand our commitment to our job.”

“Hah, you can say that again- that’s what ended my marriage. That and her new partner,” you scrunch your face in consideration of Marcus’ pain, your thumbs rubbing back and forth, “And the failed engagement is what brought me to London- kept seeing her and the man she left me for around the DC offices.”

“Let’s go toast to those ghosts and our converging paths with what will be now a very warm bottle of white wine and cold pizza,” with eyes widening in amusement you smile at him, your hands still on his chest and his hands on your back, “But indoors as it is fucking freezing out here, no matter how pretty it is.”

“Agreed,” Marcus chuckles deeply, moving his hands to rub some warmth back into your arms.

“Just going to grab a hoodie,” you call over your shoulder as you go back into your bedroom. As you rummage through your bag, you miss the flicker of disappointment on Marcus’s face that he wouldn’t get to smell your perfume on his clothes.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Hey,” that beautifully soft baritone meltingly drifted up from the sofa in Marcus’ room, “Comfy now? I hope you don’t mind but I chose Casablanca instead of Sharknado 4.”

As you cross the floor in socked feet to try and thaw them out from your balcony adventure, you shake your head with a lopsided smile, “Not ok,” but to put Marcus’ raised eyebrow at ease, you add, “It’s my favourite - but you’d better have tissues at the ready as it will make me a snotty mess.”

“Already prepared,” he holds a tissue box aloft, “It does the same to me too.”

Instead of sitting at the other end of the sofa, you grab a glass of wine from the table and slide into Marcus’ side- half sitting up, half leaning against him. He reaches over, pulling your head onto his shoulder, stroking your hair away from your face and there you stay, comfortably curled into his side. Not for the hour and three quarters of the film, but until rays of spring sunshine filter through the blinds the following morning.

Tag list of glory: If you’d like to be added or dropped from the tag list or have any thoughts, thots or suggestions, please do get in touch! I don’t bite hard 🥰

@astroboots @silverwolf319 @lunaserenade @danniburgh @leonieb @mrsparknuts @sirowsky @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @tardisfangurl @zukoyonce @absurdthirst @green-socks @pedropascalito @disgruntledspacedad @mouthymandalorian @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[mercy-burning]

I Felt A Burning (Songbird Chapter 3)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: As it turns out, distance makes the heart grow fonder. Reader finds herself missing Spencer while he’s away, so the two of them find unique ways to spend time with one another. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Smut (penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, male and female masturbation, squirting), Language Word Count: 6.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST SERIES PLAYLIST (new songs added with the release of each new chapter)

NOTE: Sorry this is a little late.. This series is giving me a rough time at the moment, so I’ll probably need a little time to work out some of the kinks (pun intended?) but I’m still very excited to share the rest with you, because I do think it’s going to end up being one of my favorite things I’ve ever written!

So, this month I’m going to take some time to work on requests for my 1k celebration (More info on that here if you want to check it out and send in some requests), and once they’re all complete, I’ll come back to Songbird! It’s not technically on hold, but chapter updates will probably stay pretty spread out while I try to make each one the best they can be 🥰

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

***

"I've never seen him this attached to his phone, it's almost like he's a whole different person."

I don't think JJ realized I could hear her, and she probably thought I wasn't paying attention. To be fair, I wasn't paying that much attention. But I had to be cautious; As much as I loved texting with Y/N, I knew what my friends would do if they found out the nature of our conversations. Or that I was texting a woman outside of a professional setting... Or that I was texting a woman at all.

"I wonder who could have him that caught up," I heard Emily say.

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I spoke up, keeping my eyes locked on my screen. "Her name is Sudoku. It's something to do to pass the time."

"Oh, so he is alive," Emily quipped, and everyone laughed. I even let out a little smile. "Why invest money in a smartphone when you don't even like the technology? I mean, you can buy puzzle books for like a dollar a piece, anyway..."

The first time Y/N texted me a... rather scandalous photo of herself, I'd ended up having to wait until I got home, transferring and downloading the file to my computer there because I couldn't get it on my phone. And then she called me and said that if we were going to do this properly I needed to be able to see the photos while I was away, otherwise there wouldn't be a point.

And the funny thing was, I didn't hesitate to purchase a smartphone immediately after we hung up.

I have to say, it was really handy. Sure, it was still taking some getting used to. And I much preferred my old phone, but getting to experience these rather adventurous text exchanges with her made it all worth it.

"Endless puzzles on the free app is much cheaper than buying a new book every few days. It's not bad," I finally said.

Just as Derek mentioned something about Penelope finally 'bringing me to the dark side', my phone buzzed in my hand and my heart buzzed in my chest.

The rest of the team talked amongst themselves, leaving me to 'my game' and I was glad to have a cover.

But when I opened the message and saw the photo Y/N sent me, I felt like the most obvious person in the world. Surely there was no way that no one else didn't know what I was looking at, right? Because I felt my face get hot, and something equally warm stirred in my lower stomach.

Shifting my bag over my lap just in case, I swallowed and examined the photo further.

The camera framed her body from the top of her mouth to her chest. She was completely bare, her bottom lip formed in a pout and saliva leaking out and down her chin. My eyes followed the trail down to her exposed breasts, where a round, red lollipop was covering her right nipple. I could barely see her piercing from behind it.

My phone buzzed again with another photo attachment, this time revealing a different angle. The lollipop was positioned right above her clit, just barely touching it, and looked like she was dripping wet. Immediately I wondered whether or not she'd touched herself with the lollipop, and if so, had she tasted herself on the candy? What did it taste like? Would she be willing to let me try when I landed and could finally see her again?

My phone buzzed a third time, and it almost scared me. This time it was just a text: I hope you appreciated those. It was far less sexy to take them than you'd probably think. Definitely more sticky, too. Gonna take a shower. Might send you some more, if you can handle it. —Stranger

I tried not to smile too hard, fully aware of my friends on the other side of the jet, and texted back as discreetly as I could: I always appreciate the effort. As for what I can handle, you'll come to find I'm full of surprises.

It didn't take long for a response to show up: Well, I'll just have to test that out when you come back to me, won't I, Doc?

My breath caught, and I don't think I'd ever wished for the plane to land faster than I did at that moment. I thought about asking when we were expected home, but figuring that might be a little more suspicious, I thought better of it and decided to wait it out.

I messaged her back: Text you when we land, and then pulled up the Sudoku puzzle app to keep myself busy until I could see her in person.

***

Maybe it was a little ridiculous dressing up for someone when they were just going to take it off of you almost immediately after walking through the door, but for one thing, I needed to wear something while I waited for him to get here.

And for another, it made me feel sexy, and in the end that's all I needed to know.

I wore a matching white lace bra and underwear set with high stockings. It was simple, but as I'd learned over the past month, Spencer really liked white on me. So I knew this was a good option, even if ultimately he didn't care what I wore (or didn't wear). To leave it a little surprise, I threw on a robe and read on the couch until he would text me.

But even as my book was open in my lap, my eyes didn't scan the pages. Instead I stared off into space, thinking about what a month it had been.

A whole month, and everything was going great. Not that I expected it to be awful or anything, but over time, even though Spencer and I had strictly been sleeping together without any strings, every time he was gone I felt like something was missing.

It confused the hell out of me.

And not because he wasn't worth missing—that actually wasn't the case. It was the fact that I was the one missing him at all that confused me. I mean, it was obvious from the beginning of our sexual relationship that I was willing to break a few rules of mine just to be around him, but... Feeling these things so soon? Missing his presence when he wasn't near me?

It was all so unfamiliar and completely different from any relationship I'd been in before, and a large part of me wanted to stop it all together. But really, I knew that was ridiculous, because nothing was wrong. He always respected my wishes, he made me feel good, and he was always kind and reassuring. He even bought a brand new fucking phone just so we could sext while he was away. It was obvious that he would have done a lot for me, and for the sake of keeping our arrangement steady... And from the little I did know about him, he seemed like the type of person who would be totally understanding about any issue I had, whether it was of a sexual nature or not.

Simply put, he was perfect.

So why did I not want to let him in? Why was it so fucking hard for me to believe that I could actually date him like a normal person and be okay?

Maybe I just needed to take things slow. I could do that, right?

Yeah. I totally could.

When he got here, the first matter of business, of course, would be to have sex with him. Because he'd been away for almost a week now, and the whole time we texted back and forth about all the things we wished we could do to each other. And his job was stressful, so whenever he came back he liked to relieve some of that stress, which I was more than willing to give him. No matter my conflicted feelings, our arrangement was so solid that I had no doubts about what would happen the second he walked through my door.

And then, when it was all over, he would leave. He always did, even if I sometimes asked him to stay until I fell asleep. But maybe tonight I could tell him to stay and fall asleep with me instead. That would be a good first step, right? I could explain how he must be exhausted from work and travelling, so he should just rest and I would be willing to let him sleep in bed beside me.

Yeah. That was a good plan.

Except, what would I do in the morning, then? Would everything be awkward? Would he get up before me and leave before I even woke up? And if that was the case, would he leave another note? Maybe he would still be asleep when I woke up, and then I could make him breakfast or something. Mayb���

My phone went off beside me, snapping me out of my excessive thinking. Thank God...

I read the text with a smile forming as soon as I saw his name at the top of the screen: Be at your place in 20 minutes.

After sending back a winking-face emoji, I set my phone on the table and put the book next to it. And then I took a deep breath and reminded myself to take it easy. Everything was going to be just fine.

Everything was going to be just fine.

I must have repeated it to myself over and over until he actually showed up, because it felt like only a minute had passed before a knock sounded at the door.

"It's me!" Spencer called out, and my heart raced.

Even as I strode over to the door, I couldn't seem to slow the fast pace of my heartbeat. And when I opened the door to see him with a brighter-than-the-sun smile, I thought it might completely burst out of my chest.

"Hey, Stranger," I whispered, stepping aside to let him in. As soon as the door closed, he leaned in to kiss my cheek, and I couldn't resist. I grabbed his face and pulled his lips to mine, kissing him deeply and with as much care as I could convey. He dropped his bag and melted into me completely, wrapping his arms around my lower back and pulling me closer to him. In turn I melted into him, sighing into his mouth.

I couldn't tell you how long we stayed like that, standing at the front door and making out like he'd just come back from war. It felt like it could have been forever, but however long it was, I couldn't have cared any more or less. It was perfect.

His hands slid down my back and splayed over the curve of my ass, making me laugh against his mouth. I felt him smile before he pulled away just a little, just enough to keep our noses touching.

"I missed you," he said simply, though with those three words alone it felt like it was complex and enduring enough to chip away at the walls I put up.

And strangely I didn't mind. When he was here, touching me, smiling at me, speaking to me, I felt... serene. It was like the stillest water you could imagine—no ripples, no waves... Just clear water, so still it was like a horizontal mirror.

"Missed you more," I drawled out, running my hands through his hair and rubbing my nose against his. "I even wore something special."

"You did?" he mused, running his hands back over my back and then around to the front of the robe I'd put on over my lingerie. He probably already noticed the stockings, unless he was just as blindsided as I'd been by the fact that we were finally together again that he didn't actually notice. But either way, his whole body went still when he pulled my robe away and took me in. I anchored myself to him by holding his hands, studying his face as it looked me up and down and grew stronger with desperation with every passing second.

"You like it?" I finally asked.

The mood almost completely shifted when he met my eyes. I could have sworn they grew darker.

"I like you," he breathed, right before he reached forward, grabbing my face with both his hands, and kissing me again. This time it was primal, every nerve in my body going numb at the way he practically consumed me. It was all hands and tongue and teeth and warmth.

I clutched onto his shirt, pulling his body closer to mine as I was desperate to be connected to him on every physical level. A gravelly moan slipped my mouth when he reached behind my head and lightly tugged at the roots of my hair, to which he tugged a little harder. I returned the favor, using my other hand to mirror the hair pulling he was performing on me, and he groaned almost as intensely as I did.

I didn't even know we were at the kitchen table until I was sitting on it, my legs instinctively wrapping around Spencer's waist and my arms doing the same to his neck. His tongue slipped into my mouth with ease, just like it had a million times before. And it was just as intoxicating.

He moved his hand to my back, sliding around the clasp of the bra before he paused and pulled away, studying my face. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but with the way his hands slid over my body like they were merely exploring, I had a feeling it was going to work out in my favor.

"You got all dressed up just for me, I'd feel bad to make you take it off," he mused, finally letting his eyes roam the length of my body.

"Whatever are we going to do about that," I mused right back, biting my lip when he met my eyes again.

His lips twitched into a smirk for a brief second before he moved his hands to unbuckle his pants. "I guess you'll just have to keep them on while I fuck her right here on the table."

I couldn't help the excited whimper that came out of my mouth as I leaned back on my hands and waited for him to get situated. My hand drifted to my panties, sliding them aside and dipping my middle finger through my pussy. "Did you like the pictures I sent you?"

I knew his answer was yes, but I wanted to get him more excited, and it seemed to do the trick—I could have sworn I saw his hands move faster, finally pushing his pants down as he took a step closer to me.

"Y/N, I have an eidetic memory, which basically means that I remember everything I see. Those pictures? They've been burned into my brain since I saw them, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about how badly I wanted to be with you again."

Each and every word fell heavy with this burning desire that set my whole body aflame. Added to the way he looked at me with the same intensity, it was practically the perfect formula for my destruction. And the fact that he could just vividly remember everything I sent him? Every picture, every time he saw me in the flesh—desperate for him... God, it was all so fucking exciting. And that was putting it lightly, because no words could ever have been beautiful or poetic enough to describe the way this man made me feel.

It all must have been written all over my features, because Spencer stared down at me and hummed amusedly His hands reached out to spread my legs by my knees, his touch sending shivers all throughout my body.

I reached out to grip his dick, slowly stroking it as I bit my lip and blinked up at him. "You have no idea how much I missed you this week," I got out, barely above a whisper.

"Oh, I think I do," he answered, right before he stepped forward and slid my panties aside. We both moved together then, me leaning forward to meet him as he brought his hips forward and ran his dick slowly along the opening of my pussy. He slapped it gently over my clit a few times, making me whimper out again which in turn made him smile a little. "How bad do you want it, pretty girl?"

"I want it bad," I answered simply, my voice low and on the verge of begging.

He seemed happy with that answer, a low hum coming from his throat in approval as he ran the tip of his dick through me again. And when he pushed it in just slightly, I wiggled under him in anticipation."

"Eager, are we?" he mused, stilling and bringing his thumb to gently circle my clit.

I threw my head back with an exasperated sigh that I only slightly truly meant in earnest. "Hell yeah, I'm eager. You promised to fuck me on the table, so when are you gonna deliver?"

Without another word, he slammed forward into me, and I gasped out, already falling apart at the burning I felt throughout my whole body.

"You're gonna regret being impatient, you know," Spencer grumbled, though the way I knew I had him practically wrapped around my finger told me that his threat was nothing more than a string of words that would fray and unravel into nothing once I got a tug on it.

And tug on it I did. Because he may have been the one currently obliterating me on my kitchen table, but the second I started talking, I knew he'd be just as ruined—maybe even a little more, though at the very least it would be an even playing field.

So I clenched around him as he continued fucking me at a brutal pace, spreading my legs wider and moaning out maybe a little too dramatically. "Oh, you've missed this tight little cunt, haven't you, baby boy?"

His arms wrapped around my legs and he scooted me closer, giving him a deeper angle inside me as a strangled moan rolled past his lips and his eyes almost rolled back. "Fuck, Y/N, I..."

As the words struggled to come out, I laughed, puffing my chest out and tilting my head to the side. "That's right... That's fuckin' right..."

It really didn't take long for either of us to reach orgasm, between our banter and the sheer force at which he drove into me while I clenched around him every so often, matching his rhythm perfectly despite how staggered everything was becoming with every passing second.

"Fuck, Spence, that's it," I breathed, reaching a hand out to graze his stomach with my fingertips. "I'm gonna cum..."

"Me, t— shit..."

Feeling him spill over inside me as I came around him reminded me just how much I missed having him with me, because no matter how good I made myself feel with a vibrator while he was away, nothing ever compared to that feeling; How full he made me feel, how tingly I felt when he moaned out my name, how warm his hands were as they gripped my skin to keep himself steady as he just fucking gave it all to me until there was nothing left... It was all so intense that I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to recover.

Which was why, even after he pulled out of me, I laid back on the table completely, letting my legs dangle off. My eyes closed as I tried to catch my breath and eventually I let out a breathy laugh.

"Fuck, man, maybe we should spend time apart more often, because that was..."

The weight of what I'd said didn't even really hit me until his phone started to ring, and I remembered my plan, that spending time apart was actually what I didn't want and I was supposed to tell him to stay...

I sat up and watched as he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his pants, which were on the floor. He pulled them up with him as he stood up again, murmuring a quick 'sorry' to me before taking the call.

I could see his ants were struggling to stay up, so I reached out and grabbed him by the belt loop, pulling him to me and buttoning his pants up for him as he spoke.

"Yeah, Hotch?" he said, smiling down at me because of what I was doing. I smiled right back with a wink, fixing up and straightening out his pants before I saw his smile falter.

A ball of disappointment started to roll in the pit of my stomach as I heard Spencer say, "Oh..." rather sadly. If I had to take a guess, he was probably being called into work again so soon, and once again I would be left alone.

"O—Okay, I'll be right in," he said, confirming my suspicions. Once he said goodbye, He put his phone back in his pocket and smiled at me apologetically. "Sorry I have to leave so soon, I was hoping to spend at least a little more time together before I left."

And I was kind of hoping I'd ask you to stay... "Oh, it's okay... I guess... absence makes the heart grow fonder?"

We both laughed a little, though it was clear the mood was still a bit dismal. So to lighten it I sat up a bit straighter and smirked, spreading my legs a little and feeling his cum slowly drip out. "Well, why don't you take a picture or two? Something to remember me by?"

I could tell he appreciated the playfulness I put forth, but he didn't take his phone out. "That's the thing about having an eidetic memory, I won't need a picture. Anytime I want, I can just remember you like this. Plus, I won't risk anyone else seeing anything."

I scoffed with a smile. "Please... I would hope you aren't looking at the pictures I send you in a room full of your colleagues."

"I don't. But I do work with a bunch of profilers, all of whom would just love to tease me until the end of time if they ever discovered what I was doing with you in my free time."

I was going to say something, but he cut me off, stepping forward and bringing his hand down to brush against the inside of my thigh. "But, if it'll make you feel better... I can give you something to remember me by..."

"What's that?" I breathed out, looking up at him as his hand travelled to my pussy.

He dipped his middle finger inside of me and felt around, leaning forward until his lips were barely brushing mine. My whole body seemed like it was going to crumble down at any given second, when he spoke quietly. "A taste."

"Of... what?"

He brought his finger out of me and brought it to my lips, and I took it in without even thinking. I groaned around him as he spoke again, his gaze unwavering and downright life-ruining. "Us. This is what we taste like together... A perfect harmony. Don't you think?"

I wanted to tell him that he wouldn't know because he hadn't actually tasted it himself, but the whole thing was so fucking hot that I didn't even bother arguing. I just sat there, whining around his finger as he all but stared into my soul.

His finger slipped out of my mouth and ran along my chin as he tilted it up. "I want you to clean yourself up just like that. You can send me a picture when you're done so I can see, yeah?"

"And... What if I don't?"

Spencer smiled knowingly, taking one more swipe of his finger through me before bringing it to his own lips, sucking it clean like anyone would have with food, and stepping back from me completely. "You will."

He left, and I could have sworn I felt my soul leave my body.

***

I'm not sure where that came from, exactly. But Y/N had brought out this other side of me that was almost jarring as much as it was sexy. She was everything seductive and enticing that the world had to offer, and it fueled me in a way I couldn't explain. In fact, I was almost positive she wouldn't send any pictures, because what the hell kind of request was that? I certainly never would have thought of it before, but she gave me all these filthy thoughts and ideas that I never would have been able to dream up otherwise.

Which, precisely, is why I was second-guessing everything. I focused on what work we had to do, of course, but once we were settled in on the jet and on our way to the next city, I brought out my phone to text her.

But I wasn't sure what I would say. I'd have to find a way to apologize, of course, in case my request had been too weird, and that I definitely should have asked her if she was okay with me telling her what to do like that. I knew about dominant and submissive dynamics in sex of course, but that's not the type of relationship we had. And, to be completely honest, if anyone was going to be the dominant role in that dynamic, it most definitely would have been her. While I could be confident and somewhat in control when we had sex, and while sometimes she took on a rather submissive approach to our sessions and I found myself deeply turned on by that, I was not confident in my dominant side. I never could take full control like that, and with some of the things I've seen and experienced from Y/N, that role was definitely better suited for her than me.

But in the end it all came down to us trying new things. Or... rather, me trying new things. I figured she was way more experienced than me from the beginning, and that still remained true, though by the reaction I've had from her a few times, especially after tonight, it seemed I'd shaken her up a bit.

Whether that was a good thing or not would be dependent on how this conversation went.

I turned on my phone to see that I had three photos and one video attachment. My heartbeat picked up immediately, and I quickly shut it off to compose myself, already having a feeling of what might be there.

About a minute later, I got up to use the bathroom while everyone was catching up on some sleep. This was a bit of a longer flight than we were used to, so it kind of worked in my favor. But just to be safe, I snuck in the earbuds that came with the phone as well.

Once the door was shut, I leaned back against it and plugged in the earbuds, simultaneously trying to navigate through the phone to get to my messages. And once I was situated, I put the earbuds in and looked at the pictures first.

The first one could only be described as a 'before' photo, showcasing her pussy exactly how I left it, and that alone was enough to start a stirring in stomach. I examined the picture intently, feeling myself grow harder in my pants, and I knew this was dangerous. But somehow that made it all the more exciting. It was a good thing I decided to stay in the bathroom.

The second photo showed Y/N's middle and pointer fingers spreading herself wide, everything exposed and glistening. I looked at that one longer, but the third one took me out and made me slump my head against the door with a soft groan. She was pouting slightly, her bottom lip dripping with what was obviously the cum I'd left her with. I didn't even want to watch the video, because I knew once I did I'd be a goner. I didn't even know exactly what it would be, but it didn't matter, because no matter what Y/N did she would tear down every defense I had. Everything I thought I knew, my ability to think straight, all of it would be gone with one word—Hell, one look.

I managed to take a deep breath before opening the video and adjusting the volume. And knowing it was probably going to do some damage to me, I stood in front of the toilet, making sure the door was locked before taking my dick out of my pants and slowly starting to stroke it.

Through the screen, I saw that Y/N had repositioned the camera so that I had a full-body view of her on her kitchen table. I wasn't sure how she was able to keep her phone propped up or where it was, but as she started to move, I didn't really care one way or the other.

"I've already sent you some pictures, which I hope you looked at first, but I figured this would be... better proof," she was saying, her legs spreading wide so I had a perfect view of everything. She brought her hand down to circle her clit a few times, and the longer she went on, the louder and more obscene the sounds were.

"Fuck," I breathed as quietly as I could, taking everything in as my hand worked my dick a little faster. I could have watched her do just that forever.

But she went the next step, plunging two fingers inside herself and pumping them in and out slowly. Every once in a while she removed her hand and cleaned off her fingers, looking into the camera and burning a hole straight through me as she moaned.

"You're right," she said, scooping up more of our mess and spreading it around. "We do taste perfect. I think I'm gonna savor it for a while... Take my time."

Her fingers were torturously slow, and even though she taunted, I knew it was killing her, because it was written all over her face—her whole body, really. As her face contorted and her body seemed to shake, I wanted to tell her through the phone that she could go faster, that she didn't have to make it this hard, but I couldn't. All I could do was watch, and listen as she fingered herself and all of it was burning me up from the inside out.

By the time two minutes had passed, it looked like my cum was gone, but she was still going, determined to bring herself to release another time. Her fingers moved fast and hard, the glorious wet sounds combining symphonically with her moans and whimpers. As I could see her getting close, it was like I was there with her, feeling myself get there as well. I knew it wouldn't be long now, though I wished we could have done this forever. And if I was being honest with myself, I was probably going to do this more than once as long as we were still seeing each other.

What happened next surprised me, because... well, simply put, I wasn't expecting it. And I don't think she was either, because the pure blissful shock that plastered over her features as she tensed and squirted almost sent me into cardiac arrest.

I came then, trying desperately to keep quiet as I took in the image of Y/N coming undone right with me.

I was catching my breath when she sighed out with a smile and a laugh. She looked exhausted, but completely blissful and serene all the same as she spoke. "Fuck, I didn't expect that... But next time it happens, I want you here with me. Got it, Stranger?"

Although she couldn't hear me, I responded with a light, yet truly sincere, "Yes, Ma'am."

***

The studio had been empty for hours, and nothing ever made me happier. Truthfully, it was always my favorite part of the work day, when I went in early, when the sun was still below the horizon and almost everyone was still asleep. That was when I felt most creative, and after about two hours of messing around on the piano and acoustic guitar, I was still going strong.

Maybe I had Spencer to blame for that. For a week now he'd been gone, extremely busy with work, and I didn't get to see him in person, but we sent texts and pictures and videos all the time. Just last night we even video-chatted for a good three hours before he inevitably had to return to his job. And while I missed him, if anything I think the distance was good. Because while we spent time communicating, I was also able to focus on work and myself, and I didn't constantly have to worry about things moving too fast. Things couldn't move fast if there wasn't any physical contact, right?

I mean, sure, At this point I was practically craving his touch and his presence, but I knew that once we did get to see each other again, it would be practically electric. There was so much we'd talked about over the phone that we would probably have enough to keep us busy until he got called away again. And then the cycle would repeat.

But maybe that was wishful thinking. I liked this system, even if we hadn't really been at it for long. All I knew, though, was that it was currently working, and I was feeling incredible about my life in its current state.

I wished it could have stayed that way forever.

By the time Jules walked in, I'd written about two songs and was currently working on a third. The studio was littered with sticky-notes and notebook paper from all the ideas I had, and she shrugged off her thin jacket with a laugh. "How many songs has it been today?"

I set the guitar down and went to pick up some of the notes, organizing them haphazardly. "Two. Working on a third."

"Damn, Y/N, you've been on a roll this week. Hell, all month. So... Who's the inspiration?"

Shoving some of the notes into a folder, I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Jules sat down at the large coffee table in the middle of the room and spread out, shaking her head slightly to the side to removed the auburn bangs from her eyes. "I'm a musician, too, Y/N, I know when inspiration strikes, and I especially know when it's because of a certain someone. So... Who are they?"

I hesitated saying anything, but Jules was right, and there was no way I'd be able to convince her nothing in particular was happening. So, I tried to keep it as vague as possible. "Oh, uh, this guy I met at a bar at open mic night."

She whistled as I took a seat across from her. "Damn... The sex must be pretty good if you're cranking out songs like an industrial machine."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, but I nodded all the same. "Well, you'd be right. It's, uh... it's going pretty well."

"I'll say, you're practically glowing. Good for you, babe."

I could tell she wanted to say more, ask tons of questions (more specifically, when's the wedding?), but she knew me enough to refrain. She knew how I did with relationships, and she knew just how private I was. On multiple occasions she'd ask me why I was a musician if I didn't like sharing my personal life with people, but I'd always retorted with a simple truth: You didn't have to show anything to anyone if you didn't want to. There were thousands of different things to write about, and the beauty of storytelling was that you could create whatever you wanted, no matter how true it was to you.

As the day went on, and more of the writers for our friend's new album came in to work, I was pulled out of the 'relationship' headspace and plunged into work.

Honestly, I was relieved. Not because I didn't like thinking about Spencer, but the exact opposite.

That feeling wasn't something I was used to, and I wanted it to go away. At least while I was working, so I could focus on one thing at a time. I didn't let people in, and I didn't want to let them in if I could help it, and I certainly didn't like when things moved too fast, which they always seemed to do. And this time was no different, only now I think it was me who was starting to feel things too early.

It was searing. It was slowly starting to consume me, burning me from the inside out, and I didn't know what to do.

So I did the only think I did know how to do, and that was ignore it, replacing it with music, the one true comfort I'd ever known. I drowned myself in the cool ocean of work, merely hoping it would be enough to quell the frantic, petrifying, and rapidly growing wildfire that would surely be my downfall. And for a while it seemed like it was working.

And yet, somehow, by the time I left the studio, there was a dull ache in my chest that left me confused and scared.

Suddenly I was glad for that night we'd been interrupted before I asked him to stay, and that I never got the chance to follow through. I don't know what I would have done then. Because if that feeling, when he inevitably agreed and stayed the night, was anything like how I was feeling now, then it probably would have been a lot worse.

All the same, I came to the realization that no matter what I did or didn't do, he would always be there, taking up some amount of space in my being that refused to let go.

Whether I liked or not.

***

“I knew it when you looked my way That I’d be begging you to stay. I couldn’t say it to myself.

I felt a burning in the way I held on when you pulled away. I couldn’t say it to myself.

—Maggie Rogers, Say It

SERIES TAGLIST:��@meowiemari @secretsilockaway​

Tags not working: @bluesunrise02 @teenwolfgirl90 

[watevermelon]

Cheater!Akaashi x Reader

✧ Summary: (Continuation) Akaashi apologizes to the reader, seeing her genuinely happy without him (MSBY Black Jackals Era) [forgiving/peaceful end]

A/N : Slight spoilers if you aren’t caught up to 392 ;) (reader ends up with our home-boy Konoha) ➳  Masterlist ➳  Part One

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Walking away from Akaashi was one of the hardest things you had ever done in your high school career. He was the picture perfect boyfriend, the one you even wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Everything about him, from his kindness to his charming good-looks, you wanted to wake-up to it every day for the rest of your life.

Until one day, you just didn’t.

And from then on, so much as a thought about Akaashi set your heart aflame, ready to fight the setter with your bare hands. You had your friends to guide you through it all, even Konoha had drawn closer to you in your circle. And with time, it was easier to breathe in the halls of Fukurodani. Some people had pushed for details regarding your separation, especially since Akaashi was suddenly romantically attached to a certain captain, but the setter had adamantly requested for the others to leave you alone.

He had pursued you three times since your break, basically pleading with you to listen from his perspective.

You always said no.

And life moved on. Akaashi became the captain of the Fukurodani Volleyball team, both Konoha and Bokuto graduating to attend college nearby. Yukie, Haruki - all the older faces that you had come to know had finally left the school for good. And while some members of your friend group also graduated, it was bittersweet goodbyes for your worst year of high school.

Time really does heal wounds and you found yourself often forgetting all about the setter that broke your heart.

In high school, everything can feel like the end of the world. Whether it be a low grade, drama within your friend group, or even breaking up with some stupid person you called a boyfriend - it incited that deep curling feeling that just felt like: that was it. The end of the world as you knew it.

And in some ways that was true, but that wasn’t always a bad thing.

Now as a graduate-school senior, you had long accepted that there were still plenty of moments that felt like that. There was always going to be drama somewhere and some absolute sadist of a professor who liked to hand you a new asshole.

And it was not like you were suddenly a pro at handling these feelings. You still had doubts, worries, but this was all pushed back with your own brand of confidence built on the foundation of your earlier teenage years. With your friends, both new and old, you were ready to take on the world.

But first, final exams.

You were basically shut out to your roommates, either sheltering yourself in your room or in the library to get some good studying in. One of them was trying to follow a similar route, but she often got distracted by social media or newly released video games. The other had accepted her faith long ago, joking that the most she studied was during the breaks of the test.

And after having shared a class with her last semester, you found out it was not a joke.

There was only one class that you were particularly worried about and the final was tomorrow night. There were minimal distractions throughout today, even your boyfriend of almost a year was busy with his own classes and so the both of you were cooped up, mutually suffering at different colleges. 

It was only until this afternoon, did your focus break, nothing helping what you received today. On your coffee table was a simple letter, but you recognized the hand-writing even after all these years.

It was a personally written invitation to a professional volleyball game, home-court to the MSBY Black Jackals.

Bokuto and Akaashi had invited you.

The moment you received it, you called your boyfriend to see if he got one as well. Apparently, everyone from the old Fukurodani volleyball club got an invite. And, in addition to their crew, you had gotten one as well.

Your boyfriend assured you that if you were not comfortable with going, then that was it. Neither of you would attend. But you smiled at him surely, saying that anything regarding the two was long behind you. That was honestly the case, any memories of Akaashi brought forth a sad numbness, but nothing else. There was nothing you had to say to him, but you didn’t exactly want to hold back your boyfriend from being present at their reunion.

Slapping at your cheeks, you reminded yourself that you needed to focus on studying.

And so a week later, excelling with flying colors on that absolute bastard of a final, you mentally prepared yourself to see Akaashi and Bokuto for the first time in years. There would be no easy way to have that conversation, but with a group this large, you hoped that there would be no one-on-one time with either of them.

Sporting a loose denim jacket and leggings, you tried your best casual look for the night. Pulling it up into a high ponytail, you rushed over to the front of the dorm when the doorbell expectedly rang.

“Hey.” Konoha greeted you warmly, pulling you into a light peck in greeting. You murmured it back against his lips, happy to feel it curl into a smile against your own.

You hadn’t started dating until you were both in a few years into college, having kept in touch long after high school as you both attended schools in Tokyo. You went to the same college as Haruki and that was the silent lifeline between your relationship. From college parties to general hangouts, Haruki was a true bro and Konoha was relentless in his pursuit of your friendship.

It wasn’t like a sudden rush overnight or like the clouds had shifted to rain sunshine down on Konoha. It was simple, you liked Konoha and wanted to go out with him. He was more than just a friendly face or a wielder of cold humor. The previous volleyball player had a genuinely kind-soul that was more than just another person from Fukurodani.

You remembered how easy it was to be genuinely happy with Konoha. It made you want to do the same for him, to put a smile on his face and remind yourself what it was like to truly be needed.

The first time the two of you kissed, it was before you were even officially dating. You two had separated from the cluster of college teens, far away from the bustle of the house-party as you sat on the edge of the property. There was a pool a ways behind you, but you had sat together under a tree together and looked up at the night sky.

The stars weren’t visible from Tokyo, the lights of the city keeping them hidden from view. But that hadn’t stopped the two of you from thinking the sky was beautiful that night, laying back side-by-side as you talked to each other candidly.

“Professor Magnolia puts the mystery in chemistry.” You complained to Konoha.

He chuckled at your awful pun, probably more out of pity than actual amusement, you wondered. Replying back, “You still did pretty well in that class.”

“I don’t want to hear it from you, mister 4.0 GPA.” You quipped, a teasing smile on your face that he recognized.

“I could always give you some private lessons.” Konoha joked, but you both knew the suggestive line that was there. He seemed to recognize it and back off immediately, “Unless, of course -”

“I want you to.” You interrupted him.

Yes, you were the more aggressive party when it came to your relationship. At least, at the start. Konoha has been your friend forever. And there was no denying that the young man was plenty attractive and very handsome. But you tended to wonder if he was ever interested in bringing it to another step.

Whenever implications got too serious, or your mutual teasing had lingered a little too long, Konoha would make sure to put a wide berth of space between and the line. You honestly appreciated this very much, since Konoha was aware of your space and never encroached on your friendship. And it was not like he had put a complete damper on your relationship either, openly flirting back with you when you tried. 

Instead, Konoha put the ball entirely in your court.

You wanted this? You had to come and get it.

“Are you being serious?” Konoha asked as he sat-up, face serious as he contemplated your last statement.

But you smiled at him as you leaned closer, “Yes.”

He reflected your expression back at you, the both of you rising to stand for whatever reason. Konoha always towered over you, but now you were more aware of that fact as you looped your arms around his neck. You gravitated toward one another, lips meeting in a chaste peck before you deepened the kiss.

But it was not like your relationship depended on you making the first move, no way. Konoha was very attentive to the communication within your relationship. Once you made it clear that you were comfortable, he would make the move you both wanted.

From your first kiss to the first night you shared together, you nearly whipped your bra at him the week before to make sure he got the message.

And he definitely got the message.

Konoha went from your sudden high-school protector to the one you desperately wanted to spend your life with. You would do anything to keep your relationship steady and would feel your heart surge when he would whisper back similar thoughts.

And now here your boyfriend was, picking you up at the dorms before the both of you attended a MSBY Black Jackals game. You honestly never thought that this would happen. Konoha had attended some in the past, along with Haruki and the rest. It was never something that bothered you either, they were his best friends and he hadn’t done anything wrong.

You just never thought you’d be attending one together, at the invitation of your ex-boyfriend no less.

But you continued on anyway, waving goodbye to your roommates and taking Konoha’s hand as he guided you through the bustle of Shibuya. He held your hand tightly and you would squeeze back when you got closer to the arena, the large poster of current volleyball pro’s coming into view.

You had seen lots of images of Bokuto in his professional career. He was basically a household name now, a reliable outside hitter to one of the best Division 1 teams in all of Japan. There were highlights of him on social media and he had even starred in multiple commercials by now.

But the image of Bokuto never really lingered in your mind. He was always a passing thought, like you knew that he existed, but never really registered it that it was true. Seeing a huge poster with many unknown faces except the owl-haired man really brought back this fact.

Scanning your tickets, you were surprised when you were guided to another area. You and Konoha were being guided to a club box, a reserved area for larger groups to mingle together during sports events.

Many of the others during that Fukurodani volleyball club golden age were already present. You had caught up with Yukie in the past year, the nutritionist still as insatiable with food as ever. Haruki was probably the one you were closest to, since the actor and you kept in touch after receiving your undergraduate degrees in college.

He had even called you a few days before, saying that he heard from Konoha that the Akaashi and Bokuto had invited you as well. Your well-intentioned friend suggested doing something to their kneecaps even now, after all these years, but you said it was not necessary.

You had a feeling of why they wanted you here.

It was written out plainly in Akaashi’s letter: to apologize.

That was when you realized that you had never actually received one before. Akaashi was quick with excuses and even more desperate to have you hear his side, but never had the setter actually said the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ over what he had done to you.

And it was not like you need to hear it after all these years. It was something you were long over at this point, not even an issue.

But it made you wonder why now of all times was Akaashi asking to do this.

It was more like, if he needed to say it, then you were patient enough to finally listen.

Konoha said that the moment you needed an out, he would give it. There was already a back-up plan that could be in motion the very second you think it would be necessary. The two boys had made it the night before - Konoha getting a bad call from his family (actually Haruki calling him) and, if need be, he could cry on cue to get you two out of there.

You laughed and called them idiots.

And to your ultimate surprise, neither Akaashi nor Bokuto made an appearance before the game. You were mingling with the group when the announcer started introducing the teams. Those around you were making comments, talking about the young Hinata Shoyou from Miyagi or how the absolute bane-of-their-high-school-existence Sakusa Kiyoomi was now ironically on the same team as Bokuto.

You watched a volleyball game for the first time in seven years. The last game ever being the one before you broke it off with Akaashi. This was different in every way possible - the quick calculate looks of the setter Atsumu Miya. It was nothing like how Akaashi used to look at Bokuto, not how you remembered at least.

And you were actually enraptured in the game, interested eyes watching as the ball launched at high-speeds to each side of the court. At some point, Konoha placed a casual hand across the back of your seat, joking with Haruki that nothing less than food would get your attention.

It was only seven minutes into the first-set that Akaashi made his appearance.

You heard him before you saw him, some of the others greeting him as he strolled in late. In his hands was a box covered by a large plastic bag, apparently an order from Onigiri Miya that ended up taking longer than expected. He greeted everyone individually in his cool, yet quiet voice.

Konoha and you stood together, walking over to greet him with your hands clasped together. Akaashi greeted the both of you warmly, a half-smile at you before his eyes dropped to your hands. There was no hiding the length of his gaze before he was called to the side by someone else, thanking him for the invitation.

It was strange and felt like anything but normal, but at least this wasn’t the catastrophe you were somewhat expecting.

Akaashi turned to the both of you once his attention was freed, “Thank you both for coming. Let’s continue this later after the game, once Kōtarō is free as well.”

You nodded, mustering the best neutral smile you could. Konoha did the same before you made your way back to the seats. Akaashi continued to mingle with the others from high school, never taking a seat and standing watch over the game. One thing that hadn’t changed since your teen days was how much Bokuto stood out, on the court and just simply in person.

While you would’ve liked to have shouted or yelled at either boy at the time, you did not hold any malicious intent after. Never had you thought of outing them to the school or ruining their reputations. Life was hard enough with high-school drama, this was not something you wanted to draw out.

Once it was all said and done, you just wanted to move on.

And seeing Bokuto did not bring back a sudden surge of unhappiness or fight in you. Rather, you felt a small drop of happiness that he was pursuing his dream. But that was quickly squashed down when you remembered the last time you saw him on a volleyball court.

Konoha held your hand the whole way through, you could feel his gaze in the corner of your peripheral. It was sweet, he was making sure that you were truly okay with this, not just saying that you were. Haruki teased that the two of you were too disgustingly cute, to which Konoha just lifted your joined hands and placed a light peck to the side of your head.

You felt Akaashi’s eyes on you then.

You begged yourself not to look, there was nothing in the world that could ever excuse what he did to you. You told yourself that you were over this, that this toxic feeling would not engulf you back then and certainly not now. There was nothing that would grant him mercy.

You looked anyway.

His bright blue eyes were looking right at you. There was no pretend smile this time, no mask he could put on in time to show that he was as neutral as he was before. Instead, you knew what was crawling at the edges of his expression - sadness, jealous, regret. 

It was only when you shared eye-contact that it lit your nerves aflame. He was openly staring back, his eyes almost pleading with you to say something. The look made you tighten your hold in Konoha’s hand. You were filling with something from the pit of your stomach. Not with hurt, but more like worry. Why would Akaashi and Bokuto even invite you here if he was still lingering on those feelings?

You had to wrestle your gaze away, turning back to the gaze and leaning further into Konoha. He wrapped a lazy arm around your shoulder, pulling you and steadying you toward him. You were able to remind yourself that, this time, you were definitely not alone. Even though Akaashi was still looking at you, you refused to turn back and it was only when Konoha turned did you wonder what was going on.

You watched your boyfriend turn to Akaashi and wave, shooting a kind smile which served as a placating look of feigned obliviousness, before lightly kissing the side of your head.

Akaashi turned away then.

You smiled to yourself, thinking no one else had seen the interaction. But Konoha knew you well and even playfully called you out in a low voice, “Oh? You liked that?”

“What? I can’t appreciate my own knight in shining armor?” You teased back, earning you a teasing pinch to your side.

“We’re here for a couple more hours, try not to seduce me any further.”

“Wha!” You contested as he flicked your forehead, “I was not.”

But Konoha just smirked at you, a fond expression on his face before turning back to the game. “You’re cuter than you give yourself credit for.”

You felt your cheeks flush, this was hardly the first time that he had said something like this. But somehow it always lit your cheeks aflame anyway.

The rest of the game went by very quickly, with your attention distracted to your boyfriend on your right. It was the simple things that you found so attractive - even so much as the small veins protruding in his arms when he flexed.

It was hot, ngl.

When the game ended, you were bracing yourself for something. Bokuto made his way to the reserved box, his loud voice above the crowd as many moved forward to greet him. You waited to the side, only moving when there was space to actually get a word in.

“(L/N)-san.” Bokuto greeted back, “I’m glad you came.”

He gave Konoha a high-five that progressed into a side-hug, boys. Somehow they had this handshake that you had never really seen before between the two.

“We hope to move this reunion back to our apartment.” Akaashi announced, many of the group agreed since it was a night before the weekend and no work the next day. They filled out individually, the rambunctious group loud against the cold walls. Haruki and Yukie lingered, you were sure since it was because you were still there.

You looked toward Konoha, there was no doubt that he would want to join in with his old-friends. Not that you really minded, it was just that now it was going to be taking place in the shared home of the two people who cheated on you. Were you mentally prepared to sit in a place that showcased all of their memories?

With the box emptying out, Akaashi approached the two of you first, “This may be the only semblance of quiet we have for the night.”

“Yeah.” You replied dumbly, unsure what to say. Konoha did not let go of your hand.

Yukie edged out of the room, but held-up a cell-phone motion as if she would call you to give you an out if needed. Haruki followed, but their pace was slow and their footsteps halted outside the door. They were probably going to wait, but just gave you your privacy. Bokuto was leaning against the wall by the door, waiting for the three of you.

“This has been drawn out for too long.” Akaashi continued once the door closed behind them, “I wanted to apologize for everything I did to you.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t deserve it.” He stated, his kind-eyes now reflecting determination toward you, “I’ve long realized how selfish I was, trying to have both of your feelings. And it made me ashamed to think that I had never even properly apologized to you. I was so eager to speak, but never the right thing back then.”

You smiled, but said nothing. Not that you were unhappy, just overwhelmed with how earnest his apology was. You hadn’t expected Akaashi to be so genuinely repentant.

“You deserve all the happiness I could never give you and more.” Akaashi continued, his eyes lifting toward Konoha before dropping back to you. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Accepted.” You replied with an uneven smile, out-stretching a hand for him to take. Akaashi jumped at the chance, eagerly shaking your hand before shooting a grin back at you.

“Hey! Hey!” Bokuto started as he clapped a hand on Akaashi’s back, “And I’m sorry for keeping it a secret also, but...”

“But you loved him.” You finished for him. There was a time you wanted to step on Bokuto’s neck, but now you just felt nothing but understanding.

“That was a pretty dick move of me.” Bokuto continued.

“No hard feelings.” You replied back, earning a playful slap on the back from the wing-spiker that definitely hurt more than it was meant to.

“You were always the nicest one, (L/N)!” He said with a smile before turning to Konoha, “You’ve got a real catch here.”

Konoha smiled as he moved his hand to your waist and squeezed, “And I’ll never let her go.”

You gave him a similar smile, looking up at your boyfriend at feeling a fondness settle in your stomach over his kind yet protective nature. He looked down at you and couldn’t stop himself from lightly pecking you on the lips at that moment.

Bokuto let out a playful bristle and Akaashi shot you another one of his wistful smiles, but that was the least of your worries.

It had been a long time since you put those high-school days behind you. But there was a certain happiness, a content feeling inside you that had suddenly fostered at hearing his apology. You were more than ready to move onto your future, this toxic memory nothing but a stepping stone from your past.

➳  Masterlist ➳  Part One

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (TW: language)

Words: ~3K

Summary: Lars has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him in the middle of the night to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

Set mid SUF.

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to write Lars’ POV before this, but it was really fun! If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

Besides the quiet lull of the TV and the electric hum of the attic’s rickety old heater, all is silent in the Barriga household. The nighttime streets outside are vacant. Not a soul roams through his section of town, not even the newer Gem arrivals, who thankfully have been informed of humanity’s biologically mandated curfew by now. Sheesh, it’s about time.

After all, silence is peace. And in this day and age, in a world where the barriers between human and intergalactic politics are becoming increasingly blurred by the hour, peace is a gift.

Which is why having free time to play whatever old video games he wants in complete and total solitude at one AM is probably the single thing keeping him sane at this moment.

Lars’ fingers expertly flick at the joysticks of the controller as if by innate memory. It genuinely feels like forever since he’s been able to lose himself for hours in a solo campaign like this, and quite honestly, if given a choice he prefers it to any other leisurely activity. Chatting with his online friends or with that Gem gang of his is fun, sure, and working the counter at his bake shop can often be emotionally satisfying, but pushed too long and any kind of social interaction feels draining. He shifts on his bed, paying little to no attention to the slight chill against his bare chest. He’s pretty sure it’s like, near freezing outside and yet somehow it’s no more an annoyance to him than having to pause to reload an ammo clip in this game. It’s weird. Really weird. But then, at this point everything about his dumb life is.

It’s the Steven effect, he thinks with a soft scoff. Weird practically orbits him and his moms, and inevitably, every person he comes in contact with is brought into the fold. He’s a good kid, though. Don’t get him wrong. Steven always tries his best to be thoughtful when dealing with people he doesn’t understand— even when initially those people just act like dicks in return— and he for one is grateful for that, for the gift of a... a second chance. He knows full well he didn’t deserve it, (he still doesn’t), but he’s grateful.

The kid’s still on his mind when his phone lights up on the nightstand beside him, like the now familiar glow of Gems synchronizing to fuse.

(And goddamnit, does a part of him still balk almost two years later that it’s so normal to be casually relating everyday things to outer space Gem stuff anyways. What is he, with his pink hair and alien friends, the main character of an anime?)

Eyes skirt away from the grainy television set he’s been playing his favorite Immortal Combat on, and glance at the new notification.

Steven, the name at the top of the text reads. Well, lo and behold. The true shounen protagonist himself. Somebody’s ears must have been burning. Though, hmm. Come to think of it, that’s actually unusual. They pass bullshit memes back and forth sometimes, yes, but he never sends him anything this late at night.

Lars frowns, failing to obscure that annoying, instinctual worry that seizes him like the long lost sensation of hunger rising from the pit of his stomach, and scoots forward on his bed to grab his phone. What’s he want at this hour, anyways?

Steven: hey, sorry i know its late but can i come over ?

His frown deepens as he glances down at himself, clad in only a pair of boxers. He doesn’t mind having an unexpected visitor— after all, it’s not like he requires sleep anymore— but he’s not exactly dressed for company, here.

yeah but gimme a mo, he types back. kinda need to put on a shirt

Steven: k

Yawning out of sheer habit, he leans over the other side of the bed and grabs the first decent smelling tee he can find off the floor. It’s got an overlapping triangular emblem on it, a symbol from one of the game series he used to be obsessed with as a kid. He quickly shrugs it and a stray pair of sweatpants on, then returns to his phone.

decent now, he updates him.

The response is almost immediate.

Steven: be there soon

With a heavy inhale, he leans back against the headboard and begins to mentally prepare himself for the passage of One Whole Teenage Boy through the portal in his hair. For the most part he’s grown used to the changes caused by Steven’s literal magic resurrection, but not this. Who the hell knows how his pet lion puts up with it all the time. Quite frankly, how that creature has remained so docile and patient after years of interloping within Steven’s chaotic world of Gems eludes him, ‘cause it sure as hell isn’t a side effect of all the death-defying space voodoo.

Also, he’s like, 97% sure that “docile” and “patient” aren’t words anyone would pick to describe him at any stage of his life, ever.

And yet, yawning in his boredom, Lars waits.

And he waits.

And he waits.

And when eventually he breaks his stubborn streak and dares to check the time on his phone to see how many minutes have elapsed, how many minutes of his thrice-damned maybe infinite lifespan he’s wasted sitting up against the far wall of his room waiting for that kid to tumble right out of the literal inter-dimensional door hidden amidst the curls atop his head, he’s mildly surprised that his first emotional response to this delay is... dare he admits... disappointment.

It’s been nearly fifteen minutes. For whatever unknown reason, it seems as if Steven may not be coming over after all. Huh. He wonders what changed his mind. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Lars decides to check his texts. It’s possible the guy wrote something else and he just didn’t see it. But when he pulls up his latest conversation, all that comes up are the last messages they sent to each other. Be there soon, he said.

He hovers hesitant fingers over the keyboard, caught in the midst of trying to decide whether or not it’s too invasive and prying to send some sort of casual check-in, when he picks up on a very timid knock on the front door downstairs. And given the lateness of the hour, there’s really only one person it could be. He blinks for a moment, his mind still doing somersaults in order to process the mere concept of Steven not gleefully taking the opportunity to explode out of his hair for once in his life, and then drags himself up to his feet. Walks out of his attic room and down the stairs, being careful not to disturb his slumbering parents. Unlatches the locks on the door.

Truth be told he has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him at one fucking AM to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

He struggles not to stumble backwards at the initial force of the teen’s silent yet yearning embrace, eventually regaining his stability and... slowly, delicately... hugging him back. Honestly, he’s never been much of a hugger himself, but eh. He’ll give the guy this one. After a brief moment Lars gives him a few awkward pats, clearing his throat.

“Uh, Steven? You good to let go, now?” he asks quietly, still keeping his voice in a whisper for his parents’ benefit.

“Oh! Y-yeah, yeah,” his younger friend stammers, immediately pulling himself away. His eyes are drawn to the floor as he wrings his hands together. Timid. “Sorry, I just— I just needed somewhere I could clear my head tonight. Thank you, by the way.”

“No problem,” he throws back, gesturing for him to follow up the stairs. “‘S not like I ever sleep a wink now anyways. So I might as well have company.”

The two of them tiptoe towards the attic, a familiar setting for both. Steven’s been in here quite a few times before, so— already knowing the lay of the land— he plops himself down in the beanbag chair Lars keeps at the foot of his bed. They don’t talk about much of anything at first, merely passing back and forth brief updates about their lives. Small talk, nothing more. As expected though, Steven’s update is infinitely more interesting than his. Apparently he went on some mission to an alien planet with that Lapis friend of his the other day and had to deal with the attitude of some stubborn terraformers who didn’t want to stop working on their shitty old Homeworld assignment. (Meanwhile, the only update he has to offer is how he’s teaching Blue Lace Agate the art of bad baking puns while at work. Gotta leave behind some sort of legacy before he leaves with his fellow Off-Colors, of course.)

When the small talk finally dries up, (which seems... uncharacteristic, given the typical enthusiasm of his current visitor), Lars offers him a second controller.

“We can play the go-kart one, if you want,” he says, knowing full well that his friend isn’t a huge fan of all his war-themed combat games. Still, he figures the guy could probably stand to blow off a little steam. He looks super stressed, with his brow all creased and his stare unnervingly glassy.

The sixteen-year-old nods, adjusting his hands around the grips of the controller as Lars switches out the disk.

They race a few rounds in relative quiet, wholly insulated by the reassuring stillness of the night all around them, before Steven decides to open up again.

“Where do you think the line is?” he asks when they finish their current course.

His whole face scrunches in confusion. “Huh?”

“Between like, doing bad things, and outright being bad?” he continues, seemingly unaware of the comedic pulse of Lars’ initial response.

Lars blinks.

Considers these words deeply and thoroughly for a moment, as any good friend should.

And then...

“Where the heck did you pull that question from?”

Steven merely shrugs, his shoulders drooping a bit lower than they had been when he first entered his house a while back. “I dunno, just musing, ‘s all.”

The edges of his mouth curl downwards as he lets this corker of a conversation starter wash over him, not so much intended as a frown at Steven, but a frown at... whatever force of this universe would lead his friend to start musing about such depressing philosophical quandaries in the first place. Acting numb and brooding at the rest of the world is supposed to be his job, not this kid’s! And sure, yes, yes, yes, he knows he can’t exactly call him a kid anymore— at least not to his face— and that he’s been a teenager for a good three years now. It’s just that... well. For all his complaints about it earlier in life, Lars kinda grew to respect and feel uplifted by his cheery, upbeat, never-give-up-hope outlook. Dare he says, he kinda misses it.

(And for Steven’s sake, he kinda hoped he’d never discover the burnout and cynicism waiting on the other side. Alas, he fears that ship has probably sailed.)

“Sorry,” the sixteen-year-old mumbles upon noting his extended silence, his cheeks flushed with shame. “Probably not something anyone wants to think about at two in the morning. Just- forget I said anything, okay? Let’s play one more round, and then I can lea—“

Eyes widening, he holds up a hand to intercept that train of thought. “No, that’s— you asked an interesting question. Deep, but interesting. It’s fine, I don’t mind. I...”

He inhales deep, collecting his wits and whatever years of wisdom he may or may not have accumulated ever since dying and coming back to life.

“I suppose in my mind, people aren’t truly bad unless they intend to cause harm, y’know?” he begins, meeting Steven’s eyes. “You can still hurt others without meaning it, and like... that’s still not great, and you should still try and make up for it however you can, but... life’s complicated. People are complicated. It’s all a huge mess of emotions and ethics and beliefs all the time.”

He pauses, a twinge of melancholy rising within his chest as he catches a glimpse of a photograph hung on one of the wooden support beams at the far wall. It’s a selfie of him and Sadie he printed out a few years back when they were still low-key dating, one that— for the life of him— he can’t bear to take down. She’s kissing his cheek. He’s caught in the middle of laughter, playfully trying to nudge her away. They look... so young.

So naive.

(So human.)

“And sometimes it can be so, so easy to convince yourself that you’re always in the right,” he continues, quieter, “that people feeling hurt because of something you did is just their problem. In that case, it’s not that you wanted to harm anyone, it’s just... that you were blind to it, I guess.”

(And he was blind for a long, long time.)

“Like I said, it’s messy.”

Lars sighs, willfully averting his glance from the photographic reminder of all the ways he ignorantly fucked up with Sadie as a friend and partner, and with everyone in his life, making the same stupid mistakes over and over with nearly no improvement until he literally died to his old self.

“So, yeah. There. I guess that’s my opinion,” he mumbles, absentmindedly fiddling with the collar of his graphic tee. “Everyone makes bad choices sometimes, but you’re not actually a bad person unless you literally want to harm others. I don’t think people are bad once and bad forever, though,” he adds, pulling his hand away from his shirt.

Inhaling deep, he splays his palm wide, admiring those same old loops and whorls at the tips of his fingers, identical in every detail to his old, living, human self... but now pink. It's haunting, sometimes.

“People can change, y’know? If they make the effort to.”

When he finally glances back at Steven, he seems thoroughly spaced out by all his impassioned rambling, his gaze walleyed and void of any identifiable emotion. He scowls, unsure whether or not he should feel offended, and gives an exaggerated shrug to defuse the sickeningly earnest atmosphere out of this room.

“But hey, I’m biased,” he mutters, letting that instinctual, age-old self-depreciation coat his tone once more. “For all I know, everything I said could be absolute bunk, and I’m still just an asshole.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole, Lars,” Steven finally speaks up, his expression still perplexingly unreadable.

“I—“ His eyes blow wider, the sheer frankness of this comment catching him entirely off guard, overturning all of his once-impenetrable defenses. “...Thank you. I’m trying not to be.”

The conversation doesn’t advance any further from there, both parties content to fade back into the understated comfort of silent companionship. They play a few more rounds of their racing game, Lars beating Steven handily each time. (Truth be told, he’s not confident he’s bringing his A-game, though.) Then, sometime around three AM, his friend drags himself out of the beanbag chair and announces that he should probably head home and get some rest. Apparently he’s got a lot of planning to do for Little Homeschool's graduation ceremony that’s happening in a few days, or whatever. Which, is fair. Not everyone is blessed enough to be a sleepless zombie like him.

“Y’know, it’s been nice, getting to hang out, just us,” Steven says— quiet, but genuine— as Lars leads him back down the stairs. “We should do this more often.”

Purposefully, given the unusual emotional atmosphere of this whole visit, he decides not to mention the fact that he's planning to leave Earth again when his all Gem friends finally graduate. Later, he thinks, when everyone's in a better place.

“Well, if you’re ever bored, you know where to reach me,” he replies as they reach the bottom step, fondly rolling his eyes. “The good ol’ inter-hair-mensional express. Just, y’know— text me. And not during work hours.”

The teen gives his thanks once again, and then exits out the front, making sure to be extra gentle shutting the door on his way out for his parents’ sake. Huh. Seems that even when he’s (seemingly) in a funk, he’s capable of being uber courteous like that. Goodness, how does he do it?

Lars stands motionless at the entryway for a few moments after he’s gone, staring blankly at the now empty space the sixteen-year-old just occupied. His brow furrows, his fingers curling in perplexion at his side. He doesn’t have enough insight into Steven’s inner life to claim anything for sure, but he can’t help but feel like something with that boy was... off, tonight. Like, beyond your standard teenage moodiness. His demeanor, his bizarre and specific question, his relative silence... it all seems to be pointing towards something, lurking in the background. Still, there’s little he can do for a person who’s not volunteering information. And it ain’t his job to drag it out of him, either. He always hated when his parents tried to do that when he was younger, and it almost ruined their relationship entirely. That’s the last sorta scenario he’d want to force upon Steven. He’ll open up when he’s ready, in the end.

And until then... well.

He just hopes that the kid knows that— beyond the bizarre magic portal in that pink lion’s mane— he’s always got a brother on the other side who’s willing to at least listen. To be but a small source of support.

If he wants him to be.

[mithranqueersmusings]

I Think I'll Love You Too I

Chapter: 1/?

Rating: E

Summary: George and Ringo have been going out officially for a couple of months. Ringo anticipated that dating a stripper would be complicated, but he didn't understand exactly how complicated it would be.

Tags: Modern AU, Smut

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

"Are you sure about this?" Ringo asked tentatively, running the strips of leather through his fingers gently.

George gave him a look which needed no further explanation, the severity of his gaze enough to silence Ringo's worries. It hadn't been too long ago that Ringo had fantasised about having George all to himself yet now that dream had become a reality, he was nervous. Nervous about what exactly, Ringo didn't know, but ever since George had decided to reveal his extensive sex toy collection Ringo had been dreading the day he'd actually be required to use any of them. It wasn't that he didn't want to use these array of objects on George - the images they conjured in his mind kept him up late on several occasions - but he worried he wouldn't know how to do it properly. George seemed far more experienced with kinks and toys and everything really.

"We can try something else if you like." George was lying on his bed in nothing but a silk - Ringo couldn't tell whether it was real or not - dressing gown that was a deep shade of blue.

"Like what?" Ringo put the whip he'd been holding down onto the bed gently as though it had a mind of its own then scooted around to peruse through George's box once more.

"How about..." George began, scooting down the bed to get a better view "Wax?"

It took Ringo a few moments before he spotted the candles tucked away in the corner, they were thick and red like ones you might see in a horror film. Candles didn't seem that intimidating, at least compared to some of the other contraptions in here. Ringo wasn't even sure what some of them were called, and he was far too embarrassed to ask in this moment.

"Have you ever done it before?" George asked, his voice soft and sultry.

Ringo shook his head and chuckled "How hard can it be? I mean... It's candles."

"Precisely my thinking." George smiled at Ringo, quieting any anxiety he had.

"So... Uh- how do you wanna do this?" Ringo asked feeling rather helpless, picking up two of the candles from the box and giving them a smell - cherry scented, he guessed.

"Well." George began, the excitement in his voice evident, getting up from the bed and crouching beside the box "We're gonna need these."

These referred to a pair of handcuffs and two pieces of ribbon-like material which were a dark maroon colour. Ringo couldn't help himself from staring at George's face as he concentrated, his dark brows knitting together with his expression serious. Even though they'd been dating for a month or two now, Ringo still couldn't believe his luck that he was able to tie down - no pun intended - someone as stunning as George. Light stubble was brushed along his sharp jaw, only accentuating the bone further, his hair was messy yet still enticing and the paleness of his skin was clear to see as the robe slipped over his skin freely.

"We could do a blindfold too, if you wanted." George lowered his voice in concentration "Maybe some... No, I'm getting carried away."

George laughed to himself and returned back to his full height, clutching the aforementioned items before chucking them onto the bed with little consideration. Then he rummaged through his bedside table for a lighter, there was always one in the bedroom due to the cigarettes they tended to smoke after sex. Successful in his search, George threw the lighter to Ringo without warning but he managed to catch it all the same. Ringo cursed himself for feeling so flustered, but it was difficult knowing what was to come. No matter how many times he slept with George, no matter what kind of depraved acts they got up to, he still felt as anxious as the very first time; that was just the effect George had on him.

"I'm gonna hop in the bath real quick, then we can start. Okay?" George threw off his robe casually, letting the fabric slide from his smooth skin into a pile on the floor.

"Sounds like a plan." Ringo nodded, finally putting the candles down beside the bed.

Ringo watched George with hungry eyes as he sauntered off into the bathroom, the way he swung his hips made it clear to Ringo that he knew he was being looked at. The door shut with a gentle thud, leaving Ringo alone to gather his thoughts and prepare for what was to come.

"Comfortable?" Ringo asked after clicking the handcuffs together, pulling George's slim wrists to the top of the bed.

George nodded with a small smile, wiggling his limbs to test the strength of the restraints then nodded again. This was a small moment of intimacy that occurred every time they ventured into kinky territory, the calm before the storm in many ways. Ringo smiled back then flicked the lights off, leaving nothing but a lamp in the corner to light the suppleness of George's body. Ringo's nerves seemed to dissipate in the relative darkness, his breath steadying as he moved back over to the bed. First, he captured George's soft lips in a gentle kiss that quickly grew heated. George wasn't the most patient when it came to the bedroom, his teeth already pulling at Ringo's bottom lip. It took a great deal of strength for Ringo to pull away, fighting the temptation to forget all about the candles and to start spreading George open.

The candles had already been lit, sitting on the bedside table flickering slightly, and it was now that Ringo made his way over to pick one of them up. The sweet smell of cherry wafted around the room, something usually so innocent now suddenly turned erotic. The look in George's eyes was hungry, his hands were already fiddling with the handcuffs as best they could from the awkward angle, watching Ringo experimentally tilt the candle sideways so that the wax began to drip down. First it fell onto the bed, Ringo didn't want to try it directly onto George's skin at first. How much was this going to hurt? Ringo supposed he didn't really have to know, George knew and more importantly wanted desperately to feel the sensation.

"Come on..." George whined, rattling his handcuffs against the metal bedframe in protest.

Ringo moved his hand further, hovering the candle over George's hairless stomach before tilting it once more. The wax dripped down instantly, burning the soft skin for a moment before solidifying; its rich red colour made it appear almost like blood, a sight which no doubt spurred further depraved fantasies in George's mind.

"More." George demanded, his pupils dilated both from the darkness and his exponentially growing lust "And take your fucking clothes off."

Ringo gulped, unsure as to which command he was meant to follow first. It was difficult to think with this enticing display laid out before him: George's cock was beginning to harden and it made Ringo's mouth water. He decided to carry on with the candle for a few more moments, teasingly tilting the candle back and forth so that the wax never fell when George was expecting it. Ringo slowly began making a pattern which gradually grew closer to George's erection, each drop pulling a sharp hiss from his lips.

"Clothes." George repeated impatiently, it was moments like this that reminded Ringo why he'd been so intimidated by George when they'd first crossed paths.

Ringo didn't wait to be told a third time, even though George was helpless to administer any punishment even if he'd wanted to, undoing his trousers and shirt sloppily and tossing them behind him. He hadn't realised how hard he'd become until his erection sprang free from his boxers, evidently George wasn't the only one enjoying this little experiment. Candle back in hand, Ringo carefully shifted himself onto the bed to straddle George's thighs - careful to ensure they were never close enough for their cocks to brush together, that'd be making things too easy - before he tilted the candle once more. This time Ringo aimed for George's nipples which were hard with the coldness of the room, only missing by an inch or two. The second attempt was successful, landing directly onto the target, leading George to groan breathlessly.

"Feel good?" Ringo asked with a raised eyebrow, his free hand rubbing over the clean nipple.

George nodded "Stop holding back. I can take it."

Ringo smirked, jerking his wrist swiftly to administer another hot drop of wax onto his nipples "You wanna tell me where you want it, baby?"

George growled in response, a noise Ringo only heard every so often "My cock." The word sounding so filthy in George's rough tone, his tongue playing with his sharp teeth.

"You sure?" Ringo asked after a pause, his nervousness returning only slightly.

"Yes, I'm sure." George whined, thrusting his hips upwards as best he could to demonstrate his desperation "Now, do it."

Ringo couldn't deny that George's bossiness was a complete turn on, although he'd never let George know exactly how much of a turn on it truly was. He tried his best to silence the anxious thoughts plaguing his mind. Before committing to George's demand, Ringo wrapped his fingers gently around George's erection which earned him a few soft pants. Now or never, Ringo told himself before tilting the thick candle once more and letting the wax fall onto the hard cock gripped in his hand.

The noise that left George's mouth was something Ringo had never heard before, a mixture between a gasp and a deep moan, though it was certainly one he wanted to hear again (and again, and again...) It was difficult to not admire the strange beauty of the wax trickling down George's erection, which was now rock hard.

"Fuck..." Ringo couldn't keep the words from spilling from his lips, only waiting a moment or two before spilling more hot wax onto the reddening skin.

George let out a grunt, sounding far more in pain than he had previously, and for a moment Ringo worried he'd taken it too far but the look on his face was of pure ecstasy.

"More." George moaned, his wrists struggling in the constraints.

"Now, now." Ringo teased, a sly grin on his lips "There's a nicer way of asking that."

The look George gave Ringo made him very appreciative of the restraints for without them, George might've slapped him. He knew George's aggression wasn't genuine, it was just sexual frustration, but that didn't make it any less terrifying. A few moments passed in which the two of them just looked at each other, George's mouth tight with anger as he waited for Ringo to give up this act and carry on following his orders, but the time never came. Ringo only raised his eyebrows further, tilting the candle just so that it never dropped any wax.

"I'm waiting." Ringo spoke with a lilt, his grin widening.

George rolled his eyes and scoffed, looking like a disgruntled child "Please give me more, Ringo..."

"More of... what?" Ringo pushed his luck, he decided he may as well make use of George being helpless like this for as long as he could.

George's stare was deadly but it melted away when Ringo gave his cock a few loose jerks "Please pour that hot wax on my cock, please. I've been good, haven't I?"

Ringo found it difficult to refuse George whenever he opted for the mock-innocent route, so he decided to stop the teasing and snapped his wrist suddenly which led to three separate droplets of wax falling onto the sensitive skin of George's cock. George practically shrieked, his body jerking upwards but failing to move more than a few inches off the bed.

"Fuuuuck." George breathed, his eyes struggling to focus "Do that again."

For a moment Ringo debated teasing George further, but his own erection was growing uncomfortably hard and he wouldn't be able to ignore it for much longer. In a quick motion Ringo grabbed the second candle, unleashing a shower of wax down onto George. The noises were pained yet still erotic, Ringo couldn't help moaning himself as he watched the pain and pleasure washing over George's face. When George and Ringo's eyes finally met once more, Ringo could tell that George's vision was a little fuzzy.

"Can you use wax as lube?" Ringo asked, his mouth opening before he'd even considered what he was saying.

George's hazy eyes lit up "We can try."

Only now did Ringo realise the commitment he was making with that question, although it would have been foolish to pretend the idea didn't excite him thoroughly. It wasn't the smoothest transition but Ringo managed to undo the restraints on George's legs and get him into a position where the wax could drop directly onto his entrance.

"Are you sure?" Ringo asked cautiously, his free hand running circles up and down George's thigh to soothe him.

"Do it." George ordered once more, biting down on his lip.

Ringo shut off the barrage of voices telling him to stop, that this was taking things too far, and let his wrist flop down. George was incapable of making a sound, his mouth agape with only sharp breaths pouring out. However much it hurt, Ringo was certain he didn't want to know, but it was clear that George approved of whatever it was he was experiencing.

"Jesus." George panted "Feels so fucking good."

"Oh yeah?" Ringo asked, letting another two drops fall onto his hole "Tell me."

"Fuck!" George yelped, his wrists rattling in the handcuffs "Hurts so much... Don't stop."

Ringo tried to ignore the potential contradiction, pressing his finger roughly inside before spilling more wax from above; a drop fell onto Ringo's finger and stung for a moment or two before the pain subsided. George was falling apart before him, sweat dripping from his forehead and sticking his dark hair onto the skin in strands.

"I don't need your fingers." George squirmed "I want your cock, Ringo. Now."

"It's not-" Ringo began but George silenced him with a glare "Alright."

Ringo shifted himself on his knees, pumping his finger a few more times before pulling it out entirely. It didn't take too long for Ringo to learn the telling signs of when George was getting close: his toes would start curling, he'd bite his lip just hard enough to draw a drop or two of blood and his eyes would grow so dark, the pupil engulfing the iris completely.

Even Ringo was getting too frustrated to be overtly considerate, letting the wax fall liberally down onto George's arse, coating his cock and his entrance as a cacophony of moans and shrieks filled the room. It was getting to a point that Ringo was concerned that George might break the handcuffs completely, the skin on his wrists clearly irritated.

"Ringo..." George cooed, it was impossible for Ringo not to be enticed by his own name being said so sweetly "I want you inside me."

No further words were needed, Ringo spit into his hand and lathered up his cock before lining up with George's entrance, now covered with red wax. Fortunately it hadn't solidified completely and Ringo was able to fashion a makeshift lube out of the soft wax and his own spit, it wasn't his most dignified moment but in the heat of the moment all he needed was to feel his cock stretching George out. As the head pushed past the tight ring of muscle George began clawing at the bedframe, sweat dripping from his skin as he moaned at the sensation.

"I swear you get fucking bigger every time." George breathed, his hand gripping the metal frame to expel some tension.

"I'm not getting bigger, you're getting tighter." Ringo groaned, thrusting himself in deeper as the smell of cherries wafted into his nose.

It was difficult to move at first, the lube was hardly effective and without any preparation it was a struggle. More spit was needed and eventually more wax, Ringo was as careful as he could manage to not drop any onto his own cock but it was only possible to a certain extent; the further they went the more he found himself enjoying the burning sensation although he was certain he wouldn't be able to endure as much as George had.

"Not complaining are you?" George cocked an eyebrow and pulling Ringo closer towards him with his legs.

Ringo moaned gruffly "You know I'm not."

"Fuck me harder, then." George began writhing again, desperate for his own cock to be touched.

It was a complete sensory overload: the cherry scent so strong now that Ringo's head was swimming, the wax occasionally catching on his skin which would cause him to suddenly thrust forward into George who was so tight that Ringo wanted to scream. George was practically wailing at this point, his lip smeared with red as he tried to keep his eyes locked on Ringo's as he fucked him deeper.

"I feel like I'm gonna pass out." Ringo admitted, the fuzziness of his mind slurring his speech just slightly.

George looked concerned for a moment, it wasn't often that his sultry persona was shaken but it was difficult to hide; Ringo reassured him with a weak smile, gripping onto George's thigh and quickening his thrusts. He was getting close, George seemed to have been on the edge of orgasm for an impossible amount of time.

"I'm close, I'm close." Ringo repeated, cascading more wax down onto the few areas of George's chest that were still bare before blowing out the candle entirely and chucking it onto the bedside table as accurately as he could manage.

"Touch me." George pleaded, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Ringo wrapped his hand once more around George's coated cock, the wax had started to crumble and create a mess all over the bed but neither of them paid any attention. The intensity of his incoming orgasm almost scared Ringo, he'd never felt anything like it before. George hadn't stopped babbling, whether he was whining for release or muttering incoherent yet clearly filthy things.

"Need your fucking cum." George managed to speak with some clarity "Fuck! Give it to me, give it to me... I want your cum."

Ringo gripped George's leg tighter for some stability, expelling his final burst of energy as he fucked into him roughly and sloppily. Both were groaning, dripping with sweat and wax and desperation. If Ringo had known this experience would be this enjoyable, he would've suggested it sooner.

"Shit, shit." Ringo panted "I'm close."

"Mmmm." George whined, his voice nearly wrecked "Come on, baby, give it to me. I wanna feel your hot cum deep inside me. Please, please, please, make me dirty. I wanna be dirty for you."

"Fuuuucking hell." Ringo's hips stuttered as he chased his orgasm, his eyes shut tight as the ever-familiar sensation began deep in his stomach "You're unbelievable, George."

Then he was coming, the orgasm striking Ringo with such an intensity that he released a noise he didn't even know he was capable of making. With these final shreds of energy Ringo desperately jerked George's cock until he was finishing too, shooting cum all over his wax-covered skin. The climax hit like a huge wave, crashing into the both of them as utter ecstasy washed over their sweaty bodies. It took several moments for the both of them to recover, Ringo hadn't even pulled out while they tried to catch their breath.

When Ringo finally felt capable of opening his eyes and returning to reality, George was looking directly at him with a smug expression.

"What?" Ringo asked, sitting down onto the bed and brushing his sweaty hair away from his forehead.

"Nothing." George replied innocently "I just can't believe you did all that."

"Is it really that surprising?" Ringo leaned over to finally release George's aching wrists from the handcuffs.

"Maybe not." George let his arms flop onto the bed "But if you'll do this, maybe there's some more shit in that box we can try."

"I'm gonna need at least 3-5 working days to recover from this." Ringo huffed, lying himself down beside George "Then we can talk."

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Summary:  Marinette had replayed the video enough times. She'd know Adrien's voice saying those three words anywhere. (Set the same day as the episode Felix.  Reveal Fic.  Rated T for kissing, ignores Chat Blanc mostly because my heart can’t take the angst right now.)

~~~

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I lo—”

Tikki’s tiny butt sat on the video’s pause button, freezing Adrien’s lips in a perfect o.  

“Marinette, you need to get ahold of yourself.”

Marinette was sure her complexion matched her kwami’s as she dropped her face onto her desk.  “I knoooooow.”

She was being ridiculous.  More ridiculous than usual, anyway.  But something about those words did more than just make her stomach flutter—it felt familiar, though it was probably just from her daydreams.  If he’d told her he loved her before, there was no way she’d forget it.

Her thumb instinctively moved to replay the last five seconds again.  Tikki flew into the small space between her and the phone screen, catching the digit between her arms.

“This is an intervention,” she said in her most authoritative voice.  Considering it was still two octaves higher than the average humans, it shouldn’t have had much effect, but Marinette hated disappointing Tikki.  She was her friend, the only one she could be completely honest with.

And Tikki was pretty good about being honest with her, too.  If the kwami thought Marinette needed an intervention, she was probably right.

“Fine.” Marinette spun in her desk chair, intending to pull out some butcher paper and start drafting a pattern in the few hours before patrol tonight.  It wasn’t likely that Hawkmoth would akumatize two people in one day—or four, considering it had been three for the price of one thanks to Felix’s stunt—but Chat had sounded a little desperate when he asked if they could still meet up.  She hoped he hadn’t planned another impromptu date.  She didn’t know if she could handle that after finding out that yet another one of her plans to confess to Adrien had fallen through, this time through no fault of her own.

Would he have said I love you back to her if it weren’t for his cousin’s interference?  They’d gotten so much closer lately, but…

“I’m not good with jokes.  The girl I’m in love with doesn’t like them, either.”

That she didn’t need a recording to replay.  It was embedded in her memory, like a deep splinter she couldn’t dig out.

He might say he loved her, as a friend.  But beyond that?  She was just setting herself up for disaster.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked.  “Do you need some help with the paper?”

She shook her head, almost whacking it on the desk leg as she scrambled for her supply box beneath.  “No, I got it. You can grab the measuring tape, though.”

She was finally going to mock up the pattern for an airy sundress she’d spent the last week sketching out. Nothing would take her mind off of her troubling love life like the single-minded focus of a personal project.

It worked a little too well, though.  Between drafting each piece, cutting the paper, pinning it to the cheap test fabric, cutting the fabric, pinning the pieces to each other—she barely managed to stop herself from starting the actual sewing when Tikki held up her phone.

On top of a group selfie of her, Adrien, Alya, and Nino, the clock showed 9:29.  Patrol started at 9:30

“Ack!  I’m going to be late!”  She jabbed herself at least ten times getting her pins all back in the pincushion.  Everything else could wait, but she didn’t want to swing in and catch one in her foot later.

“Tikki, spots on!”

By the time she swung across town to the Eiffel Tower, her bugphone read 9:35.  Record time, but still late. So where was…?

“Little kitty on a roof, all alone without his lady…”

The familiar tune was more downcast than Marinette was used to.  Sure enough, when she swung up a few crossbars to Chat Noir’s perch, she caught a flash of his forlorn expression before his usual grin took over.

“Hey there, Bugaboo,” his voice chirped as chipper as ever.  Had she been imagining his earlier mood?  Or maybe he’d just been worried she wouldn’t make it.  Silly kitty.  Regardless of whether or not she returned his feelings, she’d vowed to never stand him up again if she could help it.

“Any trouble on the way over?”  He asked.

“Only with myself,” she admitted, rubbing the still-stinging pads of her fingers.  She probably should’ve put some ointment on them before transforming; the suit irritated the little pricks further.  “Civilian me is still as much of a mess as ever.”

She’d hoped that by dropping non-identifying clues on how much she struggled in her daily life, Chat Noir would see through the perfect illusion he had of her and come to his senses.  Honestly, she should’ve known better.  It hadn’t worked the first ten times she’d tried, and now it only brought a wider smile to his face.

(That wasn’t why she did it, of course.  Even if it warmed her more than she wanted to admit, she only had feelings for one green-eyed blond.)

“The only mess you make is a mess of my heart, my lady,” he said with a wink that had her rolling her eyes.

“How do you even come up with those lines?” She asked with a stifled laugh—at how bad it was, not because he was actually funny. “The internet?”

“I’m paw-fended,” he gasped, claws spread in front of his mouth dramatically.  “I’ll have you know that everything I say is a one-hundred-percent Chat Noir original.”

“Of course.  I should’ve known.  Who else could drop that kind of cheese so seriously?”

“Only because I am serious, Bugaboo,” he reminded her.  As if she could forget.  Bantering back and forth with him was so easy; she hoped she wasn’t accidentally leading him on.  He deserved better than that.

He smiled as he bumped his shoulder against hers.  His voice bared his sincerity as he said, “Hate on my puns all you want.  It won’t change the fact that I love you.”

I love you.

Electricity shot up Marinette’s spine.  No.  No, it couldn’t be— 

I love you.

She’d replayed those words at least a hundred times (two hundred and fifty-three, but who was counting?) in the past day.  She’d memorized his exact inflection, the way he spoke from his heart, even if it was about all their friends and not her alone.  She would recognize his voice saying those three words anywhere.

Anywhere.  Including coming from her ridiculous, pun-loving partner.

“Ladybug?”  Chat scooted away from her, his fingertips digging into the backs of his hands.  “I’m sorry, I—I know you don’t feel the same way, you don’t have to—”

“Adrien?”

He nearly toppled off of the tower. Marinette caught him by the shoulder, holding him in place before he could lose his balance again, or run away, or—she didn’t know what he’d do.  She really should’ve thought this through.  They were supposed to keep their identities secret!  It wasn’t his fault, of course; she imagined if he’d called her Marinette while she was in the suit she would’ve had a much worse heart attack— 

“Who—who’s Adrien?”  Chat forced a grin.

“Oh, no.  You’re not getting out of this that easy.”  She fell deeper into Ladybug mode, still not letting her brain process that—that holy crap this was ADRIEN, Adrien who had just confessed his love to her—to her—!

“Ladybug, please, please don’t freak out, I’m sorry.” It was his turn to grip her shoulders as she tried to breathe.  His acidic green eyes were blown wide, the miraculous transformation hiding his normal soft chartreuse irises.  Still, how could she not have noticed?  It was him it was him it was him and she couldn’t unhear it, couldn’t separate his apologetic voice now from their time at the wax museum when she had almost kissed him and no, now that was even doubly embarrassing because it was CHAT, she’d almost kissed CHAT NOIR— 

“I’m not freaking out!  Why would you think I’m freaking out?”

Her eye twitched.  Her heart just about escaped her ribcage at the soft look of concern her partner was giving her.  Oh, this was bad.  This was very, very bad.

“I know you didn’t want to find out, and I… how did you find out?”  He asked hesitantly.  His hand left her shoulder to rub the back of his neck, and she barely restrained herself from tugging it back.  Or better yet, climbing into his lap and hoping he’d enfold her in his arms.

Bad.  Very, very bad.

“I… well, you see—haha look at the time!”  She sprang up and glanced at her obviously-watchless wrist.  “Looks like we’re too late to patrol tonight.  Oops!  Sorry Ad—Chat!  I’ll have to love you—SEE you later!  Bug out!”

“Ladybug!”  He scrambled to his feet, reaching for her arm before she could grab her yo-yo.  He was Chat and he was Adrien and he was touching her and even through both their suits she felt herself burning.  No, no, she could not be weird with her partner.  Not after she’d turned him down over and over and— 

Part of her wanted to cry.  But Chat—Adrien—had already beaten her to it.

“Please, LB.  Please, don’t go. if you have something against Adrien you can tell me, o-or you can not, but please just… don’t leave me.”  He swallowed hard, his voice thick with the tears already pooling around the lip of his mask.  “Not tonight.”

Tonight.  Today.  The anniversary of Adrien’s mother’s disappearance.

The anniversary of Chat’s mother’s disappearance.

“Oh,” she breathed, feeling like the worst partner—the worst friend in the whole world. She pulled him close, shoving all other traitorous feelings and desires aside, and focused on comforting him.  “I’m so sorry, kitty.  I’m not going anywhere, I just—panicked, that’s all.”

He laughed hollowly.  The sound curdled in her stomach, a sick parody of the cheery sound that usually rang from him.  But he had every right to sound that way, after what he’d been through. His mom was gone and she knew his home life was a wreck and he had so many of his father’s expectations dragging on him, and moonlighting as a superhero on top of that— 

How had he ended up being the carefree one out of their duo?

“You panicked because I broke the number one rule.  I gave myself away somehow.”

“No, chaton.  It’s not your fault.”  She rubbed soothing circles into the small of his back, trying to ignore how she could feel the toned muscles through the leather.  (His suit was much worse for her sanity knowing it was Adrien in it.)  “It’s my fault.  One hundred percent definitely my fault.”

He pulled back enough to stare at her, his head tilted sideways like he really was just an overgrown curious kitty, and her transformation from Ladybug into a puddle-bug seemed all too likely.

“I still don’t know how you did it.  Is this one of those ‘lucky charm’ connections only your brilliant mind can make?”

Marinette giggled into his shoulder, because maintaining eye contact was beyond her physical limit right now.  “Chat, the only brilliant thing about me is how brilliantly stupid I’ve been.”

“I’m still not following, my lady.”  His voice was still a little rough, but no longer dripping with desperation.

She kept up the soothing pattern on his back, just in case.

“I… er…”  There was no good way to say, oh, I recognized your voice because I’ve been listening to you tell me you love me all afternoon, only you weren’t even saying it to me and actually I’m a massive creep and you probably don’t want to be friends with me anymore, let alone be my partner and— 

“Shh, shh, breathe.”

—And now he was comforting her again.  It took her back to the first time they’d met—well, the first time Ladybug met Chat Noir.  She’d been so useless, and he’d been so ready to assure her that she could handle it.  From then on she’d somehow begun to take charge, but without that first push—without him—she’d never have gotten here.

And maybe… maybe leaning on him again wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her forehead resting against his chest.  He held her tight but refrained from any other soothing motions.  Of course he wouldn’t.  She’d brushed off too many of his physically affectionate gestures before.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”  It was a testament to how serious he was that he didn’t slip in a paw-pun there.  Honestly, she wished he had; she could’ve used the laugh right now.  “I trust you.  I always wanted you to be the first to know my identity, anyway.”

“Chat, I have everything to apologize for.”

She could hardly explain why without giving away her own identity, but she knew it was only a matter of time.  She’d rather have this conversation now than after she’d made a fool of herself—scratch that, she was already making a fool of herself, but it could be worse.  She could accidentally call him Chat in class.  She could boop his nose like she sometimes did as Ladybug.  Or someone could catch her doodling their wedding outfits in her notebook. She was really going to have to stop that, or Alya would wonder why she’d suddenly decided she wanted a “ladynoir” themed ensemble.

Great.  Five minutes into finding out Chat was Adrien, and she was still daydreaming about marrying him!  Get a grip, Marinette!  She hadn’t been this bad around Adrien in months, but connecting him with Chat had short-circuited her brain.  

“I’m not… I’m not like this, as myself.”  She pulled back and gestured down to all of her.  “And I don’t know that you’d still like me if you knew.  You never seemed to before.”

“Are you saying I know you?  Civilian you?”

He didn’t sound surprised.  Had she given herself away, too?  Her spastic reaction earlier did scream “Marinette.”  It wasn’t how she’d dreamed of revealing herself to her partner, but since when did her dreams regarding Adrien ever pan out?

“Yes.  You do.”  She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt.  Sure, she was thrilled (and confused and mortified) that Adrien was Chat Noir, but would he feel the same about her identity?

“Can I… can I guess who you are?”  Adrien-Noir asked, his voice fragile as glass.  His hands shook against her back. “If you don’t want me to, I get it, really.  But I… I think I know.  There’s no one else you could be.”

She pulled back, her eyebrows drawn in confusion beneath her mask.  “You’re that certain?  I was so—nevermind. I want to hear it.” Explaining how careful she was to mislead him would only confirm his suspicions, if he was even right.  For all she knew, he thought she was some stranger he knew from fencing or one of his other extracurricular activities.

One of his sly Chat-grins spread across his face.  Normally that would have her worried, but it was a relief to fall back into a familiar pattern.  

(Though how close he leaned in to her ear was new.  And was likely to make her burst like fireworks if she so much as breathed.)

“I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Fire spread through every inch of her.  She jolted in Adrien’s arms, cracking her head against his jaw and making him yelp.

“Sorry!  Oh my—are you kayo—okay?”  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming.  Adrien said he loved her!  Marinette her!  And then she probably broke his jaw or something—!

“I’m fine—a-at least I think I am, if I was right?  About you being Marinette?”  He rubbed his jaw and smiled hopefully at her.  Yep, she was definitely going to be a puddle-bug.  He’d be scooping her off the side of the Eiffel Tower in a bucket.

She swallowed the giddy laugh bubbling up in her.  “I bet it would be really embarrassing if you weren’t.”

He laughed and scooped her up in a hug that lifted her feet from the metal beam.  “Marinette!  I knew it!”

Pressed close to him, she barely resisted the urge to wrap her legs around his waist and kiss his lips.  He was Adrien and Chat and him, and he was holding her and he loved her!  

The laugh finally escaped, breathless and smitten, as she laced her fingers behind his neck.

“You did.  Somehow.  I was so careful too—you have no idea how hard it is to split yourself and use that many miraculouses at once.  The illusion was perfect though.”  She frowned as she thought back on their fight with Kwamibuster.  “How did you find out?”

“I asked you first.”  He smirked. It was a face he made all the time, it had no right to be so cute now.  It was a just a curve of his lips, of Adrien’s lips—

“If I kissed you, do you think you’d forget about it?”

She slapped her hands over her mouth.  Had she—had she really said that?  To Adrien!?  

“Actually if you could just forget I said that too—”

“Not a chance, Buginette.”

She hadn’t thought his grin could get any wider, but she’d been wrong.  He held her tight, her toes barely brushing the ground. Still, she could escape if she wanted to.   

(She didn’t want to.)

“Chaaaat…”

“Thanks to Oblivio, I forgot the last time you kissed me.  There’s no way I’m forgetting again.”

She flushed as she remembered the picture Alya had taken of them.  Of course, it made sense now—she must have somehow learned Chat’s identity while they were under Oblivio’s influence.  How long had that fight taken?  Did she have a shorter or longer reveal-to-kiss timeframe this time? 

And then the full force of it hit her.  He wanted to kiss her.

Adrien.  Wanted to kiss.  Her.

She lost what little coherent thought she had left as she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him to her.  Their lips collided roughly, and she felt him gasp before he melted into her.  

From there, it was all a blur.  Some distant part of her mind might have registered how she ended up with her legs wrapped around his hips, how he stumbled back into a crossbeam, how he held her so tightly she might’ve been crushed outside of the suit.  But all of that was faded against the single-minded desire to drown him in the love and desire and everything that she’d kept bottled tight for the past year.

She had no idea how long it was before he pulled back and breathlessly said her name.  “Marinette.”  Those three syllables in that voice had her losing her mind.  She was about to claim his lips again when he turned his head, making her miss and kiss his cheek.  Well.  That wasn’t so bad, either.  She peppered the side of his face, up to the edge of his mask, and he laughed.

“Marinette.  LB.  You can’t hide behind kisses forever.”

“Watch me.”

A kiss to the shell of his ear.  His nose. The sliver of his neck that wasn’t covered by his suit— she felt his legs wobble a little at that one.

“...I stand corrected.”

She giggled at the completely smitten look on his face.  She’d put that there.  Of course, Chat had looked at Ladybug that way before, but the fact that it was also Adrien beaming at her, knowing she was Marinette… All the puzzle pieces finally fit together, grooves sliding into place just as perfectly as she fit in his arms.

“Two can play at that game, Bugaboo.”

Oh.  Oh.  Sure, they’d practically been making out seconds ago, but the soft kisses he now littered across her jaw somehow felt even more intimate.  Their first kiss had been desperate.  These were slower, like he had all the time in the world—and they did.

He wasn’t going anywhere.  He loved her.

She practically groaned in disappointment when he finally lowered her back to the ground.  

Adrien just laughed.  “I had no idea you were so clingy, Princess.”

“I’m not clingy,” she pouted, stepping back from him to prove it.  “But if you think I am, fine.  See if you get any more kisses.”

Three whole coherent sentences.  Wow. After kissing Adrien, she expected to be a stuttering mess, but she was actually finding it easier to channel her Ladybug confidence.  Maybe it was the fact that for the first time, she knew he was as crazy about her too.

“Hey, hey, I never said that was a bad thing.”  He squeezed her tight again, a slight purr rumbling in his chest before he coughed.  

“I think we all know who’s the clingy one, anyway.”  She said, scratching the spot behind his ear until she coaxed another purr from him.  Bad idea.  She couldn’t spend all her time with her lips locked to his.

“Whatever you say, Marinette.”  His tail curled around her.  “So… as mind-meltingly amazing as kissing you was, I think I still remember a certain question I had.”

How she found out his identity.  Right. This had to be the biggest whiplash for him—her literally turning him down last week just to turn around and practically jump him. (Not that he was complaining, obviously.)

She bit her lip.  Lying to him would be impossible, even if she wanted to.  She’d promised a long time ago that she would never lie to him… except for when she had to hide her identity, but that was because Master Fu would want to reclaim their miraculouses if they revealed themselves.

...Which they just had.  Her gut twisted at that realization, which had been lost in her earlier excitement.  But Fu couldn’t just take their miraculouses, right? He was training her to be the Guardian.  Plus, after their fight with Feast, Marinette hoped he would know better.  

She was Ladybug.  Adrien was Chat Noir.  No one else could replace them—not to Paris, and not each other.  

She could deal with Fu.  But dealing with Adrien knowing just how obsessed she was?  That was a different terror entirely.

“Fine,” she sighed.  “It’s really, really embarrassing though.  You’re… probably going to think I’m a creep, honestly.”

Adrien blinked when she glanced up at him through her eyelashes, not daring to watch him directly.  “I won’t judge you, I paw-mise.”

She dropped her head in her hands and stifled a giggle.  At least they were back to puns.  She never thought she’d be grateful for that, but it eased her nervousness.

“You know how you, uh, sent a video to our class today?  To reply to the videos you never saw?”

“Yeah?  What about it?”

“Well… err…”  She was sure her face was challenging the shade of her suit, but he just blinked innocently.  “I may have… singled out the part… where you said, um…”

He was still waiting patiently.

“I took the part where you said ‘I love you’ and replayed it two hundred and fifty-three times.”

She wanted to shove her fist in her mouth.  She wasn’t going to lie, but she didn’t have to be that honest!

Chat stared.  Blinked.

...And doubled over laughing.

Well, this was it.  At least she’d gotten to kiss him once, right?  Hopefully he could forget this enough for them to still work together, because she’d never forgive herself if she ruined their partnership and Hawkmoth got their miraculouses because of it— 

“You—I can’t believe it.”  His arms had fallen while he laughed, but now he pulled her in again, practically crushing her to his chest.  “And here I thought I was the crazy one.”

“Please kill me,” she groaned.

“Never.”  He said with a kiss to her temple that shot lightning across her skin.  “I’m keeping you forever, Bugaboo.  No takebacks.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” She paused, searched his eyes for any trace of hesitance.  If anything, he looked giddier than ever.  “You’re not mad?  Or… weirded out?”

“Marinette, I play with action figures of us.  Sometimes they kiss.  I really have no room to talk.”

She gaped up at him.  The image of Adrien making toy versions of themselves kiss—okay, she had to cackle too, because it was too insane to process otherwise. They really were made for each other.

“You do have to promise me one thing, though,” he said, his voice sobering.

“What?” She asked before her brain could start catastrophizing again.

“You have to let me say I love you at least two hundred fifty-four times.  I can’t be beat out by a video of myself.”

He—he was serious.  Right when she was thinking it was impossible to love him any more, he said things like that.

“That’s a lot of times.”

“I guess I’d better get started then, huh?”

She punched his arm lightly and ignored how much she really really wanted to let him do just that. (Maybe with a few more kisses sprinkled between.) 

“Not yet, chaton.  You still have to tell me how you recognized me.”

“Technically I don’t think you finished,” he pointed out, to which she rolled her eyes.

“I’d heard you say ‘I love you’ so many times, I recognized your voice.  That’s all.”

“I would’ve told you I loved you as Adrien a long time ago if it would’ve made you see it.”  He chuckled.  “I wish I had a story like that.  I didn’t know for sure, I just thought… well, Marinette and Ladybug are the two most amazing girls I know, and… I think I hoped it was you more than anything.”

The soft grin on his face threatened to send her melting again.  He’d wanted her to be the girl he loved.  Of course his epiphany had come over something so sweet, rather than her completely embarrassing story.  

“That still doesn’t explain how you saw through me being Multimouse and Ladybug,” she said.  “You really do think with your heart more than your head, don’t you?”

“One of us has to.”  He winked, and she hid a lovestruck smile.  She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of melting at everything he did.  He was still her silly kitty, after all.  “I know it looked impossible, but if anyone could pull off the impossible, it’s you.”

She could pull off the impossible, which right now included resisting the urge to kiss him senseless again.

“You’re the one who’s impossible,” she said with a flick to his bell.  

“And you can pull me off anytime,” he blurted before covering his mouth.  “Uh.”

“Adrien, that doesn’t even make sense,” she said for the second time in the past five minutes.

His face flushed.  “I can’t be at the top of my flirting game all the time.  I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything, to be honest.  The cheesy pick up lines are kind of a coping mechanism.  Not that I’m upset, I’m not!  I’m so, so happy—It’s just—it’s a lot.”

“It is a lot,” she agreed, slipping out of his embrace to sit on the cold metal of the tower.  “Come on, sit with me.  Paris can take care of itself for one night.”

He grinned and plopped down beside her, hesitating only a moment before enfolding her in his arms.

“Thank you.  This means the world to me.”  He kissed the top of her head.  “Today was… well, you know. A year ago today my mom disappeared. I’m doing alright, much better than Father is, but still...”  He slumped against her, his chin resting on her shoulder, their cheeks brushing.  “It’s why I wanted to be with you tonight.  And then everything else—well, it’s better than I could’ve imagined.”

She was afraid it had been too much for him, dealing with their identities at such a sensitive time, but he did look much more relaxed now.  Despite his cousin’s earlier interference, she had managed to help him anyway.  That was the most important thing.

“I’m glad I could help.  I actually tried to tell you in the video Felix deleted… but I love you, Adrien.  And I’ll always be here if you need me.” 

He turned his face so their foreheads rested against each other, filling her vision with his bright green eyes.  The hopeful glow in them could’ve put all of Paris’s lights to shame.

“You love me?”

His breath ghosted over her lips, mingled with her laugh.  She’d said it.  She’d finally said it.

“Of course, minou.  What, did you think I kissed you because we’re just friends?”

“That happened?”  He blinked in fake innocence.  “I don’t know, I think Oblivio might have hit me while you weren’t looking.  You might have to kiss me again.”

She rolled her eyes, but she could only do the impossible for so long.  Their noses bumped as she kissed him long and soft and slow.  Could she ever get used to this?  Each kiss left her soaring higher than the last.

They broke apart giggling and flushed before Chat shyly asked a question.

“Did you mean it when you said you’ll always be here if I need you?  I can be a very needy kitty.”  His voice was all Chat Noir, but his face was the soft, open expression she was used to seeing from Adrien.  

He was worried about that?  But then, there were so few other people in his life who were just there, she realized.  No wonder he had coveted attention from Ladybug for so long.

“Always, Adrien,” she said softly.  “I know I can’t fix everything. Especially about your mom.”  She cupped his face in her hands.  “But being here?  That’s easy.  Never feel bad about needing that.”

“That’s all I want,” he breathed.  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He wrapped her in his arms again, and she hugged him back just as tightly.

“Me too, kitty.  Me too.”

[roseherondale]

Sidekick

Summary: Jace invites Kit to help him confront a warlock who may be planning to commit necromancy but Kit reveals too much.

Word Count: 3147

Warnings: N/A

Read it on AO3 here

The golden swirls of the portal disappeared around him and he looked around at the familiar library of the New York Institute where he spent more time than he would admit to anyone, curled up on the sofa reading and studying, surrounded by the books on the high shelves around the room. His gaze landed on Clary and Jace, a couple of metres in front of him, smiling widely. He moved forward, hugging Clary tightly. Her red hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a band t-shirt for TMI: a band that her parabatai, Simon Lewis, had been in when he had lost his memories to the Greater Demon, Asmodeus. He had since quit, but it seemed that Clary had kept the merchandise; it was worn and frayed at the sleeves.

"Kit! It's so good to see you." He pulled back, grinning, and turned to Jace, who awkwardly squeezed his shoulder.

"It's good to see you too." He replied.

"Hey, Christopher." Despite being cousins, Jace had easily fallen into a big brother role regarding Kit, and his smile was warm and inviting, despite the gauche action. He was wearing a white t-shirt underneath a leather jacket, and jeans, which was his usual style.

"Kit. What did you need?" Jace ignored the remark about his name and gestured to the sofas in the centre of the room.

They sat down, and Clary and Jace exchanged a brief look from where they were sat opposite him when Jace spoke. "We know you don't have much experience in Downworlder politics, so we thought it would be fun for you to come with us whilst we scope out a potentially necromantic warlock."

Kit furrowed his eyebrows. "Potentially necromantic?"

"There have been rumours," Jace confirmed, "so we thought it best to check it out after everything that happened with Malcolm. So, what do you think? Are you in?"

"Sounds fun. When are we leaving?" Kit responded, trying to keep his face even so that they couldn't tell that he was worried about the necromantic part of their mission.

"About fifteen minutes, so we should go gear up." Jace said, and Kit subtly let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

When he returned, dressed in black gear, which he had to admit really suited him against his tan skin and golden hair, Clary was applying a rune to Jace's collarbone. He wasn't close enough to see the shape, but he watched as the inky black lines formed on his skin.

Noticing him enter, Clary smiled widely, but Kit didn't know why. "Ready?" He nodded.

She drew the rune for a portal in the air, and it formed once more, sending papers flying from one of the tables, and rustling the pages of open books beside them. Jace headed in first, then Kit, following a gesture from Clary, and she brought up the rear.

"Do you need any runes?" Jace asked when they arrived in a mundane street. Kit shook his head, staring around. On either side, townhouses reached the sky, and casted shadows so that the afternoon sun couldn't reach them. Kit shivered slightly. It didn't seem like a place where someone would commit necromancy; it was too normal.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Kit asked.

"We are," another voice confirmed, and Kit spun around to see Magnus Bane, dressed splendidly in a purple velvet jacket. "He has wards up."

Simon appeared from behind him, wearing a t-shirt that said 'may d4s be with you' and Kit couldn't help but chuckle at the pun. Simon winked at him, moving next to Clary and bumping his shoulder against hers, gently.

"Hey Mini-Jace." He waved and Kit pulled a face, but waved back at him, to Clary and Simon's giggles.

"Okay, so Kit and I will go in, scope out the area and call you in if there's any trouble." Jace said, crossing his arms.

"Sure." Clary shrugged, settling down on a wall to wait. Magnus pulled out his phone.

"I was just telling Simon about Max turning into a bat again yesterday. We had to catch him with a net; let me show you the video, biscuit." Despite wanting to see the video of Magnus and Alec catching their warlock son with a net, Kit turned away and followed Jace up the steps. He knocked on the door and stepped back, grinning at Kit, easily.

The door opened slightly, the chain still on, and a face appeared at the side. It was a middle aged man, dark skinned but looking normal for a warlock. Since Kit spent a lot of time with the extravagance of Magnus Bane, the green-skinned and horned Ragnor Shade, and the blue-skinned Catarina Loss, he frowned slightly.

"What do you want, Shadowhunters?" He asked, seeming frazzled.

"You're the warlock, Atlantes?" Jace asked, and he nodded sharply. "We'd like to come in and ask you some questions."

"Fine." He unlocked the chain and stood aside for them to come in. Kit immediately noticed a cat's tail behind him, flicking agitatedly. Well, that answered the unspoken question about his warlock mark. He was dressed casually, in sweatpants and a t-shirt; he clearly hadn't been expecting them.

"Jace Herondale; head of the New York Institute." He introduced himself, and Atlantes reluctantly shook his hand.

"You brought a child." He said, looking at Kit with disdain. Jace moved passed him, heading into the living room.

"Couldn't find a babysitter." Jace said, seriously. "Anyway, he's my sidekick."

"I am not your sidekick." Kit defended. "If anything, you're my sidekick."

Jace raised his eyebrows, then turned back to Atlantes, who had followed them in, and was now hurriedly tidying up the cramped space. "Well anyway, we're here because there have been rumours that you plan to commit necromancy."

He spluttered. "What? That's preposterous. Who's spreading rumours about me? It is Barnabas Hale?"

"It doesn't matter who it is. We just have to come and ask you some questions."

Kit zoned out from the conversation slightly and looked around the room. Atlantes had shuffled the papers into a messy pile, on the coffee table, but it was also littered with various jars filled with ingredients, and though Kit didn't recognise them, they were handily labelled. He turned away to a cabinet on the far side of the room and made his way over. Jace and Atlantes were arguing about the precedent that Shadowhunters had and whether they should be able to deal in warlock politics, so neither of them were paying Kit any attention.

The cabinet was glass, but there was a box inside, with unlit candles on either side, and a photograph of an old woman, also dark skinned with bright eyes and a warm smile. If the man was commiting necromancy, Kit suspected that he wanted to bring that woman back, and that her hair, blood and bone was stored in the box.

"Who's this woman?" Kit asked.

Atlantes smiled for the first time since they entered. "That's my dear mother."

"Is that who you're trying to bring back?" Jace asked.

"No, I'm not trying to bring anyone back and my mother is still with us." He sniffed, "I meet her every week for lunch." In that case, the warlock was very young; Kit had never imagined them as anything but ancient and wise.

He noticed a bag of white powder pushed behind a pile of books on the floor. Pulling it out, he placed it on top of the books.

"Is this chalk?" He asked.

"Yes." Atlantes said, glancing over, distractedly.

"What's it made of?" He questioned, knowing that chalk made from the powdered bones of a murder victim was one of the ingredients for the necromancy spell.

"I don't know; whatever chalk's made of." He turned to Jace. "The child is asking stupid questions." Jace glanced over Atlantes' shoulder and Kit gave him a pointed look.

Jace just shrugged. "He's not my child; I can't tell him what to do." Atlantes huffed, frustratedly.

"Is there anything else you need?" He asked.

"Yes, we need to do a thorough search of your property, but we can have a warlock do it if it's more comfortable for you." Jace said, ever the vision of diplomacy.

"You don't need to. I haven't committed any necromancy." He protested, his tail flicking back and forth.

"I'm sorry; I have to do my job." Kit didn't think that Jace sounded sorry at all; in fact he seemed amused at the annoyance the warlock was facing. The information incriminating him must have been reliable, as Kit had never seen Jace taunt an innocent person before. He supposed that it was Jace's way of telling him that he needed to find more evidence to rattle him.

Kit continued to walk around the room, this time feeling the eyes of the warlock on him. He picked up random items and turned them over in his hands, whilst he desperately searched for something else that could be used for necromancy. Kit would never have admitted out loud that there was something thrilling about the mission; trying to find a rogue necromancer whilst having dabbled in it himself. For once, he felt valuable and needed; he alone knew the ingredients for the spell. Only he could incriminate the man, and if he could stop someone from making the same mistake Ty did, he would.

He picked up a jar of ash and opened it to smell it. The familiar aroma of the incense from the heart of a volcano overcame his senses, and at once he was hit by the memory of being on the lakeside, the faint smell on the breeze.

"This is incense from the heart of a volcano." He said, towards the warlock.

Resembling a deer caught in headlights, he nodded, then quickly recovered. "It's good to make tea. It helps with colds and I've been feeling pretty run down lately."

"I don't know about that." Kit said, "but I know it's an ingredient for a necromancy spell."

Atlantes froze, his eyes fixed on Kit's face. He was convinced of his guilt now, and Kit had one more trick up his sleeve.

"What did you use as your object from another dimension?"

"What do you mean?" Atlantes asked, but his eyes were wide.

"Well, we used something from Thule, but I can't imagine it was easy to find something."

"Don't speak to me of that place." If it was possible, his eyes widened further, and he looked terrified.

Jace intervened. "So, what dimension did you use?"

He sighed. "Diyu."

"What's Diyu?" Kit asked, confused.

"It's a realm of Hell." He faced Atlantes, "I assume you went through when Magnus and Alec were closing the portals in Shanghai."

He sighed. "Yes."

Kit rolled his eyes and pulled out a sphere of blue mist from behind the sofa cushions. "It wouldn't have worked anyway; your catalyst is corrupted." He tossed it back down, avoiding Jace's eyes.

"You're an annoying child, but I'm curious as to how you know so much about necromancy." Atlantes said, surveying him closely.

"I read the list of ingredients from your pile of papers." Kit said and Jace laughed loudly.

"Come on then. It's off to the Silent City for you." Atlantes held his arms out and Jace handcuffed them.

"I can't believe you figured it out." He said, shaking his head, sadly.

"What do you mean? You had all the ingredients and the instructions all around the room." Kit said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Still..." Atlantes said, trailing off.

Jace strolled over to the table. "Is this from the Black Volume of the Dead? How did you get this?"

"I don't have the book." He defended. "I was holidaying in LA; I like to go diving. I found a phone and I was curious as to who's it was so I could return it, but then I realised that the photo album was full of pictures of the book, so I kept it."

Kit felt the colour drain from his face, and he turned away so that Jace wouldn't notice. He had watched Ty throw it into the ocean and neither of them would have expected for it to end up in the wrong hands.

"That was a good strategy, Christopher." Jace praised, casually, and Kit tried to hide his smile.

"So, it turns out you actually are my sidekick." He joked. Jace glared at him, lightly, rolling his eyes.

"Go get the others." He ordered.

Kit headed to the door and poked his head out.

"Clary?" He called, and immediately the three of them stood and moved into his line of sight.

"You got him?" She asked and he nodded.

"Easy." He gloated. Magnus raised his eyebrows, but Simon looked impressed. They followed him into the living room, which was even more cramped with twice the amount of people.

"Good job." Simon said, taking the warlock from Jace. "Should we get him out of here?"

"Yeah, let's go now." With a brief kiss to Jace's lips, Clary turned and made a portal. "To the Silent City." She gave a little wave and disappeared into the portal, her hair bobbing in the ponytail. Simon shook his head fondly, and made to follow her, Atlantes restrained, though he was going easily, and he gave one last mournful look around his living room.

Right before they went through, Kit called "wait" and headed to the cabinet, taking out the photo of the warlock's mother and handing it to him.

"You should take this with you." He said.

"Thank you. You may have been annoying, but you're kind too." He surveyed him for a moment, as if he was shocked that one person could display more than one emotion, then gestured to Simon that he was ready to go through the portal. "Goodbye Jace Herondale and... Mini-Jace Herondale." They disappeared in one last swirl of gold, Simon's laugh trailing off into nothing.

"That was a nice thing you did." Magnus remarked.

"I felt bad for him." Kit said, shrugging. The truth was, the warlock had been out of his depth, just like he and Ty were, and he was just thankful that he could stop someone else from making the same mistake.

"Come on, Mini-Jace." Jace said, gesturing to the door. "Leave Magnus in peace whilst he collects everything we need." Turning back to Magnus, he lowered his voice and gestured to the table, "he had a copy of the Black Volume of the Dead, so we need to make sure that's the only version."

"Of course." Magnus said, gravely. "Though if he's given it to someone else, there may not be a chance of finding it. Either way, I'll get everything from the house and meet you outside."

Jace gently pushed past Kit and led the way outside, where he sat on the steps. Kit reluctantly followed and perched himself beside him; he knew what was coming next.

"When did you try to commit necromancy?" He asked, calmly, as if it were a simple matter of asking what the weather would be like or what they were having for dinner. For a moment, Kit just stared at him, and then he sighed.

"When I was in LA with Ty. We tried to bring Livvy back." Staring at the ground in front of him, he waited for Jace to respond.

"What went wrong?" Jace asked.

"The catalyst was corrupted; she came back as a ghost and now she's tied to Ty." He bit his lip and looked back up at him, "I tried to stop him. The whole time I didn't want to do it, but I didn't want Ty to do it alone and isolate himself from everyone, so I went along with it. I never thought he would get all the ingredients and then Shade refused to help us anymore and I thought he would give up. But then, he got his own catalyst and at the last second I had to at least try and stop him from doing it, but then we fought, and he did it anyway."

"Is that why you went to live with Tessa and Jem?" Kit nodded.

"I couldn't be there anymore." He didn't elaborate further, but he knew that Jace knew more than he let on.

"Who else knows?" Jace asked, curiously.

"Magnus. I think Jem and Tessa do; I kind of announced to Tessa that I hadn't committed any necromancy when she came to see me in the Silent City so, I think she's a little suspicious." He smiled, sheepishly, and Jace burst into laughter.

"Only you could do something like that." He remarked, between trying to catch his breath. When he recovered, he spoke seriously, "do you want to keep it a secret or can I tell Clary?"

"I don't mind you telling Clary, but can you please keep it between yourselves?" He asked, and Jace immediately nodded.

Before anything else could be said, Magnus appeared in the doorway. "I've collected everything now; let's get back."

There was a box marked 'important evidence' in capitals and glittery green pen, filled with papers, spell ingredients, and the box from the cabinet. With a wave of his hand, it disappeared, and Magnus turned back to them, forming a portal.

"He found Ty's phone." Kit said, and Magnus nodded.

"I know, I found it and I'll deal with it. After you, Mini-Jace." Magnus said, and Kit rolled his eyes, stepping through into the Institute library. Clary and Simon were waiting there, perched on a table beside the evidence and they waved at him. Jace and Magnus came through moments later.

"Well, I'm off to rescue my husband from our two little monsters." He said and headed out the door. Kit assumed he was heading to the office where Alec acted as the Consul. Since Idris had been taken over by the Cohort, he had set up a base in New York instead.

"Taki's for dinner?" Clary asked, wrapping her arms around Jace and he nodded, then pressed a kiss to his head. She pulled away, and she and Simon left, knowing everyone's favourite orders already.

Once the door closed behind them, Jace turned to Kit. "You did well today, Kit."

"What, no Christopher?" He asked, jokingly.

"Don't push it." Jace warned, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Are you really okay with everything? You don't see me any differently?" Looking down at his shoes, he resigned himself for Jace's disapproval, but it never came.

"Of course not. I always knew you were loyal." He ruffled Kit's hair, affectionately, "like a puppy."

"Hey!" He dodged out the way and fixed his hair, smiling back at Jace as they made their way out of the library. Kit laughed, feeling a million times lighter now that he had someone to talk to about everything.

Thank you so much for reading - I hope you enjoyed it. And thank you for all your lovely comments, the likes and reblogs on my last two works. I wish I could reply to you all but I’m on a sideblog.

I came up with the idea, planned, wrote and posted this all in one day and it may be one of my favourite things that I’ve written... I hope you all liked it too xxx

[kittystargen3]

Hello Everyone, I’ve added the next chapter to The Skywalker Tale: A Legacy Restored.  Please click a link to read more.  Below is a small selection.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13523059/1/The-Skywalker-Tale-A-Legacy-Restored

Story Summary:  AU-Canon Divergence where Anakin is not such a deadbeat grandfather. Pun definitely intended. Begins before the events of The Force Awakens when Force Ghost Anakin drags Han Solo back to Leia and tells them what's what. He's got a plan on how to save Ben, and this time, nothing is going to stop him. Hint it involves a certain desert scavenger. Han Solo lives! Series rewrite.

Chapter 32 - Dumb is a Question not Asked

In the other realm the force ghosts had argued. Then they’d sulked. Then they’d argued some more. They were just about in their fourth or fifth sulk. The thing that troubled them so much was that somehow, even after all their work to guide the living, some remnant of Darth Sidious survived. Their arguing went back and forth between debating various theories of how this could occur, to questioning whether it was even true to begin with.  

To Anakin this all made sense, sick, diabolical, disturbing sense, but sense all the same. When he took the Emperor down back then, his only hope was to make the world better for his children. But he was always a failure, why should this last act be any different. Ben, his own grandson, was tempted down the same dark path that nearly destroyed him. No one could do that as well as Sidious. No one would have the motive to. But what did Ben say pulled him there?

“Voices.” Anakin got up and spoke, as if that answered all of their problems. “He is there. Ben heard him. He thought it was me.”  

Obi-Wan shook his head. “We used a part of Palpatine’s soul to make Palpy. He definitely did die.”

“But what Anakin brings up is proof of the opposite. A clone might be able to lead an army, but force-wise would only have half the power of their sire, if that even. Palpatine couldn’t rewrite the laws of nature.” Mace Windu argued back.

“This brings up my point again. Palpy must have had some darkness in his soul. Perhaps he has been playing us. He is a manipulator.” One of the other Jedi declared.

“No. No. We’re going around in circles.” Anakin got up. “Auctor, what did happen to the dark side components to Palpatine’s soul? I remember you said you separated them.” Anakin addressed the man who had been shuffling around the space in silence while they argued.  

“Yes, I separated them, but then there was an accident when you ran into my workshop. The vial fell on the floor and broke,” the Auctor answered.  

“This proves my point! A drop must have gotten into the good vial, and it’s all your fault!” This roused the other Jedi who began arguing again.  

Anakin felt squeezed into a corner. They always wanted to blame him. True, a lot of things were his fault, but this… “It’s not my fault! IT’S THE MON-monkey.” Anakin trailed off as he looked over at the animal on its perch. A moment later he looked back at the group and smiled. “I know how it happened.”

“Well, share it with us,” urged Mace. Anakin was clearly taking too long and the Master was getting impatient.  

“When that critter knocked over the vials, he jumped on the book next. When he jumped off it, I thought I saw a black mark on the page near where he was sitting. A moment later the mark seemed to disappear, and I thought I was mistaken. But I wasn’t!”  

Obi-Wan had his arms folded. “The Monkey did it? Anakin...”  

“The boy is correct,” the Auctor announced, and all arguments ceased. “I found the mark when I was cleaning the book later. It was a blemish, no reason to end a good story. And the mark was not made with any care or precision. The body would be very broken.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this?” Mace Windu complained, and several Jedi grumbled in agreement.  

“You didn’t ask,” the Auctor said casually. “You also didn’t ask if your other theory on Palpy retaining darkness was plausible. It is not. I’d know.”

“What are we going to do about this now?” One of the other Jedi started another argument.  

“What do you mean? We’re going to help my Son fight this thing!” Anakin yelled back.

“But should we? Really? Every time we do, we seem to add to their troubles.” The Jedi argued back.

“They’re MY CHILDREN!” Anakin yelled.  

“Your attachments have caused, not just your own fall, but an age of darkness for the universe,” Mace Windu growled. “Continuing to act on them… It’s not the Jedi way!”

Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “They are all of our children now. The last Jedi and his few students, living with our mistakes and our failures. We should’ve seen the Sith under our nose, but we didn’t. Now we owe them.”  

Anakin felt pride when he heard this from Obi-Wan. He knew the man had it in him, somewhere.  

[openmik2]

Middle Earth: Shadow of War- Review

So just recently I've decided to replay through Middle-Earth: Shadow of War. For those of you who don't know Shadow of War is an open world fantasy RPG that is the second installation of the series, using it's popular predecessor, Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor, as the jumping off point. The question is, Is it worth coming back to?In this review I'll be deciding whether or not this game can be considered "precious" or if it's just another big pile of shrakh.

First up let's start with the plot. You play as Talion, A Black Gate guard who is, by all means, dead. Not got your attention yet? How about if I tell you he is sharing a body with an Elf smithy by the name of Celebrimbor which in turn gives you all these magical abilities like dominating creatures and orcs to make them fight for you? Got you now? Good. Essentially the story revolves around you and ol' Celebrimbor trying to take over Mordor to defeat Sauron once and for all with the use of your new ring of power. As far as stories go this one has me hooked from the get go! The story is split into multiple character quests spread across all the regions in the game so you'll definitely have your fill of scenery and Nemesis (we'll get to that later) encounters. One great way this game keeps you on your toes is by introducing new features constantly! You can be 8 hours deep into this game and it can still tell you "oh hey you've got this far so you have the ability to (spoilers) now". It's a great way to keep the game fresh and really feel like you're getting every penny you can out of it. Let's talk about the aforementioned nemesis encounters. One of my favourite things about this game is the unique encounters you can have with orc captains throughout the game. You have the option to hunt them down or alternatively, they can hunt you. Hunting them requires you to find "worms", lesser orcs with information about captains, their strengths and, more importantly, their weaknesses. These "worms" are scattered all over the world and can also be used to send death threats to captains in the hopes of gaining higher levels of loot. Watch out though, not all captain take kindly to being threatened! Captains can appear anywhere at anytime. When you fight a captain and get him to "break" you then have the option to shame him (decreasing his level OR on the rare occasion INCREASING his level and sending him doo lalley, for lack of a better word), Making him one of your own soldiers in your ever growing army against the dark lord or choosing to fight to the death if the orc isn't fond of betraying his current master ( this is also rare but does happen) The great thing about the Nemesis system is that you just don't know what's going to happen. e.g. You could kill an Orc captain only for him to cheat death and to suddenly appear at the worst possibly time (possibly when you're already fighting two other orc captains) to exact revenge upon you OR you could have a favourite orc in your army only for you to turn around and see him standing there with the word BETRAYAL under his name, spouting traitorous words and thirsting for your blood. Honestly lopping his traitorous head off hurt me a lot more than it hurt him... Each Orc is said to be unique and, to be honest, I'm inclined to agree with this quite ambitious statement. Sure there's a few with the same first name but different profession and there are only a finite amount of voice actors in this world but for all intents and purposes each orc has it's own strengths and weaknesses. You'll think you've seen it all but I myself have played this game for about 80 hours now and just the other day I found a new orc captain I had never seen before so keep that in mind when you're playing through! The strategic player will want to play against a captains weaknesses for example If the captain you're hunting happens to be afraid of caragors, it's probably a good bet to run into his settlement with a small pack of them. Then watch him run away squealing.

Onto the gameplay, a fairly important part of video game culture, would you not agree? I'm not the best at summarizing but I reckon I can do it here with just one word. Smooth. If there's one thing Monolith Productions knows, it's how to make a game feel and look dynamic and free flowing. The combat is very well executed (pun intended) with a large skill tree that let's you mix up playstyles to suit your needs. You can mix and match the skills as much as you want until you find the style that suits you best, whether it be stealthy as a church mouse or gung ho like a grizzly bear on steroids. The combat system is the same as the system from the Shadow of Mordor game, with obvious signs of being heavily inspired by Rocksteady's Batman: Arkham series. If you are not familiar with this then let me break it down for you. You hit "X" to slash, "Y" to counter, "B" to stun and "A" to dodge. I personally see nothing wrong with these combat controls although some may deem it a "button mashing" game which y'know... technically all games are so... But I digress. The system works and it works very well. The controls are simple and easy to pick up, whether you're new to the genre or coming back for more it won't be long before you feel like a bonifide badass blademaster. The movement and climbing is also pretty smooth apart from those few times where you mean to climb up one wall but end up leaping backwards into hordes of angry vengeful captains out for your blood. If you've played any of the earlier Assassins Creed games you'll know exactly what I'm talking about, as will your demolished controller.

Let's have a look at the online features. Shadow of War keeps to the old adage "if it aint broke, don't fix it" as you can see by the leaving in of the vendetta side missions from the original Shadow of Mordor. The vendetta missions remain the same as from the original game where you simply are tasked with going after a captain in another players world whom is responsible for killing said player. This rewards you with "vendetta boxes" which contain gear and possibly powerful orc followers so don't miss out! Also who doesn't like a bit of vengeance even if it's on someone else's behalf. The newest addition to the online features is a lot more substantial. Throughout the game you will be tasked to take and hold forts all across Mordor using your fresh army of orcs in the single player. This feature is also used as a new online game mode where you are tasked to attack OTHER players strongholds, facing up against the orcs that THEY have dominated and chosen to protect their fortress. It's super fun to pit your own selection of specially chosen orcs against someone else's and seeing who comes out on top. This feature also awards gear on completion and player attacks on your fort only affect your fortress control after you finish the game so enjoy that while you can.    Another new addition to the series would be the gear; pickups in the form of swords, armour, daggers, bows and (naturally) rings. These range in rarity and power; the rarest and most powerful of which can only be found by defeating legendary orcs and using their weaknesses against them. Each piece of equipment has one slot for you to insert a "gem".  The gems come in different categories e.g. wealth gems, life gems and strength gems. These gems give you bonuses depending on what kind of equipment you use them on. For example, if you use a wealth gem on a weapon, you're more likely to gain loot from your kills whereas if you use a wealth gem on a piece of armour you increase the XP gained from fallen enemies and so on so forth. In summary Middle Earth: Shadow of War is definitely worth an initial playthrough and after your first completion of the game you will no doubt be ready to craft new unique stories between you and the Orc leaders of Mordor in no time! Take my word(s) for it, you'll have a blast! 

 Final Score: 8/10

[lowkeyaesthvtic]

Evil Karma - Chapter 12

Chapter 1 - Chapter 11

Word Count: 2,180

Summary: Harry, Sofi, and Gil hunt down the beast. Basically the solo Harry Hook scene from D2 with some EXTRA EXTRA gay thrown in because why not?

Pairings: Harry Hook x OC, mentions of Jay x Carlos, mention of former!Harry x Carlos, mention of Harry x OC x Uma, oh and a Harry x Gil kiss because why not

Rating: T for language, threats of violence, and a whole lot of sexual tension

Warnings: Language, threats of violence, whole lot of sexual tension and some possible innuendos if you squint??

Tags: @descendantofthesparrow​ @hookedradge​ @batmanwearsabowtie​ @newtshairdryer​ @amityravenclawelf​ 

Author’s Note: Tumblr’s formatting is so weird and won’t let me indent my paragraphs and it’s kinda driving me crazy.

It didn’t take Gil and I very long to get to Harry. The two of us walked through the bazaar, Gil’s fire still roaring high and my hand ready on my dagger in case someone wanted to cause some unwanted trouble. We finally found him twiddling with his hook and taking a swig from his flask as he stood outside of Shenzi’s Hyena Pub. “Getting tipsy before a hunt, huh? Bad idea, Hooky.” I spoke flirtatiously as we finally came close enough for me to snake my arms around his neck.

Harry plants a quick, fiery kiss on my lips as he responds. “All of my ideas are bad, duckling, that’s what makes them so good.” He smirked as he leaned in to take the kiss further. As tempting as his lips seemed to mine, I put my finger gently on top of them to keep him from deepening his touch. 

“Not here, Harry.”

“Why not? We’ve got plenty of time to catch our beast, it’s not like Uma gave us a deadline, right?” His lustful gaze bore deep into my chest, but that gaze was changed to a look of realization as Gil tapped his shoulder, waving excitedly when Harry made eye contact with him. “Oh, that’s why not.”

“Hey, Harry! I’m helping you guys take Ben, isn’t that awesome?” Gil beamed, his disposition faintly switching back and forth between sweet and an angry fire. Harry turned me to the side and lowered his voice as he spoke.

“Since when was Gil a part of this? Did Uma say it was okay?” Harry was a combination of confused and a tad bit paranoid. His free hand gripped onto the arch of his hook, seeming worried that Uma would punish us for letting someone into this special plan of ours. 

“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, you’re strong, Harry, but Gil has the strength to drape you over his shoulder in seconds. Imagine the damage he could do to Ben before Uma ties him up. It’s fitting. The son of Gaston finally hunting down the little legacy of the Beast that made both his and his father’s life miserable. Besides, Gil was third in command before I got here. I think he should stay there.” I looked to Gil as we spoke, watching as he smiled back at me.

“Wouldn’t that knock you down a peg, duckling?”

“Not necessarily. Two people can share a certain amount of power.” I leaned in extra close to his ear, lowering my voice to a husky whisper. “Happens in the bedroom all the time, right, Hooky?” His breath makes a tiny hitch as I take a small, gentle nibble on his earlobe before backing away. Harry smiles before wrapping his arm around Gil and playfully dragging him across the trash-infested streets of the Isle. 

Not long after our walk began, we found a familiar looking crowd standing down at the end of the street, with one boy in particular trailing just a bit too far behind. “Huh, that hut at the end of the street looks like Mal’s old place..” Gil pointed at the straying group of kids. Harry quickly knocked his hand down, careful not to draw too much attention to ourselves. 

“That is Mal’s old place. And it looks like our prey is falling a bit far behind the pack.” Harry replied. I snickered as I noticed Ben’s naive dancing along the shoulders of the street. Honestly, I’m surprised that he’s lasted this long. But the time for roaming the Isle is long gone for this royal bastard. 

“Gil, you should get him now while he’s behind. That way we don’t have to worry about fighting off the entourage.” When I turned my head to gesture Gil towards the baby Beast, his demeanor seemed nervous, unsure. “Gil, what are you waiting for? Go get him, knock him out and bring him to the lower deck of the ship so Uma can tie him up!”

Gil stood still. Frozen and almost dumbfounded by the sight of his greatest enemy standing so close in his sights. “I...I don’t know, Sofi. Maybe I’m not cut out for this after all.” He mumbled, stepping back behind Harry.

“What the fuck are you talking about, not cut out for it? Just a few minutes ago, you were yelling at me with fire in your eyes about how you wanted to be included in things like this!” I gritted my teeth, wanting to yell the boy into shape but not wanting to scare off the Beast.

“I know..and I do. But I just, I’m not very good at hurting people. I don’t..I don’t really know how to do it.” Gil began to stumble on his words as his nervousness grew and grew. Was he really having second thoughts about this when he was so close? Harry grabbed Gil by his shoulders and pulled the blonde closer to him, mere inches separating their faces as their chests touched.

“Gil, sunshine, listen to me. You see that son of a bitch over there?” He asked, pointing to Ben, who didn’t seem to suspect a thing. “That boy’s father had your father nearly killed by pushing him off a cliff. That boy’s father created this hellhole Isle and had you, me, Uma and all the rest of us trapped here without even giving us a chance! Do you think he deserves to walk away from that unscathed?” Gil shook his head, slowly understand Harry’s words but more encaptured by their closeness.

“I mean...I guess hurting Ben would be hurting his dad too, right?”

“Exactly, Gil! That asshole over there made you, your father, and your crew’s life miserable from the jump. I know that pisses you off. So why don’t you get over there and beat him so black and blue his parents won’t recognize him?” Before Gil is able to playfully shout in agreement, Harry grabs Gil by his face and crashes their lips together. My eyes widen at the suddenness of it all, but from Gil’s brightened eyes and motivated smile, I could tell he wasn’t complaining. After the quick collision of their lips had subsided, Gil hastily and quietly ran to hunt his Beast. Waiting for our cue to pass Uma’s message, I look to Harry in a bit of a shock.

“Harry, what was that?” I ask, a small laugh of confusion escaping from my mouth.

“A bit of motivation. Some good luck for our brave soldier.” He joked, shrugging it off as if it was something he had done before. Was it something he had done before? Did Uma know about this? It then dawned on me the main reason Harry kissed Gil, and the main reason it worked so well.

“You know about his crush on you, don’t you?”

“Oh definitely, duckling. He makes it very obvious. Uma and I thought about letting him into the relationship at one point, but he’s just not into Uma like that. Why be with the both of us if you only have feelings for one, yeah?” I shrugged in response. It seemed so simple yet so complicated at the same time. It made sense, but yet so many questions popped into my mind.

“So, do the two of you have something going or are you just some lip service to each other?” Harry chuckled at the pun, not caring much whether or not it was intended. “Seriously. I’m sure Uma and I would like to know if you’re hooking up with someone that isn’t us.”

“He thinks of my kisses like little good luck charms. Nothing more. He told me so himself. Although, I would be lying if I told you I had never hooked up with him before. But it was long before Uma and I became an official item.” As I watched Gil carry an unconscious Ben over his shoulder and away from the entourage, I began my slow walk towards Mal’s home.

“You’ve got quite the body count, don’t you, Hooky?”

“What can I say, duckling? He’s very tender. Tender and gentle. I love taking the gentle ones and making them scream my name.” His luscious words tempted me, but we had a job to focus on. I would deal with my urges later.

“You better hope Uma doesn’t hear you saying that. The only name she wants screamed is hers.” Harry was about to spit out a response when we hear a soft, fair voice calling out Ben’s name. Harry and I were still relatively far back in the shadows. I stayed towards the back as Harry walked in front of me. His silhouette must have looked similar to the King’s because Evie still believed the shadow belonged to the royal Beast.

“Ben! Ben…don’t scare us like that.” With Evie’s words and sighs of relief from the boys around her, Harry and I emerged from the shadows and stood side by side, leaving them in shock.

“Don’t scare you? That’s my speciality.” Harry teased as I gave a conniving, quiet laugh from the side. 

“Harry…” Evie whispered in disbelief. Did she really think that someone like Ben could walk through the Isle and have nothing happen to him? Whether we had a plan or not, there are plenty of people on the Isle who would hate Ben enough to snatch him. It just so happened to be us this time around.

“What did you do with Ben?” Jay asked, seeming tempted to take a step up towards us. 

“Oh, uh, we nicked him.” Harry replied simply and nonchalantly, a small smile reminding him of our victorious mischief. I chuckled in response, remembering Gil’s smile as he walked past us with Ben passed out and draped over his shoulder.

“Like candy from a baby.” I taunted, peering into every pair of eyes I could find in front of me.

“And if you ever want to see him again, have Mal come to the Chip Shoppe tonight. Alone.” He glared as he let his finger roam to Evie, then Jay, then Carlos. “Uma wants a little visit.” He side eyed towards me, excited for what was in store for us.

“No weapons, either.” 

“Weapons? Why would Mal need to worry about weapons?” Evie asked.

“Aw, Evie darling, seems like you’ve been in Auradon a bit too long, haven’t you?” Harry taunted, eyeing her up and down like a piece of meat.

“I saw Mal at Curl Up and Dye not too long ago. The blushing Queen to be had a knife in her back pocket. If she even tries to think about pulling something on Uma…” I let my fingers trace on the arch of Harry’s hook, wandering until they decided to grip the middle. “She’ll get hooked right where she stands.” I’m slightly taken aback as Carlos takes a confronting step in front of Jay and Evie, attempting to defend them.

“Why are you even a part of this? There’s no way you grew up on the Isle.” Carlos bit back aggressively. Given his small stature and some juicy bits of information I had learned about him from Harry, it was nearly impossible to take his defense seriously. I let an evil, mocking laugh roar from my chest as I looked over to Harry, pretending to be frightened.

“Well, well! Looks like Doggy Boy over here has got some brains after all. I had no idea someone so small could have so much bark in them, did you, Harry?” He tsked and shook his head as he eyed his old flame up and down.

“Oh, I know about his bark, duckling. But his biggest weakness is one..little..bite.” Harry lowered his voice to an alluring growl as he yipped directly to Carlos’ face. Jay immediately pushed his boyfriend behind him, ready to fight Harry by any means necessary. But, to his dismay, Evie held him back. “Aw, Jay...it seems like you’ve lost your touch. First you let your bike get snatched up, now it seems you can’t even keep your boyfriend from being stolen. It’s a good thing we’re not interested in him, ain’t it, Sofi?”

I chuckled as I eyed the flustered and angry kids in front of us. “Damn straight, it is. Seriously, Doggy Boy, you’re gonna go from someone like Harry..to someone like Jay? Talk about a major downgrade.” Evie continued to hold the two boys back behind her as she stepped forward and looked at me. There wasn’t any kind of glare or sneer. Quite frankly, she didn’t even look afraid. It seemed that all she wanted to do was take in the girl in front of her: me. 

“Who are you? We saw you at Yzma’s egg stand. You could’ve killed Ben right then and there. Why didn’t you?” She asked, attempting to scare the truth out of me using interrogation. However, her skills weren’t that strong.

“Oh, Evie. That’s for me to know and for you to find out later. Ciao.” I gave a small wave as I locked my fingers into Harry’s hand and walked away from the entourage.

[kyberled]

100 Random Character Development Questions

@theshaark​ asked:

027. What is their idea of perfect happiness? / 028. What makes them laugh out loud? / 029. What sort of sense of humor does your character have?

027. What is their idea of perfect happiness?

In a word, peace. That’s all he really wants. He wants the war to end. If it does, he has basically everything he could want. He loves life at the Temple.. He really does want for nothing there. It’s home and then some - he has all the food he could want, gardens, a lake, libraries, museums, a holotheater, training rooms... Plus his family. He’s loved there. He’s safe, he’s happy, again, he wants for nothing. His only major troubles, past the age of 13, come from the war. If the war ends, he’ll be happy.

He knows it will be a long time before the Galaxy will be back to a state of peace once the war is ended. There will be a lot of work, not just on the large scale, but the small details, as well. It will be a lot of work. It will be a lot of struggling. He knows that. He also knows it’s going to be so much easier to help people without worrying about enemy forces invading all of the time. He’s going to feel a lot more at ease without Sith lords trying to kill him and his all of the time. Things are just going to be better when the war ends. For him, and for everyone else.

That’s all he wants.

028. What makes them laugh out loud?

There are a few people who have a talent for that. This, of course, includes his best friends: Hano, Naweh, Booda, Lohata, Garak, and Shah-Ki. They’ve all known each other since they were kids; Braig met Hano when he was three, Naweh not long after, Boodah when he was four, Lohata when he was five, and the twins when he was seven. It wasn’t until their Gathering that they really became a set group, but ever since then, they’ve been best friends, nigh inseparable when they have off time for about a decade once Order 66 hits. As you can imagine, they’ve all got a good read on how to cheer each other up, and a good collection of in-jokes between them. These include, but are not limited to:

- Hano answering his comm as ‘the Separatist Army’. If it’s not a dire situation, he’ll pick up and call in with a “You’ve reached the Separatist army,” slide in some sort of answering-machine based joke, and finish with a “please leave your message after the ‘roger’”, at which point someone - usually Braig, or Shaky, one of Hano’s clone friends - will fill in the second ‘roger’. Some common ones are “You’ve reached the Separatist Army, where the only things clunkier than our droids are our communications networks. Please leave your message after the roger!” (’Roger!’); “You’ve reached the Separatist Army, where all of our soldiers are literally spineless. Please leave your message after the roger!” (’Roger!’), and “You’ve reached the Separatist Army. Unfortunately, Count Dooku cannot take your call at the moment, as he’s managed to get both his lightsabers shoved right up his--” ... He wasn’t allowed to finish that one. Master Eedai didn’t think it was as funny as Hano and the troops did.

- ‘Science’ being a catch-all explanation or answer. EG, ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Science.’ This one came from the twins. They’re brilliant slicers and engineers, but when they’re working, they fall into the ‘don’t talk to us, we’re busy’ category. So, if you ask them what they’re doing, they’ll answer, ‘science’. That’s spread to the rest of their group, to the point it’s used in completely nonsensical ways. Probably the most popular is ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Science.’ or ‘Where are the twins?’ ‘I don’t know, probably science.’, but they’ll use it whenever and wherever they feel, just because sometimes that’s easier than an actual explanation.

- The diner coupon. I’ve written about it before, but in summary: Naweh got her hands on a coupon to a top-level diner and bet it to Braig that he couldn’t read the entire Galactic Basic dictionary. It took him a few meditation sessions, but he did, and so he got the coupon. Unfortunately, by the time he was done, he’d been assigned to a mission, and realized he’d be away until after the coupon expired. So, he bet it to Garak, that he couldn’t fit a voice modulator into his saber without changing the casing. Garak accomplished this and got the coupon, and he bet it to his sister, she bet it to Naweh again, Naweh bet it to Lohata, and it’s long since been expired, but they still keep passing it between the members of their group as ‘bragging rights’. It’s pretty common for one of them to do something impressive or improbable, and whoever has the coupon will just hand it to whoever did the impressive/improbable thing. Depending on the situation, it can be wholly inappropriate, and that’s usually the funniest. Booda has it at the moment. She’s looking for a reason to hand it off before her next mission, just in case.

I could go on about other in-jokes they have, like ‘That’s how romance works’, ‘I’m still your favourite/____ is my favourite’, ‘What’s the Basic word for [word in Basic]’, ‘teamwork’, ‘blame it on Braig’, and so on and so forth. They’re a bunch of teenagers who've grown up together, they have  a lot of them. Long story short is his friends have known him long enough that they know how to lift his spirits. He adores them.

Another person with a talent for making Braig laugh is space dad. Again, Obi just knows him too well. Whether it’s sarcastic quips at potentially inappropriate times, ridiculous stories, or the bad impressions that should not be encouraged but are behind closed doors (Braig does a pretty decent Yoda, actually), Dad knows him. He always has.

Then there’s Wolffe and Cody, of course. What can I say? He loves his growly brother and Commander Dad. If you’ve been here long enough, you know the three of them rag on each other to no end, but it’s because they care. The two marshals have perfected this sort of deadpan, ‘Well-This-Might-As-Well-Happen’ sort of snark that kiddo is highly amused by.

After Tasish, a good ‘You have to cook it first, Kriss’ joke can usually get him, too. Prez is really good at it - weirdly enough, so is Cooper.

I mean, really, wifey. You know Braig. He tries to avoid being too serious (because if he focuses on how much things suck in the galaxy it might break him), so. It’s not too hard to get him to joke along with you.

029. What sort of sense of humor does your character have?

He’s a disaster. Being in the war gave him a pretty good sense of gallows’ humor, for one. You have to be able to laugh at the pain to make it tolerable. Much like his master before him, Braig’s been known to mouth off in rather unideal situations, perfecting the art of sass as he grows. It helps. He’s also big on puns and dad jokes and that one is entirely Obi-Wan’s fault. He’s raised the kiddo on things like ‘Two Jawas walk under a bar’. It rubbed off on him.

He also just has that like, weird sense of humor all teenagers do. The sort of neo-dadaoism that tends to crop up in psychologies during wartime. A love of the abstract and absurd. Sometimes reality just sucks, so you wanna think about things like this instead:

You know how kids are.

[yastaghr]

Projects (Fresh’s DDFL Oneshot)

Pairing: Kedgeup

Characters: Underfell Papyrus, Undertale Sans

Warnings: None (this is fluff)

Summary: Classic is working on a project in a snowstorm. Edge takes care of him. For @freshouttaparsnips

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23029627

A skeleton walked through the blowing, cold wind of the mountain winter. His boots were tall and red. His pants were tight and black, riding low on his pelvis. His uncharacteristic sweater was thick and warm, a cashmere wool number in a light orange borrowed from a friend. His teeth were sharp and three lines bisected his left eye socket.

Edge stepped into the basement. He closed the door and knocked the snow off his caked boots, then tramped down the stairs as loudly as he could so he wouldn’t startle his datemate. When he got to the bottom of the stairs he sighed. Classic was still hunched over his project. Edge had no idea what it was. At the moment it looked a bit like a steampunk teapot, but earlier today it had looked like a projector box, so that didn’t mean much. Edge didn’t really care what it was. All he knew was that his datemate was absorbed in fiddling with it to the point of being totally unaware of such paltry details as what time it was and whether he should eat. So Edge had decided to fill that role himself.

The tall skeleton slipped a plate of food into the space between Classic and his project. It held a hummus and tomato sandwich with baba ganoush and tzatziki sauce on it, just the way Classic liked it. There was also a piece of baklava off to one side.

Classic made a startled noise when the food inserted itself into his world. He turned to see who had brought it. Edge took the opportunity to steal a kiss from his datemate.

“IT’S TIME TO EAT, MY LOVE. YOU’VE BEEN WORKING AT THIS FOR FOUR HOURS NOW. YOU NEED TO TAKE A BREAK AND FUEL YOUR BODY AND MIND BEFORE THEY GIVE OUT ON YOU. PLEASE, TAKE THIS.”

Classic reluctantly grabbed a triangle of the sandwich and peered at it. “hummus and tomato?”

“ALONG WITH YOUR SECOND AND THIRD FAVORITE CONDIMENTS. A NICE, HEALTHY MEAL,” Edge confirmed quietly.

Classic let out a startled moan when he bit into the sandwich. He stared at it with wide eye lights before turning his brilliant smile on Edge. “thanks, edge. i really appreciate it,” he added with a genuine twinkle in his eye, “especially the baklava. you know a good piece of that sweet honey goodness makes me go absolutely nuts.”

Edge put on his best disapproving face to hide the startled laughter in his soul. He secretly loved his datemate’s puns, but he knew Classic absolutely loved it when he played the straight man to his comedian.

“I DON’T SEE YOU BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS JUST YET. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM DOING SO. I’M NOT SURE THE CORKBOARD COULD HANDLE IT.”

Classic chuckled. “sure thing, babe. but seriously, thanks for the food. i must be starving if i’ve been working that long. it has to be…” He pulled out his phone and checked the time, “...5 o’clock? sheesh, that’s late. how was your shift?”

Edge smiled mysteriously. “OH, YOU KNOW. A BIT OF THIS AND THAT. THE ELEPHANT CERTAINLY WAS ENTERTAINING.”

Classic narrowed his eye sockets. “what elephant? i thought you worked in an antique shop.”

Edge’s smile widened into a grin. “YOU WOULD BE CORRECT. AN OLD HUMAN LADY WITH PINK HAIR BROUGHT IN A NOVELTY LAMP THAT HER NEPHEW HAD BOUGHT HER. IT WAS ONE OF THOSE VINTAGE ART DECO DEALS. YOU WOULD HAVE LIKED IT.”

“i bet,” Classic said around a mouthful of food. Edge knew he only did it to get his goat, but it worked. Edge glared into the smiling face of the monster he loved.

He sighed. “JUST EAT YOUR SANDWICH. I’LL COME BACK FOR THE PLATE LATER.”

Classic waved to him as he left the basement. “bye! don’t stomp too hard on the stairs. you might break through!”

Edge’s only response was to slam the door on the way out.

=====

An hour later Edge returned to the basement to fetch the plate. Classic had set it off to his left and had cleared it. Edge smiled. He was always happy when Classic loved his food. He might not be a professional chef, but he still took pride in his cooking. It was eclectic and simple. Classic seemed to love it.

Speaking of Classic, he was bent over his project with a pair of tweezers and a bunch of wires. The project now looked like one of those rides you see at fairs that have a bunch of chairs suspended by wires that spin around and out at an angle. Edge had no idea what it was.

“HELLO, LOVE. HOW IS YOUR PROJECT GOING?” Edge asked quietly, not wanting to startle Classic and mess something up.

Classic set down the tweezers and swiveled in his chair to face Edge. He had a smile on his face, and his eyes were twinkling. “well, wire you asking? tweeze projects of mine don’t usually interest you this much.”

Edge scoffed, secretly impressed that Classic had managed to come up with two puns that fast. It never ceased to amaze him how gifted his datemate was in the pun department. Edge could appreciate a good pun when he heard one, but he was absolute garbage at coming up with them himself. His coworkers at the antique shop seemed to send them flying back and forth all day long, but Edge’s best attempts always fell flat. He’d given up on coming up with any, leaving that to those who had the skill, like Classic. His puns were better than their puns, anyway. Edge wasn’t biased. Not at all.

“JUST CURIOUS. IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE YOU’VE BEEN THIS DEDICATED TO A PROJECT. NORMALLY YOU’RE BETTER AT REMEMBERING TO EAT AND TAKE BREAKS. I KNOW IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE YOU ACTED LIKE THIS.”

Classic grinned. “aw, edgelord, that’s sweet. too bad i can’t tell you. it’s going to be a surprise~!”

Edge narrowed his eye sockets at his datemate. That was such a typical Sans move. Well, two could play at that game. “WELL, THAT’S GOOD. I HAPPEN TO HAVE A SURPRISE OF MY OWN WAITING FOR YOU UPSTAIRS, SO DON’T STAY DOWN HERE TOO LONG.”

With that, Edge grabbed the plate and sashayed his way up the stairs and back out into the deepening snow.

=====

It was late at night when Classic trudged up the stairs and through the snowstorm to the main house. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that he should be stopping. The interdimensional phone didn’t have nearly the clarity of tone that he wanted, but he really couldn’t fiddle with it any longer. When he was younger, maybe, but now his eyes gave out much sooner than they used to. It was better to take a break and sleep off the shivers than to push himself.

He felt absolutely caked in snow by the time he opened the front door. He couldn’t even see through the snow plastered to his face. Knowing that his brother was likely staying over with his datemate, Classic immediately started stripping off his ice-cold layers before he got chilled to the bone and soaked through.

It wasn’t until Classic was down to his t-shirt and shorts, after he had used a clear patch of his hoodie to wipe off his face, that he could see the room in front of him. It was… not what he had been expecting. If he’d been expecting anything, it was that the room would look as it usually did; the new couch that they had gotten when they reached the Surface, the old tv that worked better than it used to thanks to a little tinkering on Classic’s part, the joke/quantum physics book on the table in the corner, and the pet rock on the dining table. Most of those things were probably still there. Probably. It was hard to see them around the giant blanket nest that took up the majority of the room. Edge must have put in every blanket, pillow, and cushion in the house!

Classic grinned and crawled over the mounds of fuzzy fleece and warm wool that grew into a giant mountain of comfort. Sitting on top of (and slightly within) the pile was Edge. He had a self-satisfied expression on his face, like a dog with a big stick or a cat with a “dead” string. He had a large bowl of popcorn in one hand and the tv’s remote controller in the other.

“SO. DO YOU LIKE MY SURPRISE?” Edge asked his datemate.

Classic chuckled. “it certainly is surp-rising. how long did it take you to build this thing? i can see you used the pool noodles to maintain the pile’s structural integrity without sacrificing softness.”

Edge preened under the compliment to his engineering even as he glared at the pun. Classic knew he would. Edge loved it when his datemate praised him, and he was especially proud of his skills as a puzzle engineer. This might not be a puzzle, but the same principles applied.

“IT IS A RATHER INGENIOUS IDEA, ONE TRULY WORTHY OF THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE EDGE,” his datemate said as he set down the remote, freeing up one hand to help Classic over the last few feet of pillows and into the little divot in the covers that Edge was sitting in. “I HAD THOUGHT OF USING THE THROW PILLOWS, BUT THEY DID NOT HAVE THE LENGTH I NEEDED FOR THIS WORK. THE POOL NOODLES SEEMED AN OBVIOUS NEXT CHOICE.”

Classic smiled. “you don’t give yourself enough credit. i know i never would have thought to use them. i probably would have given up on the mountain-like design and just made a pillow fort.”

“OH,” Edge blinked, stunned. “THAT WOULD CERTAINLY HAVE BEEN EASIER THAN STICKING WITH MY ORIGINAL DESIGN. THE IDEA OF A PILLOW FORT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME.”

Classic chuckled as he settled into the curve of his datemate’s arms. He loved how nicely he seemed to fit in the other’s grasp, like both of them were designed perfectly to fit one another. His legs could curl up right next to Edge’s while his skull rested on the other’s ribs, and when he did so Edge could rest his skull comfortably on top of Classic’s. His brother had called it perfectly, sickeningly sweet, like eating a whole bag of pure sugar. He’d meant it in a good way, though.

“that’s okay, edge. if we all thought the same way then the world would be a really boring place, no bones about it. now, what did your insightful brain come up with for us to watch?”

Edge’s face went from a small frown at the pun that didn’t reach his eye lights to a brilliant smile. “WELL, I WAS THINKING OF STARTING UP…”

=====

Edge had no idea what time it was when the credits started rolling. It was dark outside still, but with the way the snow was falling it could be high noon and still be dark out. He didn’t have his watch available to check. That wasn’t because he didn’t have it on. No, he couldn’t check the time because Classic had fallen asleep while wrapped around that arm like a little koala bear. It was absolutely adorable.

Edge set aside the empty popcorn bowl and grabbed the remote controller with his free hand. He switched off the tv and relaxed into the mound of pillows, content to lay here with his datemate forever.

The sound of the snow hitting the windows and the lullaby of Classic’s snores quickly lulled Edge into a doze. His eyelids drooped. He fought the sleep, wanting to stay awake, but it was a futile effort. He gently drifted into sleep while curled happily around his datemate in a mound of blankets while a snowstorm raged outside.

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

Back Home

Summary:  After having been gone for a few days Castiel receives some slightly worrying text messages from both Dean and Sam.

Word Count: 2,185

When will you be back home, man?

Dean’s text reaches Castiel shortly after 6 PM, just when he stopped his car at a red light and took the chance to glance at the vibrating phone in his coat pocket.

Soon , he writes back immediately, hoping that answer is sufficient enough. Even though it’s been years since he found himself sans wings and constricted to automobiles instead he still has a hard times more often than not to estimate distances and how long it actually takes to get from point A to B.

It could be minutes, hours, even days - everything might be possible.

How long is soon???

The excessive use of question marks makes Castiel instantly wheel his car onto an open parking space right next to him and ask the internet for advice.

According to google five hours and fourteen minutes.

Good.

And that’s it.

No new messages, no inquiries, not even a flirty little pun Dean usually loves to send him on a regular basis.

Castiel blinks at the device in his hands and waits for a while, wondering whether a further response just might take a moment. But after ten minutes of silence the angel decides to start the car again and carry on with his journey, so he would actually meet google’s prediction.

About half an hour later, as he looks at his phone once more while he has to wait for a man to maneuver his car around some poorly parked motorbikes, Castiel discovers that yet another text message arrived somewhere along the way.

This one is from Sam, though.

Dean said you’re back soon? Hope that’s true, buddy. We REALLY need you here.

Castiel frowns at that. This sounds rather urgent.

What is it? he writes back right away. Is it a case?

Sam doesn’t wait around to answer, No, we just REALLY need you here.  

Castiel feels a huge wave of worry wash over him all of a sudden. Are you hurt? Did something happen??

Ah fuck, no. Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out like that. No one is hurt or dying or whatever … yet, at least.

Castiel grinds his teeth. This is not reassuring, Sam!

Please don’t worry, there is nothing supernatural going on. Just brothers being VERY annoying. Dean is driving me NUTS.

Castiel slowly releases the breath he’s been holding in. This sounds harmless enough, at least. He left the bunker about five days ago to wrap up some angel business one state over and the brothers had been in Lebanon ever since. No case in sight and cooped up underground more or less the whole time because of severe rainstorms all over Kansas. It appears it finally caught up on Dean and Sam.

Just … come back home, Sam writes back. Dean’s getting insufferable without you around.

Castiel can’t help a small smile at that before putting the phone aside again and continuing his journey.

In the end he beats google’s forecast by twenty-seven minutes and feels fairly pleased with himself, even if he’s not really sure whether this is a cause for celebration or not.

Sam is to first to greet him as soon as he leaves the garage and steps into the living area.

“Damn, Cas!” he exclaims as he wraps his long arms around the angel’s torso and squeezes him so tightly Castiel sure as hell would’ve choked if he actually would’ve been dependant on oxygen for survival. “It’s so good to see you!”

Castiel pats Sam’s back awkwardly and patiently waits for the hunter to let him go eventually.

It happens just a few seconds later, fairly abruptly actually, when Sam loosens his grip and shoots the angel a bright smile before grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him deeper into the bunker.

“I can finally have some peace now!” Sam says happily.

Castiel creases his forehead as he lets himself manhandled through the bunker’s hallway. “I don’t understand,” he states, confused. “What is going on?”

Sam groans. “Call it pining or moping or Dean just being an ass …” He shuts his eyes for a second. “I’m just glad you’re back, man. Dean is so fucking sleep-deprived I’ve considered knocking him out with my fist constantly for the last couple of days!”

Castiel arches his brow, not sure what to even think about that, but before he has a chance to ask for some enlightenment they’re suddenly standing in front of the door leading into Dean’s room.

And Sam instantly kicks it in without any preamble whatsoever.

The hinges protest vocally against this sort of violent treatment and Dean inside the room, who has been sitting on his bed and reading a book, certainly seems to agree as his death glare focuses on his brother.

“Sammy, what the fuck ?” he growls, seemingly ready for murder. “What are you even -?”

He comes to a screeching halt, however, as soon as he spots Castiel.

His whole demeanor changes instantly. His face lights up, his snarl turns into a smile and his features soften so visibly for a moment it seems like he’s transforming into an entirely new person right here in front of them.

It’s truly a remarkable transition.

“Look at that, I found your angel!” Sam announces, meanwhile, before shoving Castiel kind of roughly into the room. “Now do me a favor and don’t leave these four fucking walls for the next twenty-four hours !”

Castiel looks back and forth between the brothers, unsure whether it’d be wise to say something or whether he should stay silent in order to keep his head on his shoulders.

“Sammy …” Dean says in the meantime.

“Don’t Sammy me!” Sam cuts in harshly. “Just. Go. The. Fuck. To. Sleep.”

With these words he slams the door closed again and storms off to where he came from, muttering underneath his breath something about “dumbass brothers” and “kindergarten” the whole way.

“What was that about?” Castiel wonders.

Instead of an answer, however, Castiel finds himself with an armful of Dean all of a sudden. The hunter’s arms cling to him so strongly, like he’s afraid the angel might escape any second now, as he aligns their bodies until there’s not an inch of air left between them.

“Cas,” he whispers, his voice laced with so much relief. “You’re back early.”

Despite his continued confusion Castiel can’t help reciprocating the embrace wholeheartedly. “Well, I beat the internet.”

Dean chuckles softly. “You sure did.”

And then he dives in for a kiss. It’s gentle, almost chaste, but there’s also some kind of urgency behind it that makes Castiel a little worried instantly.

He draws back somewhat and studies Dean’s features intently. His eyes, usually so lively and now a bit dull, the heavy bags underneath them, his skin slightly ashen …

“Dean,” he breathes as he cards his fingers through the other man’s hair. “What is going on? You look terrible.”

Dean scoffs before burying his face in Castiel’s neck, as though he’s trying to hide from the angel’s view. “Thanks for that, Cas.”

“I didn’t mean …” Castiel sighs. “Are you unwell? Sick?”

He’s already prepared to use his heavenly powers and cure Dean from any kind of disease that had the audacity to even look in his direction.

Dean, though, shakes his head. “I’m just … it’s stupid …”

Castiel frowns. “What is?”

“I missed you …”

Castiel still doesn’t grasp the problem at hand. “There is nothing stupid about missing me. I did so too. Miss you , I mean.”

Dean starts to squirm in Castiel’s arm, obviously uncomfortable by the whole thing. “I just … it seems I’ve got …”

He trails off, apparently not sure how to explain himself.

Castiel, meanwhile, keeps running his fingers through Dean’s hair, hoping the gesture might be soothing. And indeed Dean’s tense muscles begin to relax after a minute and he all but melts against the angel.

“I just missed you,” he whispers, his face still hidden against Castiel’s skin. “Especially … well, at night. In my bed.”

Castiel glances at the now so familiar memory foam. “You missed sex?”

“No!” is Dean quick to protest. He pulls back a little to look right into Castiel’s face, his cheeks beautifully flushed. “I mean, of course, you and me … it’s always … well, really awesome …” He blushes even more and Castiel can’t help enjoying the sight of Dean Winchester himself getting flustered about sex. “But I was rather talking about … well, you in my bed. With me. The whole night.”

Castiel tilts his head as he slowly starts to catch up. “Are you referring to sleep ?”

Since they “got their head out of their asses” a few months ago, as Sam had put it so romantically, Castiel started to share Dean’s bed with him. He doesn’t really require any kind of sleep, but since his time as a human he found a taste for letting go for a little while and simply succumbing to some blissful peace for a few hours. It turned out to be especially wonderful with Dean lying in his arms.

Just the two of them, underneath the covers, while time itself seemed to have frozen around them.

Castiel began to cherish these beautiful moments more than anything.

“It’s so stupid,” Dean repeats once again, pressing his face against Castiel’s temple. “I slept most of my life alone and I was totally fine. And now you’re coming along and I can’t even manage a few simple days. How pathetic is that?”

Castiel creases his forehead as realization hits him. “Are you implying you haven’t slept the last five days since I’ve been gone?”

Dean is silent for a moment, like he’d rather do anything else than answer, but eventually he admits, sheepishly, “Yeah, I guess.”

Castiel leans back enough to meet Dean’s gaze again. “Not at all?”

Dean grimaces. “Well, a little,” he tries to defend himself. “A quick nap or two.”

“But that’s it?”

Dean ducks his head. “Yeah, I know - pathetic ,” he says, snorting. “I got quite cranky after a while and Sam … well, you’ve seen him. I’m actually surprised I’m still alive. I really thought he would kill me at some point and dump my body somewhere deep in the woods.”

Castiel raises a brow. “Cranky?”

Dean fidgets awkwardly. “Yeah, I mean … lots of yelling and stuff. At one point I think I threw a book at him.”

“A book?”

Dean winces. “Or maybe it was a mug?” He shakes his head. “God, I’m such an ass when I’m sleep-deprived. It’s actually a wonder Sam didn’t commit fratricide.”

Well, Sam surely seemed highly agitated by his brother’s behavior. And if Dean indeed barely slept since Castiel left and eventually lashed out, that’s not very astonishing. There’s a fairly good reason why humans need their daily dose of sleep, otherwise mankind would’ve murdered each other a long time ago.

“Dean …” Castiel whispers, cupping Dean’s cheek tenderly.

“It’s just so stupid, right?” The hunter shakes his head as he averts the angel’s intense gaze. “I shouldn’t be so used to it by now. It’s not like we’re doing this thing that long anyway -”

He doesn’t really know what to think anymore, so Castiel simply presses his lips against Dean’s, as softly as possible. The hunter relaxes once more right away and deepens the kiss after a short while.

“It’s not stupid,” Castiel whispers against his skin, “every single night since I’ve been gone, I missed you so much . I looked up into the dark sky and longed to be with you.”

Dean’s entire demeanor gentles at Castiel’s words.

“And I didn’t catch any sleep either,” Castiel adds. “I didn’t even try, I just knew it would be a futile endeavor.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need any sleep,” Dean points out.

“But I missed you so much I annoyed the other angels severely with my ‘crankiness’ either way,” Castiel tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “At the end they looked at me with the same murderous eyes Sam shot at you.”

Dean laughs softly at that. “We’re two seriously pathetic dumbasses, huh?”

“If that means I can be with you, I’m fine with that.”

Soon enough they find themselves shedding their clothes and stealing gentle kisses, unable to stop touching for very long, but also eager to get into bed and catch up on what they’ve missed.

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief as they finally hit the mattress and spread the covers above them, a sensation of warmth and home filling him up. A feeling that only gets exceptionally stronger when Dean pulls him into his arms, as close as possible.

“Love you,” Dean mumbles into his skin, seemingly already on the verge of sleep.

Castiel’s heart squeezes automatically. It’s not the first time he’s heard those words from Dean, not by a longshot, but everytime it feels absolutely exhilarating.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, his fingers brushing over Dean’s back. “So much.”

And so they sleep.

-----

Meanwhile, Sam throws himself a big party in his room and swears to every deity that might listen that he will never leave the angel out of his sight ever again.

[wordsturnintostories]

where the stars collide

summary: stargazing with jungkook turns into… beating hearts and swollen lips. word count: 2.6k note: another oneshot that originally belonged to another fic. when i read through it again, i suddenly had Jungkook in mind because it fit so well. since you guys liked king of bangtan so much, i thought i’d give you something else that’s kinda similar. ✨ long-haired jungkook is all i'm really saying. you know which look. warning: kissing, kissing, more kissing, fluff, jungkook's handsomeness

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

He points up at the sky, his other hand in between his head and the rough natural wood of the park bench he’s lying on.

“There.”

You follow the finger. Nothing.

“Another one, there.”

Nope, just the sky, thousands of stars that don’t move. You don’t see it.

“Jungkook, I don’t-”

“Over there! Over there,” he sounds so excited pointing out all the shooting stars for you. But again, you miss it.

“Did you see it?”

“No,” you mumble, a little embarrassed that you’ve seen none of these previous shooting stars. “I miss them every time. They’re too fast?”

The truth is, you’re Jungkook-gazing instead of stargazing and when he finds a new shooting star to trail after with his finger, you have to tear away your eyes from his giddy face and that takes a few seconds. Who could blame you? He’s decidedly too pretty to not look at him. Additionally, it seems that these shooting stars are not patient beings. At least you don’t miss the magnificent flares and sparks the campfire sends flying every few minutes. Of course, they don’t compare to burning rocks in the sky, but hey. You can’t have it all, right?

“Baby, scoot over,” Jungkook demands suddenly, standing over you while you sit up on your wooden bench. There goes the separated-bench date. Not that you mind.

“Scoot where? There’s no space.”

Jungkook grins. “Are you sure? Make sure NASA doesn't hear.”

You groan but there’s a tiny grin at the corner of your mouth that you can’t prevent. His puns are terrible, of course he would never admit that.

“You know you love me,” he says while simply picking you up, hands on your hips, and lying down instead of you, putting your body down on his so you straddle him. You breathe. Once. Twice. God must’ve blessed his thighs personally. You send a silent thank-you to the sky.

“Yeah,” you breathe. How is he always so physical? Sometimes you think he can’t live without physical contact because he always finds a way to touch you, especially when he thinks you don’t notice, even if it’s just your feet touching underneath the table or his fingers lingering in your hair. Not that you don’t appreciate it, but his desire to be so close to your body, to share that level of intimacy, it makes you a gooey mess inside. Like chocolate soufflé. Jungkook makes your heart melt with every little touch.

And now you’re sitting on him, his warm big hands sneaking under the fabric of your hoodie and gripping the bare skin of your hips, a beautiful contrast to the cool night air, just like your flushed cheeks. A tingling warmth washes over your entire body and you hope he doesn’t notice.

But Jungkook’s eyes follow the stars; he’s smiling at the ethereal beauty of the universe and looks ethereally beautiful himself, golden and silver in the flickering lights of the night and the campfire that’s still dancing to some unheard song’s melody. You wish he could see himself, in that soft sweater you know he’s wearing because you love it, in his sweatpants that make his legs look so lean and perfect, with his face that is swept over by limitless enthusiasm every time he spots a shooting star.

To be honest though, he is the real shooting star. He is the glowing thing you admire in the darkness, the once-in-a-lifetime sight you have put your eyes on, extraordinary because of how unique a creation he is.

In this flickering, perfect moment beneath the night’s shimmering arc of unearthly glory with Jungkook, you swear you won’t let him pass the sky and burn off in your atmosphere. Shooting stars may fade but Jungkook won’t. He’ll stay among the glowing myriads of stars forever. You let the oath fall over your lips silently and lock it away in your heart, placing one hand on your heart, the other on his. We’ll be eternal, Jungkook.

As if he feels something happening, his hand moves to grasp yours on his chest. You love how long his fingers are, how they wrap around yours so gently.

His round brown eyes seem to have traded the night sky for you because he’s not watching the stars anymore, yet his face still features that expression of utter admiration. Your fingers play with his in a sweet game of lacing and touching.

“How are you so gorgeous?”

He shatters your defenses. 

“I- um. Thank you.”

“I look at the stars and I look at you and I see beauty both times. But you I can touch, you belong with me. How does the universe choose which pleasures to give to me and which to keep for itself?”

He slowly pulls you down until you lie on his chest. The most beautiful words come out of his mouth and you’re not sure whether he’s aware how sweetly they nestle in your heart, so you just caress his cheek, his face, letting your fingertips run little trails over his nose and his lips. He hums, letting his chest vibrate. A question arises in you, born from the softness of this shared peace.

“Do you really think the universe exists? Like, that it’s a being with a conscience?”

His hand glides underneath your sweater anew, brushing over your skin while he thinks about an answer.

“I think… that the universe is kind. It’s trying to make our lives worth living.”

“How so?”

“Well, sometimes we meet the right people at just the right time and say that it's such a coincidence and we don’t realize it’s the universe pulling us together. And when we go through a hard time or we just don’t feel good, it sends us shooting stars so we can wish for things that will make life better. The universe could be behind all things, or not at all. I would just like it better if it was.”

“More logical?”

“No, more romantic.”

He kisses your forehead and you lean against him, reveling in his affections. Jungkook is a romantic.

“Wow, you really thought about this.”

“Mhm. What do you think?”

You’re not sure whatever you’re doing right now can be called thinking. Listening to Jungkook means just enjoying him, his voice. You almost feel bad for not being able to pull up some deep thoughts about his topic but you know it doesn’t matter to him, so you just say what comes to mind.

“I think I would love to see one of those shooting stars and wish for something.”

He chuckles, running his nose’s tip against yours. The delicacy of the contact makes your breath hitch. You don’t move, don’t look away, not when his gaze is setting your veins on fire.

“You won’t find them in my eyes, darling.”

“But I can try,” you breathe, trying to imitate his low whisper that gives you shivers on your back.

Where his hands are. They slide up, then run down your spine with his nails caressing your skin. Simultaneously, your sides are trapped by his shoulders. He sits up a little to look at you better.

“So try,” Jungkook challenges, waiting for you to take the first step. That’s what you love about him, he’s never just taking or demanding. His affection is a simple invitation. His love is a delicious fragrance you are free to capture or release.

Tonight, you capture. You dip in, hands still on his chest but lips pressing into his. Even if there are no stars in his eyes, you close yours and there are enough stars there to pretend they belong to him. They only appear when he kisses you, so they might as well be his. Soft lips make soft sounds as he accepts what you give and adds to it with his own spin on kissing - breathing some air onto your lips before he pushes against them, again and again like a shallow wave lapping at a luxurious beach.

You’re completely caught up in his grasp, in his warm shelter underneath the far away stars that watch your love unfold. 

He flips you, heavy body gently pressing against yours. There’s a wonderful tension in him, the way he won’t crash down on you, how he holds you even though he is so excited for your touch. Your mind starts drifting off to imagine what else he could do to you in this position, a little further down the road, after some more heated back-and-forth, here, where no one is watching, outside, under his strong, moving body. You blush furiously, suddenly over-aware of the hotspots where your bodies are touching. Your calves, hips, your abdomen,…

Jungkook pulls you in again, kissing all over your face, mimicking the path your fingers painted on his face before. Soft giggles are his reward and when he moves back to your lips, you part them, giving him more access, more space to love you. It’s not one-sided, though, as he grants you the same, letting you explore his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. You suck on his lower lip, just where he likes to bite it whenever he teases you. Jungkook moans a little, and suddenly, you do think you see a shooting star in his eyes, like a flash passing by. The sight makes you stop and he whines from the sudden loss of affections. Above him, a real shooting star crosses the sky. He smiles a dazed smile.

“Did you see it? A shooting star, right now?”

“Yeah,” you raise your eyebrow, “how did you see it? You’re looking at me.”

“True,” he kisses your cheek, “but when I don’t look, I can feel some of them.”

“Feel. You feel shooting stars.”

“Yeah,” he licks his lips, “on my skin, right here.”

He pulls his sweater off, slowly as if to tease you while his hips move against yours as he straddles you, licking his lips again. The sweater comes off, revealing his body. His long hair’s strands fall in his face, adding to the wild handsomeness that is your boyfriend's face. How does the universe choose which pleasures to give to me and which to keep for itself?

It’s all tease when he takes your hand to let it wander from down below, from his abdomen over his abs to his chest, all the while searching your face intently for every tiny reaction he can draw from you. Controlling your breathing is so much harder than before, but you try to play it cool while you explode on the inside. Taking off his sweater was a powerful move and that little sneaky shit you call your boyfriend knows it. Letting your hand find the spot on his bare skin - it’s frustrating to realize how well he knows you. By now, he’s got you at his mercy but it’s an ecstatic feeling with him.

“Kook,” you whisper, unsure whether you intended to plead or to counter-tease. It comes out wrong either way. He’s messing with your head.

“It’s right… here,” he responds, still pressing your hand to his skin. It’s all warm, almost sizzling hot actually, and you wonder if little flames are going to appear around the outline of your hand.

“You’re so hot,” you say a little breathlessly and go stiff immediately. Crap. Frickin crap. Not. at. all. what I wanted to say. Stupid, stupid, your mind repeats and oh, how you wish teleporting was a real thing by now.  The biggest grin is plastered onto Jungkook’s face when you dare to look up again.

“Glad you think so,” is his elaborated response before he comes down again, mouth running against yours with untamable ferocity, proving your embarrassing statement in a different way. He’s hot the way he kisses because he kisses like there’s nothing he adores more than you, like there won’t ever be something else on his mind and like you deserve every single treasure he has. He flushes the embarrassment away with a single kiss. His agile body moves between your legs and that’s just mean.

You moan underneath him, your hand still placed where he put it, just on the left side of his ribcage, while he goes for your throat, nibbling gently. All of a sudden, there’s a tiny shiver tickling under your fingers as if a tiny electric current just appeared and disappeared.

“Jungkook!”

“Mmh, baby?”

“I felt it!”

“Hmm. I told you,” he laps at your skin lazily, not strong enough to create a hickey but definitely with enough intent to give you goosebumps. Your boyfriend is set on wrecking you gently and you love it.

“But- it’s not really a shooting star, right?”

He stops, running his nose over your cheek instead. “Oh, but it is.”

Another tiny shiver shakes the tender skin under your fingers. You feel the same excitement that he had before spread through you.

“Really!? You really feel shooting stars on your skin!? You weren’t joking?”

“Why would I joke about something so beautiful?”

His eyes glow that sweet amber honey for you, like he’s swallowed a piece of a star and now it’s starting to shine through. All his eyes fix on is you, not the stars, not your hand on his side, and slowly you think he’s drowning in you the same way you are drowning in him. Does he even know how precious he is to me?

You place a gentle kiss on his swollen lips and he goes for it, welcoming it, worshipping every second of it as if he hadn’t kissed you once today. Oh, God. Never take him away from me.

An idea is born when your fingertips rest on this precious inch of buzzing skin. You need to show him just how much he means to you, what a treasure he is. The bonfire cackles in the background and when you look up to him, sparks fly around him like a personal corona. It’s an image for eternity.

Slowly, very slowly, you pull him down, down on your body singing for his touch, with your bare calves rubbing against his, and your hips eager to remind him how to do the bachata you both practiced in that tiny, hot dance studio, on your fourth date. His mind seems to remember, working to your favor and not his as it pulls up a flood of memories for the both of you. He’s tensing further down but you don’t act on it. Not yet. Another electric spark runs past your fingertips. He’s magical.

"But why do you feel them?”

“I think the univ-”, he starts and it’s the go for your idea. Your nose runs over his shooting star spot. He sighs.

“Keep going, darling,” you whisper, eager for his hitched breath. Wreck me and I’ll pull you down with me. You grin at how sultry you sounded in your head. Boldness. You wear it better every time. Does he know he’s the only one who will ever get to see that?

“I-I think the universe wants to make sure I don’t-” While he speaks, you run your tongue over the tender spot he’s revealed to you.

“Mmh baby,” he breathes, head almost lolling around.

"You didn’t finish.”

"Make sure - God - makes sure I don’t - ugh - miss my wishes.”

Satisfied that he’s holding his breath in anticipation, you nibble on the spot, even letting your teeth graze it. His eyes close as he slacks a little, not quite able to hold his weight off you, which reveals to you just how many shivers you send to dance over his skin.

It’s a ballet of sorts, goosebumps and shivers making for graceful yet uncontrollable dancers, the orchestra a collaborative effort of your licks and his hums and little growls. It’s when you suck it lightly that he really pants.

“Darling,” he hums, almost voiceless, “y-you make the stars dance.”

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

tags: @xmagicxshopx, @taeshuworld, @justanemptydream, @hoodmeup, @gingerpeachtae