#Oh yeah and a couple old submissions from my old account

[iebee]

A work-in-progress fanart to celebrate my new account!! And also my new mental breakdown over the newest chapter of @crinklytinfoil's glorious fic

[insufferablelust]

Little Butterfly I (Sugar Daddy Mob Boss!Spencer Reid x Reader AU)

Warnings: Part 1 of an ongoing series (that i hopefully won’t abandon), Upcoming heavy violence, Mafia and Crime related fic, Spencer is a soft dom but is dangerous, HEAVY SMUT, upcoming dark kinks (Gun,Knife,Bondage etc), daddy kink for sure, Manipulation kink, Degradation, Humiliation (yknow the drill with me) spoiling kink?, upcoming murders etc, heavy topic regarding mental illness, College legal age!Reader, Age gap, older!Spencer, Mean!Spencer, BDSM themed, Indication of Subspace, Just heavily dark smutty series (yet again lmao) 

Hello, my wonderful readers, i want to thank you all for the patience you all have for this series, hopefully i can stick to schedule an update this once a week like Thrilled. This will be a new territory for me since all i know about mafia and such are from the movies and countless books my father has inherited me with, so i deeply apologize if there’re some mistakes, this is an AU that means its only a story and fantasy. If you are uncomfortable to violence and sex then PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS. Thank you, and Happy Reading. 

This series will set around the 80′s New York.

MASTERLIST HERE

There is no hiding from the absolute luxury you indulge in, in fact you love showing it to whoever might want to pry deep enough into your life. You caused no harm by it, and it certainly isn’t anybody’s business but yours and his.

The pair of arms around your waist is a certain remainder of who you belong to, and you loved it. He looked good tonight, almost too good with the suit adorning his perfection like an absolute genius adonis— your genius adonis. You feel your cheeks heats up slightly as he glanced at you, knowing just how shy you get around so many people— his little girl is sensitive after all.

Spencer Reid knows every little thing about you, what makes you tick, what makes you snap, what makes you bow in submission to him, and what makes you feel heavenly. He knows it all, he knows the way you trembled slightly whenever he wrapped his arms around your neck as he leaned down to kiss you, or how squirmy you get whenever he tug your hair, said your name calmly whilst shoving his fingers into your mouth— he knows everything.

—

It was a mutual agreement at first, living on 80’s New York has never been so stressful during your 20’s, all the student loans, the bartending you do sometimes, even the couple of scandalous photoshoots you sacrificed yourself doing to keep your bank account afloat. Your family never really cared much, and the only person that you truly have is Emily, your roommate.The whole ordeal was strange when you found out Emily’s ties to the mafia, being the daughter of one of the strongest mafia’s capo on America during that time. You wondered how on earth she has managed to doesn’t want to get on her father’s good side, and just except the riches that comes along with being a mob, but then again you were a stranger to it too...or so you thought.

The night she asked you to accompany her to meet her father and his boss, you shrugged and said yes, having nothing to do in the apartment other than wallowing in your own debts and sadness— you immediately agrees which put a smile on her cute face.

“I thought you didn’t want nothing to do with your father.” You asked as you raked through the closet to find something... ‘elegant’ but not too much, it’s going to be in a lavish restaurant after all. Your eyes darted to Emily’s who has been staring at her phone, smiling to whoever is texting her— you could only assumed it was one of her secret girlfriend-hookup for the week.

“Well i didn’t but money is tight, fucking inflation.” She looked up for once, lips hanging open at the sight of you standing there in a black dress, short with a slit on the thigh area— looking absolutely ravenous. “Holy fucking shit.” Emily whispered.

“What? is this enough? god i feel like such a prude.” You bit your lip as you await her comments, “You look fucking gorgeous you idiot, i mean are you sure you aren’t gay by any chance?” She laughed, which caused you to giggle, “I never said i’m not gay.. just that i’m not—

“Interested in dating, yeah yeah but we can at least fuck or something.” She jokingly raised her eyebrows as you throw your bra her way and laughed, “I just don’t want to get distracted em, especially that we live together.” You pouted before giving her a kiss on the cheek, which made her roll her eyes and smile.

Only if you knew what this meeting will entails.

—

The wine tasted exquisite on your tongue, the sweet burn of merlot was pleasant on the base of your throat which shocked you at first— maybe you should stop buying cheap wines, because the real ones are heavenly. You looked around nervously, it has been a long time since you’ve gone out to have dinner, let alone one as expensive as this.

“Stop looking like you’re about to die.” Emily whispers as she took the seat next to you, which you humorously giggle and swat her shoulder, “I’m not. It’s just.. new to me is all.” You nervously chuckled, before sipping on your wine some more. It was clear that her dad and his so called mob boss were late— which you rolled your eyes since Emily was basically rushing your make up, you just hoped that you looked decent enough, not that you want to impress anyone, its just good to feel like you’ve fit yourself to the occasion.

“Oh, you’ll get used to it.” Emily chuckled, before you could even process what she meant by that the sound of a soft elderly timbre rang through your ears, “Cara mia! Jesus, you’ve grown!” Emily slapped your thigh softly, gesturing for you to stand up.

Dear heaven, lord save your knees from buckling.

You watched as Emily greeted her father as you stood by her side, she kisses him on both cheeks as they made a small conversation that you pay no mind to since you were distracted, distracted by the pair of eyes that caught yours from the moment he walked in.

A soft yet stern eyes that held yours captive at this very moment, a presence that demands every single person for its attention, and intimidating like no other. A man, a finely sculpted man, standing in front of you in an attire that you were sure was more expensive than your whole closet, His soft looking curls marvelously falls fo his side, his plump lips were begging to be kissed— to be listened, to be heard, his tall lean figure towers over you which has you gulping down nervously— so much so that you failed to acknowledged the presence of Emily’s father calling your name.

“Y/N!” You let out a gasp before turning to shake Emily’s father’s hand, trying your best to smile as you glanced over the towering man, “So this is the Y/N i’ve heard so much about huh?” The old man snickered, looking gentle whilst maintaining a facade still. You giggled softly, “I hope there are all good things, nice to meet you Mr.Prentiss.”

“Oh please, Robert is fine. Oh Emily, Y/N this is don Reid.” He stepped back in.. what looks like an utter fear, you gasped as you realized that this is.. the mob boss Emily talked about, the masochistically handsome man you’ve been staring at— you thought a mafia boss would be someone older, but this is certainly not the case.

“Pleased to meet you both, Spencer Reid.” He extended his hand which Emily gladly took before she nudges your side whilst you were still gawking at the man, the soft yet deep timbre of his voice soothes and intimidate you at the same time, not to mention how he carries himself— practically saying he’s a god.

“Oh— um yes hello, pleased to meet you, i’m Y/N.” You bit your lip as you feel your cheeks hurt from the embarrassment, shaking his hand quickly— before you could even imagine pulling away, he gives you an amused chuckle and squeeze your hand tightly before releasing you.

“Well, let’s take a seat shall we?”

You are so fucking fucked.

--

“So, Y/N, Emily told me you’re majoring in art department, how’re you liking it?” Robert spoke as you eat your pasta slowly, trying not to show how you were trembling under the very same gaze that held you captive from the moment it arrives here. You gulped down a delicious bite of pancetta, before answering, “Oh i love it, always been my passion— well painting is, but i do love everything about art and literature.” You chuckled.

“I would love to see your art sometimes.” The voice could strangle you and you’d die happily, it really could— you glanced at the man whose been looking at you like a wolf to its prey, fingers skimming over the feet of the wine glass as a soft yet eloquent smile strikes over his face.

“Oh um, it’s not— it’s not that good, i wouldn’t want to waste your time.” You choked on your wine, feeling the burn on your throat as he let out a humorous-less laugh, shaking his head, before bringing his lean fingers to his lips. “Nothing is wasteful, not if it comes to such art like you.”

What?

“Huh?” You felt small, your cheeks heated at the reference as you tried so hard not to squirm and praised yourself by hearing what you thought you heard. Your eyes darted to his in a shy manner as he kept his composure well, licking the rim of his glass before sipping his wine gently.

“Anyways! dad, shall we talk a bit more private? i’m sure Y/N can keep the don company.” You gasped at Emily’s words, still barely grasping the previous encounter— the bottom of your heel jab at her left foot, as you glared at her, “Of course of course, don?” Robert spoke up, eyes lowering as his body turned to look at the smirking masterpiece that still stares at you with the same intensity.

“Go. We’ll be fine, won’t we angel?” You gulped down as much wine as you could without burning your throat before smiling nervously, eyes glancing back and forth to The Don and Emily.

“Y-Yes um sure.” You offered a gentle smile, even though your heels jabbed Emily’s which yet again resulted in her tiny laugh before she walks away to the back area of the restaurant.

The area was thick with intensity and glamorous lights, adding to the headache that already starts due to you being a lightweight around alcohol. Suddenly you realized, that you’re practically alone— with the don of the biggest mafia ring in America. “Go ahead and ask me the question.” He murmured sternly, causing your ears to perk at the sudden thrill that made your goosebumps rose and thrived under the shimmering lights.

“Pardon?” Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your dress as you tried so hard not to stare at the huge man, feeling as if you’re being cornered by a lion, and you his prey.

“Your cheeks are warm aren’t they? you keep biting your lips every time i muttered a word, you can’t even look at me because you know that the second you do, you wouldn’t be able to stop. Emily is right, you’re a pure little thing, its fucking cute really. If this table weren’t here separating us, you’d be across my lap already— for wearing something so slutty like that.” By the time he finishes taunting you, you stopped breathing, thigh squeezing against each other so tightly that you could feel how damp your panties are getting.

“Go ahead and ask, doll. Surely you can’t be dumb enough to think i would just allow anyone to meet me let alone a little college student like you.” His eyebrow lifted, as you nervous squirmed on your seat and breathed out.

“Why did you asked her to bring me?”

“Nicely. You know better, Y/N.”

“Sir...”

—

And the rest was history, the pair of arms around your waist tighten as the owner’s lips caress and nip at the very sensitive part of your neck, causing you to shudder and mewls. “mmh.. t-too early.” You complained, fully knowing that would only amuse him even more.

He chuckled as you had predicted, nimble fingers grazing up and down your front like feathers, delicately worshipping every inch of your skin. The blaring sound of New York’s traffic was prominent, but somehow that adds a thrilling aspect for you, months ago— you were picking up morning shifts by now, working your ass off just to gain enough cash to pay this month’s rent. But now, here you are, in the arms of the most feared yet young powerful don in the entirety of the mob community, Heck if everyone knows who he is and how much power he holds— they’d all fear him, but not you, not his fiery little butterfly.

“Shh, let me love on you a little.” Your heart warmed, familiar feeling of a thousand butterflies swarming on your belly caused your cheeks to warmed at the gesture. He said things like those often, though he made it perfectly clear that you were, you are only here for business arrangements, you knew he likes to toy over affection like this— one you aren’t supposed to get attached to. But how couldn’t you? when his hand so softly glides down the curve of your godly features, warm breath fanning across your skin from behind, whispering sweet words.

“Look so pretty for me, butterfly.” He whispered, causing you to yet again whimpers, hand clutching the sheets tightly as he moves down down down until he turned you over and settle between your legs, smiling at you. “If heaven is real, you’re definitely it.” He nipped and bit the exposed skin of your thighs, last night and the night before and before still there but like he said,

“If you agree to the terms, i’ll give you every damn thing you fucking want. Your bills, rents, loans, plus each and every single thing you wished to buy.”

“And in retur—“

“In return, you will be mine, mine to have whenever wherever i want, you won’t be my chained slave or nothing, but you’ll be mine.”

So marked you again and again he did, tearing your satin panties he did, panties that cost more than a week worth of luxury meal that he only grunted with “I’ll buy the whole fucking store, now shut up and let daddy eat his breakfast.”

You swore you’re in god’s heaven then and there, even if you aren’t sure that you believe in one, you can’t help but to think that this is some kind of miracle, your life is, here you have a perfect adonis, suckling on your clit as his fingers pump your delectable cunt in and out with such a fast pace that made you feel all floaty and flustered. The same man that commands the room whenever he walks in, the same man who pay all your bills, the same man who bought you a new lavish apartment and hands you gifts every damn day.

“Oh! oh please daddy right there..” You moaned out loud as your fingers latched onto his hair, softly tug on them as he moaned against your drippy cunt and suck your clit even harder,earning a particularly loud and lewd moan from you. “mmh! a-ah! i’m gonna—“ He held his finger up then, eyes finding yours as his mouth continues to work on your now sensitive clit. Spencer wasn’t too strict or nothing about your rules but if there’s two that he’s strict about is for you to cum only if he gives you permission— no matter the place or time, if he wants you to cum, you’ll cum— not that it’s hard, with someone as skilled as him.

When you begged and begged, he slapped your thigh only to grunt darkly, “If you can’t shut up and let daddy enjoys this, i’ll fucking take you on the balcony and fuck you for all Manhattan to see. Do you want that, Butterfly? want everyone to see what a filthy college girl you are getting fucked by someone as dangerous as me?” He slapped your cunt then, over and over again as you pant, and mewls.. Body jolts and pulsed at his ministration.

“You’re going to cum like this—“ He paused to spit directly onto your swollen clit, watching it wet the sensitive nub, “Going to cum with daddy slapping your greedy little cunt. Or you are not getting an orgasm.”

“Yes, daddy— oh!” True to his words, he spank you, over and over again, leaving you quivering and brokenly cried at the burning pleasure, “Cum princess, come on, you surely know how to thank daddy don’t you?” Your hole clenched around nothing as you arch your back and sobbed,

“Can’t— daddy please i-“

“You were so fucking desperate to cum, why not now huh? your sensitive cunt surely looks wrecked enough.” He scoffed before he spank your clit so hard you jumped at the sensation before he licked his fingers and caress your clit in fast fanning motion, not giving you enough time to even breathe as your cunt pulses and throb with overwhelming need of release, building up up up, up until you finally trembled and cum all over the bed— an orgasm so intense that you blacked out for few seconds straight.

“Shh.. shh good girl, that’s it— fuck you look so ethereal like this, butterfly.” He muses as he settle his head on your lap and admire your pulsing body, “T-Thank- y-you.. daddy.” You gathered all the strength you have left as he smiled proudly.

Your head laid on his chest as you both cuddle in silence, trying to enjoy the serenity and calm environment around you as the city below you buzzed all round. It was calming for awhile before his phone rang and you involuntarily sighs, “I know pretty girl, i know.” He muttered, before smiling apologetically- Not that he needs to.. Business arrangements, not like you’re his girlfriend or nothing.

love on you,

love on you,

let me love on you,

You forced your fuzzy subby mind to get the thoughts out, as you watched his figure put on his robe, and leaned down, “I’ll be back later okay, don’t forget to check your phone.” He kissed your forehead for a bit, letting it linger as you held back your tears, wishing he could stay with you, you need your daddy, you really really do need him now. Feeling all small and fuzzy like this. But with the blaring noise of his ringtone, you knew the don has business to take care of and of course you’re not important enough to held such important task to be left.

So you smiled all nicely and kissed all the rings finger on his fingers before bidding a tiny whimper of, “Best of luck, don.” Your head bowed a little in respect as he noticed the true and true sadness flashed across your eyes, but paid it no mind as his other burner phone blared.

“Thank you, Butterfly. Get dressed soon, and i’ll have Morgan bringing you that sandwich from the deli you love so much. I’ll see you soon.”

Oh how nice would it be if this is your life, but life doesn’t always have a happy ending after all.

——

Comment or send me a message if you want to be added to this series taglist!

[nat-20s]

Wonderful! Au Part 7! (also on ao3 here) another episode only installment, and obnoxiously fluffy! Have fun!

~*~

Martin, tired: Hello everybody! Welcome, or welcome back, to a very low energy episode. We have had, as the kids say, A Week Tm.

Jon, equally tired, but fond: Is that as the kids say?

Martin: I don't know, and perhaps worse, I don't really care. I guess I could ask Jeremiah next time he's over, but I'm not sure if that would actually help.

Jon: Shockingly, I don't think two year olds have their finger on the beating pulse of youth culture.

Martin: Hmm, maybe not. Speaking of Jeremiah, he's part of why the format of this episode is gonna be a bit different than our regular. On top of me dealing with a frankly obscene amount of inventory management, and Jon being swamped with grant writing-

Jon: I never want to look at proposal guidelines again-

Martin: we were on babysitting duty for our favourite neighborhood hellion-

Jon: Hey, Jeremiah is a very sweet kid! I know he's a toddler, but we shouldn't be slandering him anyway.

Martin: One, we're not even using his real name, I don't think that counts as slander, and two, exactly, he's a toddler, he's by default a hellion.

Jon, teasing: This coming from the person that actually wants one?

Martin: I..look, if anything, the last few days have shown we should not be permanent parents.

Jon: But?

Martin:...There's no but.

Jon: I don't believe you! Are you lying for my benefit or the audience's? Because someone spent the last five days wearing one of the largest grins I've ever seen, exhausted as it may have been.

Martin: Okay! Fine, I admit, I liked having a kid around. I still think it would be a bad idea to do it full time, but I dunno. I wish we weren't both only children or something. We would make such good uncles.

Jon: Should I should have taken that teaching job after all?

Martin: Perhaps. After all,

Martin, singsong: An English teacher, is really someone!

Jon and Martin, singing together: If only you, had be-come one!

Jon: Honestly, though, I was considerably underqualified. I'm much more suited to my current job, even if it doesn't have quite the same impact on the "shaping of the next generation" or whatnot.

Martin: Wait, you actually care about qualifications now? When did that change?

Jon: This coming from Mister "master's degree in parapsychology"? And it was probably around the time that the world ended from taking on a workload I was ill-suited for.

Jon:...

Jon: Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Martin: Oh, of course. Definitely nothing literally apocalyptic in our pasts, no siree, nothing to see or speculate about or make weirdly involved forums for here. Uh, anyway, long introduction not so short: Both of us have been averaging about 4 hours of sleep, so any sort of actual research was not on the table.

Jon: If any of you are wondering why we didn't just say that we're both very much worn out and thus we'll be taking a week off, it's because we're both deeply, deeply stubborn.

Martin: It's one of our best shared qualities that has never caused any conflict between us, ever.

Jon: In fairness, sheer stubbornness does account for, what, 75% of the reason that either of us are still alive? And it hasn't caused a major conflict between us in a good three years.

Martin: That's true. We've become a deeply boring, relatively conflict free couple. Which fucking rules, by the way. To all the couples out there: I highly recommend being boring. It is so nice. We've gotten to go to the farmer's market so many times.

Jon: You do love the farmer's market. I would say that it's the access to fresh produce, but I think you just like the attention that one yarn seller gives you. Can't believe you would take advantage of a crush to get discounts on wool. How did I marry such an opportunist?

Martin: Ollie does not have a crush on me. They're just friendly to everyone.

Jon: Bullshit. I certainly never get an extra skein or stitch markers or delicate fabric cleaner tossed in my bag. Actually, I think I've been charged more for committing the crime of having married you before they could.

Martin: I'm..70% sure that's not true, but every sentence we speak, we stray further from even pretending to be on topic. So, to everybody listening, this is the itty bitty episode! Basically, we're only doing small wonders and user submissions. If you want details or backstory for things we like, too bad, come back next week. Jon, I believe you're first this week?

Jon: Oh, right. My first small wonder is cat names.

Martin: Delightful, but unsurprising. Though, I would've expected either more or less specificity. Why cat names as opposed to pet's names in general, or, like, military title names?

Jon: Well that's simple enough. I've simply never met a misnamed cat, even if the name itself wasn't to my personal tastes, and I think that speaks to the wonderful universality of cats.

Martin: This, of course, implies that you have met animals that were misnamed.

Jon: Oh, I have. I once met a papillion dog named Meatball.

Martin: Now I know you don't like food names in general for pets, but are you sure that Meatball didn't suit the dogs personality? I've known some "Meatballs" in my lifetime.

Jon, only half-mock offended: Of course it didn't fit, Martin. She was a lady. A nervous, jittery lady, but a lady nonetheless.

Martin, laughing: And what, you've never met a dignified cat with an undignified name, or vice versa? Would you be okay with our cat being named Meatball?

Jon: I would be upset if our cat was named Meatball, because we named her and we're above that sort of thing, but, technically speaking, she could have been Meatball in another lifetime and it wouldn't have been wrong. You see, all cats are a mix of both extremely austere and little baby idiot.

Martin: Oh, is that the scientific terminology?

Jon: It is. Now, while there's probably some amount of, er, normative determinism or confirmation bias or something that results in a cat with a more dignified name seeming to possess more of that austerity, as all cats have both, any name can, potentially, fit. Hence why it's wonderful.

Martin: I..accept your proposal for now, but I think more research needs to be done. Maybe we should visit the shelter this weekend and test your hypothesis.

Jon: Hmm. I think we may need to visit multiple shelters, actually. A large sample size is necessary for any sort of veracity, obviously.

Martin, imitating Jon tone: Obviously.

Jon: Glad you agree. What's your first small wonder?

Martin: Tofu!

Jon: I..didn't realize you liked that much?

Martin: Well, I don't get it very often since I know you can't stand the texture, even though it is not like 'worse scrambled eggs', and you're a horrible food thief-

Jon: Lies and slander. We readily share. If I'm a horrible food thief, you have committed the exact same, if not worse, crime as myself.

Martin: Well, we are thick as thieves.

Jon, groaning: You're thick as something alright

Martin: Rude! My beloved husband-

Jon: -uh huh-

Martin: whom I love and trust with my most tender of hearts-

Jon: -an oddly cannibalistic turn of phrase-

Martin, badly suppressing laughter: Oh, my god. I want a divorce, then I can put tofu in as many dishes as I like. I'll triple my protein intake.

Jon: It'd never go through. I'll burn the papers. No, wait, I'll burn down the legal offices where the papers are kept.

Martin: Hmm. While my experiences with it have been, uh, varied to say the least, I do have to admit that arson is one of the more attractive crimes of passion. I suppose I'll take you back.

Jon, flat: I'm so very grateful.

Jon, genuine: You do have yet to actually tell me why you think tofu is wonderful, love.

Martin: It's just a good food! It's neutral enough that you can toss it in pretty much anything with a sauce, you can bake it, you can fry it, whatever. Plus it's what? two? Three quid? I spent many years of my life living off the cheapest, saltiest approximation of noodles you could imagine, and half a pack of tofu, a little bit of sesame oil, and some green onions went a long way to both making it more filling and less sad. 

Martin: Plus, I feel like it often gets decried for being something it's not? It's so often viewed as a meat substitute or the vegan alternative option, and so when people try it, they often go in with a false preconceived notion of what it's going to be like, and then end up disappointed. They're all like, 'ugh, this doesn't taste like turkey!' and yeah, of course it doesn't. It's the oatmeal raisin cookie of the protein world, a perfectly good and tasty treat on its own, but if you want chocolate chip, it's not gonna work.

Jon: Martin you don't even like oatmeal raisin. I'm the only one that ever eats them out of the multipacks.

Martin: Well, yeah, but I don't like oatmeal raisin because of its flavor, not because I think it should be chocolate chip and fails. It illustrates my point. Also, just for balance, is your next small wonder oatmeal raisin cookies?

Jon: No, though, maybe one of these weeks. They are good. But no, um, my next small wonder is being married.

Martin, let out a high bark of a laugh: Being married is a small wonder?!

Jon: Small wonders doesn't mean a lack of importance! Or even significance in our lives. Half the time we even end up spending just as much time chattering on about them as the things we actually research. But, yes, I didn't feel like researching the concept of being married. For one, a lot of the history of it is depressing and patriarchal, and for two, it's not something I really feel any need to elaborate on. Being married. I very much enjoy it. I recommend it for anybody that's found someone that they want to marry, and who wants to marry them. I really recommend being married to Martin Blackwood, I think I would enjoy it significantly less if it was to anybody else, but one: we typically try to make the wonderful things in this show  applicable to more than just ourselves, and two: I got there first, so I believe the appropriate thing to say here would be; neener neener and/or everyone else can go suck it, Ollie.

Martin: Well...

Jon: Well, what?

Martin: Saying you got there first is technically not true-

Jon: What?!

Martin, laughing like a bastard: Sorry, sorry! Couldn't resist! Jon, you already know that you're my first real realationship, how would be married before fit that?

Jon: Hence my surprise at the notion! I cannot believe you! I give you my trust, my earnestness, and belief-

Martin [only laughs harder]

Jon: and you throw it in my face for a bit. I take back everything, being married is a nightmare, because sometimes your partner thinks he a fucking comedian and you just have to put up with him because you love him and want to live the rest of your life with him or some such nonsense. Not worth it, if you ask me. My turn to ask for the divorce.

Martin: Babe, hate to break it to you, but both of us are guilty of doing bits that the other doesn't like, it's an integral part of  a healthy marriage, and secondly, you knew who I was long before I proposed. You should've said no when you had the chance.

Jon: Hang on, you proposed?

Martin: Yeah? This isn't part of a bit, of course I proposed. I'm even pretty sure you were there. The whole visit back to Scotland trip? I finally made you a sweater and said it was because we would now be immune to the boyfriend curse?

Jon: No, no, I remember all that, but it wasn't the proposal. It was a reaffirmation of the proposal. We had already decided to get married.

Martin: Well, yeah,, I wasn't just gonna spring that on you, we had had conversations beforehand-

Jon:  No, I mean, I had already proposed. I asked you to marry me a good three years earlier, and you said yes, which is a proposal by any definition that I know.

Martin: Jon, love, darling, apple of my eye, fire of my soul, I mean this in the nicest way possible, what the everloving fuck are you talking about?

Jon: In the ambulance ride when we, uh, moved here. It was the thing I said to you the second I saw your eyes were open.

[An audible pause is left in the recording.]

Martin: That does not count.

Jon: How does it not count?! I asked you to marry me, you very emphatically said yes, that's the de facto definition of an accepted marriage proposal!

Martin: It doesn't count because you were half-delirious with blood-loss, and I had a traumatic brain injury that the hospital was very surprised I made a full recovery from. No court in the world would consider anything we said then more than pain driven ramblings, let alone, I dunno, contractually binding.

Jon: Well, I knew what I was saying well and clear. Just because it was desperate doesn't mean it wasn't sincere. I didn't realize that you weren't as cognizant when you accepted.

Martin, snorting: Yeah, didn't really need to be cognizant to say yes. I've wanted to marry you since the train ride to Scotland.

Jon: Wait, really? Martin, we hadn't even been on a date.

Martin: And yet we were on the lamb together, which I honestly think is more romantic than sitting in some restaurant somewhere trying to get through icebreakers. Also, back up, from your perspective we've been engaged since 2019? What did you think we were doing in the interim?

Jon: Uhh..

Martin: Yes?

Jon: There are people that have long engagement periods, and it's not exactly like we were in any sort of position to get married for awhile. Especially not that first year.

Martin: Okay? And?

Jon: And..I sort of thought you had changed your mind. For awhile. Was rather surprised that you kept living with me, considering that, on the worst nights, I was convinced you were going to storm off and leave me forever any minute now. Hence why your proposal was rather relieving.

Martin: Oh, Jon, love. That is so very ridiculous, and so very you, and so very close to many of my own fears and doubts. Do you have any idea how terrified I was to float the idea of marriage to you? Half the time I was convinced I was just meant to keep you company until you found someone better. And, Christ, we'd, from your perspective, been engaged the whole damn time. Fuck.

[Jon, after a beat, starts laughing. It has a slightly hysterical edge to it. Martin joins in. It takes a minute for the laughter to subside enough for them to speak again.]

Jon: I'm rapidly realizing that our entire romantic relationship would've been, if not more successful, a hell of a lot faster if we weren't both complete fools.

Martin: You're realizing that now? I think I've known that since the CV incident. I've definitely known it since the Lonely.

Jon, with a slightly tired chuckle:Yes, yes, something probably should've tipped me off earlier. Shockingly, observation of our own personal romantic trends is not always a strong suit of mine.

Jon: Anyway, please tell me you have another small wonder, this has gotten wildly of track.

Martin: Since we're talking about marriage anyway, I think my next small wonder is having a shared reference in your wedding vows. Our friends had "I have been, and always shall be, your friend" in theirs, and I made Jon cry with a slightly altered Lord of the Rings quote in ours.

Jon: First off, we were both openly weeping long before that point, secondly, I defy anybody to have been through half of what we have and then have the love of their life look them in the eyes and tell them "Leave you? I never intend to. I am going with you, if you climb to the moon" without at least tearing up.

Martin: There wasn't a dry eye in the audience, either. Granted, the audience was only 20 people, but that was also literally the only time I've seen Eloise show a strong emotion, so I'm pretty smug about it.

Martin, soft: I still feel exactly the same, you know. If you're climbing to the moon, I'll make sure the rope is strong enough for two.

Jon, soft: I know, love.

Jon: Though, to be fair, the moon is also significantly more pleasant than many places we've been.

Martin: God, I hate how much that's true. Look at this barren, oxygenless rock, at least it's not actively trying to kill us. Practically a honeymoon location.

[Martin sighs]

Martin: I am so tired. Let's do the user submissions then take a very long nap.

Jon: Please.

Martin: So, first submission is from Josie; They find it wonderful getting cards from their friends. They say they're lucky to have so much love in their life and have friends that care enough to send them things. That is wonderful Josie! We have a drawer in our house dedicated to every loving card we've ever received since the move, and they're always such a nice reminder of the people in our lives.

Jon: We should really organize that drawer, but, yes, agree with the sentiment. Even the cards from people that are no longer in our lives are lovely, I think. Those connections are very much meaningful for both of us, whether they're active or not.

Martin: That's very true.  Next submission is from Lys, who submits the sound of leaves crunching under your feet in the fall. Ah, that's a classic.

Jon: I just felt myself relax imagining it. I wish it was autumn.

Martin: Don't we all? Alright, for the last submissions, I'm grouping them together as they follow a similar theme. Jadwiga submits the feeling of waking up well into the morning with the sun shining through the window and your cat laying next to you, and Oran submits when a dog falls asleep with its head in your lap.

Jon: I can heartily recommend at least one of those, considering that's how we try to wake up most mornings. The Duchess is a dutiful darling girl who spends every night with us, and she's usually still there when us humans rise.

Martin: I bet you'll agree with the other when I finally convince you to get me a dog for my birthday.

Jon: It hasn't happened yet, so I wouldn't hold your breath.

Martin: But you don't even dislike dogs! You're just as happy to pet them when they pass by as I am.

Jon: Being fine with an animal isn't the same thing as wanting to adopt one for yourself! We don't even know if The Duchess would put up with a dog.

Martin: I bet she would. I bet we could get a big senior dog who's the calmest animal you've ever met with those soft eyes and a little grey on the muzzle and she would cuddle up in an instant. And we did say we should visit a shelter or three this weekend..

Jon: I think you're rather callously taking advantage of my exhausted state, but I suppose we can look. 

Martin: Hell fuckin yeah. So, I think that'll close out the episode, and as we always say at the end, uh, go take a nap and get a dog. Not necessarily in that order.

[renaerys]

Prompt 50. But Berserk & Boomer😔👉👈💕

50. “I thought you left.”

We’re calling this one Unfortunately, She Impressed Him. This is a pair of characters I love with all my heart in any flavor of relationship and can’t wait to write more of in my ongoing multi-chapter fic Trinity House over on AO3.

This fic is part of a prompt challenge that is now closed to new requests, but you can read all the completed submissions here. Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we’re getting creative here.

xxx

Boomer was halfway across the deserted lobby of Faust Keating Rogers, LLP when he realized he’d forgotten his keys at his desk. He groaned aloud because it was 8 p.m. and no one was around to hear him because they had all gone home to their families hours ago like normal people. Boomer didn’t have two to three kids and a house in the suburbs, though, and neither did his boss. The three hour lull reserved for dinner, baths, and bedtimes before the evening work-from-home grind offered him no alternative but to power through. He fully planned to grab take out on his way home and enjoy an episode of whatever was on HBOMax before getting back to the tedious work of reviewing the draft prospectus statement his boss had sent him to proof by tomorrow morning.

Except, his keys were forty floors up and he now had to risk running into her again when he’d managed to slip away so neatly. He’d even removed his tie on the elevator ride down, and now he rubbed his exposed neck, flushed with anxiety over what might happen if she saw him and asked him to stick around to finish the work here.

“Nice going, dumbass,” he lamented as he stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for the fortieth floor.

It wasn’t that Boomer disliked his job. In fact, he didn’t mind it at all. It was better than slinging drinks or waiting tables. He had health insurance, a steady paycheck, and a resumé that could proudly display the name of one of the most elite accounting firms in the country. He could pivot his career if he wanted to, as Brick would say. Boomer wasn’t thinking about his next job right now, though. Right now, he was thinking about this one and how his boss was a hard-ass and a workaholic even if she was brilliant, and how there was a one hundred percent chance she would detect him coming back to his desk (which was annoyingly set up right in front of her office so that he could answer her calls, manage her meetings, and deal with whoever passed close enough to her event horizon to get suckered into the latest heinous audit in need of staffing).

There were his traitorous keys sitting on the desk next to the framed picture of his brothers. He glared at them, as if they were a forgotten household item that had developed a supernatural grudge like in those old Japanese folktales he liked to read online. He half expected them to jingle and alert his boss to his presence, just to spite him.

They didn’t, and he slipped them into his pocket as quietly as could be. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and took a beat. It was quiet. Most of the offices were dark, save for a few poor souls in the large conference room stuck on the ongoing year-end audit for one of the firm’s most important clients: Unicorn, Inc. His boss’s office was also lit up behind her closed door, but she hadn’t called out to him like she would during the day when he got back from his lunch break hoping for a few minutes to catch up on emails in peace before she dumped more work on him.

This, of course, was odd. The small legion of assistants who had come before Boomer were notorious for their short-term employment working this specific desk. The work was demanding and so was the boss, but there was something else that set her apart from other senior associates in the International Tax Services division, something that seemed to intimidate away any support the higher ups sent her way. Denise a couple desks down had warned Boomer not to bring too many personal effects to the office; chances were he wasn’t going to last long. Boomer had smiled thinly and thanked Denise for her advice, and brought the picture of his brothers in the next morning because he had his pride and Brick told him it was healthy to indulge that once in a while. Brick would certainly know.

So here he was, uncertain. Anxiety over having to sit here for another two hours finishing work and having tepid Doordash delivered pulled him toward the elevator and escape, while that annoying, rare pride demanded he check on his boss and make sure she knew he was here to support her, lest she get the idea that he needed to be fired.

The longer he stood there, indecisive, the greater his curiosity grew. What was she doing in there? It was quiet, even when he strained his Super hearing. He could hear Dean Matheson pouring whiskey a few offices down (that guy had a drinking problem and everyone knew they only kept him around because he had the Unicorn, Inc. account), Adebayo Hansou on a conference call with Dubai that was escalating to profanity, Shelly Kim with her head down and typing away at an Excel spreadsheet like a pro. Their assistants were long gone for the night, but here was Boomer, loitering and indecisive and what is she doing in there not yelling at me when she definitely knows I’m here?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He knocked on the closed door—rap, rap, rap—and called out softly, “Berserk?”

A beat, then: “Come in.”

Finding his boss in upward facing dog while still in her pencil skirt was not a sight Boomer was prepared for. Berserk had her eyes closed as she stretched at a near ninety degree angle and listened to music on her Airpods. Boomer had never seen her with her heels off and her mane of red hair thrown together in a messy bun; it was so casual that it was almost obscene.

“You’re staring.”

Fuck, he was staring and now she was looking right at him down her nose, even though she was the one on the floor. He stood up straighter, unable to help himself when she took that tone that reminded him so much of Brick’s when he was about to criticize, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Sorry.”

She breathed in deeply through her nose and hoisted herself up into downward dog position. “Why are you here?”

Forgot my keys seemed like a really lame excuse that she’d probably laugh at him for, but he also was not in the habit of making shit up on the spot if he hoped to make people believe him. “I forgot my keys.” He took them from his pocket to show her, as if she might not know what keys are, as a concept.

“Smart locks.” Berserk exhaled and slowly walked her hands back on the yoga mat until she reached her feet and began to swing slowly left and right.

Huh? he almost said like an idiot, until he caught himself. “Don’t think my landlord would approve of me installing that.” Also, those things were like $200 a pop, which was not worth the occasional inconvenience and shame of forgetting his keys and then catching his boss doing yoga in her office after hours.

Berserk made some noncommittal sound like whatever, peasant and slowly uncurled upward one vertebra at a time. Boomer realized he was back to staring again, literally lingering in her door watching her and trying to equate this subdued, casual version of Berserk with the terse, no-nonsense businesswoman he was used to dealing with on a daily basis.

When she finally achieved her full height, she popped her neck. The hair that was too short for her bun fell in around her narrow face in a stylish, athleisure sort of way. The top buttons on her blouse were undone. She wore a small, golden necklace he’d never noticed before because he wasn’t in the habit of checking out his boss. “I thought you left.”

The accusatory nature of her words were totally at odds with her flat tone, only the barest hint of curiosity dangling there at the end, like she expected him to respond.

Oh, she expected him to respond.

Boomer took another step into her office because he was full of poor judgment today. “I forgot my keys.”

At which point he showed her his keys again and also had a mild stroke, because what the fuck are you doing, mate?

Berserk smiled. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Was she laughing at him? He had never heard her laugh before, unless it was at Dean Matheson, that comb-over in denial who, in addition to being a high functioning alcoholic, also had a reputation for throwing associates under the bus when a client wasn’t happy.

Boomer smiled back, because that was what he did when people smiled at him, and ‘people’ now included Berserk, apparently.

“Well, since you’re here,” she said as she padded around to her desk.

Crap, there was the work he was afraid of soliciting from her by remaining in the building. He debated an excuse to give her: picking up dry cleaning? Plausible, but transparent. Meeting up with his brothers? No, she’d probably make him stay all night for the chance to ruin Brick’s plans.

“Thai or Mexican?”

Boomer stared dumbly. He was becoming quite good at that (10,000 hours and you can become an expert at anything, they say). “Huh?”

The yoga must have put Berserk in an exceedingly gracious mood, because she actually repeated her question without getting that look on her face like she was picturing him getting trampled by stampeding monsters. “Thai or Mexican? I don’t have a preference.”

Oh.

Oh.

Boomer’s stomach picked that time to snarl at him—8 p.m. and still no dinner, the fiend.

Berserk snorted in laughter and fanned herself with her phone. “Jesus. Mexican it is.”

Which was how Boomer found himself on the small sofa tucked in the corner of Berserk’s office, shoes off and belt loosened, with enough tacos, tamales, and rice and beans to feed a small family. He even had a beer from the mini fridge Berserk kept under her desk.

She hadn’t stayed late to work. Well, she had, but only because she didn’t have a reason to go home.

“I just hate getting home to a dark apartment sometimes,” she said in between bites of food. She had her legs tucked up under her on the sofa close enough to brush Boomer’s thigh if he reached to grab the salsa.

“I thought you lived with your sister?”

“Brute got her own place a few months ago. The arrangement was only temporary while she was in between jobs.”

It was weird knowing so little about a person whose whole family had been in Boomer’s inner orbit since childhood. As far as he knew, Berserk wasn’t close to any of her cousins, not even Blossom. Boomer himself had never been more eager to leave a room than when Brat walked into it. Only Butch, Brute, and Buttercup had ever found common ground among each other once the sworn rivalries and blood feuds of their youth gave way to teenage rebellion against their respective overlord fathers and then the slog of adulthood that was inescapable even for a bunch of Supers flying high on Chemical X.

The fact that Boomer had gotten this job surprised him more than anyone. After drifting from restaurant jobs to office temp placements over the last six years, he’d never thought he would dust off his economics degree and land a temp-to-permanent position that seemed way above his qualifications. And he never thought it would be working for a woman he’d most definitely electrocuted in battle at least a dozen times before puberty.

“What?”

Boomer blinked. He’d been staring again, Jesus Christ. “Sorry, I was just thinking… I didn't know that. I’ve been working here for five months and I don’t actually know much about you at all.”

“Hm.”

Her magenta eyes were wine-dark against the murky sky beyond the window forty stories up. Boomer did avert his gaze this time to reach for the salsa, but he didn’t use it.

“I don’t even know why you invited me to stay for dinner in the office if we’re not going to do any work.”

“Why did you stay?”

“For the free food.”

Berserk grinned—the third time she had smiled at him tonight (or ever). He needed to stop counting; he’d be disappointed when it stopped happening tomorrow.

“Don’t get used to it. Much as I appreciate the company now and again, there’s no need for both of us to be stuck here while Matheson’s breathing down the associates’ necks. Can’t have him poaching you out from under me.”

“Well, I don’t work for him; I work for you.”

“It’s sweet how you don’t understand office politics.” She ate a lone slice of avocado with a fork. “He landed Unicorn back when they were early stage, and back when he was still putting in the work to earn his reputation. But since they IPO’d three years ago and make up twenty percent of our revenue now, he’s just another big name coasting by on associate work. You know he regularly schedules client calls and just doesn’t bother to show up? He forgets half the time, and the other half he’s busy playing golf or buying a yacht or whatever the fuck rich, white Boomers do.”

“Well, as a Boomer myself, I can say I’ve spent exactly zero hours buying yachts.”

She chuckled. Fourth time. “Oh, really.”

“Never even thought of yachts. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not even real.”

“Thanks for your expert opinion.”

“Any time.” Boomer turned his body to face her and draped his arm over the back of the sofa. With only the soft light from the floor lamp in the corner, he imagined himself adrift in the darkness, the sky scraper lights nearby stars. It was a lonely thought, one made romantic in the knowledge that she was here too, and he wasn’t actually alone.

“Matheson almost did poach you, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Boomer couldn’t recall exchanging more than a few words with the man.

“When we were filling support positions. Someone recognized you from the news a few years back, when the Cyclops Monster attacked the marina district and you and your brothers took it out. Matheson got it in his head that you’d be able to work at Super speed and help lower his billables.”

“Wow. Maybe you should’ve let him. What do you think the net savings would be in yacht units of measurement?”

Berserk rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “I claimed you before he could get the paperwork in.”

Boomer hyper-focused on that word: claimed. He also pointedly ignored it entirely, much in the same way he ignored the new count of five smiles tonight. “Showed him your bending powers, did you?”

Berserk’s Corona bottle turned frosty under her hand in a totally unnecessary, big dick energy display of said powers, and she took another sip. “No. Sharon from HR likes me. And I promised her I wouldn’t fire you after three months like your predecessors.”

Flattered was not how Boomer would describe the feeling of being claimed by Berserk and eluding Matheson’s vampiric clutches. But he was a bit tickled all the same. This was the woman Butch had once described as essentially Brick, if he were constipated all the time.

And then he realized what she was doing. “Hey, you’re sharing things about yourself.”

She clinked her bottle to his, and Boomer shivered at the frosty chill she transferred on contact. “Aw, you figured it out all by yourself.”

“Ha ha.”

She didn’t quite smile, but she did look kind of serene then, content even, as she lay back against the arm of the sofa and yawned. Her gold necklace—just a simple disk with an engraving Boomer could not make out—reflected the lamp light when she moved. It rested just beneath her collarbone, which had suddenly become the single-most interesting part of Berserk, and oh no, was he interested—

“You’re staring again.”

Son of a bitch.

“Sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn’t mean to.”

Hard no. He was not allowed to be any percent attracted to Berserk. First, she was his boss, and there was a cliché here that, while subverted on the gender role spectrum, was still very risky for both of them. Second, she was Berserk, a fellow Super, cousin to his best friend Bubbles and a shrewd, stiletto bitch in Brick’s estimation, which sounded bad. Not that she was bad, or even evil, unless you counted helping rich corporations accurately report their taxes while taking advantage of the many egregious loopholes in the Internal Revenue Code. Which, okay, point taken, but he also worked here and anyway, people should not be deemed good or evil so much as their choices ought to be—

“Are you thinking about fucking me?”

You shrewd, stiletto bitch!

She was smiling again, and Boomer pathetically logged that as the sixth time, although he wasn’t sure he should count it given the overt malice behind it.

Unfortunately, Boomer was, as had been previously established, very bad at making shit up on the fly. So he miserably said, “Yeah.”

“Hm.”

She sipped her beer slowly, and of course he watched. If it was out in the open, as fleeting a bout of insanity as it may have been, at least he could wallow in it without worrying about appearances.

It was the yoga. That fucking upward facing dog, Jesus Christ.

It was more than that too. Over the last few months, he had worked closely with her, watched her navigate the cutthroat halls full of piranhas like Matheson and other account managers, getting herself work on the best clients while managing her juniors with efficiency and professionalism. She was excellent and sharp, and she demanded excellency and sharpness in kind. After years of going it alone or temping for bosses who didn’t care enough even to learn his name, much less provide him with guidance and mentorship, it was an unspeakable relief to work under someone who knew how to rally the troops. Someone who knew how to lead, how to motivate, and how to reward loyalty with loyalty in return. It didn’t hurt that she looked amazing in her daily stilettos, either.

Unfortunately, she impressed him.

“I have some work to get done tonight.” Berserk stood up and smoothed her skirt.

Boomer scrambled to his feet. “Of course! Um.” He began closing food containers and repackaging them in the bags they’d come in, because he was panicking. “I’ll get rid of the trash. Do you want the leftovers in the fridge?”

“You take them. Otherwise my office will smell like a burrito for a week.”

“Okay.” Numbly, Boomer finished packing everything up, while Berserk made her way back to her desk and logged into her computer to check her emails.

Boomer lingered at the door. “I’ll have the prospectus back to you later tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Wow, way to go, stud.

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.

“Boomer?”

“Yeah?”

“Friday is good.”

He stared back at her in expert mode. “Huh?”

Berserk poked her head around the side of her large, external monitor. She was smiling again. Lucky number seven. “For fucking.”

“Okay,” Boomer said.

Okay?!

She pulled back behind her monitor. “I was going to get a cat, but you’ll do much better.”

Because she didn’t like going home to a dark, empty apartment alone. With no one to fuck.

“That was a joke.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he croaked.

Friday is for fucking, he thought, which was delightful alliteration and also completely insane and one hundred percent something he was getting more on board with by the nanosecond.

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

Boomer clutched the leftover Mexican food in his fist. “Okay. Goodnight.”

It took him the time to fly home and put the food away in his small fridge to realize that he had a sort-of date with Berserk lined up for two days from now.

He Y-posed at the window and whooped, “Hell yes!!”

Loud pounding in the floor followed by old Mrs. Cruikshank’s muffled Keep it down! couldn’t bring down his mood.

Boomer leaped onto his threadbare, living room sofa with his work laptop and took to the prospectus with alacrity. He’d send over superior work product and make Berserk’s job just that much easier tomorrow morning.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House (which has a lot more Berserk and Boomer content, btw!) and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[jbbuckybarnes]

Concerned Parents

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Desc: To get the child back after it was taken from you, Din has to remove the helmet to get into a place to find out where he was taken. He didn‘t think you‘d have to see him AND kiss him to keep the cover up. Warnings: flirting, sexual references, not proofread

„They won‘t let you into that place with your helmet on. It‘s like the Hutts but worse and more uptight.“ Fennec had explained about the shady looking hut you were all looking at. „I‘ll go in alone, you‘re my backup.“ Din looked at you, Fennec and Boba. Your eyes widened but you kept your mouth shut. You all wanted the baby, whatever it takes. Everyone agreed to his plan. Fennec and Boba would take long range, you‘d be close enough to barge in, just in case all hell broke loose. He left his visible armor in Boba‘s ship, put something on over his chest plate and hid his face under a cloth wrapped around his face, a thinner material around his eyes that he could look through. „Let‘s go.“

Fennec went on her position, Boba on the opposite hill. You followed a couple dozen steps behind Mando You saw him starting to remove his headwrap that he put on for around all of you. Out of respect you looked around instead, but you could stop letting your eyes wander past him, noticing brown fluffy hair. You wondered how it looked this good after all these hours under a helmet. You sat down under a lamp in earshot of the hut, noticing his deep voice talking to get into the place. A grunt of agreement came back. With a touch against your ear you started hearing out what was going on inside. „I heard you could lead me to any imperial ship.“ You finally made out his voice out of all of them. „You heard right. For the right price I‘ll be able to locate almost any ship.“ A scratchy voice answered. „I only have this amount of credits, but I know the ship has cargo worth more than two dozen times of it.“ You heard a grunt and a commotion. „You take me for someone taking upfront payment and leaving with the rest?“ He asked in a calmer voice. „I never break my part of a contract. I‘m a bounty hunter.“ „Oh?“ You sighed and got up, „You‘re an idiot. That‘s what you are.“ The weird tentacle guy at the entrance looked you up and down and then nodded to let you in. „We don‘t really like your kind here.“ „I‘ll be gone and back with more. I‘m not here for a bounty. I‘m here to get something that was stolen from me by a Moff.“ You saw the big man look him up and down hesitantly, „Which one?“ „Moff Gideon.“ Now the man looked angry. „Are you kidding me? That man is dead!“ „He isn‘t, he has recently appeared on Nevarro and took someone from me.“ „Someone you say?“ „My child. And I know it isn‘t dead.“ „You‘re making stuff up, my friend.“ The guards around the man tensed up. You came closer, throwing on your charm, „Heard you talking about Moff Gideon.“ On the table in front of the guy you put down the disc with the holo message. The whole message from the Nevarro base played off. „That‘s from about a week ago.“ You looked at the guy, still trying to respect Din‘s creed. „And who are you?“ He smirked at you, looking you up and down. „A concerned mother, one could say.“ You winked at him and sat down next to Din. „You a bounty hunter too?“ He looked between you both. „Nope. Actually used to be a bounty. Let‘s just say I‘m good at stealing.“ „Odd pair. Hm.“ He looked between you both again and you put your head on Din‘s shoulder and put your arm around him. „2500 credits up front for someone that wants to take on Gideon. That‘s...I don‘t have to tell you that is a low amount of credits, but I hate that guy as much as the next person. I‘ll help you, but you‘re gonna have to give me your code, because I will put a bounty on you if you don‘t pay up.“ The man didn‘t account for possible death, but you didn‘t mention that error of mind. „Kakiu? You know what to do.“ A small thin man nodded and ran off into a backroom. You felt Din tense up under your temple and gently went over his other shoulder with your hand. „Why would he keep your child alive?“ The man was nosy, but he had a valid question. „Our child has some specific mutation about his blood that they want to experiment with. Tried to hunt us for it for a while…well, and last week they got him. Now we‘re just trying to get him back any way we can.“ The man‘s face softened a bit, „Concerned parents, cute. But do you two really think you can breach a ship that big? That‘s wishful thinking. I‘d like to see you try tho.“ „You haven‘t seen him in his element. Never seen so many dead Imps in the vicinity of one man.“ Your head went up and you went to give him a kiss on the cheek, closing your eyes for the duration to not break his creed. „Kaiku will take a while, so why don‘t you tell me about it?“ The guy leaned back. „Which time? There were like, three.“ „The best one.“ „Well, last week it is, Gideon really wanted this kid, so he sent two ships full of Imps for us. Probably 120 or more. I shot some, a friend of us shot some, but this one probably took care of two thirds of them alone. He looks pretty good in a field of dead Stormtroopers with his blaster still sizzling.“ You felt his hand grab into your thigh and put your hand on his. „You took out quite a few yourself, don‘t sell yourself too short.“ You heard Din‘s warm voice next to you. You looked into your lap, „I really just want the kid back.“ You felt his lips on your temple, „I know, darling. I know.“ „Boss, Kaiku is having a bit of trouble.“ A guard came over and the guy in front of you grumbled and excused himself. You felt a thumb caress your hand and took the arm you had around him and snaked it around his arm to have it snug against you. „D‘you think the dude wants to secretly kill us?“ He chuckled. „I wouldn‘t be surprised, sadly.“ You mumbled back. „Didn‘t have to make me look this good in front of strangers.“ He whispered to you. „I didn‘t lie for a second, you know that damn well.“ You felt his other hand under your chin. „Looking down makes you look submissive around this folk, don‘t want that, we’re getting the kid back.“ You sighed in agreement and fluttered your eyes open slowly to see dark brown ones reflect back soft, concerned and determined. „I‘m sorry.“ You whispered, he knew what you meant. „It‘s okay. Don‘t beat yourself up over it.“ He offered a small smile. The guy came back after a while, „He‘ll be done in a while. Get yourself drinks and enjoy yourself, yeah?“ You nodded and dragged Din out of his seat towards the little bar. With your hands you ordered two small drinks while he put a respectful amount of distance between the both of you again. Not too long after you were in your thoughts sipping your drink. Not noticing the man on your left. „Hey sweetpea, you here often?“ A tipsy man of another species looked at you. „Nope.“ „Wanna change that?“ You felt an arm slinging around you from behind protectively. „Nope.“ You answered with a sweet smile and leaned against the broad chest behind you. „Aww, c‘mon.“ He didn‘t give up. Usually Din would have his scary demeanor in his beskar armor, but that wasn‘t his out card this time. „Does that man make you uncomfortable, dear?“ Your heart beat a little harder at the affectionate name. „He surely doesn‘t know how to treat me right.“ You sighed before unexpectedly being turned around. You let out a giggle and put your arms around his neck, „Now this guy is way better.“ He softened at your slightly tipsy behavior, not that he didn‘t enjoy the whole front of being partners in the first place. No. He absolutely didn‘t like that. At all. It was horrible. Super bad. „Oh, is he?“ The drunken guy was still commenting in. „Yeah.“ You whispered and Din didn‘t quite know which god put him into this situation, but suddenly his lips were on yours and he hated himself for liking it. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was just a front. He knew he just broke his creed for his child. He hated that he liked what his brain just decided to do. Someone cleared their throat next to you and you went apart, looking at the boss here. He handed you a data stick, „Gonna put it right on your ships control panel. Now I‘d like your code.“ Din obliged to the terms and gave him his code, you didn‘t know if it really was, but he gave one. You hoped it was just one of his old bounty‘s code. „See you again when you got the rest of that money.“ He nodded at the helmetless man and got a nod back. Not too long after you were dragged out of the hut by him. You helped him with his headwrap, not saying a word. He saw the guilt written on your face, but didn‘t say anything. „Say it.“ He whispered. „I hate that I broke your creed and liked it. I hate that I liked any of it.“ You said short and firm, as if you were scolding yourself. Silence. There was nothing else you could add. That‘s all you felt right now. „I feel the same.“ He answered after a while of you walking towards the rendezvous spot. „I mean, my god you look beautiful.“ The words burst out of your deepest soul and he came to a hold to look at you with his thin cloth for his eyes removed. „And I made you look.“ He sighed, „So please don‘t put this on yourself. You were just trying to help get Grogu.“ More silence between you for the way back. „I‘m sorry for flirting with you.“ You mumbled and looked away. You were just playing your part to de-escalate. „Ouch.“ He commented. „No, no, it‘s just. I. I don‘t know. I wasn‘t supposed to do that. It wasn‘t necessary for the mission.“ You stumbled over your words. „I‘m sorry that I kissed you.“ He answered and that felt like he just put a vibroblade through your heart. „I didn‘t mind. I think.“ You didn‘t even know what was and wasn‘t okay anymore. „I‘m sorry I‘d do it again.“ He chuckled and looked over to you as you walked. „Me too.“ You smiled back at his shimmering eyes and then back to where you were going. „I would do all of this again.“ He whispered with a sigh, more to himself than you. „For someone with a tin can on your head since your teen years you kiss pretty good.“ You grinned. No comment. „And you‘re kinda more fun when there isn‘t a visor between us. I can actually see your reaction. That‘s groundbreaking. I love it.“ You chuckled. „I have a lot to think through with my creed and what I just did.“ He added. „You‘ll make the right decision.“ You said calmly, grabbing his hand and squeezing it before letting it go as you stopped at the meeting point. „The decision might be led by what you just did to my mind.“ He laughed lowly, it sounded beautiful. You looked around for Boba and Fennec, nobody in sight, so you went to his back and kissed the sliver of exposed skin there. „Cyar‘ika!“ He said with a warning tone. You didn‘t know what that meant. „I‘m sorry, I like teasing when I know I have an effect.“ „Oh, have I awakened something in you?“ „If you didn‘t notice by the way I talked about you killing Imps, yes.“ „Well, good that we‘ll have to kill some more.“

— Time Jump to End of Chapter 16

You didn‘t think someone was still coming for Grogu from the Jedi Temple. Now you stood here with no child, but a dumb saber that Bo-Katan won‘t take. Seeing him broken, helmetless, exposed, but with all this armor and that saber. That reflected your feelings somehow. You knew this had to happen, but it broke a part of you anyway and made you vulnerable. You turned to look at Din, took his head into your hands and let his forehead gently fall against yours. „It‘s okay.“ You felt him shake and pull you close to his chest. „You‘re the only thing left.“ He whispered as the rest went ahead to meet Boba. „I won‘t leave you unless you ever want me to.“ You whispered back before he grabbed your face and put his desperation for home into a kiss. „We need a new ship.“ He murmured. „I might know how to steal one.“ You chuckled and caressed his cheek. „That‘s my girl.“ His thumb went over your lower lip. Where did he learn that? Was that allowed? „You look even better when you wear everything but the helmet.“ You bit your lip. „Is that your version of distraction?“ He huffed and you nodded with a chuckle. You liked flirting too much. With that you flew back to Nevarro and got a neat little ship, stolen by you and Greef. You made sure to fill it up with cozy things, reminders of what was and signs of hope for the future. For now you‘d stay a bit on Nevarro with it. He searched the whole thing for trackers after the horror of what happened to the crest, but after a couple days he finally settled in and removed his helmet around you. „Oh, hey good-looking man in beskar, are you here often?“ You grinned from your cot when he walked into the center room of the ship. „Depends on what you want from me.“ He chuckled and shook his head. „You look pretty tense, I‘m sure I could change that.“ Now he blushed at the possibilities crossing his mind. „I‘m intrigued, cyar‘ika.“ He smirked and came closer. „I was thinking cuddling, but judging by your face you have other plans.“ You laughed and stood up to knock against his chest plate. His armor was gone shortly after, „I love this.“ You scrunched your nose and hugged him close, you really did like this. He looked so human, so warm and huggable. His gloveless hands wandered down your back, stopping for a second, before wandering where they really wanted to go. You betted with yourself that he was secretly a grabby man after what happened in that hut. Turns out you were right. With a swift motion he hoisted you up to have you wrap your legs around him. „I like this,“ He mumbled and felt you smile against his neck. „Me too.“ Your hands wandered through his hair and you felt him relax even more. He sat down on your cot with you still wrapped around him. „You, um, have nice thighs.“ He pointed out sheepishly. „You know you can grab them anytime, right?“ You asked him. „Now I do.“ He huffed and gently caressed them before giving them a squeeze. „You can touch me all you want.“ You reassured him and felt him grab you by your hips so you untangled and he could fall back onto your cot with you on top of him. „That goes for you too, cyare.“ He pulled you closer by your chin. „What does that mean?“ „Beloved. Darling. Something like that.“ Now he was the one watching you get flustered and grinned. „Oh.“ You blinked a couple times, „You‘ve been saying that a lot.“ „Of course,“ he murmured and went through your hair. „Have you ever thought about settling on a planet?“ You mumbled, laying on his chest and looking up at him. „Once or twice. I think a lot of things would catch up to me.“ His voice hummed in his chest below you. „And creating a family?“ You whispered and saw him open one of his eyes. „I had one for a while, didn‘t I?“ You smiled at him and nodded. „You still have me. I wouldn‘t mind adopting another one.“ A chuckle escaped both of you. „Maybe one that isn‘t chased by the empire.“ He laughed lowly and went over your head gently. „We could make one too one day.“ You added as casual as possible and felt him tense under you. „Not like I have that many years left to do that.“ He pointed out with a huff. „Who said it would take many years?“ You whispered and crawled up on him to nuzzle into his neckline. „Where‘d you wanna settle?“ His arms snaked around you. „Preferably somewhere that isn‘t attacked every two years.“ Your muffled voice answered. „Now where‘s the fun in that, cyar‘ika?“ You kissed his neck and heard him hold his breath. „More than enough fun to have.“ You grabbed into his hair gently and felt his fingers grab into your hips. „I see.“ He murmured and closed his eyes again to enjoy your warmth. „Home is wherever you wanna go, my dear.“ He sighed and slowly dozed off.

___

Reblog to support a content creator.

[anonthenullifier]

Fic request for touristy Maximoff family? (bc Vision's 'drunk' awkwardness in Wandavision ep 2 where he apologised to a handrail, is something that I as a Brit intensely and deeply relate to, and it reminded me of them hiding out in the UK in IW which also made me v emotional- they deserved better!)

Thanks for the ask! They really did deserve better and hopefully might get some happiness at some point. I hope you enjoy their family day trip!

***

“Where are the witches?”

Vision folds the map into a square and slides it back into his fanny pack, nonchalance embedded in the action  “Oh, there are no witches.”

This isn’t what Billy wants to hear, “You said this is Witch House.”

“I did, yes.”

The conversation circles back around, “Then where are the witches?”

“Well technically there were never any true witches here in the first place.” Billy stares at Vision, betrayal drooping his mouth down into a deep and unforgiving frown. A history lesson isn’t going to save the moment, and yet her husband tries, determined to share the two weeks worth of research he’s conducted since they decided on the trip. “It is called Witch House because it was owned by Judge Jonathon Corwin who presided over some of the witch trials. Now, though some like to say witchcraft was rampant at the time, it in fact was -”

“But I wanted witches.” This is true, it was Billy’s only request—spooky witches to be precise. “You said there’d be witches.”

Tommy isn’t fully invested in the trip, having voted to go to an amusement park for their fall get-away, but he never passes up an opportunity to pile onto a complaint. “Yeah, where are the witches, dad?”

“Salem has far greater historical value than just the witch trials.” Not a smart tactic, which Vision realizes as soon as he says it, face scrunching up at the misstep while the gears in his eyes rotate furiously to the left signifying he’s attempting to figure out how to regain their confidence. “Um, from my understanding there may be some modern day witches in the village who provide tours and demonstrations. We can stop by once we have seen everything.”

This earns some consideration from their ten year olds. “Real witches or like herbal tea witches?”

Tommy piggybacks on his brother’s question, “Will they turn Billy into a frog?”

“No one is being transformed into an amphibian,” Vision reassures them.

“Lame.” Only a half hour in and the L word is out in the open, a new record for the Maximoffs.

Wanda rolls her eyes at the rebuttal and studies the building in front of them, a foreboding tiered facade with black wood trim that would fit right into a horror movie. Briefly she wonders if it was always black or if that was added to enhance the supernatural identity the town developed once they realized the tourism potential of their sordid past. If ominousness is what sells here, she knows how to reclaim their trip. “Vizh,” her husband meets her gaze,the exasperation of parenthood making him seem particularly desperate for her thoughts, “There was at least one witch you can tell them about.” Confusion crinkles his brow, “Agatha.”

Realization dawns, as if he had blocked out all memories of dear old Agatha. “Ah yes Agatha Harkness.” The name falters on his lips, uncertainty making residence in his body with the wringing of his hands.  “I am not sure they are old enough to hear about-“

“You owe us a witch, dad.” Tommy is very dedicated now, a grave frown on his face and an arm wrapped tenderly around his twin’s shoulders. “Billy deserves a witch.”

Vision folds, shoulders inching down in submission of their desires. “Agatha Harkness,” it is not that they have had bad experiences, per se, with Agatha, but she always intersects with their lives at moments of both wonderful highs and crippling lows, which is why Vision seems to weigh her name so heavily. “You will not see the name Agatha Harkness in any of the books about Salem.” Wanda can feel Vision mentally shut the books of information he’d acquired for the day. “She was a witch, a real one and very powerful as well as very old.”

“How old?” Billy’s eyes are shining at the change in tone for the trip. “Like ancient?”

“Positively ancient.” An enormous grin erupts on Billy’s face, while Tommy stands unusually rapt. “There are accounts of her presence all the way back to 10,500 BC, there are even rumors she was involved in the lost city of Atl-”

A cloyingly sweet and chipper “Excuse me,” breaks the story and the atmosphere. The voice belongs to a short, blonde haired woman in a puffy vest and flannel shirt, “I couldn’t help but overhear your tour and was hoping we could join.” The we is a man a few years older than the woman, his gray mustache thick enough to hide whatever his feelings are about the request.

Vision’s lips part and then close a few times, hand half raised as he processes the intrusion. “Oh um, this is a uh private tour,” a nervous, placating smile tries to shoo away the couple. It doesn’t work, neither does his, “Terribly sorry for the confusion.”

Typically on their trips people come up to them because they are Avengers, but Wanda doesn’t detect the same motivation from the couple, neither seeming to actually recognize them. The husband appears a bit concerned about Vision’s appearance while the wife assumes it is for show, “Oh well, you just seem dressed the part, you little devil,” Wanda tries not to laugh, something Tommy fails at, chuckling at the way the comment wilts his father further. Whoever this woman is ignores the reaction, soldiering on ahead as if it is her job to get what she wants. “And you are giving this beautiful family such a lovely tour. We’d love to join in.”

Vision weighs his response, eyes first surveying the very clearly matching sweatshirts they are wearing, this year’s travel theme the Maximoff Bunch. Each of them has a navy sweatshirt with Cambria font declaring their role-- Vision’s sweatshirt (that is real clothing, not molecularly manipulated so that he has a keepsake from their trip) is emblazoned with Papa-ya, their less than thrilled 10 year olds are sporting ones labeled Bil(ly)berry and Tommy-rillo, and Wanda’s deviates a bit with Mom-osa, Vision crushed to not find a fruit close enough to mom to complete the bunch. This should be enough to convince this woman that they are all a family and not a tour group...and yet she just keeps smiling sweetly at Vision until he gives in. “We’re happy to pay.”

Now Vision turns towards Wanda, searching for a response or a rescue. She doesn’t get a chance to help, Tommy speaking up first, “Fifty a person fair?”  

“Thomas I do not-”

“Completely fair.”

The glare from Vision assures their son that they are going to talk about this on the ride home, Tommy’s impulsivity almost always at odds with Vision’s desire for control and planning.

Vision turns towards the couple, hands clasped tightly in a sign that another apology is on it’s way but it is stopped by Billy recentering their attention to what is most important. “How can Agatha be so old?”

Faced with numerous smiling and eager faces, Vision seems to accept his newfound role with a deep, soundless sigh, “Well, she is a very powerful witch, one who even survived the Salem Witch Trials.”

“No way!”

“Very much so. Let us return to 10,500 BC first.” Now that he is free to regale them with history, albeit seasoned with a heaping amount of occult, Vision finds his element. They learn about how Agatha came to be in Salem, about the Witch House and the judge who dwelled there, of the frenzy that occurred in people pointing fingers at anyone who was suspicious or merely disliked. The boys are enraptured listening to the tales of injustice and prejudice and, as they move from the Witch House to the hill on which many witches were burned at the stake, their little tour group increases in size, a trail of eight people joining on.

Surprisingly her husband takes it all in stride, welcoming each new person and asking their name. What really seems to excite Vision is when their crew asks questions. One of the newbies stops him during his soliloquy on what behaviors were deemed witchy. “Is it true that witches danced naked?”

Vision’s charm is on full display, lips cocked to the side as he shakes his head at the idiocy of the past, “Merely a salacious rumor because titillation is more convincing than honesty.”

A voice from the back of the group declares, “That’s because history is written by lonely men.”

Without missing a beat, her husband nods appreciatively at the running commentary from this particular guest, “A very astute observation, Taiyah, yet again. Now let’s turn our attention back to the Court of Oyer and Terminer.”

As the tour keeps moving through the harrowed landmarks, Billy is at the front, always just to the side of Vision, soaking in every word of information. Tommy, on the other hand, oscillates between the front and the back, eventually deciding to stick with Wanda. “This is starting to get a bit lame.”

“Your father and brother are having fun.”

His annoyed sigh seeks companionship, which she won’t give because she’s enjoying herself as well. “It’s just so much talking.” It is more than Tommy is ever willing to listen to, his mind and body always seconds, if not hours, ahead of them all. “Where’s the excitement?”

Sweeping the environment is a key aspect of missions and right now Wanda has assessed that the majority of the group are crowded around a tree, listening to the story of how Agatha supported parts of the trials out of a need to cull the weaker witches and remove her competition, it is a dark aspect of the tour, barely a sound existing to interfere with Vision’s explanation of the witch’s intentions. “Watch this.” Tommy stares at Wanda as she lifts her hand, scarlet undulating around her fingers, and then she flicks a finger, the tree trembling mightily despite no breeze to speak of. Several people gasp, one woman screams, and instantly Vision locks eyes with her, not one to ever be deceived by her influence. She expects irritation at disrupting his story, but instead there’s a little spark of mischief in his swirling irises, an almost imperceptible uptick to the left corner of his mouth that takes all her energy not to go and enjoy.

“Don’t you all tell us not to do that?” Tommy’s voice is bated, eager to figure out if their limits on use of powers in public is about to be lessened.

“No one goes on a witch tour without hoping for a little bit of magic.” The shit eating grin on his face is almost a perfect replica of Pietro’s and one she can’t help but mirror. “Just watch and learn.”

***

By the time they reach the Witch Village, the agreed upon conclusion of their tour, Vision can’t get a word in edgewise, the entire group riled up, swapping observations of the branches that moved without wind, the sense of dread that engulfed their minds at the guilty verdict of Agatha, or the heat they felt when the pyre was verbally lit. It’s this sense of awe that makes not a single person listen to Vision’s insistent, “Sorry, please, I do not want your money. Please, keep it for yourselves.” Instead of listening to him, everyone shoves their payment into the cup that Tommy so helpfully procured from the concession stand nearby.

Once all the people are gone, it is just the Maximoffs once again.  “Was that sufficient in witches?”

Billy’s enthusiastic nods sends his hair bobbing with glee. “So awesome.”

“I have a question,” this comes from Tommy, who has already bought an ice cream cone with their earnings, the swirl of chocolate and vanilla towering up from his fist, “would we have been considered witches back then?”

“Well,” Vision’s arm snakes around her waist, pulling her until their hips are touching, the pride in his voice wrapping her even more snugly with his affection, “your mother already is a stunning one.”

“Gross.”

“And I no doubt would be viewed as inherently supernatural and thus evil,” something that is said with levity instead of the usual depths of despair that accompanies Vision’s grapple with humanity. “The two of you would also be suspect, simply from your parentage but also, well-”

“So the answer is yes?”  Vision concedes with a nod. “Great, wanna go take a picture in the arm thingies over there?” They follow the ice cream cone as it points them towards a small square where people are taking turns putting their heads and hands through the holes.

“That would be a pillory,” Vision helpfully defines, but neither of their sons are listening, having already taken off to join the line for the photo op.

Wanda takes their brief solitude to encircle his waist with her arm, squeezing him tight and kissing his shoulder. “You have fun?”

His arm moves to rest along her shoulders, “Surprisingly yes, it was a bit exhilarating to have a truly captive audience.”

Wanda hugs him tighter, “Good.” Billy and Tommy wave them over, only ten people now ahead of them in line. They look so carefree, jostling each other with whatever it is they are bickering about now, their happiness with the day unashamedly stitched into every movement. Given who they are, Wanda is glad they are alive now and not during a time of greater hatred. Which brings her mind back to the woman who made the tripa success. “Vizh?”

“Hmm?”

“When do you think we should let them meet Agatha?”

They stop, Vision sometimes unable to think and walk at the same time, and the toil in his mind is palpable even without her powers. “I believe,” he too takes in their sons, a fluttering smile on his lips the longer he stares, “it might be best she remains a story for a little bit longer.”

[writeroutoftime]

true gentleman

pairing: steve rogers x reader 

summary: after a date with steve he wants to make sure that you get home safe, but you reassure him that you’ll be alright (“I’d feel much better if you let me walk you home.”)

warnings: none

words: 1409 (man I cannot keep my stories short lol)

a/n: this is my submission for @kayteewritessteve​‘s 1000 follower writing challenge!! this story was so much fun to write, and I’m very glad I got a chance to participate! and I just want to take the chance to say: happy birthday kaytee!! you are an amazing writer and person and I’m glad that I found your account! I hope that you have a wonderful birthday because you truly deserve it!! 💛

oOoOo

Just as it had for most of the evening, your laughter rang through the restaurant, a result of Steve’s anecdotes about some of the lighter parts of his life from the 40’s. “You’re lying.” you cried, hand over your mouth.

“I swear.” Steve promised with a smile, loving the way your eyes lit up with your infectious laughter. “Just ask Bucky, I was a real punk back then.”

At his words, you reached across the table and comfortingly placed your hand atop of Steve’s. “Well, I’m sure I would’ve loved to know you back then too.” you said genuinely.

Once the check reached the table, you moved to grab your wallet, ready to split the bill with Steve – who was appalled that you thought he would let you pay. He played the defense that his mother raised him right, but you wore him down and left the tip. With payment settled, Steve helped you to slip your coat on before stepping out of the restaurant and into the crisp air and busy sidewalks of New York.

“I had a great time tonight, Steve.” you admitted.

Prior to, you and Steve had been on a handful of coffee dates and walks in the park at lunch, all of which you greatly enjoyed. When Steve proposed that you go on a ‘proper dinner date,’ you became slightly nervous, but those fears were quickly washed away. Steve was kind soul, and it was easy to be yourself around him.

 “I did too, y/n.” he said flashing you a smile that left your knees a little weak. “Let me grab a cab for you.” he offered, raising to flag down a taxi. 

Quickly, you moved to grab Steve’s arm. “No, it’s alright, Steve. I was actually going to walk home, since it’s so close.” you explained.

He snapped his head towards you, incredulously. “You’re going to walk home?”

“Well, yeah.” you shrugged, after all, it was only a couple blocks back to your apartment.

“I’d feel much better if you let me walk you home.” Steve said adamantly. His protest didn’t come from a distrust of you, more from his distrust of the city that he knew was crawling with danger.

While you found his concern sweet, you weren’t worried. “Really, it’s alright, Steve. I’m a big, tough girl.” you assured him, teasingly punching his shoulder.

“I know but I just want to make sure you get home safe.” he said sheepishly, his hand reaching up to scratch behind his head.

“Thank you, Steve,” you started. “but I promise you I’ll be fine. But, if it makes you feel better, I will call you as soon as get to my apartment.” you bargained.

Steve wrestled with his mind until he finally relented to your request. “Alright. But call me the minute you get home.” he said earnestly, a finger pointed at you.

“Yes, Captain.” you joked with a mock salute. “Thank you again for a wonderful evening, Steve.” you told him before you kissed his cheek and began the short walk back to your apartment.

For as long as you had lived in New York, you knew how to be smart on the streets, and how to avoid (as well as escape) dangerous situations. Most nights you felt relatively safe, however, that evening you felt as though there was someone following you home. At first, you simply chalked it up to paranoia and Steve putting ideas in your head. It wasn’t until you took a turn down a relatively unknown street, and the figure followed, that you began to panic.

As subtly as you could, you moved to grab a hold of the pepper spray you kept in your purse for emergencies. As adrenaline began to pump through your views, you took a chance and whipped around with your pepper spray in the general direction of your attacker. “Stay away from me!” you shouted.

Instead of the sound of footsteps charging towards your or scampering away, the large figure tripped over their own feet and tumbled into a nearby trashcan. “Shit.” you heard the person whisper, the voice sounding oddly familiar.

Against your better judgment, you stepped towards the figure, arm still held out, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. The closer you got, the more of the figure you could make out thanks to the dim streetlight that flickered above you. Once enough light shone on the “attacker,” who laid defeated on the ground, you gasped and dropped your arm.

“Steve?”

Embarrassed, Steve looked up at you, face red, as he tried to act casual. “Uh, hey, y/n.” he said, standing up slowly and brushing the dirt off his pants.

“Were you following me?” you asked, not sure how to feel as you processed his actions.  

“Oh that?” Steve asked, but cleared his throat at your pointed gaze. “Yes.” he said, his hung in shame. “I’m, sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, and I realize how overbearing that seems.” he apologized.

Steve hadn’t meant to hurt you or seem like a creep; he truly was just concerned for your welfare. He had good intentions with misguided actions. Just as Steve was completely ready for you to say you never wanted to see him again, he turned at the sound of your growing laughter and saw that your stern expression had melted into one of joyous disbelief. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be an Avenger?” you asked, not even trying to contain your laughter.  “I’m sorry,” you tried to apologize, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “but the Captain America bested by a trash can and a civilian with some pepper spray?”

“In my defense, you are very intimidating.” he said with a smile, his pride not damaged in the slightest. “You aren’t upset with me, though?” Steve questioned. 

The way Steve’s blue eyes shone with worry made your heart flutter. “No, I think it’s sweet. Albeit, a little unconventional, but still sweet, nonetheless. I mean, most guys wouldn’t resort to following me just to make sure I made it home safe.” you said, stepping closer to Steve.   

Steve relaxed at your response but grew irritated at the thought of other men not treating you with the respect you deserve. “Well they should always care about the safety of someone as amazing as you, doll.” he complimented, his fingers brushing against yours. 

When you felt heat in your cheeks from Steve’s comment, you looked away to compose yourself - he really was a true gentleman. “Well, since you’re here, would you like to walk me the rest of the way home?”

“I’d love to.” Steve said and offered you his arm.

Arms linked, the two of you walked the last bit to your apartment, simply enjoying each other’s presence. When you reached the top of the stoop, you fished your keys out of your purse and stood, looking between the door and Steve, contemplating what to do. The jingling of the keys provided the only noise before you spoke. 

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked casually, not wanting to put any pressure on him.

Steve looked at the door, longingly, before he shook his head. “Not tonight, doll. Call me old fashioned, but it wouldn’t be very proper.” he explained and kissed the back of your hand before turning to head back down the stairs. However, before he could get past the first step he turned around. “Ca-can I kiss you?” he asked, self-conscious that he wasn’t as suave as other guys. 

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at Steve’s question, and you nodded your consent. He took a step closer, and gently placed his lips on top of yours, his hands loosely resting on the curve of your waist. The kiss was delicate, but sweet and caring, like Steve. It lasted just long enough for you to feel the warmth of Steve’s skin, but when Steve pulled away, you both were grinning wide. 

“Well, um, goodnight, y/n.” Steve said and gave you one last smile, then began to start the walk back to his own apartment. 

“Call me as soon as you get home.” you joked when Steve was halfway down the sidewalk, and your eyes lit up at the sound of his chuckle. 

It was only when Steve disappeared around the corner that you snapped out of your trance and dreamily made your way inside, eager for Steve’s call. 

[mourntheantagonist]

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

1988: P.I.R. Day 1

“Bill, it’s raining.”

Billy looks over to his boyfriend who sits in the passenger seat with a pout on his face. The rain is coming down as barely even a sprinkle. More like a mist. Windshield wipers only useful every five minute.

“Someone’s observant.”

Steve scoffs and crosses his arms. He’s been in a mood since they got up this morning. Steve was all packed and ready for a long weekend trip only to find out that the track was only a whopping ten minute drive from their house.

“Where else did you think the Portland International Raceway was located?”

Steve just dropped his duffle to the ground and walked out the front door and jumped into the Camaro. Leaving the cup of coffee Billy had poured him sitting on the counter to grow cold.

Billy knew not to look too much into things like this with Steve. He was by no means a morning person and even though the droplets were small, rain always put him in a bad mood.

It reminded him too much of Hawkins. Not memories of good days out with friends or at parties getting shitfaced. It reminded him of the days spent inside by himself as he watched raindrops drip on the window pane. Alone in his huge house. Nothing to do but stare at the puddles forming in potholes and being heavily reminded of his loneliness.

Rain put him in a bad mood. It really didn’t help that they lived in the Pacific Northwest, where rain was almost an everyday thing. But today it was a little more than just the rain. It was that Billy would be racing in the rain. Steve didn’t like that at all.

Billy oh so regrets telling Steve about the guy who spun out and crashed into a wall just two races ago. Because of the rain he hydroplaned and couldn’t stop himself. But Steve won’t listen to the rest of the story. Won’t listen to the fact that the guy has a history of pulling shit like this. Doesn’t take the road conditions into account ever. And he was fine! The car barely even sustained enough damage to warrant repair. Just a dent that was easily pulled out and a couple chips off the paint.

Steve wants nothing more than for Billy to turn the car right around. Drive out to Peet’s and fuel him with some caffeine, considering he’d abandoned the one at home in an attempt to make a point to Billy.

But he’s not going to ask him to do that. But he’s definitely not going to let Billy think he’s okay with what he’s doing.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll go slow.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “For you, slow is five over.”

“I’ll turn around if you’re really that upset about it.”

Steve wants to scream ‘Yes! Please turn around’, but he doesn’t want to be the reason for that. Doesn’t want to be the wall standing in between Billy doing what he wants to do. He wants Billy to put up those walls himself, for himself. Value his own safety and livelihood just a little bit.

Was Steve being overdramatic? Probably. But cut him some slack. It’s eight in the morning, rain is coming down, Billy refuses to run the heat in the car, and he’s tired. Should have just drank the damn coffee.

They pull into the venue and it is absolutely nothing like the last race. Trees are replaced by buildings. The hum of traffic on the interstate is deafening. They are unmistakably still smack dab in the middle of the city, and not in Nowheresville, Washington. There’s people standing around engaged in conversation. Easily able to differentiate between locals and tourists by whether or not they’re standing under the canopy. True Oregonians don’t even own umbrellas.

Sure, they’re technically locals, but Steve still rushed from the safety of the car to one of the covered areas, pulling his flannel up and over his head. Have to protect the hair.

Billy followed shortly after, Steve’s raincoat in hand because Billy remembered to grab it. Steve always forgets. Steve begrudgingly takes it from Billy’s hands and puts it on. It’s hard to stay mad at someone when they keep being so considerate. But Steve does have a special talent for that.

“Come on you big fucking baby, let’s go get you some coffee. They’re selling some at concessions.”

Steve’s head jerks around quick enough to cause minor whiplash.

“Wait, there's concessions?”

“Yes. Not every race is just a bunch of dudes in a parking lot.”

“Is there food?”

Billy just huffs out a laugh and pulls Steve by the collar of his jacket out into the rain and towards the little concession stand by the bleachers. If there’s one way to get Steve out of a bad mood, it’s directly through his stomach.

Billy bought him a cup of coffee with extra creamer – he was still working on that – and a croissant. Steve didn’t need to know that they weren’t freshly made and came directly out of a Costco container. As his stomach filled and his body warmed up from the hot drink in his hand, his bad mood started to fade. And just like Steve, the earth had a mood change as well. Clouds parting, letting in a glimpse of sun as the rain halted.

“Look Steve, no more rain.”

“The ground is still wet.”

Billy just dramatically threw his hands in the air. “Barely!” He exclaimed. “Just relax and finish your croissant. I’m gonna go register.”

Steve nods and watches Billy walk away, leaving him there by himself. Coffee in one hand, half of a croissant in the other. Left to his own thoughts. His weird intrusive thoughts. Like if someone were to push him over, which would he save? The coffee or the croissant? He should just finish the croissant so he doesn’t have to ponder that question. He never liked the trolley problem.

He looks to the sky, watching the clouds continue to part revealing bright blue skies and the bright sun overhead. It was nice, but they lived here long enough to know not to hold their breath. Portland rain was indecisive. It would be pouring buckets one minute, and sunny clear skies the next.

It’s why you would never catch a local with an umbrella. It’s pointless unless you plan to lug it around with you all year long. It’s better to learn to accept and even appreciate damp clothes and damp hair. That last part was definitely taking Steve some time to come to grips with.

The line Billy’s in was long. And he didn’t appear to be anywhere close to the front. That’s the reason the sudden hand on his shoulder startled him. Was he actually going to have to decide which to save?

But he turns around to see Gerry. Five foot three and a hundred and ten pounds of pure bullishness. Steve would be lying through his teeth if he were to say he wasn’t absolutely terrified of the old woman.

“Good to see ya here kid. Thought you’d been scared off after the first race.”

Steve’s mouth hangs open just slightly. It’s too early for him to talk to people. Luckily he realizes he’s been just standing there like an idiot after just a few seconds.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. I just have a crazy work schedule. This was the first time I could have the weekend off.”

“That’s good. Was startin’ to worry the two of you had broke it off. Glad to see ya didn’t.” She pats his shoulder a little hard. Not really expecting it he stumbles slightly.

He momentarily freaks at the comment. Forgetting for a second that Billy had told her. He allows himself to smile when it comes back to him. Enjoying the acceptance from the old woman. Ahead of her time. Reminding himself why he said he liked her.

“Okay. Since I have you alone, I have to ask. I have a theory and I need you to confirm it.” Steve throws her a quizzical look and takes a sip of his coffee. “What’s Hargrove like in the sack?”

Steve nearly does a spit take.

He manages to swallow the coffee in one aggressive gulp before actually bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry. Uh. Could you maybe elaborate? Are you asking about our... positions?”

“Oh god. No. Please don’t tell me that.”

Steve never thought he’d see that lady blush. But she was. Blushing. Cherry red all over her cheeks.

“My theory is that his little tough guy act don’t make it past the bedroom door.”

“Oh! Okay. Umm.” Steve was slightly uncomfortable. Discussing not his sex life with a woman be barely knew, but Billy’s sex life. But Steve was still hanging on to that grudge and thought, what harm is there? “He’s definitely not as aggressive, but I wouldn’t go as far to say he’s entirely submissive.”

“So he’s not a pillow princess?”

Steve raises his eyebrows and chuckles.

“Sometimes.”

Now Gerry has burst into laughter. Almost tearing up. Steve never would have thought this is the kind of conversation he’d be having at eight thirty in the morning in the middle of a parking lot surrounded by conservative men in their forties and fifties.

And then there’s someone else standing next to them. Long dirty blond hair. Unmistakably Billy.

“What are you guys laughing at?” Billy asks. Not at all amused.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, princess.” Gerry says before slapping a hand two times against his cheek and walking off without another word.

Billy looks completely dumbfounded. Steve is desperately trying to hold in another laugh.

“Did she just call me princess?”

“Hey shouldn’t we be walking the course right about now?”

Billy takes the half eaten croissant from Steve’s hand and takes a bite before handing it back.

And with a mouthful of bread he points a finger. “This conversation is not over.”

- : -

They only had the time to walk the course just once. Billy was nervous. Steve could tell. Not just because of that. But because it had started to rain again.

Steve doesn’t like seeing Billy nervous about the rain. He was already nervous enough himself when Billy was all confident with his “it’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing”’s, but if Billy’s nervous, that can’t be good.

By the time they get back to the Camaro, Billy falls into the driver seat with his legs hanging out the open door. His head in his hands breathing slightly chaotic. Something was wrong. More than just the rain.

Steve lays a tentative hand onto Billy’s thigh, but Billy quickly and swiftly slaps the hand away.

“Don’t touch me. We’re in public!”

Okay. Something was really wrong.

Because not ten minutes ago they were just fine being touchy. Sure they were very PG and platonic. But Billy seemed to be okay with it so long as it was nothing too suspicious. A hand on a thigh might seem a little too suggestive if you don’t counter in the fact that there was literally nobody near and the car door shielded the act entirely from view.

But Steve chose not to take it personally. Because something happened in that little head of his as soon as the rain started. Something Steve was not yet privy to.

“Billy. Relax. I’m gonna get in and we’re gonna talk it out, okay?”

Billy nodded his head. Breaths still shaky with a hint of anger as he tossed his legs into the vehicle and slammed his door shut. Okay maybe a little more than a hint.

Once Steve was inside he took a tight hold of Billy’s hand. Trying to calm his erratic breathing. It seems to help slightly. Enough for Billy to actually hear the words coming out of Steve’s mouth.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Billy looks at him. His eyes stone cold. “It’s fucking raining.”

“Someone’s observant.”

“Shut up.”

Steve pulls their clasped hands to where they are now resting on Steve’s thigh. Wrapping a second hand around the two so Billy’s is fully encompassed.

“That didn’t seem to bother you an hour ago. Why now?”

Billy tosses his head back against the headrest. Shutting his eyes tightly and inhaling sharply through his nose.

“You! You made me fucking nervous, Steve. I have never given the rain a second thought until you. And now I can barely remember the course, and I have to run on street tires, and it’s fucking raining! And you’re here to watch and now I’m nervous.”

Steve’s look at Billy softens. Because it makes sense. And god Steve feels awful because it was his grumpy attitude that caused all of this.

“Bills, if I thought your life was actually in danger I would have had you turn the car around when you asked. I was just in a pissy mood, okay?” Steve squeezes tighter. “I believe in you, princess.”

That pulls Billy out of his haze for just a moment. “Okay what the fuck inside joke is this?”

“If you do well today, maybe, I’ll tell you.”

“Bribery huh? Didn’t think that was your style.”

Aw. There’s the Billy he knows and unfortunately loves.

“Come on, let’s get those brand new numbers on your car.”

“Kiss me first, shithead.”

So Steve does. Leaning over the stick shift, planting a quick and wet kiss straight to Billy’s lips. Not the kiss Billy wants. But that’s all Steve’s going to give.

- : -

To both of their surprise, Billy doesn’t spin. Actually, he’s one of the only drivers who didn’t spin.

And fortunately, nobody crashed today. Not even Dwight.

Steve didn’t ride with Billy today. Not wanting to add to the stress. Even if it wasn’t a timed run.

And Billy came in first. Even if he drove slower than his liking. All of the DNF’s, missed gates, and hit cones playing in his own favor. And shit, Steve owes him some information, and maybe a better kiss.

The second run group was on course straight away, giving Billy and him absolutely zero time to even speak before Billy was being summoned to his work assignment. So Steve just parked himself at one of the picnic tables in the covered area. Ignoring the fact that his boyfriend was putting himself in front of reckless drivers on wet pavement. Shoving down the thought of “what could go wrong” as far as it would fucking go.

No. No. No. The only car Billy would be going home in would be the Camaro. Not an ambulance.

The sounds of screeching tires against wet asphalt did not cure the thought. Painstakingly resisting every urge to turn his head every time he heard so much as an “ooh” from an onlooker.

He sat there. Sipping on his now lukewarm coffee and searching the wooden planks of the picnic table for hidden shapes. Just like he would with the clouds if they weren’t just one gray blob.

And time manages to pass by quickly with just that to occupy his time. He hears the engines shut off and the announcer call something over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t know what, but the tone of his voice made it sound like a finale.

He’s tossing his nearly empty coffee cup in the garbage can when Billy comes up from behind him.

“Hey, before we go, wanna feel like you’re in high school again?” Billy asks, discreetly pulling at his sleeve.

“Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Just trust me.”

Steve gives him a weird look but follows Billy under the bleachers that face the real racetrack. The one people actually come here for. Not a parking lot.

You can barely see anything but rusted metal from where they’re standing. Steve pieces it together fairly quickly.

“You bring me under here to kill me?”

“Just shut up and fucking kiss me.”

Billy was right. It totally does feel like high school. The good parts. Sneaking girls under the bleachers on the football field. But this felt ten times better. Because it was Billy. Not just some girl he only got with to prove something to Tommy H.

It’s like they were in their own little corner of the world. Perfectly concealed and able to love one another publicly but privately at the same time.

Steve’s tugging at Billy’s hair and Billy’s tugging at his. He’d be upset if it hadn’t already been messed up by the rain earlier.

Their hands are moving haphazardly but their lips and tongues have found a rhythm. Slowly interlocking and fulfilling their every need.

“God I love you.” Steve breathes against Billy’s mouth.

“Tell me what princess means.”

Steve had nearly forgotten.

“Something relating to your pillow.”

Billy stalls for a second before completely stepping away from Steve.

“You did not tell her that.”

Steve doesn’t respond. Just raises his eyebrows and stands his ground. The look says I sure did.

“I fucking hate you.”

“You love me.”

And Billy just moves back in, pulling him by the collar, and kisses him. Inhaling sharply. Breathing in all that is Steve.

“You know you love it when I just lay there.”

“Yeah. I do.”

[erin-bo-berin]

Hard Love (Companion to Darkest Storms & Brightest Rainbows)

MASTERLIST

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Thank you to @multifandommandy for helping with some of the dominant female traits and ideas since I wasn’t very familiar with them prior to writing this.

This was a request from @dreatine​​  to do a smutty continuation of my Cat fic with submissive Spencer, so huge thanks to her for this idea because, man, I had a little too much fun with this. So this is like an unofficial part 4 because it deserved it’s own title since Cat isn’t exactly present in this like the other three, but takes place in the same world. I’ve linked the first three parts as well for anyone who might stumble across this and haven’t read them. You don’t necessarily HAVE to read the first three to appreciate this but this part would definitely make a lot more sense if you do. I apologize in advance for any Spencer feels you may have after reading this.

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 2,912

Six months had passed since the arrest of Catherine Adams.

You thought you’d been done with her, but you didn’t take into account that there would be a trial. So she swept back into your lives, like an unwanted disease.

You’d like to think you were a better person and above being jealous of a psychopath, but you weren’t. Just seeing her again had brought up too many bad memories that you’d rather forget.

If that wasn’t bad enough, on the final day of the trial, after being found guilty, she tried to kiss Spencer. Again.

Fortunately, the bailiff was quick enough to pull her away from him before she could lay a hand on him. Still, it brought back old perturbations.

You sat quietly on the way home, jaw clenched. You weren’t angry per se, but frustrated and hurt were two good terms for your current emotional state.

“Y/N, please don’t be mad,” Spencer pleaded with you.

“I’m not,” you answered, truthfully.

“You’re tense and you’re clenching your jaw,” he pointed out.

“Well she annoys me.”

“Touché.”

In actuality, a plan was forming in your head.

There was just something about Cat that brought out a side of you that you never realized you even had.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay here for a couple of hours?” Spencer asked as he pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building.

He was dropping you off at home since he had to go into work for a little bit to tie up a few loose ends on the Cat case.

“I’ll be fine,” you answered cooly.

He gave you a dubious glance and you knew he was resisting the urge to ask once again if you were sure you weren’t mad.

“I should be home by 2.”

You nodded, watching him pull out of the parking lot.

Three hours was just enough time to make your preparations.

•

You called Penelope the moment you entered the apartment, checking up on Spensa. She had been babysitting her on the days you and Spencer had been at the trial.

“She’s been a perfect angel,” Garcia answered, “We’ve been having lots of fun.”

“That’s great,” you smiled, “I was actually wondering if you minded keeping her until tomorrow? Spence and I might have plans tonight.”

“Ooh, a fancy dinner date? Some alone time for mommy and daddy?” 

You could practically hear her smirk through the phone.

“Something like that.” 

The corner of your mouth turned upwards as your plan played through your mind.

“Well, I’d be happy to watch her. I promised her we’d watch cartoons together later anyway.”

“If it isn’t Tom and Jerry or Looney Tunes I just might have to revoke your godmother status,” you joked.

“Girl, are there any better cartoons? It’s like you don’t even know me,” she scoffed.

You laughed.

“Thanks for doing this Garcia.”

“Anytime. You and Boy Wonder have a great time now.”

“Oh I will. I mean we will. Bye.”

After hanging up, you headed to the closet and took down the box that you’d stashed for a special purpose. Laying it on the bed, you grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom to begin your preparations.

•

You were laying on the bed in anticipation of your prey.

You’d showered, making sure to wash your hair and shave every inch of your body before dressing in a provocative, lacy, lavender lingerie set.

The top part was deep cut, showing off your breasts. It had just the right amount of boobage falling out of the cups, your cleavage on full display. Two thicker straps at the bottom of the bra wrapped around the top of your ribcage, tying in the back.

The matching panties were see through all around except for the patch of material that covered your crotch.

It left little to the imagination and was exactly what you wanted in this situation.

You’d lotioned your legs, moisturized the rest of your body and blow dried your hair. Now, you just waited to lure the fly into your trap.

You perked up, hearing the front door open and close.

“Hey babe,” Spencer called.

It was silent, even though you heard his footsteps through the living room.

“Where are you?”

You picked up your phone, pretending to be busy on it so you didn’t look up when the bedroom door opened a moment later.

“Y/N?” he paused mid-sentence, “Holy shit.”

You look up nonchalantly, smiling and setting your phone down on the nightstand.

“Oh hey, Spence. Back already?” you stood from the bed, walking over to him, “How was work?”

“I- um- It-It was good,” he stammered, eyes moving with your body as you sauntered up to him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest into his as you hugged him. His hands found your bare sides, sliding all the way around toward your back. You immediately pushed his hands away.

“What’s all this?” he asked, his eyes still roaming over you.

“Well, I got some new lingerie and I thought I’d model it for you.”

You stood back, doing a little twirl in front of him. You bit your lip, twirling a lock of hair slightly with a finger.

“What do you think?”

You saw him swallow hard, trying to find words to say. He looked like his mind had gone completely blank.

“It’s- It’s nice. I like it.”

You took the few steps back towards him, standing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“Yeah? You do?”

Your hand slid up his thigh sensually and you could feel him already beginning to harden against you.

His voice was thick, his eyes closed, desire beginning to flood through his veins as he answered.

“Yeah, I do.”

He attempted to lean down to kiss you, but you pushed him away with a tut.

“Uh uh,” you scolded, “You know what I want?” 

“What?” 

You took his hand, leading him to the bed, pushing him to sit.

“I want to play a game with you.”

He licked his lips, eyes finally reaching your face again.

“Yeah?”

You pushed him down roughly against the bed, climbing over him.

“Yeah.” 

You gave him your best, innocent smile before you spoke again.

“But there are rules.”

Your hands roamed over his chest as you looked down at him. You kissed his jaw gently, then his cheek, then the tip of his nose. You just barely touched his lips with yours before you pulled away. He reached up to pull your face back to his, but you pushed his arm down, holding it against the bed.

“Rule number one. I’m the boss. You do what I say,” you purred.

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered, all of his attention on you.

“Rule number two. You’re not allowed to touch me, unless I say you can.”

He may have actually whimpered at that part.

“And if I do?”

“Then you will be punished.”

You didn’t elaborate further as you leaned down to kiss him. His lips moved against yours, his hands clutching at the sheets to keep from touching you.

With one light flick of your tongue against his, you pulled back, denying him of the more heated kisses he wanted. 

Your hands busy themselves with loosening his tie roughly as you kiss his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. A small gasp comes from him and you smirk, knowing you’re just getting started. You sit back, pulling his tie loose and taking it in your hands.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, watching you curiously.

 “You’ll see,” you smirked, putting his tie over his eyes, tying it into a knot behind his head.

He suppressed a groan.

“Y/N, this isn’t fair.”

“Honey, this is gonna be the easiest part of tonight,” you grinned.

Your lips brushed his again and he lifted his head, trying to find your lips. You gave in to him, your hand resting on his cheek as you kissed him passionately and fervently, tongues and lips in complete synchronicity with one another.

His low groan vibrated in his chest and his hand slid up your arm, to your shoulder, feeling around for your bra strap, then pulling it down off your shoulder.

You reprimanded him, this time holding down both of his arms.

“What did I say?”

“N-No touching.”

“That’s right. Now you’re going to be punished for being a bad boy.”

Your hips moved just slightly over him, your crotch grinding against his hard on, making him inhale sharply.

“Oh, fuck.”

“That’s what you get for not behaving,” you smirked, letting go of his arms to unbutton his dress shirt, one button slowly at a time. 

You watched him, his chest heaving in anticipation, listening and waiting to feel your next move since he couldn’t see you.

You pushed the garment off and bent down, your lips moving over his chest and collarbones, ravishing every inch of skin. 

Your tongue flicked and lips sucked, giving him a few extra bruises along the base of his neck and collarbones. 

Your fingers traced the newly left hickeys and you grinned.

“Mine,” you mumbled, nipping his jaw.

“Y/N,” he whined, “I’d rather not be able to touch you than not see you. This is pure torture.”

“That can be arranged,” you grinned wickedly, untying the knot and pulling the tie away from his eyes.

He breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes landed on you again, then furrowed his brows when you moved off of him and the bed, walking to the closet.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry.”

You giggled as you pulled another one of his ties out of the closet to join the one you already had in your other hand. You walked to the edge of the bed, taking his arm and wrapping the tie around his wrist. You extended his arm over his head and tied his wrist securely to the bedpost.

“Shit,” he mumbled, watching you with wide eyes.

You held back your grin as you walked to the opposite side of the bed, repeating the process. You climbed back over him, peering down at him.

“Now it’s really time to have some fun.”

You reached behind you, unclasping your bra and slowly pulled it off, tossing it behind you. You were satisfied at the look of pure torture on his face as he groaned. You knew all he wanted was to touch you.

“Something the matter, Spencer?” you mock pouted, rubbing your hands over your breasts.

“Is this what you want to be doing? Rubbing my tits?” 

His groan of frustration was all the answer you needed. 

That wasn’t the only frustration you noticed though, his erection straining against his pants. 

You left a line of kisses along the waistband of his pants as you unfastened them, pulling down the zipper at a snail’s pace.

“For fucks sake Y/N, if you don’t just-”

“If I don’t just what?” you asked innocently.

His hips lifted as you pulled off his pants, your palm rubbing against the bulge in his underwear.

“Oh god,” he groaned, biting his lip.

You sat up on your knees, pushing down your panties, discarding them. They’d done their job and were no longer needed.

Teasing him had worked you up too. Your core was throbbing and slick with your arousal. All you wanted was him inside you and his hands on you, but you weren’t ready to give him the satisfaction.

After ridding his own underwear, you took him in your hand, squeezing gently, just enough to make him want more. 

A loud moan ripped from Spencer’s lips as you took him in your mouth and you heard him pulling at his restraints. Your tongue swirled around his tip lazily and you retreated, much to his dismay.

“I’d like to retract my earlier statement,” he grumbled, “This is pure torture.”

You returned to his face, kissing him long and slowly, tugging on his bottom lip gently as you pulled away. Your hand wrapped around him, guiding him inside you as you lowered yourself on him.

“Fuck,” you breathed, him now fully inside you.

“God, I just want to touch you,” he whimpered, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Tough luck,” you smirked.

You moved your hips in tight, slow circles, tantalizing him. It was  difficult for you to keep your cool as well, but you weren’t about to let on to that fact. The feeling was so blissfully excruciating, you couldn’t help but moan yourself.

“Baaabe,” he whined, “Please.”

“Please what?” 

Your hips stilled and he looked at you, pleadingly.

“I want you to beg,” you said, hands gliding up his stomach to rest on his chest.

“Please fuck me,” he groaned, tugging harder at the restraints, throwing his head back in frustration.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck. Me.” he growled.

You rocked your hips forward, resting your hands on his chest, his groan of approval ringing in your ears.

Your hips grind against his and you gasp, when your clit rubs against his abdomen, adding to the pleasure. All your pent up frustration Cat has caused is somehow being released in the moment as you move roughly on him.

“Holy shit, Spence,” you moaned, the position allowing you to feel every inch of him.

His breath is erratic and you can tell he desperately wants to touch you. You’re starting to come apart yourself and you want his hands on you too.

“Baby,” he grunts, trying to move with you as you pull up just far enough off of him to bring your hips down again, roughly, “Fucking hell, fuck.”

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip and you grinned triumphantly. You never hear him curse as much as you do in bed.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” you taunted.

“You do,” he breathed, chest heaving.

“I’m sorry, who makes you feel this good?” 

Your hand snaked down, rubbing your clit just so he can see.

“You, Y/N,” he moaned, “You do.”

“That’s right, I do.” 

You lower your face to his, your hips stalling for a mere second.

“One last rule. You can’t cum until I do. Then maybe you’ll learn your lesson. Understood?”

A small whine left his throat, but he nodded.

Your own pleasure was building and you knew your climax was in reach. You slid back and forth on him, your moans increasing in volume. A string of curses left your lips, your back arching as the ecstasy hit you hard, jarring your entire body. 

He watches you intently, his desire and need written all over his face. You move off of him and back to his face.

“You belong to me,” you whisper sternly, your lips hovering over his.

“Only you,” he agreed, moaning into your kiss.

You reach up and free him of his restraints. Like a tiger freed from his cage, his hands were on your hips and your back was hitting the mattress, hard.

“That was the worst torture imaginable,” he grunted, hiking your legs up to his sides, thrusting into you roughly.

“Oh, fuck!” 

You moaned, simultaneously gripping his back and thrusting your hips upwards, attempting to pull him deeper within you.

You thought he’d done a number on you earlier with you on top, but his earlier frustration being released now was enough to make your eyes roll back in your head.

The headboard clanged against the wall, but you barely heard it. His thrusts were hard and fast, his moans fanning over your face. 

You’d already gotten your climax, so you weren’t expecting a second. You were adamant on getting him off though. At this point, he’d well past earned it. Your nails scraped down his back, sure to leave a mark by morning.

As your hips moved together, his head dropped into the crook of your neck, groaning lowly.

“I’m yours baby, I’m yours,” he mewled.

You kissed the point where his jaw and neck met.

“Only I can make you cum,” you whispered.

He groaned loudly, your words sending him over the edge and he shuddered above you, completely lost in the sensation.

Your sense of accomplishment was short lived when you felt his fingertips on your clit, bringing you quickly to the brink again.

With a loud moan of his name, you too were lost in the abyss of all the pleasure he’d quickly provided you.

“And only I can make you cum that hard,” he whispered, when you’d recovered enough to focus your attention on him again.

“Glad we’ve established all that,” you chuckled breathlessly.

You hadn’t planned for such a quick reversal of roles, but you had to admit it was a pretty successful endeavor.

His body had stilled against yours, the perspiration cooling against yours and his skin. He took a moment to kiss you affectionately, not in any hurry to part from you.

“Let me guess,” he said as he settled next to you, propping his head up with his arm, looking at you, “That had to do with Cat, right?”

“Dammit, you know me well,” you grumbled.

He chuckled softly.

“Okay, yes,” you admitted.

“Remind me to thank her at her execution for improving my sex life so vastly.”

“Spencer!” you hit his chest, exasperated, causing him to laugh.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, pulling you to him.

“I’ll be happy to be your bad boy any day.”

Tag List: @dreatine​ @reid-187​ @groovyreid​ @reidslibra​ @suvikamahes98blr​ @fuckthealarm​ @whatspunispun​ @iamburdened​ @cindywayne​ @thomasfoockinshelby​ @tinyminy88​ @theitcaramelchick​ @missprettyboy​ @hushlilbabydoll​ @sammy-jo1977​ @theonlyone-meeeee​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @lemonypink​ @multifandommandy​

[xparadisexlostx]

Harper/Beck

Beck pulled on the back hatch to her van with a grunt, and it slowly parted from its hinges with a long, metallic groan. The back end of the Goose was packed with tight efficiency that was essential to fitting everything she needed inside the vehicle---but also made it nearly impossible to access. She shoved a pile of blankets forward onto the backseat, heaved her weight against the pack where she kept her tent, and snatched her cooler with a hard tug. A little too hard. There was a shlick and a rumble of plastic wheels bumping against the metal lip of the back of the bus, then it sprang free so violently it tugged her shoulder clean in the other direction, dragging several items beside it out onto the dirt below. 

She swore. It’d been a long enough day, and she was already sore, and now she had a mess to clean up. Lovely... but at least the food hadn’t managed to fall out. A soft groan left her lips as she bent to collect a canister of sewing supplies that had spilled, tossing them back into the basket once she was sure the needles were securely stuck into something. A couple of tin cups, a pot, some soap...

Her hand stalled as it brushed something smooth and dark. She pulled back for a moment, and then scooped it up in her hand. The cellphone was several years old, but disuse had left it in pristine condition. The cord that went to it was wrapped snugly around the base; the battery was long since dead. Would it still work?

It was a stupid thought, but she rounded the corner to the front of the Goose anyway, and jammed the little piece into the cigarette lighter, half expecting it to catch fire. It didn’t.

A little green light at the top of the phone blinked on, and Beck sat back in her seat.

“Oh my god can this not be an argument right now.” Harper shot her a look in the mirror that said that wasn’t a request, but when had that ever stopped Beck? Harper ran a finger under her lipstick as if it weren’t already perfectly cemented in place. “You need a phone, Beck.”

“I’ve managed my whole life without one.” The blonde replied stubbornly.

“You haven’t lived in a city since we were kids.”

“Fifteen is not a ‘kid’.”

Harper gave her that scathing “I really hate when you do that” look she always got before her temper flared. 

“You get my point.”

No. She didn’t. Not at all. Harper had a frustrating knack for acting she’d explained herself perfectly when in reality, the only thing she’d done was give an order, and Beck was fairly certain she did it on purpose. Most people were cowed by her hard assertions and sharp eyes. It kept them from asking questions or starting arguments. But Beck was immune to Harper’s piercing stares and venomous tone. They knew each other too well. 

Beck was afraid of most people when it came down to it. When their tempers flared, when their voices raised, she’d shrink back down into that frightened child under her mother’s scrutiny and wrath. But it was different with Harper. The trust between them couldn’t be shattered with harsh words or Harper’s tendency to let her anger get the better of her. They’d squabble, they’d get over it, and never once did she have to worry that Harper might cross that line, might dare even think of hurting her.

Beck sat on the bed and propped herself up with an arm, turning the glowing device over in her free hand over and over as if that would teach her how to use it. When she looked up, she realized that Harper was staring at her with an indeterminable expression on her face. They were at an impasse. Neither had a better argument than “yes” or “no” and those weren’t enough to be persuasive.

“It’s a gift.” Harper tried, and Beck looked down at the phone doubtfully. Harper gave gifts with all the warmth and efficiency of a soldier going through marching drills. She didn’t linger waiting for thank yous or promises of reciprocity. The act of giving itself fulfilled something in Harper, soothed some ache Beck didn’t understand. Beck accepted, whether she really wanted it or not, because Harper needed that from her. Just like she needed Harper’s strength, her unflappable assurance that everything would be alright---that she’d make it alright no matter what. That was part of being together. Needing things. But normally she at least enjoyed Harper’s gifts. Not this. She couldn’t accept this.There was a line even Harper could not cross.

Sensing that hadn’t gotten her anywhere, Harper pressed on. “I need to be able to keep in touch with you.”

There it was. Beck let the phone drop onto the sheets.

“I don’t need you to check up on me.” She said, almost resentfully. 

Harper pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s not checking. It’s communication. I work late and you wander the city at all hours. What if something happened? What if you got hurt? You don’t have to play with it or anything just... for emergencies.”

“That’s checking up on me!” She said heatedly. Shouting wasn’t her nature. Often it wasn’t even within her ability, but her tone acquired a razor sharp edge. “I’m not a child.”

“Fine if wanting to know you’re alive and having a good day is checking on you then yeah, I’m a stalker. Constantly hounding you. Treating you like a child.” Harper threw her hands in the air. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.” 

“You aren’t listening to me!”

The thin thread of Harper’s temper snapped, and her voice raised. “Why should I when you aren’t making any sense!”

Beck opened her mouth to argue. There was clear hurt reflected in her eyes, and regret silenced her girlfriend’s tirade. But Harper’s eyes glanced past her. She got a glimpse of that damned clock, and she forced her temper into submission. Her shadow dwarfed the little witch on the bed as she drew closer, and her perfume hung thick and heavy in the air as she bent forward. Warm lips ghosted against the skin of her jaw, then covered her own, and the red stain on Harper’s lips gently stuck them together, even as she pulled away. There was a sad expression on her face.

“I’ve got to go. Meetings.” Beck clung to her girlfriend’s arm softly, but Harper detached herself, pecked her lips one last time, and stood to her full height. “Tonight. We’ll talk. I promise. Just---look at it. Just until I get back.”

Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as she exited the bedroom and swept down the stairs. Keys rattled in the door, it shut noisily, and then the distant ding of the elevator signaled her absence.

The day passed slowly; it wasn’t like she had a job to entertain her. She ran with Ringo and then  they aimlessly strolled the streets of the buzzing city around her, trying to tamp down on her disdain for it. People every step she took. No space between them. No air slipped through the concrete walls of the city that was not tainted by the ever present smog spat out by passing cars with their blaring horns and cursing patrons. She’d thought, when she’d first moved in with Harper, that she’d come to love this city. She thought the people would endear themselves to her, she’d find a rhythm in the bustling streets like she did in nature, but there was only chaos and filth and crowds. They choked her, each and every person she passed, their presence like hands around her throat, and each day she hated them a little more for it.

The little device Harper had given her kept letting out mechanical chimes throughout the day, and if she’d have had less respect for her girlfriend and the environment in general, she’d have chucked it into the Hudson and been done with it. It wasn’t like she could read the messages. She’d made a valiant attempt the first few times, only to get a migraine over something as menial as “sorry I had to run out” and “Carver from accounting is still a dick.”

Beck returned to the house with an armful of groceries and set about dinner. She wasn’t surprised when it finished and Harper still wasn’t home. The days were reserved for business, but at nights, Harper slipped into the cemeteries and morgues that she owned to practice her craft and take from the dead what they did not even know they had left to give. It was near midnight when she heard keys in the door, and Beck set down her knitting to head into the kitchen and turn the oven back on. 

Beck startled as she turned on her heel. Harper was leaning against the island, not four feet away, dangling her heels from the tips of her fingers. Her blazer had been shed, likely on the way home, and the dark blue of her blouse had been half unbuttoned and peeled away from the top of her neck to allow her some breathing room, but she did not look disheveled by far. No bags dogged at her eyes, there was no slump in her posture, and neither her hair nor makeup had given an inch throughout the nearly sixteen hour day she’d just worked. 

“You didn’t answer my texts.” She said, and Beck could tell if she was joking or actually riled.

“I didn’t know how. I just stopped reading them. Are you hungry?” It was best not to feed into whatever this was. It wasn’t often, but sometimes her particular practice of the craft left her riled up and searching for confrontation; it was why she held her own so well in the business world. If that was where this was going, she didn’t want any part of it.

There was a tense silence in the room, and then Harper sighed and looked out the window. Her fingers reached into the back of her hair and snagged the pin that kept her bun in place to release it; waves of dark curls cascaded down her neck like waves of a golden ocean. She tousled them with a hand and groaned.

“Ok. I’m an asshole.” She said reluctantly. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The little witch gave her a derisive look and turned back to the oven to stick the food in.

“ I can’t imagine why you’d think it was.”

Or that you needed to say it out loud.

Harper took hold of her hips and lightly pulled her back around. The tip of her thumbnails slipped beneath the hem of Beck’s shirt and brushed back and forth over the skin with tender affection. Beck tried to hold her gaze, but Harper was looking over her face intensely.

“You---are the toughest bitch I know.” 

Beck’s face contorted into a glare. “You aren’t funny Harper.”

She went to pull back, but Harper followed until her back was pressed up against the counter. 

“I’m not joking.” She defended. “I don’t know anyone that can take a hit like you. Something beats you down and you claw your way back up. You put a smile on your face, and somehow, every day, you say to yourself that you aren’t going to make anyone feel like people have made you feel. Scared or---alone or small. You’re tough.”

She couldn’t for the life of her figure out where Harper was going with all of this, but the gentle brushes against her hips and the faint smell of perfume were enough to settle her prickled spirit.

Harper’s forehead rested against her own and for a second Beck felt her hold a bit tighter. “But I’m---not.”

 Beck waited. She gave Harper the chance to work through whatever this was. Harper didn’t do well with vulnerability; neither of them did.

“I’m not tough. I am angry and I’m jagged and I’m ripped open and raw. And the thought of something happening to you---it scares the shit out of me. I’m weak. I underestimate you because you’re so damn nice.” She said, and Beck returned her embrace when she felt her tremble ever so slightly. But Harper wasn’t finished. “You’re right. I gave you the phone to keep tabs on you---because I---I guess I’m a coward.”

“Harper you-”

“No. I am.” She pulled back so that they could look one another in the eyes. “And I shouldn’t have made that your problem. Sometimes I rely on you too much... If you don’t want the phone Beck, I won’t say anything else about it. And I won’t get pissed. I’m sorry.”

She had tested Harper’s word by giving her the phone back. Harper hid it away somewhere, and she didn’t bring it up again. After a full month of proving a point, Beck asked about it herself. At first she kept it in the house. On occasion Harper would work from home or take the day off and she’d show her how to do things with it. Every time she would assure her it was safe. No one was watching them. No one was listening to them. No one could track them. For all her faults, Harper had never been a liar, and so slowly she came to trust the device. She’d take it with her on walks and send the little cartoon faces to Harper just to pester her into calling. Eventually she was so used to it that she took pictures of herself or of them together.

In her lap, the phone chimed melodically, and its soft glow filled the dark cabin of the bus. She was met immediately with a picture of Harper and herself, wrapped in an embrace, in front of a field of colorful lantern displays. There was a stab of pain in her stomach. Harper’s lips were turned up in the kiss, her arm outstretched to take the photo, and one eye slyly peaking at the camera as she rushed to take the shot.

[fairydust-stuff]

Tape  Banana Ash & Yut Lung fan fiction

Warning this is a hurt comfort fic with implied Non con and Major character death though no more then the actual show. It also has one of the most fluffy dark endings, i've written.

“ Ah Mr Lee what a pleasant surprise,might i ask the reason for this call”

Ash, Eiji, Ibe and Max are huddled around taking advantage of the fact Ash bugged Golzine’s private phone while he was in the manor so now they could hear all of his calls. They heard a couple about Banana Fish but this one was interesting to say the least.

“ You know exactly why I'm calling…..” Yut Lung sounds on the verge of a breakdown. Ash would be lying if he wasn’t enjoying hearing him squirm.

“ I see you received my video then” Golzine says casually.

“ There’s no need for this…. sneakiness between allies” Yut Lung argues.

“ This of it as a lesson an elder educating a youngster on proper respect,” Golzine replies.

“ I apologize if my pursuing Ash without your leave offended you in any way” Yut Lung was all charm.

“ All is forgiven as long as you’ve learned to be a little less arrogant” Golzine promises.

“ I’ll try it appears i have much to learn,” Yut Lung says with forced humbleness.

“ I want complete use of your men, you don’t get involved unless I call for you. Also i want more frequent meetings between us” Golzine demands.

“ Of course and i presume this mishap will go away?” Yut Lung presses

“ Yut Lung you shouldn’t presume anything” there’s a cruel glee in Golzine’s tone.

The group disengages at the dial tone.

“ So Golzine has some kind of black mail material on him now, that’s karma” Max laughs.

Eiji is wearing that cute devilish grin of his.

“ Maybe he got caught embezzling funds from the foundation. Either way it may reveal some weakness we can exploit” Ash says

“Can you hack him?” Ibe asks

Ash smiles darkly “ Oh i can do better” he dials a number on his phone

“ Hello Sing, you wouldn’t happen to know Yut Lung’s password for his private account?”

“ Try Cao Zhi, he’s one of Yut Lung’s favorite poets,” Sing suggested. Ash did, nothing “ Anything else?” he asked

“ Song of Everlasting Sorrow?” Sing said with a shrug

“ Still nothing” Ash responds.

“ Despair and Courage” said Sing after a moment.

“ Bingo, thanks Sing!” Ash said

“ After what he did to my guys, i want to see that shit fall” Sing said.

Ash hangs up taking note of some stuff to check out later he finds the video and clicks on it.

Golzine and what appears to be Yut Lung ranting around his own dining room clearly drunk.

“ That’s the blackmail” Ash feels very disappointed

“ Given how arrogant that guy is it does make sense” Eiji says.

“ Maybe we can get a few laughs out of it” says Max, trying to look on the bright side.

“ Or at least something to annoy him next time he kidnaps me” Eiji brings up.

“ Woah a drunk little cat” one of Dino’s men cackles

“ Not a cat, i’m a snake” Yut Lung hisses at Dino, the group laughs.

“ Do you always consume this much wine?” Golzine asks pleasantly

“ i feel sad a lot” Yut Lung replies “ wine make it better,” he adds with a bitter laugh.

“ Why are you sad?” Golzine asks in a concerned tone

“ I don’t like Eiji, stupid, Eiji” he pouts.

“ Oh” Golzine says.

“ You stare a lot, your old enough to be my grandpa. Dad old enough to be mom’s grandpa” Yut Lung laughs again bitterly.

“ Your mother was young then” Golzine says

“ Where’s Sing?” He asked quietly

“ He abandoned you for Ash” Golzine says with false sympathy.

“ I liked Sing” Yut Lung says “ Why Sing leave me for Ash” he whispers.

“ Ash is better then you”Golzine says patiently then goes on a rant about Ash as his wonderful creation that makes Ash want to break the screen.

“ hate him for it” Yut Lung admits “ i kinda like him” he adds.

“ You like Ash?” Golzine asks

“ He doesn’t like me” Yut Lung says somberly he stumbles and Golzine catches him.

“ Easy there lets sit down” he leads a wobbly Yut Lung to the large sofa.

Where Blanca?” Yut Lung asks him

“ You dismissed him you were angry, he only wanted to help Ash” Golzine says.

“ I want Blanca” Yut Lung tries to leave the parlor and one of Golzine’s goons locks the doors. “ Let me ou….” One of Dino’s men covers his mouth and drags him back to the couch

“ Now, we were having fun. Here you like wine right” Dino pours him another glass. Ash suddenly feels a pit in his stomach suddenly remembering that Yut Lung is younger than him by at least two years. Why the hell did that never occur to him till now.

“ I don’t like you” Yut Lung insists but he takes another glass, his hands shake slightly.

“ So your a pretty liar then” Golzine says, taking one of his hands and rubbing it against his face. Yut Lung yanks it out of his grip.

Golzine looks at him amused “ I prefer you like this, you're usually so cold and aloft ” he says.

“ I wanna go” Yut Lung tries to get up but Golzine pushes him down.

“ Shhhhh” he undoes Yut Lungs hair, the camera zooms in it hits Ash one of Dino’s creeps is filming, this was planned.

“ No brothers dead no more” Yut Lungs tries to shove him off.

“ Your not strong like Ash just a trembling, broken mess” Golzine smiles viciously “ I saw through your little mask from the beginning” he pauses “ I was going to let you keep it, as long as you played nice but you had to be a brat”

“ Here hold the camera” says a cold voice Ash feels a chill run down his spine at the sound of the man from the gay bar. He’s wearing a mask but Ash knows that voice anywhere.

“ Get away from me! H…..” Yut Lung goes ballistic at the sight of him, Dino gags him.

“ Mr Golzine that makes it less fun” The man complains.

“His men are outside as long as he doesn’t call they won’t come.” Golzine says. “ Its the Lee way to only obey direct orders”

“ I’m afraid Mr Lee I'm the reason you're in this predicament, see Mr Golzine wanted to get back at you and as someone who’s observed his allies. I noticed your quite the alcoholic, I prompted him to take advantage of your vice” he purrs, touching the boys cheek. Yut Lung tries to bite him.

“ Incredible so much viciousness in something so delicate and soft to the touch” the man says.

“ He’s nothing compared to Ash Lynx” Golzine scoffs.

“ Still, I will enjoy him, why limit myself to one type of prey?” the man smiles savagely “ And after i’m done with him you’ll be aching for his tight little body”

“ True” Golzine laughs “ I love nothing more than a beautiful boy in distress”

Max slams his hand on the pause button looking furious. This knocks Ash out of horrified stupor enough to close the laptop completely.

No one says a dam word awkward silence fills the room. Ash should have suspected he knew Dino but Yut Lung had always seemed so icy and vicious, un touchable.

“ He’s like you” Cain and Sing had said. Maybe Ash had projected too much of his own unstoppable raging beast onto the other boy. Yut Lung had worn the mask well better then even Ash ever had. Everyone looked at each other waiting for someone to say something.

“ Its all my fault” Eiji gasps “ At the manor the night Shorter died, Dino had me and Yut Lung in his bed he was going to…….but then the phone rang” he tears up “ I was so confused he seemed so calm about it…..i didn’t understand”

“ Eiji its not your fault” Ibe insisted.

“ I didn’t want to understand!” Eiji says quietly.

“ Its mine, I knew he was like me,” Ash confessed. “ That’s why its so easy for me to hate him” the blond confesses.

“ No! It's no one's fault but the bastards who touched you! My god at least fifteen in Golzine’s bed. I don’t even want to think about how young he started doing that” Max exclaimed. Ash calls up Sing again “ Hey did you find anything” the boy asks

“ I want it gone, take your guys break into Golzine’s manor delete, smash every trace of that video” Ash orders.

“ Did that snake capture Eiji again?” Sing sighs.

“ No its just a really bad video Sing, one i would never use against an enemy” Ash insists.

“ That bad huh?” Sing replies. “ Ash did someone hurt Yut Lung?” he asked tightly

“ You sound almost concerned,” Ash says.

“ I know he hurt my guys but i just don’t like the thought of anyone harming him” Sing confessed. Ash flashed back to a drunken Yut Lung asking for Sing.

“ i think several people hurt him” Ash says after a moment

“ I think so too” Sing said sadly. “ I’ll get my guys on it” he added...

Ash cannot distract himself from waiting for the phone call confirming the mission was a success. He practically jumps to answer the phone when it rings “ Confirmed?” He asks quickly.

“ We ran into some trouble. Golzine increased his security since we last broke in, then Blanca showed up. He really saved our asses. Yut Lung sent him to do exactly what we were doing” Sing explained “ That guy is so cool!” the fourteen year old starts rambling about Blanca.

Of course Yut Lung wouldn’t just take his assault lying down like a good boy. He'd act sweet and submissive then use his resources to gain the upper hand. We really are quite similar.

“ Did you get everything?” Ash asks a bit impatiently

“ Yeah do you want the camera?” Sing asks seriously

“ Yes” Ash says after a moment. “ Sing do you know Yut Lung’s number?” he asked

Sing tells him and Ash dials.

“ Blanca is that you?” Yut Lung asks tentatively

“ Its Ash, I have your camera” Ash here’s a sharp exhale on the other end of the line.

“ At least your demands won’t be as heinous as Golzine’s” Yut Lung sounds more calm now. “ Banana fish? Me to leave Eiji alone? Use of my men? Helping you disappear?” he lists

“ A meeting” Ash says

“ Alright makes more sense to do it in person” Yut Lung responds casually. They set a time and a place…

“ Welcome Ash Lynx normally i’d greet you in the parlor but….” Yut Lung trails off.

“ You can't step foot in that room without flashbacks” Ash realizes as he stands in the dining room.

“ Please sit can i get you a drink or would you like to proceed?” Yut Lung asks

Ash hands him the camera Yut Lung gapes at him in silence. “ You’d give up your leverage for nothing” he says quietly.

“ When i was ten i had several of these videos. I’d have given anything for one person not to have put them up” Ash responds.

Yut Lung takes the camera and says “ Well at least this inconvenience is over with?” his tone is light.

“ What happened last night was not an inconvenience, it was rape and its happened to you and i multiple times” Ash states bluntly.

“ Stop ok, it was just something that happens in our world!” Yut Lung insists

“ That doesn’t make it right” Ash argues.

“ It was my fault, I shouldn't have gotten drunk around Papa Dino” Yut Lung says brokenly.

“ I ran away from home and accepted a ride from a stranger. We all make mistakes, sometimes those mistakes are costly. That doesn’t mean the bastards that hurt us aren’t the ones responsible” Ash argues.

“ I think this is the most we’ve said to each other” Yut Lung says thoughtfully.

Ash looks at him “ Want to smash the camera?” he asked

“ Together, for your ten year old self” Yut Lung responds.

“ Together, one, two three!” The two of them hurl the camera as hard as they can at the walls and proceed to stomp on it until the lens cracks and the frame breaks.

Then Ash’s phone rings “ Hello?” he asks

“ You little Lynx retrieving my camera like that” Golzine chuckles.

“ I’m not giving it to you bastard” Ash says calmly putting him on speaker.

“ No no hold on to your leverage just like I taught you. Do you want a piece of the action? I know how you like Asian boys” Dino continues.

“ Hello this is a piece of the action” Yut Lung says in his soft voice then he holds the phone up to the glass which he crushes under his foot.

“ You smashed up my camera you little whore!” Golzine growled

“ Considering your so hungry that you have to tie down young boys to get action. I’d say your the one who cannot go without” Ash taunts.

“ i hope you got something good out of it” Golzine grumbles.

“ I got nothing from it” Ash informs him.

“ But that’s not….”

“ Not what you’d do. You may have raised and fucked him up and i’ll admit some of your terrible teachings rubbed off on him, but Ash is not you. He’ll never be the kind of person who takes advantage of boys like me” Yut Lung said cooly.

Ash looked at him in surprise.

“ Looks like the kitten grew some claws” Golzine laughed “ You weren’t so gutsy last night, though you did make a lot of noise” he taunts.

“ So you molested me, so what? You and half of New York. I had claws long before then. If I didn't have claws I wouldn't have found a way to get through every abuse, you pathetic old perverts threw at me. I simply learned to sharpen the claws, i was born with” Yut Lung said boldly. Ash watched his face change into something darker

“ You have no claws, you're a sad old man chasing a teenage boy. He latched onto because, he was unable to deal with his own morality. You're not Ash’s greatest enemy, creator or father. You're just a pathetic little groupie obsessed with an idol. Since the Ash in your head doesn’t exist, the fact he chose to save me proves it”

“ I’ll kill you!” Golzine roars

“ Your not worthy of killing me” Yut Lung’s voice dripped with disdain, then he casually hung up on Golzine.

“ Did you just?” Ash was stunned

“ You’ve been feeding Dino’s ego this whole time with your campaign against him. I grew up with egoistic people , i’ve learned how their minds work” Yut Lung replied.

“ He still has to die” Ash pointed out.

“ I have an idea” Yut Lung said “ I need you to contact Blanca” he adds…

“ Rather rough Blanca” Yut Lung chides at the sight of a beaten Golzine hanging limply on the wall.

“ I failed to protect you just like i failed Ash” Blanca said remorsefully.

“ You helped me get the tape, you were there when it counted” Yut Lung put a hand on his arm.

“ Jeez Yue could you be more obvious!” Sing rolled his eyes

“ You're one to talk practically drooling in Ash’s wake” Yut Lung responded.

“ Sure you're not projecting?” Sing asks The two of them bicker until they're interrupted by Golzine’s groan.

“ Heeello!” Ash waves in a sarcastic cutesy way.

“ Ah so the creation destroys its creator and takes his place to build a great legacy” Golzine gloats.

“ Hi you piece of shit i’m Sing soo Ling” Sing says smacking his fists together

“ Doesn’t ring a bell” he said.

“ Shorter Wong was my cousin,” Sing said.

“ You mean that stupid street punk with the mowhawk” Golzine tastes his own blood. Sing gears up for another punch.

Yut Lung pulls Ash toward the door “ Come on Ash lets go get some ice cream” the blond looks at him as if he’s crazy but see’s the younger give him a trust me look. Then starts to follow him out.

“ What are you doing Ash? Your going to end me right?” Ash almost turns his head in Golzine's direction.

“ Keep walking” Yut Lung mutters Ash obeys him.

“ Ash isn’t going to be killing you, i am” Sing says, punching him again.

“ What i’m the great King Pin of New york, that’s all i get ended by some punk?” Golzine asks “ Ash, Ash?”

Ash continues to follow Yut Lung toward the door “ i overpowered you, i beat you down, i made you!” Golzine yells “ where are you going, you drunken slut?” he demands.

Yut Lung continues to lead Ash out “ You're not even going to watch, i’m your greatest enemy and you don’t even want to watch my demise?” Golzine asks

Yut Lung pauses“ Ash, i just remembered i have a hair appointment, we can do ice cream afterwards right?” he asked

“ Of course Yut Lung” Ash says then opens the door. “ Hair appointments, ice cream Ash Ash Ash Ash!” the blond slams the door shut.

“ I cann’t believe that worked” Ash says as a gunshot echoes from the other side of the door.

“ I told you, people with big ego’s hate being ignored” Yut Lung collapses against the door with relief, his face tight with tension, his body shaking.

“ You were really bothered by seeing him huh” Ash says.

“ I can still feel him all over” Yut Lung says “ I can even taste him” there’s a look of broken revulsion on his face. “ I couldn’t let him win through,” the younger boy insists.

“ You did good” Ash informs him.

“ He won’t be the last, there're so many bastards in our world and i’m trapped here with them. I tried to become like you, fierce, ruthless to never look back or hesitate. No matter what i still end up helpless at the mercy of some bigger beast” Yut Lung confesses.

“ Is that why you want me to kill you?” Ash asked him

“ You have a chance at freedom, that's why I hate you!” Yut Lung confesses tears drip down his cheek. “ You have the power to live freely, no matter what. My blood is always going to tie me to this Family. The only way i’m leaving this life is in a box”

Ash turns to him “ You can be the youngest mafia boss to retire in history. In exchange you stop tormenting Eiji and everyone” the blond stresses.

“ But how would i live? As much as i hate it, i’m codependent on my family’s wealth” Yut Lung admits.

" Leave that to me" Ash promises...

" i cann't believe i'm taking Yut Lung Lee to Japan?" Eiji sighs

" He'll blend in better then i would" Ash points out. " Lots of Chinese people live in Japan its not that unsual"

" He hates me and i'm not exactly fond of him either" Eiji points out.

" Too bad because i was thinking of adopting him" Ash says

Eiji stares at him in horror " don't even joke about that" he shutters.

" You get to boss him around big brother Eiji" Ash says.

" Since when did i agree to that?" Yut Lung scowls clutching his luggage a very small portion of the things he owned. He'd have to get used to the simple life, Eiji told him cheerfully.

" You go to Japan your under Eiji's care, so you have to obey him and Ibe" Ash says.

" What if they do something stupid like make friends with the Yakuza?" Yut Lung asks

" If that happens you are in change until i get there" Ash agrees after a long pause.

" Thank you Ash, for everything" Yut Lung tells him sincerely before stepping onto the train that will take them to the air port.

" I have to sort out some things here, then i'll join you two" Ash promises. He stands there and waves good bye to both of them.

" Don't be too long, i may start experimenting with putting certain herbs in Eiji Chan's tea" Yut Lung yells out the window!

" i heard that you little shit!" Eiji yells back

Ash laughs then turns and walks back to his concrete playground his phone rings " Hey honey just finishing up skinning a Foxx" the man says cheerfully.

 " Good " Ash hisses.

 " Need anything else while i'm in town?" Blanca asked him

 " i need your help with persuading a certain Chinese crime organization to let the head of the Lee family retire early, without a bullet to the head, got any ideas?" Ash asks him

[quicksilversquared]

Keeping Up With the Ladyblog

A reporter has to adapt and improvise. It's an important skill to learn, especially when one is a reporter who is still in school and can't skip out to film all of the akuma battles without getting grounded. So Alya gets creative and starts using old security camera footage of akuma attacks. It keeps the Ladyblog active and maybe, just maybe, she'll finally get her scoop of a lifetime.

links in the reblog

Initially, setting up the Ladyblog and getting a devoted userbase had been a bit of an uphill battle. Even though Alya had gotten noticed right away with her footage from the first fight, that didn't guarantee her a permanent position as the best-known blog on Paris's superheroes. Not covering a few fights would mean that someone else could sneak in and steal her spot, so that meant that even if she missed a little school here and there (or had to drag her sisters along during a fight), it was worth it. She had to stay on top of all things Ladybug and right then, that meant getting the best coverage of as many fights as she could physically manage and writing up good, thought-provoking articles for when there was a slow day or two.

(Of course, there were other problems that she had to deal with as well. Alya had to put together a functioning site that was user-friendly, could handle the traffic that she was getting, and offered everything that anyone could possibly want from an official superhero blog, because there was no. way. Alya was going to lose traffic just because some other blog had one option or another that she didn't have or because her blog went down from traffic overload at a critical moment. There were some places that she drew the line- she didn't accept fanfiction of the superheroes, because they were real people and therefore it would be weird, and only appropriate art was allowed- but she had to add all sorts of options so that people who visited the Ladyblog would come back over and over again. It was a lot of work and all had to be done fairly quickly, which meant that her homework sometimes got pushed off until later than it should have.)

Alya didn't consider setting up the blog itself to be that big of a problem, though. Software could usually be battered into submission if she worked on it for long enough, and as long as she didn't try any system updates to the Ladyblog when a lot of people were using it, short outages were usually not a big deal. It was the content that was more of a problem, especially now that her parents (and teachers) were on her back about not skipping school just to film attacks.

She just had to get creative.

Originally, Alya had considered trying to use her fame from being the sole moderator of the Ladyblog to see if she could get a get-out-of-class-free card during the attacks. Her teachers could just check her blog to make sure that she wasn't abusing the pass, she figured, and it wasn't as though most of her classes would be that hard to make up. But it didn't take long before Alya realized that that was just a pipe dream. No teacher would just let her go whenever just so she could keep up a blog when there were professional reporters out there as well that could film the attacks just as well (though Alya would argue with that). Besides, she sometimes had to bike across town to try to get footage, and there were times when it took so long that Ladybug and Chat Noir were already done when she got there. Without any footage, it was a waste of her time.

She had to play it smart. She couldn't just take footage from news channels, but what if there was other footage out there, unseen by most of the public? The Ladyblog already used fan submissions. People took pictures and videos of the superheroes all the time, and most didn't have any interest in starting their own superhero blog but were willing enough to share their superhero content online. Alya always spent a chunk of time every day sorting through the submissions and organizing them by akuma for easy reference.

Still, that wasn't quite enough. Alya had to go above and beyond if she didn't want to be replaceable.

Asking Mr. Kubdel about getting security camera footage from the Louvre partway through the year was a stroke of pure genius on her part. Getting it was a combination of luck, her fame as the Ladyblogger, and the fact that she knew Alix.

"They don't have the best angles in the world," Alya told Nino three days after Mr. Kubdel agreed to her request. She had just gotten the footage from all of the security cameras for the time frames of the last few akuma attacks that had gone through the museum, and digging through the video to find clips of the actual fight was taking a while. Some parts she could just fast-forward through, since the superheroes didn't go into that particular room, but she couldn't go too fast or she could miss the superheroes flashing by. "But I can't really complain. No one has any video of any of these fights yet, so this is incredible."

"It was super-nice of Mr. Kubdel to agree to it," Nino said as he watched the video over her shoulder. "Are you- whoop, there goes Chat Noir."

"Am I what?" Alya asked as she marked down the time Chat Noir entered and when he exited. "Ooh, look, that's a cool akuma!"

"It is a pretty cool design," Nino agreed. "Are you going to ask other places if you can get security camera videos from them, too? Like, there's some places that seem to have a lot of akuma fights go through them. School, the Eiffel Tower, the Grand Paris-"

Alya's eyes lit up at the mention of the last place. "Ooh! D'you think I could wrangle some footage of Chloe as Antibug? I kind of want to see some footage of her getting her ass handed to her by Ladybug and Chat Noir."

Nino cringed slightly. "...yeah, I wouldn't phrase it like that when you ask Mr. Bourgeois about it if I were you. He might say no just because of it." He considered that for a second, then added, "Actually, come to think of it, a lot of the akuma that pop up at his hotel tend to be after Chloe, right? So maybe he would say no if most of the footage you get is of Chloe being tormented, no matter how funny you find it. And he's not going to have anything from inside of the guest rooms, just the hallways and dining areas and whatnot."

Alya sniffed. "I'd be professional and include as much of the fight as I could find. Any compilations of Chloe being pursued by angry akumas would be completely unofficial and only posted to an anonymous YouTube account. Which I would then share with you guys, of course."

Nino laughed.

"I think I could persuade him to help, though," Alya decided, going back to the Louvre videos. "He's nice enough when Chloe isn't pushing him around. I'd just have to ask when Chloe isn't there. Maybe I could ask Sabrina's father for help to get footage from other places." She squinted at the screen, then stopped the video for a moment. Nino looked over and saw that it had gone all blurry and pixilated.

He frowned. "Uh, what happened to it? Is the file corrupted?"

"I don't know. It's happened a couple times before on other files, once near the start of this fight and twice again near the end of the first fight I looked at. I don't know what causes it." Alya rewound a little so she could get the last good frame of the superheroes and record the time so she could cut it there. "And... I know I kind of gave up on exposing Ladybug and Chat Noir's identities on the Ladyblog, but I kind of thought that I might catch them detransforming on the security cams. I wasn't going to post that part online, of course, but still..."

"Maybe they're just really good at moving out of the area first," Nino suggested. "That's gotta be tough, actually. I never thought about it. But there's so many cameras in buildings like that nowadays that they have to be super-careful so they don't get seen by others or by cameras!"

"They're bound to slip up sometime," Alya grumbled, opening another file and starting to fast-forward through it. "I really hope I don't miss an attack when I'm working on this. Like, it's gonna be great for my blog to have this footage and all, but it's the live stuff that people like the most."

  The first of the spliced-together security camera footage hit the Ladyblog almost a week after Alya got the first batch of raw video. There was an immediate spike of interest, though, as Alya complained to Nino as they waited for Adrien and Marinette to arrive to work on their group project, some people were whining about favoritism getting her the tapes.

"It was just because I asked first," Alya grumbled, scrolling through the comments. "Because I thought of it first. And- oh! I forgot to tell you! Mr. Bourgeois said yes, I just have to figure out the dates and times of old attacks myself and give them to his security people. And I talked to the principal too, and to Sabrina's father. Mr. Damocles said yes, and Sabrina's father said that he would ask his supervisor and also people at Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower about the security cameras at their individual sites." She was grinning now, momentary irritation gone. "It's gonna be a beast going through everything and getting my homework done, but it'll be worth it."

Nino frowned. "Are all of them gonna give you footage from past attacks? Some might discard video once a certain amount of time passes, or they might think that it's too much work to go back that far to get you the files."

Alya shrugged, face dropping slightly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, going through the past stuff I do get plus new stuff is gonna be hard. At least spring break is coming up soon. Ish. Kinda. And then I can really plow through stuff once it's summer."

"You're gonna vanish into your room and never come out again," Nino joked. "You'll get all pale from lack of sun."

"I still gotta go out for livestreaming attacks," Alya reminded him. "And once I don't have homework to do, I don't think it'll take that long to mark and edit stuff. I can get through one per day for sure, maybe more. I can do it while I babysit my sisters, as long as they don't want to go anywhere."

Nino snorted. "Right, and the chances that they won't want to go out to the park or on a walk?" He shook his head at her. "But I can help with the timing stuff, so you can just focus on the splicing things together."

Alya grinned and leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. "That would be great, Nino! Thank you so much!"

"You'll have to tell me how you want it done sometime before I start, but it really shouldn't be a problem," Nino assured her, grinning as he returned the kiss. "Though maybe we'll have time for you to show me before Adrien and Marinette arrive. Where are they, anyway?"

Alya just shrugged. "Who knows. I texted Marinette ten minutes ago to remind her we would be meeting, but no response yet. She might be in the middle of a project, and if she is, I don't wanna startle her. Last time I called her when she was busy sewing, she got started by her phone ringing and stabbed herself with a pin."

Nino cringed. "Ow. Yeah, I texted Adrien too, but no dice. No idea what he might be doing- oh, wait, here they come. Finally."

"And from the same direction too, hmm? Interesting!" Alya slid her laptop back into her bag and stood up, grinning as she watched Adrien and Marinette approach. "And neither of their houses are in that direction, either."

"We're here to study, not interrogate them," Nino reminded her. "Midterms, remember?"

"Oh, but come on-"

"You can interrogate them after, once we've gotten our studying done," Nino pointed out, grinning. "But I actually want to pass my classes, thank you very much."

  There were times when Alya almost regretted starting to post the security camera footage. It was a lot to handle and process, and it ended up cutting into her article-writing time, which, well, she really liked writing those articles. It was one of the things that set the Ladyblog apart. But the old footage was popular, particularly when there was no good news coverage of the fight, and she could always prioritize which fights to edit together and which could maybe be set aside until she had more time.

It was after Alya was first tapped to become Rena Rouge when she realized how great of an idea it had been to start including the security footage from attacks on the Ladyblog. She couldn't cover her own fights- well, not that she was called for many of the akuma attacks, really- but she could still provide that footage, and it wasn't as though she had only started with that kind of footage after she became a superhero, so it wasn't going to raise any suspicion.

Well. Much suspicion, at least. There might be a few people who wondered why she could never cover Rena Rouge's fights, but there had been few enough of them so far that the pattern wouldn't be apparent. And if it continued- which, well, she hoped that it would- then she could always use her much improved video editing skills to "interview" Rena Rouge in person.

She was sure that Ladybug would let her borrow the Miraculous for a little extra time if she mentioned the need to throw people off of her trail. After all, Ladybug was very big on secrecy.

Most of the time, though, Alya loved her stroke of brilliance. It had been worth the security checks to make sure that she could be trusted with the security footage, and she had managed to shore up her views again. Future employers would see that she was focused and willing to put in the work, and well, she had gotten herself a fabulous reputation at the Louvre after she had spotted a shoplifter on the footage and let them know about it right away. It made her feel like a detective of sorts, discovering things that she wouldn't have otherwise.

And, well, summer was coming. Soon, she could get all caught up, and then Alya was sure that it wouldn't be quite so overwhelming.

  "I figured it out!"

Nino glanced up at Alya as she slid into the empty spot at the table he was sitting at. From the other side of the table, Adrien and Marinette looked over at the reporter as well.

"What did you figure out?" Marinette asked, gaze immediately going to the tablet Alya was holding. She looked interested and inched closer. "Is it something to do with the Ladyblog?"

"It is!" Alya held up her tablet. "So you know how I've been putting together footage of the akuma fights from security cameras?"

Nino nodded. Both Adrien and Marinette looked puzzled. Alya groaned at them.

"Seriously? Have neither of you looked at the Ladyblog in weeks?! It's my big new thing!"

"I've been busy," they both claimed at once, before shooting each other startled looks. Alya narrowed her eyes at them both.

"Too busy to even glance at the Ladyblog once in a while, even now that school is almost out? Really?"

"I've glanced, but not looked into the archives at all," Marinette corrected herself. Then she frowned. "Wait, what do you mean, security camera footage?"

"Huh, I guess I must not have mentioned it to you before, either," Alya said, looking thoughtful. "Hm. Anyway, I've been contacting people at the Louvre and at the Eiffel Tower and Chloe's dad and Sabrina's dad and the principal to ask if I can get the raw security camera footage from the akuma fights that go through there, and they all said yes! So I've been going through that and splicing together stuff from different cameras to try to get as much of the fight covered as possible."

Now Adrien was frowning, too. "Really? They just happen to know which cameras Ladybug and Chat Noir have gone past?"

Now Nino snorted. "Of course not. They just basically give Alya all the footage from the cameras for the duration of the fight and she- well, we, I've been helping- have to go through and find which cameras Ladybug and Chat Noir went past and when."

For some reason, both Adrien and Marinette now looked deeply alarmed.

"Anyway, we've been noticing some weirdness on some of the clips," Alya told them. "It get corrupted for a bit, mostly near the start of the fight before the superheroes show up or after the akuma's been defeated but sometimes in the middle, too. I've been puzzling over it for the longest time, and I think I've finally figured it out!"

"Really?" Nino asked, interested and finally distracted from his strangely pale friends. "How?"

Alya grinned. "It was some comments on the Ladyblog that finally got me to notice the pattern. The corruption is either before Ladybug and Chat Noir show up or right after they vanish- or, in the middle of the fight, if one of them has to go recharge, then it happens then, too."

Nino blinked, then caught on. "So you're saying that somehow their magic is interfering with the cameras and protecting their secret identities?"

Alya pointed at him. "Exactly! I thought when I started all this that I might accidentally catch them transforming or see someone where they weren't meant to be, but their magic just means that they can't be caught on camera. It kind of makes me wonder if they always have that effect on cameras when they aren't transformed, or if it only pops up when they're about to transform or just detransformed."

Nino was so caught up in thinking about it that he completely missed Adrien and Marinette's identical sighs of relief as they both slumped in their seats. "It's gotta be the latter. Otherwise how would you explain people never getting a good picture of you, if it happened all the time?"

"Maybe Juleka is Ladybug, then," Marinette offered, giggling a little. "Remember, she was convinced that she had some sort of photo curse?"

"And now she's figured out how to manipulate the magic so that she can get normal photos again," Alya joked, sounding serious for a moment before she laughed. "Nah, she can't be, she was akumatized and fought Ladybug and Chat Noir. Remember that?"

Nino shuddered. "How could I forget? I was stuck in a skirt and high heels for ages!"

"I rocked the platforms," Adrien bragged. He grinned at Nino's raised eyebrow. "What? Sure, they were hard at first, but with a little practice..."

Nino just shook his head and groaned. "You would, dude. You must have been hidden, though. I couldn't find you after Reflecta left."

"Yeah, the outfit and the makeup would do that, probably," Adrien pointed out with a laugh. "I mostly decided to stay out of the way. And that fight didn't last that long. Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated her within an hour."

"Okay, fair."

"What would you do if you found something that told you who Ladybug or Chat Noir are?" Marinette asked, pulling the conversation back on track. "I mean, you can't see them transforming or detransforming, but if..."

Alya waved a hand. "Oh, I would destroy the footage as fast as possible. Hopefully I wouldn't recognize them-" though she wasn't certain about the probability of that, considering that Nino had been picked as a temporary superhero, too. What were the chances of that happening if Ladybug at least didn't know them to some extent? Unless of course it was a coincidence since she was the well-known Ladyblogger and Nino had already been out in the middle of the fight before Ladybug grabbed him- "and so it wouldn't matter if I saw them for two seconds."

Adrien looked astonished. "Really? I thought that was your dream, to figure out who they are! Not that I don't support the deleting thing," he added quickly. "That's probably safer for them. But what made you decide to change your mind?"

Well, she had become a superhero herself, for one. She had realized that she didn't really want the city to know her identity, because what if the akumas targeted her family and friends? And then Nino was a superhero, too, and what if people knew that and she became a target? She had figured that if she didn't want the city knowing her secret identity, she should probably extend the same courtesy to Ladybug and Chat Noir. And Heroes Day had proved that even superheroes knowing the secret identity of other superheroes wasn't necessarily safe. But instead of saying any of that, Alya just said "Well, I realized that it wouldn't be safe for them. And I figured that we should probably respect our superheroes' wishes since they've done so much for the city."

Adrien grinned. "That's very mature of you, Alya."

Alya just shrugged. Really, there had been so much more to it than she had let on. He was probably giving her too much credit, considering it had taken her being in the superheroes' shoes to realize what she had. "Yeah, well. I'll get a big scoop someday. I just refuse to have it at the superheroes' expense."

  With the start of summer came more free time, and Alya attacked her backlog of footage with gusto. It was slowly shrinking as she and Nino dug into it with occasional help from Adrien or Marinette, deleting the superhero-less footage out and discarding it. It had become a bit of an obsession now that she had plenty of free time, and Alya had finally- finally!- figured out how to have several streams going at once on her screen and how to pause the others and switch to just one when there was footage that she wanted to watch more closely.

It made things go a lot faster, that was for sure. She was getting through a couple akuma attacks per day, and she finally had to start queuing things up so that the Ladyblog wouldn't get overwhelmed. One per day would be good, maybe two if they were short fights. Alya prioritized newer fights, too, knowing that the old ones were interesting but also old news. The newer fights generated more views and more interest, but it wouldn't be long before the next wave of akumas took over public interest.

Still, Alya loved having that old footage. She loved watching Ladybug and Chat Noir facing up against the akuma, and she loved seeing Ladybug's creativity when faced with a strange Lucky Charm. Their teamwork was so strong, and the way that they absorbed the occasional extra teammate and worked in those powers- yeah, it was pretty obvious why they had been chosen to be the city's main superheroes.

She was digging through her folders of akuma fight footage when she spotted a particularly large one. Alya frowned, puzzled- what, had the entire city been involved in the fight?- when she noticed the date. It was from Heroes Day.

"Oh yeah," Alya said eagerly, grinning as she clicked on the folder. This had been one of the battles that she really wanted footage for. All five superheroes at once in the boss battle? Yes please. All of the existing footage of the fight had been filled by possessed people, so it would be great to get literally anything else.

It was going to be difficult to piece together all of the bits of footage that were bound to be all over the city, but hey, it was summer and Alya could probably rope her friends into helping. And hey, if she could get Adrien roped in, he had several computer monitors. He could use all of them at once and have a ridiculous number of feeds going all at once. But Alya was impatient and wanted to get another look at the fight, so she flipped through the camera files until she found a set on the Eiffel Tower. They opened right before a fox-themed supervillain got there- and ugh, Alya immediately found herself annoyed. Another Volpina? Why were there so many people in Paris who seemed to have some sort of design on the Fox Miraculous?

Ugh. She was going to scour the footage to see if she could get a glance at this new Volpina's unakumatized identity. One Fox villain before Rena Rouge had showed up was one thing, but again? Nuh-uh.

Alya watched as once again, chaos descended on Paris. Volpina detransformed- uh, could Hawkmoth recall akumas? Then why had the baby akuma actually happened at all?- and revealed- uh, was that Lila? What was Lila doing in Paris? She had told the class that she was out of the country and wasn't going to be returning yet!

Okay, something was definitely up there. Maybe Marinette was on to something when she said that she didn't trust Lila. Especially when- they had talked to Lila on Heroes' Day, hadn't they? They had video chatted with her as a class. She had said that she was abroad, and it had looked like she was, too.

Strange. Alya was going to have to do some digging there for sure.

On-screen, the red butterflies descended on Paris. Alya winced as she remembered the terror that had reigned. They had been tricked by Volpina's illusions- and wait wait wait. Alya rewound the footage to when Lila detransformed and- oh, she looked disappointed when she was detransformed, as though she knew what she had been doing and had wanted to continue.

Even stranger. Also really, really concerning. Alya was going to put a hold on making any plans with Lila until she figured out what was going on there.

Alya continued watching. Red akumas found their mark, and Hawkmoth emerged, watching over the panic. Red bubbles bloomed into oversized akumas, and then... well, more chaos. There was screaming in the streets as people were turned into akumas and everyone else fled- well, there looked like there was screaming in the streets, at least. The cameras didn't pick up sound, which did take away from the experience, just a bit, but she could imagine what it would have sounded like.

The sheer amount of footage that Alya was getting from just the Eiffel Tower was astounding. She could only imagine how much she was going to get across the city, though the ice appearing now from the re-akumatized Frozer probably took at least a few of the feeds out. If she just played it all one camera at a time, it would be an insanely long video.

She might have to learn how to play several streams at once in a split screen. Hawkmoth would have to be shown at all times, Alya thought, and then she could do flashes of different akumas and also show the superheroes. They would fill the screen when they were doing an intense fight, maybe and-

Oh, Alya had so many ideas for the video already and she had only watched part of four streams so far. The number of akumas and the civilian resistance- which, by the way, amazing- meant that she could really play with angles and video cuts and oh, it was gonna be great.

It was also going to be a whole lot of work. Alya was probably going to spend the entire week picking out clips and then deciding which ones she wanted to use, and then it was going to be another few days of editing.

Hopefully her friends would be willing to help her out. They could blast through mostly-boring feeds in no time and get stuff trimmed down for her to review. Maybe she could even get Max to help her with the split-screen editing stuff, since he understood all of that technical talk.

Smiling widely, Alya turned back to her computer. Most of the footage at the moment was just Hawkmoth standing up on the Eiffel Tower with his two singers- and boy was Alya going to rake him over the coals for that, it was ridiculous- and so she had to wait for Ladybug and Chat Noir to head up like she knew they had. Thankfully the camera on that level wasn't iced over at all, like the ones on the lower levels were. This time, she had a front-row seat (abet at a bad angle) as she saw Lila get akumatized again (and boy was it interesting that Lila didn't look at all alarmed about the butterfly approaching her- she looked eager) and Volpina conjured up a second Hawkmoth while the real one hid.

And boy, was that ever an anxiety-inducing experience, watching Ladybug and Chat Noir approach the decoy while the real Hawkmoth hid down below, ready to surprise them from behind. Somehow Ladybug noticed him creeping up on them- and how, Alya had no idea how, she and Chat Noir seemed a bit distracted by trying to get Hawkmoth to do the right thing by turning over his Miraculous- and then they were fighting. Hawkmoth's cane-sword went down, but he didn't go down with it.

Alya sat up and watched as the three secondary users re-joined the fight just in time. She wondered where they had gone wrong, where they might have messed up and could have done better. The next bit was also the only example they had so far of the mysterious Peacock user's powers, and they needed to know what to expect in case they came into play again.

It wasn't that the Peacock's powers seemed that dangerous, at least not from what they had seen so far. Their team had just been taken off guard, and that gave Hawkmoth enough of a distraction to run off like the coward he was. Alya watched the giant moth vanish after Ladybug hit it, and she wondered if it would have vanished so easily if Ladybug had hit it when Hawkmoth was still there. Had the Peacock backed off as soon as Hawkmoth had retreated?

On one of the streams, the superheroes glanced around, trying to figure out where Hawkmoth had gone. Meanwhile, a Hawkmoth-shaped blob limped- had he been injured? They should have looked for him!- past one of the iced-over cameras, and then slumped down against a wall. Alya leaned forward, eager, as Hawkmoth sat there for a few seconds, likely shaken by the whole run-in.

Was he going to detransform? Had they really caught Hawkmoth on camera, after nearly a year of attacks? The ice on the camera would make it hard to see exactly who it was, but Ladybug's Miraculous Cure was bound to come zipping past any moment now. Was this her big scoop-?

"Ugh, and there's that distortion," Alya complained, flopping back in her chair as the already-fuzzy footage got even worse as a burst of purple lit up the screen. "C'mon, really? Can't his kwami not provide magical protection for him? The dude doesn't deserve it."

Alya sulked at the screen as a rush of red went by, clearing off the ice but doing nothing for the magical distortion. She could make out a bit of a shape on the screen, and colors- red and white- but no details, and static regularly cut across the already blurry picture. The static stayed there for longer than normal, and then the blurry, pixilated shape of civilian Hawkmoth finally got up, heading for the stairs. It was only once he had fully exited the frame that the picture finally snapped back into focus, one last bit of static cutting across the screen before the picture stabilized for good.

"Oh, come on," Alya groaned, flopping back on her bed. "That's so unfair that we were so close, and this freaking arse just- just waltzes out of there? Just walks away down the stairs and off of the tower and- and- ugh!" She slapped her fist down on the bed next to her- and then she froze. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. He walked off of the Eiffel Tower. There have to be more cameras on the staircase and at the bottom. If he didn't detransform in front of those, would they have gone out, too?"

She didn't know. She had never really tracked other cameras from the area after the fights ended, so she didn't know if they had caught the civilian Ladybug and Chat Noir or not and she wasn't going to go back and look, not now that she knew now how dangerous it could be to have other people knowing a superhero's secret identity.

But now? There was absolutely no downside to finding out Hawkmoth's secret identity. It would be the biggest break of Alya's journalistic career.

Re-energized and laser-focused, Alya clicked back to her files, looking for the other cameras. It took a few tries for her to find the footage from the stair cameras and then she fast-forwarded to close to the end. There was a minute of anxious waiting, where Alya scanned the entire screen in case Hawkmoth had tried climbing down the side of the stairs or something ridiculous like that, and then a pair of feet appeared, headed slowly and almost unsteadily down the stairs. Before the feet could go down any further, though, the footage came to an end.

Alya let out a frustrated snarl and rewound the video a few seconds, pausing it right before it came to an end. Only a pair of perfectly white shoes and the hem of bright red pants came into view.

Those... those pants looked really familiar. Alya frowned as she stared at them. She couldn't quite place them, but maybe Marinette could, if Alya brought the footage over the next time that she went to Marinette's house. But that was stupid, Alya decided after a moment of mulling it over. Maybe they knew someone with pants like that, but there were several million people living in Paris. There was no guarantee that there weren't other people making the same (awful) fashion choices.

"So close," Alya complained aloud, glaring at her screen. If only Mr. Raincomprix had sent footage that was a few seconds longer! Except- oh, that was it! All she had to do was email him and ask for the footage from the lower-level cameras running from maybe a minute before the end of the fight to several minutes after the current end time. That would be sure to get her lots of footage of Hawkmoth, and surely he would be recognizable in some of it.

She had to hope that the footage still existed and it hadn't been written over at all. It would be close- it had been over two months since that battle- but Alya knew that she had gotten older footage from the Eiffel Tower before.

Hopefully that stuff hadn't just been saved for longer because of the akuma attack.

Excited, Alya turned back to her computer. If she was going to file a request for more footage and hoped to get it in a reasonable amount of time, she needed to have all of the information possible- what the camera IDS were, the exact date and times that she wanted were, everything. Just to be sure, Alya checked her other files to see which cameras would be focused on either the place where Hawkmoth detransformed or the stairs that he had gone down, writing the code for every last one down. Once she had that, she folded up the list and stuffed it in her pocket as she raced for the door.

"Alya, remember that you're going to be babysitting the twins in two hours," he mom called out as Alya raced past. "You'll be back by then, right?"

Alya had to bite down the frustrated noise that nearly escaped because even though this was critical, this was huge, it wasn't as though she couldn't wait a little longer to review the footage. And she could review the footage while sitting out at the kitchen counter with her sisters watching a movie in the living room, it would just be harder. "Yeah, I'll be back!"

And hopefully, she would come back with the footage that would change everything.

  Officer Raincomprix was all too willing to bring Alya over to the Eiffel Tower to get more of the footage, all without her having to explain anything. He showed her to the people she needed to talk to and then trotted off to deal with a littering teenager while Alya was ushered inside of the office. The staff were all helpful, and soon Alya was leaving with everything she needed, with no questions asked.

She supposed that it was good that all of the adults were so busy, because she didn't exactly want to explain. Really, Ladybug and Chat Noir should be the first ones to know about Hawkmoth's identity.

Alya jogged back towards her family's apartment, memory stick clutched tightly in her hand. On it, she hoped, would be evidence that would show her Hawkmoth's identity. She was nearly back to her building when she ran smack-dab into a very familiar figure.

"Yo, I was just looking for you!" Nino exclaimed, pulling Alya up. He bent back over to grab the memory stick that she had dropped before the passing pedestrians could kick it away and handed it back to her. "I was trying to text you earlier, but I didn't get any response."

Alya winced. "I'm so sorry! I just got really distracted by my video editing. I opened up the folder for Heroes' Day and I got really distracted."

"Oh, that was a crazy fight. I bet there was a ton of footage. Well, until everything got all icy, at least." Nino glanced down at her as they continued down the sidewalk. "So can I ask why you were out? You look out of breath."

"Not out here," Alya warned immediately. She didn't want a passerby overhearing and trying to grab the memory stick to grab the discovery for themselves. "Come inside with me. I can tell you there, and at any rate I have to be back in-" she checked her phone- "fifteen minutes anyway to babysit my sisters."

Nino followed without question, looking interested.

"So did you find something interesting in the footage?" Nino asked curiously. "You must have. Or was there footage missing, was that why you were out?"

"Not quite," Alya told him, grinning. "I needed more footage, yeah, but it wasn't during the middle of the fight. It was at the end, because I almost had Hawkmoth's civilian self on tape."

"You- what?" Nino asked, freezing for a few seconds before jogging up the stairs alongside her again. "You think you have Hawkmoth on tape? I thought that the magic messed with the cameras!"

Alya grinned. "It does. But where he detransformed- he had to go down the stairs, and there's another camera there. Before, I could see his shoes and the hems of his pants, but now I have an extended clip of the video! It should show him coming down the stairs into sight."

Nino looked impressed. "Oh, that is amazing. But what if it's not someone you know? I mean, there's a lot of people in Paris."

"Well, I'll turn the video over to Ladybug and Chat Noir. They can decide if they want to get the police involved. They might recognize the guy, too." Alya was assuming that she wouldn't recognize Hawkmoth, but she supposed that it was a possibility. "Or we could help by asking Max if he can run some sort of face recognition thing, so that they don't have to go to the police. I'm worried that the police might try to take over themselves and end up getting really hurt by underestimating him."

"Yeah, they might try to do that. Freaking adults, thinking that they know better than the actual experts." Nino shook his head, disgusted. "But do you think Max can do that? I mean, I know he's good at computers, but face recognition- that sounds like he would have to tap into files from, like, ID cards or something."

Alya shrugged. She supposed that was true, but Max was crazy smart and also had Markov. She was sure that if she asked, he would try to see what he could do for her.

"So are you gonna look at the footage now?" Nino asked as they reached her floor. "I thought you said that you have babysitting to do."

"I do, but I wanna at least look at the footage first, if I can." Alya pulled out her keys to open the apartment door. "And I was planning on just putting on a movie and some snacks for my sisters so that they stay out of trouble while I work. They should stay out of trouble that way."

Nino gave her a supremely dubious look. "Your sisters, staying out of trouble?"

"I'd still be in the room! And it's not like I would have headphones in or anything."

"...would you like me to stay there while you do your video stuff?"

"That would be amazing," Alya told Nino, leading him into the apartment. She waved to her mom as they headed down the hallway. "But I still have time to get this done before my mom has to leave!"

Nino glanced at the clock on the wall. "Uh, babe, you only have ten minutes."

"Do you really think I can't get this done in ten minutes?" Alya led the way into her room and wriggled her mouse, waking her laptop up. "You know me better than that. I know exactly where to look in the footage."

"And you really think you'll be able to focus on looking after kids once you've seen Hawkmoth's face?"

...Alya had to admit that that was a very good point.

"I can show you the footage leading up to the end while the computer recognizes my memory stick," Alya told Nino as she plugged the new flash drive in. She rewound the footage. "See, here's Hawkmoth escaping- but he didn't go far!"

"That ice on the cameras is annoying," Nino commented as the footage played. "Is all of it like that?"

"A few cameras were spared, I think," Alya told him. "Including the one on the main level, thank goodness. I mean, there's a few blurry spots from where the ice extended onto the lens a little bit, but it's mostly clear."

"Oh, and now it's worse," Nino added. "He detransformed right in front of the camera, holy cow."

"Yeah, I was really hoping that the distortion would go away since he seemed to be hanging around, but no such luck." Alya watched as on-screen, the ice cleared away and Hawkmoth finally got up, heading for the stairs. "So watch here- there's no one besides him and the superheroes on the Tower, right? Well, them and Lila, but that's beside the point. It got evacuated pretty fast, and anyone who didn't get off got akumatized or hit by Dark Cupid. So he's headed for those stairs."

"So whoever comes down is Hawkmoth, right," Nino agreed. Then he paused. "Wait, you said Lila? But she was abroad!"

"Apparently she lied." Alya stopped the tapes right where Hawkmoth's feet appeared on the stairs. "Okay, so the stuff that I got should start about thirty seconds before the end of these, so there's some overlap."

A tension rose in the room as Alya got the new files set up to play. She kept glancing at the clock while things loaded, watching as the time for her to move into the living room ticked closer and closer.

She wouldn't be able to stand it if she had to stop at this point. Even if it was only for a short break while she said good-bye to her mom and got the twins set up with their movie and their snacks, she couldn't. She was so, so close.

This had to work.

"Loaded," Alya announced as soon as the program was ready. "And here we go!"

She and Nino leaned forward as they watched the feed from the stairs on the screen. There were thirty seconds of anxious waiting, and then Hawkmoth's shoes appeared on the stairs. They headed down unevenly, revealing the red pants cuffs once again.

"Oh, he's shaken," Nino murmured, a grin evident in his voice. "Super shaken. Serves the asshole right."

Another step, more of the pants were revealed. They watched in anxious silence as the red pants gave way to a very familiar ivory jacket, then a striped necktie, and then Hawkmoth took one more step down the stairs, head hanging down as he made his way down the Eiffel Tower.

And much to Alya's surprise, she recognized the face that went with those atrocious fashion choices, even at this angle. And from Nino's sharp inhale, she knew that he had, too.

"Well," Nino managed after a minute of trying to find his words. "This is bad."

And with that, Alya could only agree.

[anistarrose]

Stan and Ford Vs. The Future - Chapter 2

Summary: One fateful night soon after returning to Gravity Falls, Ford is unexpectedly confronted with memories from a lifetime ago.

Warnings: implied references to past child abuse

The Beginning

Thank you for the great response on Chapter 1! I started this fic completely on a whim, but once I saw how much people were enjoying it, I knew I was going to continue it! Hope this update doesn’t disappoint!

I guess I’ll also count this as a submission for @forduary!

Ford is ransacking all the basement’s shelves and drawers and nooks and crannies in a seemingly futile search for his old magnet guns — Stan told him they were down here somewhere, but apparently couldn’t be bothered to elaborate — when he finds the box. It’s old, the cardboard practically decaying, and he’s honestly surprised he’s able to get it out of the closet without the whole thing falling apart in his hands, but there’s also something about it that feels indescribably familiar. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s because of the scrawled cursive label — Stanley and Stanford, 1961-1963 — that’s written in his mother’s handwriting.

He rifles through the contents: two reels of film, four photo albums. A comic book so old and well-read that the images are beginning to fade away entirely. Sheets of piano music, showing the notes to a familiar song, simple enough to be played by beginners but complex enough to be catchy. Notebooks filled from margin to margin with doodles of strange and wondrous creatures, dragons and cryptids and dinosaurs and aliens.

Ford recognizes everything, but while he remembers bringing some of it first to college and then out to Gravity Falls himself, there are other things — three of the four photo albums, the comic books, the piano music — that he hasn’t seen since… well, since 1963.

Ford has always thought he was the overly sentimental one, but here Stan is, not just holding on to his collection of keepsakes but adding to it.

Stan only would have had a chance to go home and pick up all of this when he was pretending to be you, a resentful whisper in the back of Ford’s head reminds him, but it’s far from the loudest voice, far from the loudest emotion. He picks up one of the photo albums, one that he doesn’t remember ever seeing outside of Glass Shard Beach, and steps into the elevator.

He hopes Stan is still awake, because the two of them need to talk. He’s not quite sure about what, but… they really need to. His grip tightens on the old album as he rises towards the ground floor, and for neither the first nor the last time in his life, he finds himself wondering what other paths he could have taken away from Glass Shard Beach, where the other diverging roads might have led him —

Over the whirr of the elevator, he first hears Stan’s tour-giving voice, and then two other ones — young, but not Dipper and Mabel’s, and out-of-place, but not unfamiliar. He steps out from behind the vending machine and into the gift shop, and the album falls from his hands.

Its spine strikes the floor first, and it falls open to a page with just one picture: two twin boys caught in a candid photo, staring at the camera with identical looks of surprise and confusion. Just a few feet away, the exact same boys stand before Ford, eyes wide and mouths agape like the picture come to life.

Behind them, Stanley grimaces and raises his hands in a gesture that can’t quite make up its mind between apologetic and defensive. “Okay, I know things look weird, but I promise I can… I can kinda explain? So, I was just minding my own business when —”

“Get away from them!” Ford barks. “Now!”

“What?” both Stanleys ask in unison. The young Stanford doesn’t say a word — just stares at Ford’s fingers, as his own reflexively curl into trembling fists at his side. It’s so easy to visualise the wheels turning in his head, the wheels that are shaking and locking up, like the system has been presented with an input it’s not designed to handle.

Ford points at the young twins, and then jabs his finger towards the space behind the gift shop counter. “Kids! Get behind there!”

The boys stare at him, unmoving.

“Now!” Ford barks, and with that, both of them do as they’re told. But young Stanley’s eyes flash with a look of fear for a moment, and Ford’s stomach churns with guilt.

“Stanford, what the hell?” Stan yells, apparently abandoning any sort of secrecy he might have been maintaining on the kids’ behalf. “What are you doing?”

“They’re from a parallel timeline! If either of us touches our counterpart, our dimension will completely collapse in on itself and disintegrate, with us and billions of other lives inside!”

Ford can feel the pounding of his own heart, and he’s not sure whether it’s the adrenaline, or that other drug of the body’s own producing — the sentimentality. “You should have told me about this immediately! What were you doing up here with them, giving them a tour? You could have ended the entire —”

“E-excuse me,” a quiet voice begins, and Ford turns away from Stan to see a small, owl-like pair of eyes peering up from behind the cash register. “But, Stan and… uh, my Stan and your Stan high-fived a couple minutes ago, and nothing happened. The universe didn’t disintegrate.”

“Yeah, we did,” young Stanley adds. He seems reluctant to make eye contact with Ford, and his voice has a slight nervous tremor to it — but Stanley’s never been the type to stand back and leave his brother on his own. “When he said Ford would be the first to die in a horror movie. I thought it was funny, so we high-fived —”

He finally looks up, and stares at older Ford with a resigned guilt in his eyes — just like how he’d look at Filbrick whenever he’d gotten into so much trouble that he knew no apology would be enough to avoid being punished.

“I — I didn’t know he was me then,” young Stanley stammers. “I didn’t know about — about dimensions, or parallel anythings, or… or… I’m sorry, Ford! I wasn’t trying to destroy the world, I promise!” There are tears in his eyes now, and young Stanford has one arm reached out towards his brother, but he’s frozen in place, as if paralyzed by indecision. Older Stan, for his part, is making a point of looking in the complete opposite direction, but his trembling, clenched fists betray everything one needs to know about his feelings.

And older Ford… he does one of the dumbest things he’s ever done in his life. He steps towards the counter, towards the children that could easily destroy the world alongside him and his brother, and places a completely bare, exposed hand on young Stan’s shoulder.

“I know,” he whispers, and all his emotions from when he found the box of keepsakes come rushing back, channeling across time and space and dimensions and reaching one Stanley Pines, but not the Stanley he’d thought he might be reconciling with tonight.

“I’m not mad at you, Stan. I promise.” That’s not entirely true for the older Stan, though a part of Ford honestly wishes more than anything that it could be, but he’s not going to say as much to this poor child, not now. “I shouldn’t have yelled like that. I’m sorry.”

He steps away from the kids, and finally, finally thinks to put on a pair of gloves. He’s afraid to look behind him and see how the older Stan has responded, so he instead awkwardly begins to speak again after a pause.

“But, I… I’m still a bit confused about this whole situation. By all accounts, our dimension shouldn’t have survived that high-five.”

“Maybe we just… traveled through time normally, instead of to another dimension?” young Ford suggests. “And like, we haven’t messed up anything yet that would make us diverge from your timeline?”

“That would explain it,” Ford replies, “if Stan and I had memories of this incident. But while I can only speak for myself, I’m fairly certain I don’t remember anything like this…”

“Time travel, man,” young Stanley mutters, “why you gotta be so complicated…”

“Remember,” Ford repeats to himself. “Oh, of course! That’s it! We have the memory gun!”

“What?” both of the boys ask in unison, just as the older Stan whirls around.

“What the hell kind of idea is that, Sixer?! Are you seriously about to wipe our own minds?”

“I’m just trying to protect us all, you idiot! If we don’t wipe their minds and return them to their own time, they’ll cease being us and become just different enough to destroy the world, in all likelihood! I’ve been dealing with more than enough chances of apocalypse since you reactivated the portal, thank you very much!”

“Oh, and remind me who it was who built that portal in the first place?”

“I told you not to restart it! It was your foolishness, your recklessness, that only exacerbated it all!”

“My recklessness? That’s rich coming from you! I can’t believe I ever thought you would thank me for saving your damn life, when here you are, acting like I’m the —”

Ford has no doubt that Stan is about to unleash some particularly scathing and profanity laced rant without any regard for the children present, but before he can, he’s interrupted by a sudden clattering noise. It takes a moment for either of them to realize that it’s the sound of the gift shop door slamming shut.

“Oh no,” Stan whispers as Ford turns to look behind the counter, and finds the space completely empty.

“Kids?!” he yells. “Kids, come back! I didn’t mean —”

They both rush outside, Ford activating the flashlight on his watch and scanning the surrounding field, but the younger twins are nowhere to be seen.

***

“I’m so sorry,” young Ford tells his brother. “I don’t know what I… what older me was thinking! I’d never wipe your mind!”

The decision to leave had been unanimous and unspoken, and was made the second the older twins had begun to argue again, voices dripping with a lifetime’s worth of unfamiliar bitterness and frustration and hostility. A lot can change in fifty years, but…

But they hadn’t sounded like twins. They’d sounded like strangers, who didn’t understand what the other had become — who didn’t even want to understand, maybe. They hadn’t sounded like Stan and Ford.

“That wasn’t you,” Stan declares with a certainty Ford wishes he could share. “You don’t really think we’ll end up like them, do you? There isn’t anything in the world that could make us like — like that.”

They’re sitting on the forest floor now, backs up against trees. Ford holds the broken time tape in his hands, turning it over and over and over, like eventually it’ll somehow whisk them away again — off to some alternate future where two brothers travel the world together, just as they always thought they would, just as it should be.

“I don’t want to think that’s how we’ll end up,” Ford murmurs. “But how else do you explain everything we just saw?”

“Easy, we musta just messed up the timeline or something! That happens in your nerd stories all the time, doesn’t it?”

Ford sighs. “Even if this wasn’t supposed to happen… how do we fix it?”

Stan starts to reply, but he’s cut off by an older and gruffer voice calling out from deep within the woods: “Kids? Are you there? Look, I know Ford and I said some things we — some things I regret, but you’ve gotta come back!”

From the opposite direction of the older Stanley’s voice, Ford sees the beam of a flashlight hovering between the trees like a ghost.

“Please, kids… I know how I sounded, and I don’t blame you for running away, but I just want to keep you safe, I promise…”

Stan stays still, but his wide and worried eyes make contact with Ford’s, and even in the dying evening light the message is clear: What do we do now?

Ford doesn’t have an answer, but even if he did, he wouldn’t have a chance to share it, because it’s at that moment that it feels like all hell is breaking loose.

First it’s a flash of brilliant blue-white light in the quickly falling darkness that blinds him, and then it’s the sudden clap of an explosion in the eerily peaceful forest that deafens him. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment he’s afraid he’s somehow brought about the apocalypse that his older self warned of, but the voice that speaks from behind him as he’s lifted into the air is unfamiliar.

“Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron! Nobody move!” it barks, and then in a slightly lower voice, it adds: “You four are in a heap of trouble.”

***

Wr ila wkhlu zurqjv, wzr wlphv pxvw fodvk Zkr zloo zlq, wkh ixwxuh ru sdvw?

Thanks for reading, reblogs/feedback are appreciated as always! I have a decent idea of where I want to take this, and barring anything unexpected it should wrap up in one or two more chapters.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

how long will i love you?

Pairings: Artist!Steve Rogers x Artist!Reader

Summary: Nothing lasts forever, except, perhaps, your love for him.

Warnings: So much angst. Major character death/grieving. Language.

Notes: Written for @barnesrogersvstheworld’s writing challenge using the prompt ‘paint tubes’. Kisses are featured, though how ‘significant’ they are is up for debate (sorry y’all, I tried)

Some inspiration taken from the ‘Over and Over Again’ music video, and title is from ‘How Long Will I Love You’ by Ellie Goulding. Sorry in advance for the heartbreak, but on a separate note: I’m really proud of how this turned out.

My Masterlist | Want to be added to my taglists? See here

“You need to clean it out,” Wanda says, for the dozenth time in probably as many minutes.

“I don’t need to do anything—”

“It’ll be cathartic,” she says, “You’ll find closure, you’ll...I dunno, you’ll find those pizza socks that you’ve lost, maybe?”

“I do miss those socks,” you say forlornly.

“So, you’ll clean it out?” she presses.

“I’ll...think about it.”

—

The art studio is exactly how you’d left it, albeit with a thin film of dust clinging to every surface. That is to be expected, given that you haven’t set foot in this room for over two years. As you step into it now, you feel as if you’ve just gone back in time, to a point in your life when things were brighter, easier.

You sigh heavily as you flick on the light switch.

It’s a small, square room, with an enormous corner window. When the blinds are drawn open, sunlight floods into the place, making the studio seem much bigger than it really is. You cross the room quickly to do just that.

You rest your back against the cool glass of the window as you carefully survey the place. The room is in a state of organised chaos, with some semblance of order built into the messiness. An eclectic collection of DIY shelves and IKEA storage units housing your art equipment line the wall beside the door. Some of the drawers are practically overflowing with their contents.

A large desk has been pushed against the wall to your left and on it, there are glass mason jars with paint brushes still inside them. You know that if you were to open the drawers of that desk, you’d find all of your old sketchbooks and a few unfinished pieces of art. Larger equipment like tripods, a drying rack and easels are arranged against the wall opposite the desk. The window takes up most of the fourth wall, so you’ve put no furniture in front of it, in order to not block out the light.

It’s bittersweet, being in here.

You slowly make a circuit around the room, trailing your fingers over the paint-stained and pencil-marked surfaces. His presence fills the room, despite the fact that he has not been in here for the last two years, either. The stuff in here is as much tied to him as it is to you; both of you shared this studio, both of you used these brushes and those easels, both of you used to blast your music as you painted into the wee hours of the night.

It’s difficult enough, having to live in the home that you once shared with him without having to come in here and be harshly reminded of his absence. Nearly eighteen months ago, you moved into a studio-office downtown, so that you could work in a space whose every square inch had not been infused with the essence of his being.

You remember the times when you would open the door to this studio and see him hunched over the desk, new splatters of paint decorating his apron. His tongue would be sticking out of the corner of his mouth and his brows would be furrowed in concentration as he worked on his latest piece. Music would fill the air — something mellow and old-school, something that reminded you of jazz bars and speakeasies.

You’re torn between the urge to preserve the room exactly as it is, and clearing everything out, giving you the opportunity to start afresh.

As you perch yourself on one of the stools, your eyes land on a cardboard box balancing precariously on top of one of the smaller drawer units. You dimly remember dumping it there ages ago, fully intending on coming back to it in a couple of days’ time.

Funny how two days can so suddenly turn into two years.

You cross the room to examine it more closely. The box is exactly how you remember it, black, with the brand name written across the front in simple, clean white text. Hesitantly, like you’re afraid that something might leap out and bite you, you lift up the lid with a single index finger. The paint tubes are still inside, untouched — pristine as the day they came. There are ten of them in all.

In the grief and darkness of the last two years, you’d forgotten about them.

He would not want them to go to waste.

In a sudden burst of motivation, you drag an easel, a small table and a stool over to the window, before rooting around the storage units for a pre-stretched canvas. You grab all the utensils you think you’ll need and don your old, paint-stained apron before sitting down.

You have not put a brush to canvas for a long time, but perhaps, it is time to revisit your roots.

—

You scrub the back of your hand over your face, groaning in frustration when you realise that you’ve probably just smeared blue acrylic across your cheek.

It’s a Friday night and, while most people are ushering in the weekend with booze and parties, you’re stuck in the art department, frantically trying to finish your coursework piece in time for the Monday morning submission deadline. You’re lowkey hating your past-self for being so ambitious and/or being really shitty at time-management, but what’s done is done and your present-self must now deal with the consequences of your own incompetence.

It is at this precise moment that the door to the art studio creaks open and a broad-shouldered, blonde-haired hunk of a man walks in. It takes a moment for you to clock him as Steve Rogers, otherwise known as the guy that you’ve been crushing on for the better part of the last academic year.

He’s wearing a light-grey t-shirt, dark blue jeans and a black bomber that hugs him just right. He’s got a canvas backpack slung casually over one shoulder, and big, square-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He does a double-take when he notices you, like he’s surprised to find anyone else here, on a Friday night.

“Uh...hey,” he says, waving a hand in greeting.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, straightening up in your seat.

Of all the times for your crush to see you, it had to be when you were wearing your least-flattering pair of sweats and had paint smeared across your cheek, right?

“You’re, uh...you’re Y/N, right?” he asks, as he slowly walks over to you.

“Yep, that’s me. And you’re Steve?”

“Steve Rogers, that’s me,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He stops beside your table and gives a cursory glance over the mess you’ve got spread across it.

“Coursework?” he guesses, jerking his chin towards your painting-in-progress.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Same, I got some things I needed to finish up before I can hand it in,” Steve says. “I gotta admit though, I didn’t think anyone would be in here this late.”

You frown in confusion. “It’s not that late, it’s only like...oh,” you murmur, as you look at the clock hanging over the door.

Steve chuckles. “What time did you think it was?”

“Like...maybe almost nine o’clock?”

“Yeah, and then somehow, you find out that it’s five past midnight, huh?” Steve says, nodding sagely. “Yeah, I’ve been there before.”

You smile wryly. “The struggles of being a student artist, huh?”

“You can say that again,” Steve says, shooting you one of those disarming, carefree grins. “But hey—at least you’re not alone anymore, how much longer are you planning to stay?”

“Uh…” you mumble, as you assess your work and quickly estimate how much more time you’ll need before you can pack up. “I need to get the painting done by tonight, ‘cause I need to go over some of the parts with pencil tomorrow, so...maybe another couple hours?”

“Cool,” he says, as he dumps his stuff onto the table to your left. “I’m probably staying that long too.”

“Cool,” you mutter, despite the fact that internally, you are anything but cool. You’re a nervous wreck, praying to the heavens above that you don’t make a fool of yourself in Steve’s presence.

Eh, you’ve already got paint on your face — how much worse can it get?

You covertly watch Steve out of the corner of your eye as he pulls out a set of drawing pencils and a sketchpad from his drawer and gets to work. It’s nice, having him there to keep you company. The two of you make small talk every now and then, but for the most part, you’re both focused on getting your work done as fast as possible.

Sometime after the one-hour mark, Steve brings up his Spotify account and puts some music on in the background, to keep you going for the home stretch. You’re unfamiliar with the artist, but the music is calming and bluesy, enough to occupy the silence, but not too much to make you lose your focus.

You hunker down and finish off the rest of your painting in record time, sitting back triumphantly as you appraise the nearly-completed piece. You need to let it dry before you can add in the last bits of pencil shading, and you still need to mount it into a proper frame, but you’re confident that you can get all of that done by Monday morning.

Steve finishes his work just as you start cleaning off your brushes and palettes in the sink. He comes over and dumps his stuff into the sink beside yours, before turning on his faucet.

“Productive?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the running water.

“Yeah. But I’m really tired now.”

“Yeah, well — it’s almost 2AM, that’s kinda expected,” he says, laughing gently. “You live far from here?”

You shake your head. “Nah, just on the other side of campus.”

“Oh really? I’m near there too, I can walk you home, if you’d like.” he offers.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! I’m just gonna walk through all the campus buildings, I’ll be okay.”

He opens his mouth, about to press his point further, but winds up shrugging his shoulders and dropping the topic instead. You finish cleaning your brushes, then place them and your mixing palettes into the appropriate drying racks. When you turn around, you find Steve’s eyes staring directly at you. He startles and turns around quickly, the slight flush on his cheeks making it obvious that he was just checking you out.

Wait — he was checking you out?

Are you imagining things? Could it be? Holy shit.

Steve is resolutely ignoring you, focusing intently on making his brushes as clean as physically possible. You could either confront him, or live with the agony of not knowing what happens next for the rest of your life.

You decide to bite the bullet.

You clear your throat loudly to get his attention. “Is something wrong?” you ask.

He frowns. “Uh, no? Why would anything be wrong?”

“Well...you were just looking at me funny...did I forget something?”

Steve’s eyes widen in panic. “Oh! Oh, that — no, nothing’s wrong, you just...you got something on your face,” he says, gesturing vaguely with one hand. He clears his throat. “I uh...I can get it for you? If you’d like?”

“Sure,” you reply, rolling one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug.

You watch, strangely nervous, as Steve turns the faucet off, dumps his brushes into a holder to dry and wipes his palms on his jeans before stepping closer. Your breathing hitches in your throat as he gently cups your chin and brushes his thumb over your cheek in a featherlight caress. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the warmth of his breath on your skin.

Quick as a flash, he ducks down and presses his lips to yours — a touch that is gone as suddenly as it came.

His cheeks are flushed a scarlet red when he pulls away.

“Um...sorry, I — yeah,” he mumbles.

You blink rapidly, trying to get your thoughts in order. Did—did that just happen?

“Did you just kiss me?”

His blush deepens, if that were possible. It spreads down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt — a part of you is curious to find out if he’s a full-body blusher.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You chew on your bottom lip as you take in the situation. Steve’s body is still curled towards yours, and the faint, pleasant scent of his cologne fills your nostrils, making it hard to think. He hasn’t taken his hand off your cheek; beneath his palm, your skin tingles with anticipation.

It’s now or never. Carpe diem, and all that crap.

“That was...something,” you murmur, as your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, his gaze flicking from your lips to your eyes, and back again. “It was.”

“I—uh, I think we might need to do that again. So that I can figure out what the ‘something’ was. For science,” you add hastily, as the corner of your lips quirk up into a half-smile.

His lips pull into a grin, one that threatens to outshine the sun and makes your heart do an excited little flutter. It’s a smile filled with hope and promise, and it’s taking everything in you not to lean over and kiss him stupid.  

“The start of something new, maybe?” he suggests.

You bark out a surprised laugh. “Oh, do not start quoting High School Musical at me, or this’ll turn into an impromptu sing-and-dance number real quick, I promise you that.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, even as he leans in closer, curling one hand around your jaw and the other around the back of your neck.

“Anything can happen,” he sings, softly, and horribly off-key, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “When you take a chance.”

“You’re such a dork,” you breathe, as you surge forward and crush your lips together.

—

You’re painting aimlessly, putting paint on canvas merely for the sake of it.

Since his passing, you’ve tried to keep your distance from any and all types of paints; there are just too many memories associated with him. Painting doesn’t have the same allure to you as it once did. Instead, you’ve developed your skills in the world of digital art, favouring Photoshop and cameras and high-tech gadgets over traditional media. Between the two of you, he’d always been the more-skilled painter, anyway. Now, with you being so out-of-practice, a brush has never felt more foreign in your hands.

The colours on your canvas are disjointed and discordant, bold splashes of red juxtaposed by sickly greens and dark expanses of blue. You feel as if you’ve forgotten everything you’ve learnt; how to mix colours, how to dilute the paint to get lighter washes, which colours work well together.

You have no direction in mind, with this piece.

You’re not happy with where things are going, but at least you’re reacquainting yourself with your brushes. You hadn’t realised how much you missed their weight in your fingers, the satisfying give of the bristles as you press them to the canvas. Surprisingly enough, the muscles in your arm and hand still remember how they should move to best lay down the colour. Your fingers are covered in specks of paint and similar flecks of colour now adorn your light-wash jeans.

Despite your best efforts, this piece is becoming increasingly unsalvageable. Layer after layer of colour simply adds to the dissonance in front of you.

A part of you just wants to quit.

You can hear his voice in the back of your head, reassuring and encouraging and comforting in a way that only he could be.

Stop over thinking it, sweetheart. You’re good, you know how to paint. Don’t use your head, just...listen to your heart, paint what you love.

It clicks, then.

He’s been kept alive in your memory for so long, perhaps it is time to share his greatness with the rest of the world.

You stand up, hurrying across the room to get a fresh canvas and a new jar of water. You can see the painting taking form in your mind, with its golden tones, simple brushwork and muted palette. You push your unfinished piece to the side and position your new canvas on the easel, before dragging your stool closer and picking up a clean brush.

You have a portrait to paint.

—

You and Steve are walking down the street hand-in-hand, weaving through the throng of last-minute Christmas shoppers. It is the first holiday season you’re celebrating as a couple, and you’re excited to spend a cosy weekend at home, trading little presents and gentle kisses under the warmth of the covers.

“I fucking hate crowds,” Steve grumbles, “Everyone’s so goddamn rude.”

You laugh, threading your arm around his and pressing your cheek to his bicep, still warm despite the chilly winter air. “Let’s hurry up and get you your hot chocolate, then, before we get crushed to death by all these people.”

He grins, patting your hand affectionately. “You’re filled with great ideas, aren’t you?”

Just then, a store that you’ve never seen before catches your eye. Eager to investigate further, you tug Steve over to the shop window, making him yelp in surprise.

It’s an art supply store — a fancy one, if the decor is anything to go by. The display boasts an impressive array of beautifully-crafted easels, handmade brushes, premium colour pencils and, most notably, a Winsor and Newton 10-colour gouache paint set.

The sleek box is front-and-centre of the display. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the elegant white tubes, with the simple Winsor and Newton logo emblazoned across them. A sheet of paper beside the box holds a swatch of each colour; they look positively dreamy.

“They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?” Steve murmurs appreciatively.

You hum in agreement. “Shame you’d need to drop nearly 90 bucks to get them.”

“I’ll buy them for you,” Steve promises, turning to face you. “I mean—not now, obviously, but one day.”

You smile as you wind your arms around his torso and tip your head back to look up at him. “Yeah? Once your pieces have made it into the Guggenheim and the Tate, you mean?”

“Exactly,” he says, grinning as he bends down to press a kiss to your chilly, slightly-chapped lips.

“I’m fucking freezing,” you mumble, as he pulls away.

In response, he wraps his arms around your shoulders, smushing your face into his torso in an effort to warm you up.

“My little icicle,” he says fondly.

“That...that sounds vaguely sexual,” you say, your voice slightly muffled.

Steve snorts, gently pushing you back so that he can tuck you under his arm. “Get your mind out of the goddamn gutter, please.”

“Fine,” you grumble, giving one last longing look at the set of paint tubes before the two of you resume walking. “Hot chocolate?” you prompt.

“Hot chocolate,” Steve agrees.

—

It is strangely bittersweet, using these paint tubes.

In your mind’s eye, you see his slim, strong fingers wielding a brush expertly, the backs of his hand and knuckles covered in splotches of paint. He was so confident whenever he mixed his colours, knowing instinctively how much he needed from each tube to create the exact shade he was looking for. He had an intuition, a deep-seated knowledge that you’ve always admired.

You personally had never reached quite the same level of skill that he had attained, but you never envied him for it. He had his strengths, he had his weakness and you, likewise.

With this piece, you have a much clearer idea of where you’re going. The painting is taking shape before your very eyes, a creation that is coming straight from your heart. You are literally pouring a part of your soul onto the canvas, exposed and vulnerable, for all the world to see.

As the brush glides across the canvas and deposits streaks of colour in its wake, you feel as if you’re functioning on autopilot. Your brain has taken a backseat and your heart is now running the show, painting what it loves dearly and longs to see. You have no reference besides the memories in your head, the ones that have been your sweetest grief in the most difficult period of your life.

You might not have the same knowledge of colours and composition that he had, but what you lack in skill you make up for through sheer force of will. You don’t allow yourself to question your actions or second-guess your decisions; you know how to mix the exact shade of golden amber for his hair, the precise colour of blue for his eyes, the perfect shade of pink for his lips.

You’re moving on instinct. Your hand and arm and fingers map out the planes and curves of his face, the slope of his shoulders, the breadth of his torso. His image is burnished into your memory, just as his name has etched itself onto your heart.

He may be gone from this world, but you promise yourself that you’ll never let him fade from your memory.

—

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Steve says, as he drops a package wrapped in brown paper into your lap.

“What’s this?” you ask, examining it in your hands as you sit up straighter. Steve bites his lip and shrugs as he comes to sit beside you on the couch.

“Open it,” he says simply. His hands are clasped in his lap and he is twisting his wedding ring around his finger with his right hand — a nervous tick that he’s recently developed.  

“But—Stevie, you’ve already got me a birthday present!” you protest.

“I know, I know...this is like...an early Christmas present. Or a late Christmas present, however you wanna call it.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. “I thought we don’t do Christmas presents?”

“Then, well—this is…oh, for fuck’s sake, just open it, will you?”

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, hastily peeling the tape off.

As the wrapper falls away, your eyes are met with a plain black cardboard box, with Winsor and Newton written across the top in simple white font. From the weight and size of the box, you have a feeling you know what this present might be.

“Steve,” you breathe, as you turn to face your husband. “Is this—”

“Just open it!” he begs, “I’m literally dying from the suspense.”

You laugh, despite yourself, rushing to peel away the protective plastic wrapping that encases the box. Tentatively, you lift up the lid to peek inside, gasping when you set eyes on ten tubes of gouache paint, each one pristine and elegant and so bloody beautiful, just waiting for you to use them.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, putting the lid to one side before running your fingers over the tubes reverently, lips parted in awe. These paints are the stuff of legends; your hands are itching to play around with them.

“Stevie,” you whisper, at a loss for words.

“Do you like them?” he asks, voice heartbreakingly timid.

You nod your head vigorously as you lean towards him, clumsily wrapping an arm around the back of his neck as you crush your lips together, all whilst trying to balance the box on your laps, so that the tubes of paint don’t tumble to the floor. The kiss is clumsy and uncoordinated and you accidentally nip his bottom lip too hard, but that only makes it more perfect.

“I love it,” you whisper fervently, as tears of joy prick at the corner of your eyes. “I love them so much, thank you, honey, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says breathlessly, strong arms snaking around your body to tug you closer. “God, honey, I love you so much. “

As amazing and unexpected as the paints are, what’s more significant — what’s making tears stream from your eyes — is that, after all these years, Steve still remembers how much you’ve been wanting them.

These paint tubes — yeah, okay, they’re paint tubes, but they’re also more than that. Your heart is on the verge of bursting from all the meaning and significance behind this gift. Painting — and art more broadly — has been a cornerstone of your relationship from the outset, weaving its way into every single significant occasion that you’ve shared, and all the little moments in between. These paint tubes symbolise how far you’ve come as a couple and hopefully, how far you have yet to go.

—

Who would’ve thought that just two days later, he’d be caught in a freak car accident that would ultimately steal him from your grasp? Who would’ve thought that you’d be left a widow, before you’ve even hit your fifties? Who would’ve thought that you’d turn into a shell of the person you used to be, passing through day after bleak, monotonous day without a purpose to guide you?

Life is achingly brief. The things that we take for granted can be taken away in the blink of an eye, leaving us bereft and lost.

Nothing lasts forever; that is the cruel, unfair truth.

You’re allowed to curse and sob and scream with anger, frustration and sadness, but you can’t change the rulings of fate. What’s done is done, and you can either let the subsequent current of sorrow drown you, or rise above it, stronger than who you were before.

For the past two years, you’ve been drowning under the weight of your heartbreak, which has been a crushing burden on your shoulders. It’s been a struggle, just to survive.

But maybe—

Maybe it’s time you tried kicking a little harder, tried to break the surface of these dark and murky waters, to see if you truly are strong enough to rise above.

It’s what he would’ve wanted from you.

You put the final few finishing touches on your painting before setting down your brush and standing up, groaning as you stretch your arms over your head. Your bones crack and pop as you move your body around, your muscles stiff from being in the same position for so long. Outside, the last rays of the dying sun paint the sky in vivid shades of red, pink and orange. You grimace — the fact that the sun is setting tells you that you’ve been working on this painting for at least three hours.

The loud rumble in your stomach serves to reinforce your conclusion.

You take a step back to study your finished piece: a painting of him, from the torso up.

Despite the fact that you’re a little rusty, the resemblance of the portrait to his likeness is striking. It is a painting of him as he has been immortalised in your mind, an image of him as you’d loved him best.

You’ve painted him with his head angled slightly to the right, frozen in mid-turn. His rosy pink lips are parted, the corners pulling up in the beginnings of one of his pure, tender smiles. His bright blue eyes are glinting with mischief, the corners crinkling with joy.

You’re proud to have been able to capture the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw, the dusting of freckles across his nose, the ever-present flush of pink that sits high on his cheeks. His blonde hair is slightly tousled and falling over his forehead, the way it used to look like in the early mornings, when his skin was still sleep-warmed and his voice was low and throaty.

You’ve painted him in one of those plain white t-shirts that he used to love, the material hugging his broad shoulders and ridiculously perky chest.

To emphasise the golden shine of his hair, you’ve kept the background dark and simple, abstract strokes of brown slapped onto the canvas with a dry brush. It had been one of his favourite techniques to use to achieve texture whenever he was making expanses of flat colours, and you’re pleased to have incorporated it into your work; it makes it more Steve, somehow.

As a final touch, you’ve used some amber and white paint to make a thin ring behind his head, feathering the paint slightly with a small offset spatula. The end result is that you’ve created a pale, ghostly halo.

Angel boy, you think absentmindedly.

You gaze upon the fruits of your labour with wistful nostalgia hanging heavy in your heart. Though it saddens you to have been made acutely aware of his absence in your life, the process has been strangely therapeutic. You haven’t cleaned out the room as you’d promised Wanda, but maybe, you’ve done something better with your time, and found closure in your own roundabout way.

You still miss him terribly and you’ll probably continue to miss him, for the rest of your days, but—

To miss someone is to have loved someone and that, surely, is better than to not have loved at all. Nothing lasts forever, except, perhaps, your love for him.

[blouisparadise]

As promised, here the continuing rec list of fics where Louis is called pet names. Part one can be found here, and when it’s out, part three will also be linked here. Happy reading!

1) Tie You Up and Make Me Scream | Explicit | 2166 words

AU where Harry teases Louis and it becomes a game until they cant handle it anymore and escape to have tent sex while the rest of the boys are in the other tents.

2) Feel The Need | Explicit | 4898 words

Louis and Harry attend Liam's Halloween party. Risky Business ensues.

3) Just Stop Your Crying (It’s A Sign Of The Times) | Explicit | 5864 words

My own imagining of the inspiration for Sign of the Times.  Featuring boys in love, even after all this time.

4) We’ll Stumble Through Heaven | Explicit | 6504 words

Louis likes to be a good boy for his alpha.

5) Raised on Rhythm and Blues | Explicit | 8034 words

“That look on your face makes me think you’re not cooking me spaghetti fast enough,” Louis announces as he walks back into the kitchen. Harry knows exactly where Zoe gets her habits from.

“Cooking for my two beautiful and insanely intelligent children, not for the weird bloke that sleeps in my bed and eats all my food,” Harry answers, tilting his head and wondering if he should add more sauce.

6) Forever, Uninterrupted | Explicit | 8578 words

Harry finds a mysterious picture in Louis' bag one night and drives himself crazy over it. It's definitely not what he thinks.

7) Spice Up Your Life | Explicit | 9501 words

After a conversation with his Uni friends, Harry worries that his relationship with Louis has lost it's spark.

8) Infinitely All For Me | Explicit | 10630 words

The Alpha Louis' been betrothed to since he was 14 has finally come of age and Louis' been delivered to his home.

9) Keep Holding Me This Way | Explicit | 13747 words

An English grad student, a frat jock, and an unimpressed rich boy walk into a bar. No one walks out.

10) Let’s Take the World By Storm | Explicit | 14656 words

Harry lifts his head off Louis' chest to look at Louis' face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

“I don’t know, but our sex life feels a bit boring, ‘sall,” Louis says, completely avoiding eye contact.

“Boring.” Harry says flatly. He doesn’t say anything more, and Louis looks up to see that Harry seems to be mulling it over.

“Yeah, boring," Louis says, and keeps talking before Harry can pipe up. “I mean, think about it. We’ve been dating since X Factor, and now things are starting to drag a bit. We don’t even have the time for handjobs anymore, much less actual sex.”

11) The Seed Inside You, Baby, Do You Feel It Growin’ | Explicit | 14793 words

Louis really wants Harry to get him pregnant.

12) Oops, Baby, I Love You (In That Order) | Explicit | 25344 words

The minute Louis Tomlinson decides he don’t need no man to start a family, Harry Styles literally falls into his arms.

13) Another Day Gettin’ Into Trouble | Explicit | 25619 words

Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them.

In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up?

Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that.

Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.

14) Force of Nature | Mature | 25672 words

Louis is a shy, young musician who doesn't want to go to Harvard.

Harry is a confident,  second year athlete who likes to have a good time.

When their paths cross while their families are vacationing at the same lake resort, what begins as a summer of fun becomes a defining journey that might just change everything.

15) Up To No Good | Explicit | 26525 words | Sequel 1 | Sequel 2

Harry doesn’t think of himself as a womanizer, not at all. Sure, he enjoys sex, enjoys how women feel underneath him, and by some people’s standards he has sex with quite a lot of people, but that’s no reason to tell him that he can’t have a female PA anymore.

It’s especially no excuse for giving him a male PA who’s possibly the most gorgeous boy in the world who won’t even let Harry look at him for too long.

Sometimes Harry hates his life.

16) Always Come Back To You | Explicit | 28862 words

“I’ll do it,” Harry offers brightly. No one even blinks. “I’ll do it?”

Louis sighs irritably. “Shut up,” he orders, tossing a pillow in the general direction of Harry’s face. This is a terrible time for jokes, especially Harry’s lame, old people ones.

Not that it was an old people joke. Just that most of the time Harry’s jokes consist of knock-knocks or terrible puns. The type of jokes old people like, Louis’ pretty sure. His nan always finds them hilarious when Harry tells her one.

Harry bats the pillow out of the air without even blinking. “Be reasonable, Lou,” he says in his most reasonable voice.

Louis is perfectly reasonable, thank you very much, and he’s also frustrated and upset and tired and he really wants to punch something. Maybe he should have held on to that pillow a little longer.

“You’re not gonna fucking do it,” he snaps. “That’s the last thing I need.”

17) Blind From This Sweet, Sweet Craving | Explicit | 31170 words

"So, I guess we'll go?" Louis asks later, when Harry has calmed down and eaten his weight in Chinese food. He plays with this chopsticks, spearing another piece of chicken and pops it in his mouth. "I mean, I wouldn't mind. We could make it an adventure."

Harry observes him, watches him seated across from him on their old living room carpet, with a container of food on his lap. He's fidgeting, avoiding meeting Harry's gaze–he probably knows that Harry's mad at him for ruining the one chance they had to get out of this situation. And he's not wrong, Harry is definitely very mad. Harry wants to strangle him and castrate him and smack him upside the head.

But he's also Harry's best friend, and despite everything, despite all the fuck-ups and the plot twists and everything just not playing out the way it should, he'd still rather be stuck in this situation with Louis than any of the other boys. He's got Harry's back, and in a weird, abstract way, he knows they'll be able to get out of this situation, together.

Harry sighs. "We're going," he says resignedly, his shoulders slumping.

Oh well. There are definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than pretending to be engaged to his best friend.

18) Cupid’s Chokehold | Explicit | 35326 words

Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn't work out as planned.

19) Mark My Word (We Gon’ Be Alright) | Explicit | 35524 words

"He’s always known that there would come a time when Harry would bond with some beautiful, quiet omega, and they would have lots of curly-haired pups and live happily ever after.

Knowing it and living it are two very different things, though. Watching the object of your affection desperately search for a mate and completely disregard you as an option is all sorts of painful, but it is what it is, and Louis is just going to have to learn to live with that."

20) Who Would’ve Thought | Explicit | 44275 words | Companion Fic

The idea doesn’t come to Louis until they’ve been at the bungalow for a couple of days. Harry has no idea that he’s going to pop a knot. He’s been living his life with the expectation that he’s going to be a beta, and Louis isn’t going to tell him otherwise.

Louis is an omega, though, and most omegas want to be filled up with a knot,  fucked the way their bodies are made to be fucked, and Louis is no different. In ten years he wants to have an alpha waiting for him at home who will hold him down and fuck him exactly the way Louis wants to be fucked without worrying that they’re going to expect him to stay at home, open a joint bank account, raise a litter of babies, cook and clean and, most importantly, be submissive. For that to happen Louis needs an entirely different kind of alpha.

And so the plan is born.

21) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

22) Nobody Does It Like You | Not Rated | 58820 words

Louis isn't looking for a home, but he finds one in Harry.

23) Tug-Of-War | Explicit | 63000 words

Louis' husband dies suddenly and he is left with nothing. Well, not really nothing. He has Harry. And a St. Bernard puppy named Link, whom his late husband left behind for him. Louis takes care of Link and Harry takes care of Louis. Everything is okay until suddenly, it isn't.

24) Why Can’t It Be Like That | Explicit | 63567 words

A fashion AU with a royal twist, where Louis doesn't need a stylist, Harry's thrilled to have a real life Barbie doll, and they're both very wrong about each other.

25) Perfect Storm | Explicit | 80230 words

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

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

[01010010-posts]

— I watched your ego within this grip.

RK900 × Reader. chapter two. word count: 1860. warnings: an AU.  about the cats&dogs AU

chapter one. chapter three.

a wolf? a wolf….?

this actually– made sense. all that peevishness, that haughtiness, no dog is so bad-tempered without a reason. and during the investigation? you had sensed he was testing you but you didn’t properly think about it. he wanted to see you stumble. to be weak. to make a mistake. he waited for the right moment to strike. and that moment was now.

part of you wanted to arch your back, maybe scratch him with your sharp nails, probably hissing at him, perhaps throwing the cold coffee in his face. but that was the suicidal part of you. the rational one knew better. knew that if you did anything, so much as a sudden minuscule movement, it would have been too excessive and he’d lash out at your throat. which, honestly, was not the best outcome.

you didn’t endure all of this shit just to be eaten by a cranky wolf.

so you did what was instinctive: lowered your ears – positioning your tail between your legs – and faced, once more, the ground. your neck was too exposed and you didn’t like this in the slightest but then again you couldn’t do something about it now. you had to play it cool. to fake being a scared and submissive dog. you didn’t have to fake fear, only the dog bit.

“I said: is it clear?” a low growl and the grasp on your shoulder tightened, making your blood run cold, fuck, was he really serious about this? he wanted an answer? it’s not like you could have replied ‘no’ without consequences. what a bitch, really “Yes.” it took every energy you had left for the day to say such a stupid word. you didn’t have any direct experiences with other wolves but you hated this one already “Good.” good? what the fuck was good about this whole situation? he almost sliced you in half and all he can come up with is ‘good’? the hell “I expect a great partnership from you, detective.” was he smiling? oh yeah, it must have been deliciously delighting seeing you tremble in panic.

he slowly let go of you though, returning to his upright position, his black tail and ears more horizontal – if it was even possible. you were sure by now that a bruise would form where he touched. and you hated that too. to be marked with such arrogance. you’d make him pay. you didn’t know how or when yet but you promised yourself. cats don’t forget. cats don’t forgive. especially you. because if with this stunt he thought you would go and cry into Fowler’s office he’s far from right. he hates having a partner? that’s perfect! you have now a new thing in common since, guess what? so do you. but you don’t bitch about it every single damn second. did he grow up or he’s still a cub? “I advise you to finish your initial report, detective. It’s the least you can do as you didn’t help much earlier.” oh now we’re making jokes? wonderful. he wasn’t that useful either. you’re starting to think that dogs aren’t so bad after all.

you give him a dirty look and you notice his disgust. it’s a small victory but it’s a start. fuck him and his attitude. you think that and turn away. leaving your back exposed to a wild animal is not very clever, you know, but he has to understand that he’s not alone here. he’s not the sole predator among those filthy dogs.

you check yourself continuously into the mirror. yes. there is definitely a bruise. you hate that. you hate him. and above all you hate how even in the comfort of your home you’re again thinking about him. about the fright that you felt. about how he could have lethally wounded you in an instant. about how powerful must he feels every day. not having to account for his actions, who would question a wolf like him? his line of work? his methods? nobody. he was free. he could do whatever he wanted to. yeah, maybe you were envious. you thought while removing your make-up, your whiskers hidden beneath the heavy foundation, the contacts already in their lens case. yeah, you were certainly envious. if you were him you wouldn’t have to wear such a gross dog-smelling perfume all day. even if now your scent resembled more that of a wolf than a dog. you had to admit, though, that his smell was not…. as bad as you imagined. you couldn’t quite put your fingers on what was exactly as it was only second-handed but it surely had some ‘wood’ and ‘pine’ in it. ‘wood’? in a city like Detroit?

nonetheless you just had to take a shower to wash it all away.

the next morning you didn’t want to wake up. more than didn’t– you couldn’t. cats usually sleep the day away. they don’t get up at six a.m. and go to work. they don’t get up at all. especially when they have such a shitty dog– no, wolf, breathing down their neck. quite literally at some point. despite that you didn’t want to be canned food so soon. and you didn’t want to be fired either. so you got up. put the cap on, tiny red flowers patterned shirt, trousers and all. disguised completely to live another day where you did belong but where you weren’t.

you needn’t worry, however, as there was someone who hated this as much as you did “Good morning, detective. You’re on time today.” ‘I was on time yesterday too, bitch’ but you didn’t say that, instead you looked at the two persons on his right: an old lieutenant sitting at his desk and a– a twin? did androids have twins? you never heard of robots made in pairs. was he the same model? no, there were some slight differences. for instance, the other one, hadn’t dark ears and tail. most likely he wasn’t a wolf. well, your partner did say he was the only one. which you didn’t know if it was good news or not “Good morning.” you said placing your bag on your desk. new shift means new people, you guessed “Results from the laboratory came back. The same gun was used on both bodies. The woman was murdered, presumably from the husband, who committed suicide shortly thereafter.” he spoke getting closer to you, placing the files on the blue table. thank you wolf-bot, exactly what you wanted at eight in the morning “Exciting.” you commented and his tail swatted. his LED red for a circle. oh come on, give me a break “I meant, you were right, what a good boy!” he rolled his eyes and let out a soft sigh, was he really an android? you doubt it with each passing minute “Much better, detective, but you have a long way to go.” he murmured for you to hear and pressed just his fingers on the paper, showing you his nails. you were not impressed, yours were sharper and cared for. did he need a manicure? you could have that arranged “Thank you.” what was you decided to go for. he didn’t seem the type to make a scene in front of others but you never know. you teased enough for so brief time and trying your luck so early in the morning was not the best tactic “Since the murder weapon is still missing I thought the best approach for this case was to inquire about the couple dynamic from their relatives. Unfortunately only the woman’s brother is available.” was he going to tell this poor man that he lost a sister with this tone? “I say we better go question him, then.” he agreed, apparently.

the car ride was the same as yesterday’s one. silent.

the major change was your behaviour, while at first you couldn’t care less about his appearance you now found yourself staring at him. in fact you weren’t fascinated by his aspect but rather– by his persona. he was definitely weird, there was no denying that. and yes, you could vaguely understand the whole ‘territorial’ and ‘threatening’, the ‘you’re new and I’m wary’, the ‘I don’t want a partner’ thing but at the same time…. he was definitely weird, yep. plus he was lone! you did your homework the night before, sleeping wasn’t much of a choice so why not? you researched that wolves are usually social animals, sometimes more than dogs, they have a pack, they learn from the pack, they live with the pack. they also leave the pack but tend to form one on their own. he didn’t. and he was prideful about it? “I’d prefer if you stopped looking at me, detective.” what the fuck. you promptly retreated your gaze and moved to face the window. was he smirking? yeah you bet he was surely smirking, that fucker.

yes, the car ride was silent.

the house was also silent. apart from the loud knocks he was giving to the yellow door.

no response.

“Maybe he’s not home?” you suggested, inspecting the surroundings with your eyes “His car is parked.” now he tried the bell “How do you know it’s his car?” you were positive that if this man didn’t open within five seconds he would have forced his way in with his shoulder. you were partly to blame “I verified.” your peering at the windows resulted fruitless “In my opinion he’s not home.” you turned to see his annoyed face, not the last and not the first of the morning “I don’t need your opinion, detective, I need facts.” gosh either he kills you or you kill him but please let this be quick “Then fact is that he’s not here, I tell you.” his LED ochre, pondering? “The back door.” “The back door.” you both said that at the same time and you both were displeased by the event. were you two on the same wavelength? impossible “Well, after you, partner.” you mocked but he was already past you, reaching the rear of the house. you followed with tiny steps “It’s locked.” you got to his side again, mhh, it doesn’t seem a very strong lock, perhaps you could “Can I try?” he backed up a few strides and watched your crouched figure, what the hell were you doing? “See? Not locked. At all.” with a gentle push you opened the white door “You picked the lock. It’s illegal.” you smiled at him, for the first time “Not if you don’t report it.” sadly your wink and your plea were immediately suppressed by a loud low growl. you instinctively bowed your head but soon noticed that you weren’t the source of his distress. he was too absorbed to think about you. angrily absorbed. his fur and his ears were lifted in a quiet warning. his face was frozen but you could tell he was cautiously sniffing at the air. his LED crimson. there was something in the house. something that made him unsettled.