#i finally drew something in ms paint after.... a while.

[caramelmochacrow]

"Beating so fast, seems like it'll burst..."

[r3dmooon]

Behind Your Screen — Wally Darling x gn! human! reader

summery: Strange things keep popping up on your computer. Soon you find out it's all because of a strange entity!

tw: some creepy things are alluded to, but it's all vague.

a/n: I had so much fun writing this. Wally is kicking his feet while drawing for you. He is not yandere!!!!

wc: 0.8k

Master List

❥Wally was bored, watching people come and go. They’d check out the website, sometimes look at his little doodles, then leave. It honestly made him sad. Did no one want to be his friend? The messages in the guestbook said otherwise but they didn’t come back. 

❥Then you came around. At first, you seemed like the rest. After looking around the website you closed the tab. But then you came back. He didn’t get his hopes up, as others have come back for a second glance too. But this time he couldn’t help but admire you. You were so focused, scrolling and looking through the details of the website.

❥You came back more often, he wasn’t sure why. Who was he to ask questions? He finally got the friend he’s been longing for. It was so lonely where he was after all…

❥He found out that he could leave you little drawings, and it became his favorite pastime! He couldn’t feel more delighted drawing you with him and his friends all hanging out. Oh if only those dreams could be a reality…he didn’t want to think about what happened to his friends. No, not when you’re there to make everything better!

❥When you got the first drawing, you were confused. You didn’t really use ms paint…and you didn’t remember drawing this anyways. Yes, you’ve become enraptured in this rediscovered puppet show called Welcome Home. And yes…you did check out the website, just to see if anything changed…and you may have created fan content for the show…

❥All in all, you decided to pass it off as something you made without remembering. It was a cute drawing. It was you with the cast members on a picnic. You couldn’t help but keep it in a special folder on your desktop. 

❥But then another one popped up the next day. The picture was of you and Wally smiling, text over it read ‘You're the absolute most friend’. 

❥Your heart dropped. That catchphrase was quite familiar. In fact…that was on one of the valentine’s day artworks for Wally. You quickly booted up the website, just to double check. As you found it, you took a deep breath. Maybe you tiredly drew this one too? I mean…what else could it be? But something in your gut told you that it was someone else. A hacker? Stalker? 

❥No, no you're just overthinking this. Little did you know, Wally was watching your reaction with the happiest grin he’s had in such a long time. He hopes his little drawings make you as happy as you make him. 

❥This kept happening, but you refused to bring up your concerns since nothing else had happened. Only those strange…I suppose endearing drawings. If anything, it made you even more interested in the wacky children's show. You read more thoroughly through the characters descriptions, and found the concerning hidden messages in parts of the website. 

❥All the drawing had one common theme. Wally was always by your side. Didn’t matter what scenario, or who else you were ‘hanging out’ with, he was always there. If the drawings alone didn’t creep you out, the fact that Wally in all the drawings was staring at you, and not drawing you felt unsettling. 

❥It all changed when one day your notes app was opened along with another drawing. The picture was of you and Wally hugging, the notes app saying: ‘Do you like hugs, friend?’ 

❥You slammed your computer shut, fear running through your veins. What the hell was that? 

❥Wally’s little felt heart hurt as your face left his view suddenly. Did he come off too strong? He was just excited to get to interact with you in another medium. He got so happy that he couldn’t help but write the first thought that came to mind.

❥Your presence has become a comfort to him. With everything that has happened and is happening…it was nice to look forward to his meetings with you. You seemed like such a nice person. He wished he could be with you…but the thumping that surrounded him reminded him that that would always just be a fantasy. 

❥The next time you opened your computer, you felt a little guilty. The notes app was still open, this time it said ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you friend.’ You still felt anxious, but the guilt overpowered that. It wouldn’t hurt to interact…would it? Maybe it’s some weird AI chatbot that…you didn’t know. Just hoped it wasn’t a hacker messing with you.

❥Not sure how you were supposed to interact, you decided to reply back in the notes app. ‘Who are you?’

❥That’s when you learned that Wally was somehow in your computer? Able to access your computer? You weren’t completely sure, he was vague when answering where he was. You felt like you were going a bit crazy…I mean c’mon, the logic made no sense. But a feeling deep in your gut told you this was all real. You weren’t being fooled, you weren’t being hacked, the main character of an old 70’s children show was talking to you.

❥Over time, you two became closer. In fact, you started to find Wally quite charming and cute. He would continue drawing you cute pictures and you would keep him company. 

❥If only you two could live in a fairytale, happily ever after…

[rubykgrant]

Another re-draw with Grif and Simmons... but this one ticked me OFF while making it; it was so difficult re-doing the lines for a full-body picture, AND I kept drawing one the wrong layer, so I had to do it again and again (it's cool that MS Paint has layers now, but that also means the wrong-layer problem happens). I mostly wanted to do this again because I can see what I WANTED for the shapes in the original, but it isn't quite there... so I fixed things a bit, and added more colors/shading, plus some lazy "scenery". I also finally adjusted their outfits to the fancy designs I came up with. This is from my story in which Grif and Simmons finally go out on their first date... after technically being boyfriends for months (because they're stupid like that). They have a brief chance to enjoy themselves without some bonkers problem happening, so they go full sappy-romance (a nice meal together, a movie, dancing in a park while a live band plays music, and finally a walk on the beach at sunset. They deserve to be happy for once~)

Chapter for this scene below!

“So, where are we going?” Simmons asked, unsure of what to expect.

“It’s right over there…” Grif nodded in the direction he wanted them to go.

This was an interesting park; it had different areas, some flat and open grass for people who wanted to start a game where they kicked a ball around, some filled with flower beds surrounding fountains and benches, some almost like taking a walk in the woods under towering pine and oak trees.

Grif’s destination was down a little brick walkway, where there was a courtyard that overlooked a ledge, with hanging plants growing up metal garden arbors.

Simmons came right along, letting Grif lead the way. As they passed under the arch of leaves and flowers, Grif glanced at his boyfriend’s face, and was satisfied to see an expression of bright interest (he was hoping for this reaction, because this area of the park was like stepping into a scene from a fairytale… it was easier to let yourself get all sentimental and romantic when the person you were with appreciated it).

Together, they walked to the stone railing, and looked down. Far below them was a field with several small gazebos, and one large amphitheater. It was there that drew Simmons’ attention, because a group of musicians and performers had gathered. Grif’s attention was still on him… the way he looked in the soft evening light, the way the gentle breeze was sweeping his hair across his forehead, the way he was smiling like an excited kid. All kinds of fond feelings twisted in Grif’s chest… he was starting to enjoy having butterflies so often.

“How did you find this place?” Simmons asked.

“Well, while you were off having your family crisis, and I was dealing with being super extra depressed, um… Sarge actually started forcing me to go on walks with him in the morning,” now that WAS a little embarrassing, but Grif’s done trying to put up a front anymore. “And don’t start apologizing again, I’m not telling you this to guilt-trip you. Anyway, he was making me walk around outside with him, something about how I’d get bed-sores and start growing fungus if I just stayed in bed forever, and one time we found this little corner of the park. I started coming back here on my own in the evenings, because it’s kind of a cool spot. Back then I thought about how, like… if I got to hang out with you again, I’d want to show it to you… so yeah. Here we are,”

Simmons listened intently as Grif talked, and held back his urge to say how sorry he was… he still hated himself a little for the way things happened. This moment wasn’t about all that, though; this was about Grif wanting to share something with Simmons, and he was NOT going to ruin it with left-over shame. Instead, he gave Grif’s hand a gentle squeeze with his own organic one. All that stressful crap was over. He wasn’t going to let his family hurt him again. He wasn’t going to leave Grif like that again, either. They were finally together, they were on their first real date, and Grif was being so sweet…

All those feelings about regret fell away, and Simmons leaned against the railing, a helpless dreamy expression on his face as he smiled at Grif. He couldn’t do anything to stop it, so he didn’t even try. Grif smiled back, and seemed to understand that they were BOTH absolutely stupid for each other… they always had been, but now they could do something about it. Simmons tilted his head forward, and Grif met him halfway for a soft kiss.

“Thanks for bringing me here. This was a really great day, Grif…” Simmons said when they leaned apart.

“Oh, we’re not done just yet,” Grif told Simmons as he blinked his eyes open. “Wait a sec…”

It had finally gotten dark enough, here in the shadows of nearby tall buildings, for the lights to flicker on; several lamp posts began to glow around them, and down at the amphitheater, music started to play. It was an unknown tune, but something grand and soothing, slow without being like a lullaby.

“This is why I wanted to bring you here for a first date,” Grif elaborated, slowing stepping backwards from the railing and into the middle of the courtyard, bringing Simmons with him. “You never got to have an awkward date at a lame school dance. So, that’s what’s happening dude. We’re dancing!”

“Haha, oh my GOD! You- you really planned this?” Simmons stumbled as Grif yanked him closer, laughing the whole time.

“That’s right! I told you, I wanna be all your first-date-experiences, and that includes doing the slow-dance-shuffle,” Grif grinned.

“What, exactly, is the slow-dance-shuffle?”

“It’s the thing little middle-schoolers do when they don’t know how to dance yet, they just kinda hug and shuffle their feet, so they rock in a circle. Don’t worry, it’s easy…” Grif wrapped his arms around Simmons as the music swelled, growing louder. “And unlike middle-schoolers, we don’t have to worry about teachers and chaperones telling us to leave room for Jesus while we dance!”

Simmons almost fell down from laughing, leaning all his weight into Grif. A moment passed with them both giggling before they finally managed to compose themselves.

Now, Grif settled his hands on Simmons’ waist, warm and comforting. Simmons loved it whenever he felt Grif touch him… on his back, his arms, his chest… the times Grif affectionately holds his face… Simmons can’t believe he spent so many years NOT feeling Grif’s hands all over him. He can’t get enough.

Simmons slipped his own hands up to rest on Grif’s shoulders, and Grif pressed their bodies together. This wasn’t going to be a fancy waltz or anything complicated… just the slow-dance-shuffle. Unlike most REAL first-date dances, this was intimate and comfortable, close and cozy. It also wasn’t taking place in a school gym decorated with balloons and streamers; they were in their own little corner right here, flowers draped above them, pleasant lights illuminating the area, and beautiful music playing… it was utterly ROMANTIC, and Grif was very proud of himself for pulling it all together.

“You know, one of the schools I went to, they made us do dancing for PE,” Simmons said as they shuffled.

“Ha, so did mine. It was square-dancing for some reason,” Grif replied.

“Me too, but they also made us do ballroom dancing. Which looks stupid as hell in gym clothes,” Simmons grimaced at the memory.

“Oh shit, like actual proper ballroom dancing?” Grif winced as well. That sounded emotionally painful.

“Yep. It was so ridiculous, because we’d do it after running laps, so the kids were all sweaty, and nobody wanted to touch each other. Not exactly fun,”

“What about this? Right now?” Grif asked with a smile.

“Yeah… this is fun,” Simmons agreed.

“Good. I wanted today to be fun, but y’know, special too. That’s why I said we should dress-up a little nice, and why I wanted to do all the things we like together. We don’t get a lot of chances for special things to happen to us, so I decided I was going to MAKE this happen. We deserve to have a goddamn LOVELY TIME at least once in our lives, right?” Grif gave Simmons an extra little squeeze around his waist.

“I’m so lucky to have you with me…” Simmons sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against Grif’s.

“Excuse you, I’m the lucky one,” Grif responded, nuzzling his face closer.

“Nuh-uh, I’M the lucky one!” Simmons argued.

“No, Me!”

“No, Me!”

They attempted to drown each other out by both shouting “ME ME ME ME ME!” before dissolving into laughter once again, which then slowly faded as they kissed. They hummed and continued to sway, moving slowly in a circle… dancing. Simmons was dancing with his boyfriend. They were boyfriends, and they were dancing. What an extraordinary thing. People did things like this every day, but that didn’t lessen the feeling that it was special. Perhaps it even confirmed it.

Eventually, they heard the music end and the crowd below applaud. They stopped dancing then, just hugging and holding each other for a while. A gust of wind made the flowers and leaves rustle pleasantly around them, and brought the sweet floral scent from other areas of the park in the air; some mixture of lilacs, honeysuckle, daffodils, roses, iris, pink ladies, wisteria, and more. This was, undeniably, a lovely time.

Without speaking out loud, the two seemed to decide to walk back to the car. Because of the tall trees and surrounding buildings from the city, the park was now a patchwork of dark shadows and warm light; the setting sun was still burning brightly in the sky, and wherever it's glow touched, the world turned to gold and deep shades of red. Where the light was blocked, everything became cooler colors, a combination of blues/greens/purples. As both men walked, in and out of the sun and shadows, it was almost like stepping through different seasons at different times of day (summer in the late afternoon, winter just before dawn).

[tcvsfiredemon]

Narumayo Week Day 2: Investigations/Caretaking

When Phoenix sneezed it sounded like his entire life force was escaping his body. Maya had learned over the past couple days to get out of his way when he drew in a long, ragged breath, because what came next was a gale force wind of hot air and snot that would inevitably end up in her hair. Luckily he’d graciously waited until they were off the bike to really let loose. A sneeze like that, Maya could understand why medieval people thought demons were responsible.

“Nick, are you sure you wanna do this investigation today? You should probably be sleeping the cold away.”

“It’s fine, Maya. I’ve worked sicker than this before.”

“Have you?”

In the three years she’d spent as Phoenix’s assistant she’d never seen him with so much as a sore throat. Sure he was a major klutz and had been nearly hit by cars on four separate occasions, but for all intents and purposes Phoenix’s body was a temple. The universe must have finally decided to exact its karmic revenge by unleashing the cold to end all colds just days before their latest case.

Really, Maya had hoped this would be a breather for Phoenix, a nice simple robbery case after the whole Xin Eohp saga and all that crazy stuff in England before that. Then Phoenix woke up yesterday with a fever of 102, a splitting headache, and enough congestion to choke an elephant. He had insisted even then that he could work that day, but she’d forced him to stay in bed while she ran around town getting interviews and taking notes, desperately hoping she wasn’t botching the whole thing.

He was feeling better today, but not by much, and while she couldn’t argue that he wasn’t usually better at scoping out the crime scene than she was, the way he was hobbling around with a zombie and making a visible effort to avoid sneezing wasn’t making her very optimistic.

“Just don’t push yourself as hard as usual, okay?”

“I don’t push myself that hard.”

“Nick, have you actually met yourself before?”

They were standing at the door to the upscale apartment of Cynthia Aster, self-help author and (at least until recently) owner of the rare Aster Ruby. She and the defendant, Patrick Xi, were in some weird secret society together, and Aster had let it slip to him that she kept the ruby sealed in a can of diced tomatoes in her pantry. Within days the pantry had been ransacked, the ruby had been stolen, and several perfectly good cans of tomatoes had gone to waste.

As Maya and Phoenix crossed the threshold into the apartment, the first thing she deduced was that this woman was pretty loaded. The place was spacious, all laid out in a weird modern architectural style with no walls and every room at a different height. The stairs that separated them had no railings, which struck Maya as a pretty serious design flaw, but then she wasn’t an architect or anything. There was also a distinct theme to the decor.

All around the place were paintings, photos, statues of hands. Left hands specifically. Words of inspiration were scattered all over the wall, all specifically about being left handed. Maya wasn’t sure what was on the bookshelves, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Ms. Aster carefully vetted them to make sure the authors wrote the manuscripts with their left hand.

“Talk about making one trait your whole personality, huh?”

“Remember, Ms. Aster and Mr. Xi met in a club for left-handed people. You don’t join a club like that unless you’re really committed.”

“Maybe you should join a club for people with spiky hair, Nick. You’re definitely committed to that look.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Maya frowned a bit. Usually Phoenix would have snapped back with some comment about her joining a topknot club or something (which would have obviously been inaccurate, because she had a super cute hair bun, not a topknot). He was clearly off his game.

“So, where to first? We can see it all from right here.”

Phoenix seemed to snap out of a daze. Again, not a great sign. He was often the inattentive type, but never during an investigation.

“I guess we should start with the pantry, where the crime took place.”

“Great, let’s go!”

The pantry, much to Maya’s delight, was an actual room, with walls and a door and everything. It was filled wall to wall with cans of everything that could possibly be canned. Soup, beans, fruit, vegetables, pie fillings, even a few stray cans of bread(ew). You could totally build a fort out of all this. In the corner 

“Wow, this is a room a doomsday prepper would have.”

Phoenix rubbed his temples with his fingers. “Yeah, I think a lot of these cans might have been decoys to keep people from finding the one with the ruby in it.”

“Such a weird plan to hide a gem in a tomato can, huh? Seems pretty out of left field to me!”

She turned to give him a silly look, but he didn’t react at all. She would’ve expected at least a groan in response to such an egregious pun.

“Yeah, I guess…I guess…”

Phoenix took in a big gasp of air and Maya ducked for cover as another massive sneeze erupted out of her friend’s mouth. She looked at him, still dazed, and put her hands on her hips.

“All right, that’s it. We’re taking a break.”

“Huh?”

“I’m gonna make you some soup.”

“Soup? What?”

She was already hard at work digging through the wall of cans to find something good. Some of the soups had sell-by dates of over five years ago, so Phoenix’s assumption that they might be decoys was probably correct. Eventually, she found something that looked good.

“Here! Cream of mushroom!”

“Maya! You can’t just make soup at a crime scene!”

“Who’s gonna stop us? We know the chief of police.”

“Okay, but–”

She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up to the kitchen. No way in hell was she going to let Phoenix make himself sicker over some lame jewel thief. She sat him down at the kitchen table and ran over to search for a pot and a can opener.

“Just sit there and rest for a bit, Nick. I’m gonna help you feel better.”

“Maya, everything in this apartment is evidence. We’re tampering with evidence”

“And I’m about to serve you up some fresh, hot, savory evidence in just a second!”

Luckily there was a can opener right on the counter, which she put to quick work. She found a saucepan pretty quickly as well, and after futzing around with the high-tech stove for a bit, she had a good pot of soup on the boil. Over at the kitchen table, Phoenix was sneezing up a storm.

“That’s good, Nick, let it all out.”

“You sound like my mom,” Phoenix groaned

“No talking back, young man,” Maya chirped back, tapping the wooden spoon against her hand in a mock-stern way, “close your eyes and the soup will come to you.”

In a few minutes, she’d prepared a nice hot bowl of soup, served in a beautiful china dish that they definitely weren’t supposed to be touching. Holding the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other, she straddled Phoenix and brought the warm liquid toward his mouth.

“Here comes the airplane.”

Phoenix’s head bolted up. “Nope, you’re not baby birding me. That’s where I’m drawing the line.”

Maya jumped off him, her face heating up. Yeah, that was maybe a bit too much. She carefully set the bowl down and handed him the spoon. He took a spoonful and let out the most satisfying sigh she’d heard from him all day.

“Okay, that’s really good.”

She sat down next to him and happily watched him eat. He looked so cute shoveling the soup down with the dainty little spoon she’d found. When he was done he leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

“Feel better?”

“So much.”

Suddenly, Phoenix’s eyes opened wide. “Maya, how did you open the soup can?”

“What? Uh, there was a can opener on the counter.”

“Was it hard to use or anything?”

“Not really? I’ve used can openers before, you know.”

He rushed over to inspect the utensil, then quickly started searching through all the drawers in the kitchen until he found what he was looking for and held it up for her to see.

“Another can opener?”

“A left handed can opener! The one you used was a regular one. Which means…”

“It doesn’t actually belong to Ms. Aster,” Maya gasped, “The thief must have brought his own to get the ruby!”

“And since Mr. Xi is left handed as well…”

“The thief couldn’t have been him! Nick, you figured it out!”

Phoenix blushed and rubbed the back of his head. “Well, we’ll probably need to find a bit more evidence to get the full picture, but it’s a start.”

“Then let’s get to it!” Maya exclaimed, fists pumping and stars in her eyes.

“Okay, but first I have to…have to…”

Phoenix took in a long, ragged breath and Maya jumped for cover.

[burning-sol]

do you want to talk about the canary au i think we should talk about the canary au

I could have probably typed something here but instead I listened to A Sadness Runs Through Him by The Hoosiers and drew all of this so that the images wouldn't be stuck in my head.

Because the ID is so long it's going under the cut:

The following are pages drawn in MS Paint of JRWI:Riptide characters, with the lyrics 'The Hoosiers - A Sadness Runs Through Him' accompanying story beats of the Canary AU. Colours represent different characters: the color red associated with the Navy, purple with Ayva, blue with Gillion, crimson with Chip, and orange with Jay.

The first page starts with a close-up of an epaulette, "people are puppets held together with strings" which zooms out to show Ayva in their Navy uniform, a stamped Navy document beside her labelled 'AYVA FERIN' reading the lyrics, "there's a beautiful sadness that runs through him".

The next frame transitions in with Ayva's missing poster on a pole in the background, the lighting of the shot highlighting Gillion and Chip's wariness as they look on at Ayva speaking (Chip's expression more hostile than Gillion's). Gillion recalls the moment with the lyrics, "as he asks me to pray to the God he doesn't believe in…." The frame is pulled back as Ayva waits for a response, cast in shadow as she stands opposed to the pair. Gillion closes the distance between them, a shot of Ayva's eyes showing their surprise before they look up and the two grasp each other by the forearm. Ayva who has previously been coloured red is now purple. Ayva looks stern, and Chip has his back turned as he still looks skeptical, but Gillion smiles feeling self assured.

Split into three panels: Ayva is framed between two similar panels of Gillion and Chip, their younger selves smiling with their older selves standing behind them, "time and again boys are raised to be men". Some shading highlights their three matching pendants.

A young Jay smiles up at Ayva, having struck a bullseye with an arrow after having missed a couple of times, "impatient they start…….." ..only to be followed by an older Jay with blood dripping from her mouth, "..FEARFUL THEY END".

In a collage: in one drawing Ayva's hair is flared up, another Ayva is holding an injured Gillion close, and another Ayva takes a hit to protect an injured Chip, "here was a man mourning"- Three drawings capture an identical scenario, Ayva cradling the deceased body of Gillion, of Chip, of Jay, the line finishing, "TOMORROW…" There is a close-up of Ayva's tearful and grief-stricken expression, "he drank but finally drowned in his sorrow……"

The next page starts with a black background to represent the BLOCK. Ayva is standing up to Jayson, fire blazing around them, "he could not break surface tension". There's a closeup of Ayva, hair alight and eye blazing orange as she asserts, "(he) looked in the wrong place for redemption……."

The words continue in purple, "don't look at me with", then blue, "those eyes". Gillion's sparkling as he watches on with an eager 'I told you so' expression, Chip looking completely shocked. The trio run together out of the BLOCK, "i tried to un-heave the ties…." Ayva looks back down a hallway to Jayson at the other end, cast in the light of outside of the BLOCK while he remains in the dark, the page now transitioning to white. "Turn back the time that drew him………."

Ayva looks sad as she looks back, but her expression hardens as they reach up to their pendant, "but he couldn't be saved."

Mirroring the earlier frame, there is a zoomed out shot of Ayva looking back, only now looking back at the whole of the BLOCK. It stands in the distance coloured red, while she stands in the foreground a purple silhouette, a purple shadow dividing her and the crew's boat from it. The page ends, "A SADNESS RUNS THROUGH HIM."

[majestyeverlasting]

can you write prompts 3&10 with beefy!bucky x reader where he takes her on a surprise date under the stars n they cuddle n it’s cute n shit :)

✩ Alas, the time has come for a night under the stars. These prompts are amazing together, and tried my best to make it as cute as possible. It takes place in Brooklyn, and there's fairly lights, caresses, and of course kisses. A sprinkle of innocent teasing as well. Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy.

✩ Prompt 3: “I told you the stars were gonna be out tonight.”

✩ Prompt 10: “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re kissing my neck like that.”

Brighter Than We Know

The same sky that was once a rich blue mixed with the warmth of orange had begun to welcome the beginnings of darkness. Only a trace of daylight remained, nothing more than a fleeting hint of illumination that proved the sun once shone over Prospect Park. That's where the two of you found yourselves, settled on a red blanket in a clearing of grass with a view of the lake. A few small mason jars filled with fairy lights were positioned on the ground around you.

The hands of time always seemed to move faster when you and Bucky were together. An indescribable easiness never failed to accompany his presence.

There was a warmth to the air of the budding night, and cricket chirps ascended from all around. Bucky sat with his legs outstretched, leaning back onto his hands. And you laid perpendicular to him with your head resting in his lap, gazing upwards and allowing yourself to be lulled by the atmosphere. When you closed your eyes, he traced a finger along your hairline and all the way down to follow the curve of your jaw. A pleasant tingle was left in its wake. The content hum that rose from your throat served as all the encouragement he needed to continue.

However, as his fingertips began to trace your lips, you opened your eyes and took his hand in yours—you’d always adored his hands. They were so strong and yet so gentle. You pressed a kiss to his palm, smiling at the way his fingers curled ever so slightly. Then you let go, and he continued to caress your features as if trying to further engrain them in his mind.

Soon, Bucky eventually said. Soon it would be dark enough for the stars to be seen in the heavens above. There was an inkling of doubt that you ended up voicing to him, but he soothed it with an easy smile and another promise that it was only a matter of time. The outing itself had been his idea. After dinner, you were expecting to go back to his apartment. But that’s when he’d told you that there was one more thing he’d planned.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you’d asked him question after question as the two of you arrived at Prospect Park, and began to walk through it; even going over your favorite bridge, and getting to hear the trickle of the small waterfalls leading into the pond beneath. There was something different about the way he was holding your hand, he was guiding you. Not merely walking with you.

It came to the point where the path you’d been following was no longer lined with trees. That’s when you saw everything in the grass a short distance away—the blanket, the mason jars. There were others out enjoying the stillness, but nobody occupying that space. Surely, that wasn’t for you two. But he led you right to it, and your heart soared in awe. There were a couple pillows and a bag of your favorite chocolate as well. You’d attempted to ask Bucky how he’d managed to put everything together, but the only answer he gave you was that he'd had help from somebody who was fond of the two of you.

Ms. Cleary. It had to have been her. Bucky winked when he saw the realization in your eyes. Virginia Cleary was a kind, older woman who lived across the hall from him. She spoke whenever she saw you, and had given him an original canvas painting of hers back when they first got acquainted. Her husband had passed away years prior, and her son worked as a businessman upstate. So she took pleasure in being caring and nurturing towards the two of you.

In that moment, you swore your gratitude for them was endless. The week had been so demanding of you, and in an instant their efforts had lifted the ghost of the weight that lingered on your shoulders.

Bucky began to shift, and you realized it was because he was lying onto his back. Naturally, you repositioned as well, opting to snuggle into his side and rest your head on his broad chest. You felt its steady rise and fall as his arm wrapped around you. He smelled woodsy with a hint of something warm and spiced. The dark gray shirt he wore defined his upper body, and you let one of your hands run up his torso, and over the hard shoulder of his metal arm. There was a solidness to his muscularity, but he was relaxed underneath your touch. There was no tension to be felt.

You glanced at his face, and saw that his eyes were directed upwards. You followed his gaze to where the stars still had yet to appear. Any moment, though. You craned your head and began peppering featherlight kisses to the crook of his neck. His stubbled Adam's apple bobbed with a swallow. And you felt him squeeze your waist as the exhales leaving his nose grew more audible.

“Doll.” His voice was gruff. “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re kissing my neck like that.”

You hummed, but went on to start nibbling his skin, unable to contain a smile. After a few more seconds, you relented, and heard him whisper something quick under his breath. A chuckle bubbled out of you, as you propped yourself on his chest.

“What was that?”

He lips twitched upwards. “I said ‘please give me the strength.’”

You playfully clawed your fingers in his thick pecs. “You’re already pretty strong.”

“Not up against you, I’m not.” There was love in his eyes. A silence settled between the two of you for a few moments. You even let your cheek come to rest on your arms as they were folded on top of his chest.

But then Bucky shook your shoulder after a while. “Hey, look up, pretty girl. You can see ‘em shining now—all over.” His voice was low and measured, proud too.

As if charged, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, eyes wide and curious as they began to scan the vastness of the sky. They seemed to be everywhere, the stars. Some were clustered whereas others seemed to be off by themselves. But no matter the distance, none of them were truly alone as they shone amongst each other.

“See there, pretty girl?” Bucky said. “I told you the stars were gonna be out tonight.”

The moment you turned around to look down at him, he feared being awakened because your smile looked like something out of a dream. The glow of the fairy lights and the lampposts in the distance just barely helped illuminate your face—he saw you nonetheless. In a way only he could, however. He saw beyond your appearance, to what radiated from within you: the childlike wonder you held onto like a friend, your constant pursuit of the ‘extra’ in the ordinary, the love you were always so willing to extend. The extent of your beauty was a fountain that never ran dry.

Bucky thanked his lucky stars that out of every soul in the universe, he got to grow in the understanding of yours.

“You did tell me,” you spoke up. “Thank you. For this—for everything.” You meant that, strongly.

“Of course. Figured you’d appreciate it. I know you’ve been working really hard, and that you…”

His words trailed off as you moved to lay on your stomach beside him. You remained propped on one forearm, and rested your free hand on his chest before dipping your head down to kiss him. But not on his lips quite yet. You pressed one to the tip of his nose, then some to both corners of his mouth. Flutters of anticipation stirred within his chest, and you rendered them into longing when you placed yet another to the dimple of his chin. The sight of you pulling away to study his face made him release a quick exhale of disbelief tinged with amusement. You gave him a little knowing smirk before finally leaning back down to connect your lips.

Bucky used his weight to push you onto your back so that he was the one hovering over you. In the process, your lips parted, only to find each other once again. The way he kissed you was more tender and reverent than anything. But of course, fueled by that spark of passion that was always alight whenever he was with you.

After pulling away, he dipped to return the little kisses you’d given his neck. The added scratch of his stubble drew the sweetest giggles out of you that you attempted to stifle by biting your lip. Bucky felt like he was floating as he detached himself from you entirely, letting himself roll onto his back once again.

There the two of you were, buzzing and looking up at a sky full of stars.

Bucky took your hand in his, and ran his thumb over the back of it.

“They’re the brightest I’ve seen them in a while,” he said.

You squeezed his hand. “And they’re even brighter than we know because they’re so many miles away.”

-

✩ Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed your night under the stars.

✩ More fluffy Bucky fics

[fullmoondagger]

WHAT I LEARNED FROM MY LATEST ART BLOCK ABOUT CREATIVITY AND EXISTING AS AN ARTIST:

Hi so Hi I'm Fullmoon and I'm a digital artist and a writer (@fullmoondaggers-art​) and from last november/december to april/may I have been in a mortifying creative block that was AGONIZING to say the least. My art's back now although it's at a very small pace but . I'm free ! (or back into my cage?)

I'm making this post mostly for myself but also to share this experience with others because that may be interesting or helpful? Please do take everything uder the cut with a grain of salt I’m merely a creature spilling thoughts about my own experiences and ideas . Love and Light

Some people may scoff at me because 6/7 months of art block may be nothing to them but it was a LOT for me- I never had such a long period of no art juice and it was very disorienting and horrifying.

For as long as I've been able to hold a pen and had to survive through the torture that is school, I've been drawing. All day long, everyday. Doodles on the edges of my notebooks, on scraps of paper when teachers took away my notebooks, and on my arms when the teachers took away my scraps of paper. I drew my little characters, then my little ponies, and I will forever look back at how terrifyingly productive I was in 2016. How did I manage to put out a fully lined and colored drawing almost every day after school ? While gay?

Jokes asides I've always drawn, and fast. Everyone seems impressed with how fast I draw, myself included.

(WHAT do you mean you drew this in 8 hours? wtf Luke)

And I used to draw all the time. When I wasn't playing games or watching shows, I was drawing.

And all of the sudden, it stopped. Creativity juices stopped flowing. Might have been caused by some personal events, and me stepping out of a fandom to other interests that is feeding me less in terms of nooks in which my art fungus can grow (the BATIM fandom rules. Genuinely. Legacy of Kain also has so much to offer), but either way, I was entering a very uncreative moment in my journey as an artist.

It hit hard !

I was getting anxious about opening SAI. I was getting anxious at plugging my tablet in my laptop. I could NOT do anything creative. Even when I got short spurs of ideas I would just give up and close the program, because it wasn't worth it anyways, no one would care, no one would want what I had to give, because my art didn't look professional or didn't stand out as much as it should. I was very deep set in the idea that uploadable art was fully lined and colored, colored sketches could be acceptable under some strict criteria. Let's not even talk about fic, I'm still very much a beginner, and the topics I like to write about aren't very elevated anyways.

1- THE ART OF TRICKERY

Brains are mischievous little machines, but once you understand that you're above it, it's nothing but a roach under your heel. I had to redirect my creative drive to something else than art and writing, so I tried my hand at HTML, a tiny pathetic bit of 3D modeling, painting patches for my jacket etc.

SAI and Tablet were making me anxious? Well, What about mouse and MS Paint? Why not try Adobe Flash ? Pencils and watercolor makes you shit? Ballpen and scrap paper. Grow up. This cool artist uses Paint 3D to work, why not give it a shot? Try some new ways of sketching, new fun art styles to mess with.

(Animated on Adobe Flash as a little test, I had a lot of fun !)

It was baby steps towards some recovery, and it did help ! It took me a while, but I was finally able to open SAI and draw and ENJOY it.

2- THE ART OF SEEING YOURSELF

What do I create for?

I draw for myself, for my horny little ideas, my cool character designs, to get out some funny things that are inside my head, to put my favorite characters in situations, to make them look hot as shit. I draw for other people too, sharing is important and vital as a fandom artist on the Internet. I want my art to be seen and enjoyed by other people who also enjoy what I'm creating about. I make to share, I don't want most of my art to be seen by only myself. I don't draw for fame, although being mildly known in my tiny little niche communities would be nice! It's not something that I cling to too tightly.

What is my artist identity ?

Early 2000's cartoons, 90's Anime, 2010's Internet, Art Nouveau, 1930's cartoons, Symbolism, Medieval art, BDSM/Kink, some French Comics, throw it all in a blender, and you get a blurry image of me.

Things are a bit difficult here. I don't feel like I have an "art style". I love to try new things, new techniques, new shapes. My art pieces rarely resemble each other, which is something I'm very self conscious about and I'm learning to accept. The thing is, every other artist around me has that Thing that makes their work so recognisable, and I don't feel like my art has that "Oh, that's Fullmoon" spark. At first I thought something was wrong with me, but I think it's really only a matter of perspective, I don't see it because I don't have the step back from my work to do that.

I wish I knew what makes me unique as an artist, but also I don't think it matters that much.

3- THE ART OF NOT GIVING A SHIT

(Little edit I smashed together somewhere near the peak of my art block, just because I wanted to see Applejack and Arthur Morgan hanging out. I think they’d be besties)

Art block taught me to Let Go. I couldn't draw anymore, and I felt like I was free from something that had been cursing me for so long but also completely lost without my shackles. I didn't really have an outlet for my Needs to fidget and make things and share them, and I was feeling like I would never be back to where I used to be in art. But also I knew it was cyclical, just like everything else in life is, and everything would fall back in place in due time. Sometimes you need to not give a shit if something turns out ugly or unperfect or never gets finished ever. keep them tucked in a corner and pull them out when you feel like you could have a better shot at them. It's OK to give up ! If you don't feel it's right, if you're not enjoying the process, just Let Go. If you're enjoying it regardless, just keep on going, the beauty of creation is that it's about fun and discovery. Nothing is eternal, and projects come back from the dead.

(Original idea from my art block VS when I picked it back up when i got my power back, lineart done on Adobe Flash because SAI was still too intimidating to me, and also lining on Flash is FUN)

4- WHAT DID THIS BRING ME

I think I have a very different approach to making art now. I don't draw every day, but It doesn't weigh on me that much anymore, as it should. I make things for fun, I don't want to aim for a masterpiece every time I pick up my tablet and turn the music playlist up. I draw whatever I want to, because I'm in impossibly niche communities anyway, so whoever will see it will see it, and I love them for that. I'm able to let things sit for a while and pick them back up later, which is VERY HARD for me in general. Maintaining a brand is bullshit and will kill you.

I’ve been writing again as well, and while I don’t think it’s too important, it’s fun !!

I have fun making things and learning things, and I have discovered new things I probably wouldn’t have gotten otherwise;

- I can roughly animate on Flash !

- I have a website I wrote myself !

- Painting on fabric is very fun actually !

- So much anime and manga. God

- I can sit back and feel Okay about not being an art machine !

I say that as a horrid little hater, but I think it's so important as an artist to cherish and adore everything you make. Give passion to the world and it will give it back to you in other ways. Play Soul Reaver

[stardestroyer81]

Longtime followers of mine may have seen my faux Mega Man Ultimate screenshots, which range from exemplary stage designs to full-on boss battles! However, it's been a little while since I've made another sprite piece of what certain in-game moments of Mega Man Ultimate would look like, and for my next screenshot, I knew just what I wanted to sprite!

My last faux screenshot detailed the electrifying battle against SLN-001, Zap Man, and seeing how easy it was to sprite full screens with the magic of tilesetting, I aimed to make a mockup of a battle against another one of the Synth Legion Numbers, Satellite Woman! And unlike Zap Man's simpler NES-esque boss arena...

... the boss arena of SLN-003 has a lot more going on!

Who doesn't love space? When it came time for me to decide which of the eight Synth Legion numbers to devote my next boss battle mockup to, Satellite Woman was my first choice, because that meant I got to sprite an out of this world background for her by way of tilesetting!

And there was a lot I could do with it, too. While I initially didn't have a whole lot of ideas as to what Satellite Woman's boss arena could look like, I did eventually come up with two goals: for it to have a Mega Man V feel to it as well as referencing her bio, which mentions her base of operations being exactly one hundred parsecs away from Earth.

This is what I came up with! One of the earliest design decisions I made was that I wanted to have Mega Man fall into the boss arena rather than walk into it— we haven't had a lot of robot master boss arenas of a vertical caliber since the original Mega Man! Fortress bosses have entrances of this type, so why can't more robot masters?

Secondly, the arena lacks walls, because I find that the quarters in which you do battle with Satellite Woman feel a lot more vast without them than they would with the usual boss-in-the-box formula. I first planned on having the satellite platform be shorter in width, where if you fell off, it'd be a one-hit KO, but I felt like that wouldn't be too fair (Even if Cloud Man did it first).

Perhaps the most appealing part about the entire background are the drifting satellites and the gorgeous view of Earth— both of which took me quite some time to sprite! The Earth sprite in particular (Which I think was the asset that took me the longest to sprite) fits snugly into a 32x32 tile, whereas the satellites make up a 48x48 tile.

The last design choice I'd like to mention are the colors in this piece. For Satellite Woman's boss arena, I wanted to stray away from the usual NES limitations and go for something a little more flashy— hence my decision to make the space background all kinds of blue hues instead of a solid black (Plus, if I went with the latter, you wouldn't be able to make out Satellite's complex sprites very well!).

I kept switching between purple and light green for the bottom platform, and when I couldn't reach a consensus, I tried a turquoise color to see what that would look like, and it made for a stellar in-between! It was always a given for the space station up above to be colored after Satellite Woman, so I didn't have a lot of trouble figuring out colors there.

And finally, as I've started to do for my art posts, this was the process I went about in designing the arena! Starting with a conceptual sketch of the room I drew in MS Paint, it follows up with a general layout made up of placeholder green and purple tiles, and from there you can see the final product start to form!

With design specifics out of the way, we can touch base on what it's like to be pitted against the connoisseur of the cosmos, Satellite Woman! Her battle takes a lot of inspiration from Star Man's battle from Mega Man 5, with the emphasis on the robot master constantly being shielded and zero-gravity jumping aplenty.

When she's not putting her Reflect Satellite to good use, Mega Man may attempt to land a blow on her... if she doesn't land a blow on him first! The only time you can do damage to Satellite Woman is when her shields are down or when she's firing lasers from her Satellite Buster (Pictured above), so it's very much easier said than done...

That is, of course, unless you arrive with her weakness weapon in tow!

Enter Glitch Strike, the weapon you acquire after defeating the bug-tastic Glitch Man! Glitch Strike allows Mega Man to speedily glitch a lengthy distance in any direction, passing through any projectiles without harm and— with precise aim— may ram into opponents. However, this ability comes with a hefty energy cost (Much like Tornado Blow in Mega Man 9), and you'll only see four or five uses of it with a full meter. Better use them wisely!

Well, that's about everything— this ended up being one of my biggest sprite pieces in a while, and it took a whole lot of thought and experimentation to look just right! I hope you've enjoyed reading through the design process, and more importantly the fruits of my labor!

[gumnut-logic]

The Painting

This was started from a challenge I stumbled across what seems like ages ago.

The word was ‘blushing’ and can be found in a prompt list from @creativepromptsforwriting​ - here.

But anyway, have over 3000 words of frustrated Virgil, worried Scott and concerns over the possibility of Virgil/Kayo.

Warnings: Yep, this is the Virgil/Kayo fic I was babbling on about a while back. Not Warm Rain, but completely new.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Virgil Tracy was a seasoned emergency responder. Scott had seen him rescue people in front of entire crowds, seen him speak to police, and even the press. Hell, there was the time Scott had been caught up on the other side of the planet and Virgil had rescued the President of the United States, for crying out loud. It was on film, recorded for history and no doubt would end up in their future grandchildren’s school textbooks.

At no point had his brother ever looked fazed at any of the PR tasks required of him.

Sure, he wasn’t as smooth at it as Scott and if he had a choice, he would avoid it and handball it off to his big brother. But that was more a case of Virgil thinking he had better things to do.

He’d refused the award offered by the President for that reason. Saw no need for accolades for just doing his job - Scott had tried to talk him into that one, but no, Virgil just didn’t seem to care.

So there was no warning, no real indicator that this was going to happen.

Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, Scott had to admit that perhaps that was a lie.

Virgil had been edgy from the first mention of this project. It was Penny’s fault, of course, but it was Gordon who had egged her on when Virgil said no initially.

Penny had succeeded with John in the past, so why not tackle another Tracy brother? And it wasn’t like Virgil was socially shy like their astronaut. The man had stripped naked and posed for life drawing classes on multiple occasions and as previously noted, had no trouble with the PR tasks required of him.

Virgil was the cool, calm and sensible Tracy brother.

Who was now standing in front of the podium bright red and frozen solid as holocam lights buzzed about him.

The press was a mass of voices they hadn’t really expected on opening night, and had Kayo in a furious mood, her satin green dress spinning as she strode over to possibly throttle one of her security contingent. He must keep an eye on that. 

Virgil had only meant to welcome everyone to the gallery with a short speech, but the questions about his artworks had begun firing the moment he stood up there and apparently displaying his art was not as easy as Scott thought it would be.

He regretted encouraging this exhibition when he had known Virgil hadn’t been confident. But he had thought it was just nerves and his brother had only needed a little push.

He would never have thought Virgil could freeze like that.

Scott stepped up to the podium beside his arty brother. Virgil blinked at him, more fear in his eyes than Scott had seen since the time Scott had fallen into an ice crevasse and his heavy lifting brother had jumped in after him, only barely managing to grab him before certain death.

Apparently, Virgil needed saving this time.

Scott eyed the crowd and in particular the person responsible for the question.

His eyes narrowed in on Kat Kavanaugh. He let out a breath. “Now, now, Kat, when I said you could ask questions, that did not include my brothers’ sex lives.”

Kat smirked up at him. “Fair’s fair, Scott Tracy. He did paint that, after all.” She gestured towards the most popular painting in the gallery. There had been an argument earlier over who could purchase it. An informal auction managed by Penny had sprouted up and the sum it finally went for would fund Tracy Industries’ charity line for some time to come.

Virgil’s eyes had been saucer-wide at that news.

But the painting itself was a mystery. Scott had no idea what it represented other than it was all flesh coloured curves, greens, reds, blues and greys. It obviously meant something to Virgil, but it might as well have been spilt paint to Scott with the minor exception of maybe one eye and a flower. He much preferred the aerial dogfight painting he had nabbed off his brother before he could assign it to the exhibition - Virgil frowned at him and squawked a bunch of art jargon that translated as ‘Virgil hated it’. But Scott liked it and had hung it in his rooms.

Virgil glared at it every time he saw it.

But this one, this Picasso jigsaw puzzle, meant something to Virgil. Yet for some reason he had thrown it into the exhibition anyway.

And now it meant something to a bunch of people? It had prompted so many questions, most inappropriate, and now looking at it Scott could see vaguely where they were coming from, but really?

But Virgil had flushed red and frozen, giving credit to the question of who had broken his heart.

Scott hadn’t noticed anything. Virgil had never brought the topic up.

And this was definitely not the place.

“This is an art exhibition, Ms Kavanaugh. Please keep your question to the subject at hand.”

“I could argue that what is on these walls is exactly the subject at hand, Mr Tracy. Your brother has painted with his heart and now it is up for sale.”

The whole gallery fell completely silent as the centre of Scott’s cardiovascular system fell into his boots.

When he didn’t answer immediately, she took it upon herself to fill the silence. “In fact, one of the biggest questions on everyone’s lips is why only one out of four of the most eligible bachelors on the planet has a romantic interest. These paintings prove he is not alone, but apparently Virgil is not as lucky.”

Scott stared at her. it would have helped if he knew what she was talking about. Virgil hadn’t mentioned anything...

Scott held back the urge to look at his brother and instead bore a hole into Kat Kavanaugh’s head with his glare. “I repeat, my brother’s personal lives are not up for discussion.” Holocams stared at him.

“And what about yours, Mr Tracy? Are you still dating that pilot?”

“You know what? This is an art exhibition to raise money for victims of disaster, for the people International Rescue couldn’t save. How about you focus on that.” She opened her mouth again. “Because if you don’t, I will have you and anyone else inclined to discuss our private business, escorted from the building.” He put every ounce of commander he had into his words.

She stopped talking, but the smirk on her face that replaced her vocalisations set Scott’s blood boiling anyway.

He clamped down on the emotion. “Now, regarding the artworks. All of them are painted by my talented brother Virgil, as you know. He has kindly donated them to raise money for those affected by disaster. So, please reach into your pockets and donate for those who need it most. Thank you.”

He turned away from the podium as the silence dissolved into chatter, mostly likely with nothing to do with artworks at all.

Finally he was able to catch Virgil’s eye and non-verbally direct him to follow.

The acquiescence in Virgil’s expression hurt Scott even more.

He led his artistic brother past a concerned-looking Gordon who was helping Penelope manage the crowd.

Alan was frowning fit to burst a blood vessel, but Gordon grabbed him and pulled him away. 

John knew enough to only catch Scott’s eye with an expression of ‘here if you need me’ as he stood off to one side talking to Brains. The fact both were half-hidden by a promotional banner was no doubt no error on their part.

Both had declared they would attend in support of Virgil. Didn’t mean they had to like it.

Scott pulled Virgil into a backroom, shut the door and turned to face his brother.

Virgil was looking down at his hands.

“I know I’m clueless on the art front, but apparently the crowd out there isn’t. Is there something you haven’t told me?” He drew in a breath in an attempt to calm himself. 

Virgil glanced up at him with such sadness in his eyes, Scott’s widened and he put both hands on his brother’s shoulders. “What is it?”

It was Virgil’s turn to let out a sigh. It appeared to come from somewhere ever so deep as it visibly deflated him. “It was nothing.” And he looked away.

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’.” He squeezed those hunched shoulders gently. A nudge of his head in the direction of the crowd outside the door. “They don’t think it is ‘nothing’.”

Virgil looked up. “Well, it is nothing. That’s why that painting is out there. Nothing has happened. Nothing is going to happen.”

“But you wanted something to happen?” It was like bobbing for apples, but painful. He had never seen Virgil so unsure of himself. “Can I ask who?”

Virgil opened his mouth, but closed it before he could say anything.

Scott hesitated. “You know you can tell me anything. That I’m here for you.”

Again Virgil opened his mouth, but again something stopped him from saying anything. He only nodded, blinking.

Scott’s heart lurched. What couldn’t Virgil tell him? They shared everything. How could his brother been hurting this much and Scott not know anything about it?

But then did he know?

He scoured his memory for indicators.

Virgil straightened suddenly. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen. That...that ship has sailed.”

Who had Virgil fixated on? He ran through their list of friends, acquaintances and came up blank regarding any extra regard his brother might have shown anyone.

Of course, Virgil was kind to everyone they knew, polite beyond reason sometimes, well known for putting others above himself.

Hell, just last week he had flown Kayo halfway across the planet in Tracy Two while he was supposed to be on vacation and resting. Shadow was out of commission at the time and Kayo needed to be in London with Penelope and Rigby. She had protested, but even Scott knew Virgil had a soft spot for his sister and would do...anything for her. 

He stared at his brother.

No...really?

Scott blinked as his brain pulled up all the most obvious indicators. Virgil always hovered when their sister was in action. Scott knew he hated it. It was one of the reasons Scott reprimanded Kayo for straying beyond IR’s mandate. The family worried about her, but, in particular, Virgil fretted when his...sister...was in danger.

Aw, hell. Looking back, it was now obvious. Damn, how had he missed it?

Again, Virgil cared for everyone, it was in his nature.

Shit.

Scott must have let something of his thoughts into his expression because Virgil looked up at him and his eyes widened. “Scott-“

“It’s Kayo, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I...no, it’s nothing...I-“ Virgil was obviously scrambling to deny everything.

“She’s a good choice.”

Virgil froze, staring at him.

“What are you afraid of?”

Virgil spun out of his grip and turned away. “It doesn’t matter what I think. She’s not interested.”

“How do you know?”

Brown, hurting eyes glared at him. “What? You haven’t noticed Captain Wayne Rigby?”

Scott blinked. The GDF officer was definitely on his radar, but more on a professional level, IR Commander to GDF representative. He frowned as he assessed what he had seen of the man’s conduct towards Kayo, his big brother priorities coming into play.

Sure, he could look at their relationship that way. Kayo didn’t seem to mind spending time with the man, but only as the mission required?

That question mark only emphasised the fact he needed to spend more time with his family where an emergency situation was not involved. He was clearly out of the loop on too many things.

Virgil wandered over to a lounge in the corner and sat down, his suit immediately rumpling as he dropped his head into his hands.

Scott shoved his own failures in this matter to one side and tackled the immediate issue - his upset brother.

“Have you spoken to her?”

The strangled scoff of a laugh was muffled by his brother’s hands.

Scott took that as a ‘no’.

“Why not?”

That at least got Virgil looking at him again. “Oh, sure, It comes up in conversation all the time. ‘Hi, Kayo, great to see you. By the way, I’ve fallen in love with you. Is that okay?’” His brother’s eyebrows crushed together and he looked down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It could destroy so much.”

“I really think she would love you either way, Virgil.” And he was back to scouring his brain for indications of Kayo returning Virgil’s regard.

“What? You don’t find it weird that I’m in love with my sister? It’s a breach of trust.”

“Virgil, she grew up with us. She is a beautiful, smart woman. No one could be faulted for finding her attractive. Hell, I will admit that I can see why you would be interested.”

That had Virgil staring at him again.

Scott held up his hands. “Hey, I’m happy with pilot lady.”

That stare boggled a bit. “‘Pilot lady?’ Don’t you even know her name?”

“Thank you for giving me zero credit. Of course I know her name. She just likes me calling her ‘pilot lady’.” Scott grinned strategically.

“Oh god, TMI. Ugh.”

Scott chuckled as his brother groaned. Mostly because he was happy to have achieved his target of lightening Virgil’s mood at least a little.

“You should talk to her.”

“Why? She’s obviously gone on Rigby.” The name was said with as close to a snarl as Scott had ever heard his brother make outside of a rescue. “You want me to ruin what relationship we already have trying to pursue something she doesn’t want?”

“How do you know that?” He stepped closer to his brother. “You haven’t given her a chance.”

“She’s known me for years.”

“I’ve known you since you were born and I didn’t know you had a thing for her. How the hell do you expect her to know?”

Virgil leapt off the couch. “I don’t want her to know!”

“Why not?”

“Because...”

“Because you could get hurt? I never figured you were one for backing away because of that. I’ve seen you risk death to save lives, including mine. Why deny yourself the chance for happiness? Her the chance?”

“Because I love her too much to ruin it!” Scott’s eyes widened as Virgil literally exploded in front of him. “How could our relationship recover from that? How could she bear to look at me if she didn’t...care for me the same way in return? How could I? No, she likes Rigby. She will be happy with him. That’s it. The boat has sailed. And I wish I had burnt that damned painting.”

Scott swallowed. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Virgil’s derisive scoff said everything. “I’ve got to get back out there before they start thinking I’m ready to kill myself due to unrequited love.” He strode towards the door.

“Virgil-“

His brother held up a hand. “I’m fine. I’ll handle it. Just let me get through the night so I can go home.” And with that, he threw open the door and stormed out into the noise.

Damn. Scott thumbed his collar. “Gordon?”

“Yes, oh great leader?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Run interference for Virgil, please.”

“FAB.”

Gordon and Penelope would do what was necessary to get the press off Virgil’s back. Scott sighed as he strode towards the door Virgil had almost slammed behind him and threw himself out into the crowd after his brother.

-o-o-o-

Cartwheels across the gallery floor hadn’t quite been what Scott had in mind, but if he was honest with himself, it worked. Gordon already had a reputation of being the ‘fun’ Tracy and the press ate it up.

The fact Gordon could do a backflip midair and land on his feet wasn’t really that surprising to Scott, but the media loved it. The reports switched from lovelorn Virgil to crazy Gordon and that was pretty much that.

Penelope was ever so tolerant.

Scott didn’t let Virgil out of his sight the rest of the night. His artistic brother put up a great front and only the fact Scott was his big brother allowed him to see that touch of hesitancy in his handshakes and the fakery of his smiles.

What Scott did do was surreptitiously get a good look at the painting responsible for this mess.

It was a Picasso-esque mishmash of flesh, colour and bone. On one hand it could be considered creepy, but there was something about that one single green eye staring out from its midst that said something. Something painful.

The white daisy in the bottom left corner was a familiar motif in Virgil’s paintings. Mom’s favourite flower often turned up when his brother dove deep into his art. But that eye...

Realisation set in like a lightning strike. It was Kayo’s eye. The only part of the painting recognisable, if only for its colour and intensity. Like Kat had said, all the pieces fell into place once that eye belonged to someone. The painting screamed desolation and loneliness.

Aw, hell.

Virgil was on the far side of the room glaring at Gordon, most likely for the acrobatics. The media were still babbling beyond the security Kayo had deployed. Scott had no doubt Virgil knew exactly what Gordon was doing, but that wouldn’t stop the lecture.

Scott owed Gordon for this one.

“Permission to expel the media?”

Scott jumped. Kayo had appeared out of nowhere.

Her smile was an amused one.

He glared at her momentarily before letting his shoulders drop. “I wish.”

“How is Virgil?”

His gaze flickered to her, abruptly realising his brother’s secret was now his to conceal as well. “Getting there. You know how sensitive he is about his art.” That’s it, cover it up with artistic sensibility.

She arched an eyebrow. “I was surprised he consented to the exhibition.”

“Me, too. But Penelope pulled out the charity big guns and you know how Virgil just wants to help people...”

Kayo smiled. “Genetic trait.”

His grunt was non-committal.

“Well, it certainly has been a successful exercise. I think just about everything has been sold, even beyond the star of the exhibition.” She gestured at the painting responsible for so much.

Scott swallowed. “Yeah, Penelope will be happy.”

“What about Virgil?”

“Yeah, he’ll be happy, too. He’s helping a lot a of people.” Scott mentally considered whether whisky on the balcony and some one-on-one commiseration time might help his brother relax.

“Oh, you should know that while you were talking to Virgil earlier, I had to remove Kat Kavanaugh from the building.”

Scott blinked, suddenly realising the absence of the woman. It was a sign of his distraction that he hadn’t realised she was missing. “Why?”

Kayo’s lips twisted. “Well, aside from harassing Virgil,” she said it with gritted teeth and obviously hidden expletives, “I caught her eavesdropping on your conversation, outside the door.”

He straightened in alarm.

“Don’t worry, I nabbed her before she could discover anything...important.”

Scott stared at her.

“She and I had some...polite words, and I doubt we will be seeing her again.”

“Kayo-“

Green flickered up at him. “Just doing my job, Scott.” She lent in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I...”

But Kayo smiled. “So can I expel the rest of them? I think they’ve had a fair enough go, don’t you?”

Another blink and he nodded.

Her hand brushed his arm and squeezed ever so gently. “Don’t worry. Everything is under control.”

Didn’t feel that way. Across the room Virgil was gesticulating wildly at their fish brother, very adamant about something.

“Kayo?” She looked up at him. “Take it easy.”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “FAB.”

She walked into the crowd, green dress sparkling in the lights, as she spoke into her comms and gestured to her team. He was left wondering what the hell had happened, what she knew and what she was going to do.

But then the feeling was familiar around his sister, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Gordon stopped their engineer brother’s tirade by grabbing him into a hug mid-rant.

A perfect tactic to derail Virgil that had worked many a time before. 

As predicted, their brother couldn’t resist and gruffly returned Gordon’s embrace.

The fish certainly had his ways.

The crowd volume increased as reporters started protesting security herding them out of the building. He watched as his sister worked, her team as smooth and as capable as she.

And then he watched Virgil watching her, too.

Scott grabbed a champagne flute off a nearby server and sculled it. Whisky on the balcony was looking more attractive by the moment. 

He needed one.

-o-o-o-

[halloweenhoneylover]

the star puzzle

summary: based on 5x13 (bc long hair reid rights) in which emily tells a funny little story and spencer is the sweetest know-it-all :’) (spencer x fem!reader)

word count: 1.7k

author’s note: i haven’t written for fun in the hottest second and im embarrassed so pls don’t roast!!! also trying my hand at romance is scary ahahaha how do yall do this

Emily’s nose wrinkled slightly.

Damn puzzle.

She fidgeted with two wooden pieces, and the sounds of them dully clinking against each other drew the attention of a certain doctor. With squinted eyes, he observed her fumbling for a moment before muttering a quick, “What is that?”

“It’s called a star puzzle. It’s basically impossible to figure out.” The resignation was clear in her tone. She’d been trying to put together this unbelievably frustrating puzzle for the past fifteen minutes, and she felt further from figuring it out than when she began. Utterly infuriating. “You have to put all of the pieces back together to form a perfect star. But the origin of it is kinda a romantic tale.”

Your ear perked up a bit, your interest thoroughly piqued. Always a sucker for a little romance, a small grin tugged at your lips as you quietly tucked the corner of your page down and shut your book. Ms. Austen could wait a little longer. Perhaps love stories were for the naive, but who were you to deny yourself the small rush of joy of hearing about two people fall in love? Your eyes flickered towards Spencer for the briefest of moments, and your smile widened ever so slightly. I wouldn’t mind falling in love with him. As if that process wasn’t already well underway. So you settled further in your seat on the couch to listen to Emily.

“There was this young prince who wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land.” 

At this, Spencer’s heart skipped, and he spared a fleeting glance to his right at the girl on the couch who had the most endearing smile on her face as she intently watched Emily. The fairest maiden in all the land, he thought as his cheeks flushed slightly. He was quite familiar with the prince’s endeavors.

 “So he climbed to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom, and he caught a falling star for her. Unfortunately, he was so excited, that he dropped it, and it smashed into all of these pieces. So he frantically put it back together to prove his undying love to her, and he succeeded, and they lived happily ever after.”

A moment of silence and a furrowed brow. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Emily narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t catch a falling star. It would burn up in the atmosphere.” You could almost hear the cogs in the poor boy’s head turning as he tried to grasp the meaning of her words. Amusement danced across Rossi’s features as he shared a knowing look with Emily.

“Yeah, but it’s not literal, Reid. It’s a fable.”

“But there’s no moral. Fables have morals.” You ducked your head in an attempt to suppress the laugh bubbling in your chest and the blush painting your cheeks. As always, you were fascinated by the mechanisms of Dr. Reid’s mind. And by the look of confusion on his face, a look that only made you more smitten which you had thought was an impossible task by now.

“Okay so it’s just a romantic little story—the point is it’s basically impossible to do because you have to take all of those pieces and fit them together exactly….” She trailed off, watching him easily fit together the pieces she’d been agonizing over for far too long. His nimble fingers were purposeful in their task and within seconds, produced the desired star. Emily’s jaw dropped. That little son of a—

For a moment, he looked at the star, reveling in his success with a somewhat smug smirk (he loved solving puzzles), before a thought popped into his head. Turning his gaze to the right, he caught your eye as you gawked at the puzzle. He gave you that signature tight-lipped smile that made your heart swell and wordlessly offered you the star. 

Your breath caught, and for some reason, you couldn’t look away, and neither could he. So you both sat there in this little moment of stillness on the edge of revelation. This felt so much bigger than one friend offering another a look at a stupid little puzzle, but there was that underlying current of fear, of ‘we both want this so, so much, but neither of us can say that this means more because what if they don’t feel the same way.’ Hesitation had locked you in place, but screw it. A little breathless and a lot of warmth buzzing in your chest, you finally recovered your expression from your previous look of utter amazement and took the star. 

You took the star.

Spencer thought he could still hear the air humming from that second-long moment that felt like a freaking hour, and his fingers were buzzing from where yours had brushed his for the most minuscule of moments, he couldn’t stop the smile that split his face wide open. He didn’t know if you took it to look at his handiwork, or to give your approval, or to accept this profession of his undying love for you, but whatever it meant, you took the star, and that was enough for now. 

Staring down at the wooden puzzle in your hands, you focused so intensely because you needed a moment to recover from whatever the hell just happened. Maybe you blacked out for a minute and were in heaven for the entirety of three seconds, or maybe you’ve watched When Harry Met Sally too many times to not have a skewed perception of romance and friendship, but he had to have felt that, right? There was no way he didn’t have his world turned upside down by that incredibly small interaction—or maybe you’re just way too in love with him to be judging things correctly. Either way, you’re somewhat surprised the star hasn’t completely burst into flames under the intensity of your stare, and you try to grapple with what just happened and what comes next.

“Not too shabby, Dr. Reid.” It comes out as the ghost of a whisper because you’re not sure you could have managed any more than that. The smoldering remains of your previous grin haunt your lips as you finally summon the courage to meet his eyes again. 

He’s beaming.

“Why, thank you, Miss (Y/L/N).”

And you can’t help but mirror him.

Wide eyes and the most knowing smirks you’ve ever seen are silently flying around the jet as the others look at each other to confirm, are you seeing this? It’s been extremely apparent, the burgeoning crushes between the two youngest members, and this is just the icing on the freaking cake. Dear Morgan is just bursting at the seams, knowing that the next moment he gets the good doctor alone, he will be teasing him to the highest heaven. Maybe Reid’s new nickname will be ‘young prince.’ Morgan is sure he will love that (he won’t). And poor, poor Garcia, gripping her knitting needles so tightly that they might be pulverized, cannot even slightly suppress the glowing of her heart as she watches her two most favorite people fall even more in love, and by God, if she’s not going to do something about it. What she’s going to do, she’s not quite sure, but she has the rest of this plane ride to figure it out, and when she does know, it’s gonna be good, and they’re going to get together and be together forever. Simple, really.

Yet, Emily might be the most pleased of them all. This was absolutely not her intention when she had told the story of the prince and the maiden, but by no means was she opposed to the outcome. Her grin was contagious as she locked eyes with Rossi and JJ and even Hotch, breaking his ever-so-stoic demeanor. She could not wait to claim responsibility for their inevitable relationship, and boy, what a story she’d have for their wedding because of course, marriage is inevitable too. At least for these two, it seems. 

When finally the silence stretched on too long and the team’s gaze weighed too heavy on the young almost-lovers, they startled out of their reverie with nervous chuckles and burning cheeks. You handed the star back to Emily, “Neat little thing!”

“Sure is,” she replied with the most frustratingly canny smirk. You avoided her eyes; it was clear what they were insinuating.

Spencer stared down at the book in his lap, trying to resist the painfully strong urge to watch you for a little while longer as you tried to steer the conversation to easier topics. He was a little afraid of how enamored he was because it was a lot. A lot a lot. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and let the tension from his shoulders fall as he carefully fingered the binding of Pride and Prejudice. He’d only really picked it up because you suggested it. ‘I know you’re not very into romance,’ you had said. ‘But I’ll still think you’ll enjoy it. Mrs. Bennet never fails to make me smile, so at the very least, I think you’ll get a laugh out of it.’ He thought it was funny the way you buffered your suggestion, as if he wouldn’t do anything you asked him. And it was true. Mrs. Bennet made him laugh too, but he found himself more and more enthralled by the relationship unfolding between Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy. He was going soft, and he had a sneaking suspicion as to why (or a very clear reason that was just really hard to come to terms with) (ie., his overwhelming love for you). He gave in to his urges and glanced back up.

He was met by your perpetual grin as you chatted softly with Emily. As your eyebrows raised or your nose scrunched, he let the butterflies in his stomach roam free. They were uncomfortable in the best way possible. Satisfied with one last look at you, he reopened the book and tried to keep reading, but his thoughts ran rampant. He’d given you a little star puzzle, a star to represent his undying love for you. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He knew he couldn’t catch a falling star, but he’d find a way if that’s what you wanted. A faint smile graced his lips as he thought, I’d do anything. If she wanted it, I’d give her anything. I’d give her every star in the sky. 

[the-children]

The Westmoore Tragedies | Chapter 3

[ TW: Mentions of Gore ]

The weight of his sword was immensely comforting to Rodarin—not only in case of another bizarre happening, but in fondness of his days of adventure. His trusted short sword hung within its sheath by his side, still humming with old enchantments he had woven himself in the past. “Everyone’s on edge—people are fuckin’ terrified” said Ahldmhas, the Captain who awoke Rodarin with grave news. “They wanna know what th’fuck’s happenin’.” “We all do..” Rodarin murmured in return, his brow knitting in frustration as worry, fatigue, and dread all gnawed at his core once the schoolhouse came into view against the grey overcast. A crowd had already gathered, theories and panic murmured amongst one another as a line of privateers blocked their entry, only shifting to the side to allow the pair through. Their footsteps echoed along the main hall as they made for the staircase dead ahead. The school had been emptied once the Maelstrom arrived—it felt so lonely inside these halls without the staff, without the children. For a brief moment his vision flickered, the sickening crimson taint flashing before Rodarin’s eyes to paint the surreal emptiness with a nightmarish foreboding, causing a spike of panic to chill his veins, and his stride to falter.

Within the next blink of an eye, it was gone—an armored hand placed on Rodarin’s shoulder as Ahldmhas turned to him with concern. “Aye, you alright? Yer shakin’..” Rodarin steeled his nerves, offering a rapid nod to shake his panic and steady his pulse. “Yeah, sorry.. Just remembered something..” I’m not there anymore. I’m here—he told himself. They proceeded up the staircase, the sense of dread clawing deeper into his spine, a slight nausea settling in his stomach—not over the growing smell of blood and viscera, but in anticipation for what he would see. Reaching the top of his stairs, he was confronted with what he had hoped had been a lie—the blood trail, dragged from the first open room to the last at the end of the hall. The tiny shoe prints dotting within, only a handful of larger prints off to the side, likely of the first privateers to arrive at the scene.

As they stepped into the first classroom, his vision flashed once more—the tainted crimson washing over the scene of mangled chairs and corpses. Just like yesterday. Rodarin flinched and shuddered, his right hand darting to clasp over his eyes while his left pressed to the wall to keep himself balanced. A ragged exhale barely escaped clenched teeth. I’m not there anymore. I’m here—he repeated, slowly dragging his hand down to look again. The crimson taint was gone, but the scene was the same. Exactly the same. Ahldmhas gave Rodarin a light pat on the back. “It’s fuckin’ disgustin’, I know.. But that’s not all. C’mon.” The Captain made off for the next room, following alongside the drag marks in the hall. Yes, there was more, and Rodarin was sure he knew what was left. This couldn’t be possible.

Standing within the doorway of the last classroom, a sense of despair grasped at his heart, steadily dragging it to the pits of his stomach. As he suspected—the same bodies were scattered around the room in pools of their blood, tiny shoes and hands printed throughout the room. Their corpses were just as mutilated as the last, and some of the skin-bound crafts still littered the room. A couple of removed eyes were left lying in a pile, and various crafts of bloodied, pulled teeth glued to dark papers were hung among the display board–a twisted comparison to the macaroni pieces nearby. He remembered the victims squirming and twitching in the crimson shadows—it must have been agonizing. Even Ahldmhas’ expression was soured—the usually stoic man averting his gaze from the carnage. “It’s like a buncha’ fuckin’ kids did this, Rodarin. What th’fuck is goin’ on?.. Y’think they made ‘em watch while they did all this? Forced ‘em to play with this shit? What kind’a sick fucks..”

Kids did do this–Rodarin mentally replied, his heart sinking further at the mere prospect. His gaze slowly fell to the mangled corpse near his right—Melrin, that poor bastard.. He always wanted children of his own, but he was pronounced infertile. He had planned to adopt before the Orphanage Massacre. And to have been slaughtered by children so soon after?.. Yes—despair. It was hopeless. They were all going to die. His hand lifted to brush through his hair once more, tugging sharply at his dark locks to sting some sense back into himself. No, focus. Rodarin released a shaky exhale before he began to speak to the other investigators. The older children—the teens, were confirmed to have been told to stay home by an anonymous source. That, apparently, there was no school today. There weren’t enough bodies to account for every staff member—some were missing along with the children. This was by far the largest murder-kidnapping connected to these events to date. Thirteen dead and mutilated. Over sixty children, missing. There had to be a clue—a sane clue.

Rodarin began to pace between the classrooms, studying meticulously. It was his own comfort, in a way—to distract himself with work from this damned madness. Between his own investigation and the staff records, Rodarin was finally able to piece something together, despite the occasional inconsistency. Of the staff, only the young were missing. The inconsistencies were a few young male teachers—such as Merlin, and a single twenty-three year old female teacher—Ms. Belise. Aside from that, every single young, female teacher was missing, along with a small handful of young male teachers. They were all in their twenties. Why was this the connection? Why were some of the young killed anyway? And why all this to take children? Rodarin’s jaw popped from the pressure of his clenched teeth that deep thought had strained upon them—he needed some air.

The cool touch of stone kissed against the exposed skin of Rodarin’s arms, a long and deep inhale slowly filling his lungs to the brim with clear air. It was a night and day difference here behind the schoolyard, although the now-abandoned playground equipment gave it a slightly solemn appearance. Compared to the thick, choking carnage upstairs—this was much needed tranquility. His fingers brushed and massaged at his forehead as it throbbed painfully—he still couldn’t make any sense of it. Something sinister was happening, that much was obvious. But if he had really seen the act as it unfolded, and a day earlier on top of that—if the children were really behind the atrocious killings and mutilations.. What the hells did that mean?

A sudden blur in the corner of his vision averted his attention to the treeline of the nearby forest. It was fairly shaded within, thanks for the overbearing clouds that thickened the sky in a depressing grey—so it was hard to tell. But as Rodarin focused more intensely, he could see it—the shadow-coated child standing at the edge, staring upon him with its wide eyes of pure glowing white, and a similarly wide smile to match. With a slow wave, the child beckoned him to follow before disappearing into the forest. It was one of them. Those dreadful shadowed children that watched from the corner—that clawed at his leg. Rodarin broke from the wall he leaned upon, frantically sprinting for the treeline to follow the path the child had taken. If there were any answers to find, those shades would have them.

Gentle wind rushed against his ear to join the beating of his heart as he raced through the slowly but steadily thickening trees. Huffs of breath escaped his lips, his boots kicking up dirt and grass behind the urgency of his pace. Where did it go? A soft voice caused him to grind to a halt, sending him toppling onto his knees as he searched each direction for the source. There, to the west—one of the missing teachers, holding the hand of two school children as they seemed to lead her forward! They were ushering her forward, though their exact words were too soft to hear from this distance. “Hey! Stop!” He cried, though it seemed to fall upon deaf ears. Grunting in frustration, Rodarin scrambled to his feet and broke into another sprint as their figures disappeared behind trunks and foliage of the forest. Reaching the area they disappeared behind, he found them further up ahead. They turned, facing the right, and simply stared—seemingly beyond a nearby tree. Rodarin turned to look in the same direction, desperate to follow their gaze to something, anything—but all he saw was more forest. He turned back to the trio, watching as they began to walk forward. A tree blocked them as they moved behind it.....and then, nothing. They never reappeared. Were they hiding behind it?

A brisk jog brought Rodarin closer—and the closer he came, the darker the forest seemed to become. No, not again.. His pace slowed, an all-too-familiar sense of dread filling the air between each soft crunch of grass beneath his feet. This is just like the school from before–just like the staircase. His gaze continued to shoot off towards the right, but nothing ever seemed to appear. What had they been staring at? The answer came soon, as Rodarin turned to gaze behind the same tree they vanished behind. It was a pathway, trees tightly lining the sides, like some naturally formed tunnel. The darkness grew thicker as the path progressed, and towards the very end he could see that damned crimson taint slowly bleeding into the darkness. He stepped back, looking around the other side of the tree—there was nothing but dark, open forest. Stepping back again, the path of trees returned. What sort of illusion was this? What kind of twisted game was being played here? His right hand came to rest upon the hilt of his sword, squeezing tightly as the leather bindings stretched in his palm. He wasn’t sure what awaited beyond the darkness—but this time, he was prepared. With a metallic ring, Rodarin drew his sword from its sheath—flames bursting to life and licking across the steel against the old runes he left years ago. Blade steady, he moved forward into the bleeding dark.

͔͙͡ ̹̰̣ ̮̰ ̡ ̤t̥̭͝o҉̳͉̹ ̝̣͞ḅe̗͟ ̬͈͙̞̯̦͝ͅc͈̠͍̣̣̤̕ͅo̧n͍̜̳̪̙ţ͎̳̼i̙͉̻̗̬n̰u̸e͟d̝̱̻̭̜͙ ̭̫͈͈ͅ               .

[mandoalorian]

Biology [Dio x Reader]

Summary – You are stressed about college applications but by a twist of fate, a boy comes into your life and agrees to help you in exchange for something else.

Pairing – Gender neutral reader x Shane “Dio” Morrissey (No Y/N)

Warnings – general school related anxiety

Word count – 2.2k

A/N: For now this is just a one shot but if people enjoy it please let me know and I can write more! Comment if you would like to be tagged in a possible future update/s.

-

“I’m heading home now,” the high school librarian announced, as she threw the keys in your direction. The clanking of the metal hitting the desk interrupted you from your thoughts. “Lock up.” She ordered you and before you could reply, she was gone. You had stayed late at the school library every night for the past two weeks trying to work on your college applications. You had applied for one of the most prestigious fashion schools in your country and were spending time working on your portfolio, trying to make sure everything was perfected. Every night, however, you found yourself staying late and as the submission deadline neared more and more things were seemingly going wrong. In the dim light, you stared at the computer screen as the brightness stung your eyes. Just then, a crash made you jump out of your seat and run to where the noise emanated from, thinking something had happened to the librarian on her way out. Instead, you saw the silhouette of a boy, clumsily picking up fallen books from the floor. You got closer and went down on your knees, reaching your hand out to pick up a book, but his hand overlapped yours. The contact sent a shiver down your spine and you diverted your gaze from the book, to the boy. He was already staring at you. Your lips parted as you realised who he was and he said your name in a gentle tone. The dim light brought out a sparkle in his eyes which almost made him unrecognisable. “Dio…”

He was the boy in your classes, who sat at the back and didn’t say a word. He was different to the other boys. He wore all black, he had piercings and, you looked down at his hand which was resting on top of yours, noting his chipped, painted black nails. You smiled; he was certainly different. Dio was one to always get in trouble, fighting with people who crossed him wrong or using his smart mouth to back-talk the teachers. You remembered just the other week he had threatened to stab someone. You ripped your hand away from his, remembering the incident and stumbled back to your feet. He stood up with you and you folded your arms over your chest, almost defensively. “Why are you here?” You quizzed Dio. There was no reason for someone like him to be in the school library so late at night.

Dio stood awkwardly, looking at you and looking at the pile of fallen books on the ground. “I- uh-“ he struggled to get his words out. You picked up one of the books and ran your fingers over the title.

“Biology?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m failing,” Dio admitted with a sigh. “And, I can’t fail. So I’m studying. I usually just sit in Ms Greene’s classroom every night after school. No one knows I stay back. It’s uh, kind of a secret.”

“No way,” you shook your head in disbelief. “You? Studying?” You panicked slightly, feeling as though your tone might have come off as rude, but he didn’t seem fazed.

“I don’t want to go college,” Dio shrugged. “But I want out of this hell-hole. I want to graduate. I’m already a grade behind because I failed my finals last year. I can’t fail again.”

“You’re a year behind?”

“I’m nineteen,” he told you and you nodded, listening to him intently. He was finally making eye contact with you, and the softness in his look brought you a feeling of safety, despite him being your high school’s intimidating Goth boy.

“Well,” you cleared your throat and changed the subject. “I’m here every night too.” Dio gave you a weak smile and rubbed his feet along the old carpet awkwardly.

“Studying?” he asked.

“No,” you replied and handed him the biology book. He took it and slid it back into its place. He didn’t even want it anymore. “College applications.”

“Yeah? What are you applying for?” Dio asked and you raised an eyebrow at his curiosity.

“Fashion,” you informed him, pointing at the only switched on computer which lit up the corner of library. Dio’s smile grew and you wondered if he was about to poke fun at you.

“Can I see?” He followed your finger and also pointed at your computer.

You hesitated. He probably wanted to sabotage your portfolio... that sounded like a ‘Dio’ thing to do. The awkward silence went on long enough and you gave in, agreeing, and taking him over to your computer. You slid back down into your chair and flicked through the pages of your virtual fashion file. Instead of pulling a seat up, he leaned down to your level, his hand resting on the back of your chair. The distance between you both was very small, you swore you could even feel his breath on your neck. “Ms Cassidy says all applications are due in this Friday and I’m just about happy with my portfolio-“

“-You should be,” Dio interrupted. “This is incredible.”

You paused, dumbstruck by his compliment. Dio doesn’t just give out compliments like that. Especially not to people he’s just met. Hell, you were even surprised he knew your name. “…But,” you continued. “I need this to stand out and be special or else the admissions team won’t look twice at it. Fashion is so competitive. I had this idea. I wanted to do a segment on alternative style but I need a model and I’m not sure if I could find one who fits my image in time. I feel like giving up.” You sighed, exasperated, but he didn’t answer. He was paying very little attention to your words, or even your portfolio. His eyes burned into your face, memorising and taking in every little detail like you were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. “Dio?” You interrupted his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

You sighed again. “I can’t find a model because no one has that special air of style these days. Everyone is the same. Same is boring. We all want to look the same as each other because… it feels safe.” You shrugged.

“Right,” Dio agreed, shuffling around in his long black leather coat. The noise it made pulled you to look at him, and as you took in his appearance, you were struck with an idea. Dio must’ve seen the lightbulb appear above your head and he laughed.  “No no no,” he shook his head. You didn’t need to verbalise your thoughts, he already knew exactly what you wanted. “Not me. I’m not a model.”

“Please!” You begged, standing up and pressing both of your hands to his chest as you felt the different layers of material he was wearing. His breathing hitched under your touch and he squirmed slightly. “You’re perfect… you…” Your voice trailed off as you imagined the various poses he could do in his different clothes. He was everything you needed; your ticket to get into Fashion school. “Dio.” you pulled your hands away and pressed them together in a praying gesture. “I’ll pay you.” Your voice changed seriously. “Do you have any idea how much I want this?”

“I do… I do…” Dio said, uncertainty still dripping from his tongue. He thought of how much his friends would tease him if they found out he had been out on photoshoots with you. If they knew he was your model. But there was no reason for them to find out, and if it meant he could spend more time with you… “You can pay me. Yeah?” He eventually agreed.

“Yes!” You exclaimed, filled with happiness. “Of course Dio, thank you.” And acting on impulse, you hugged him. You felt him tense up and you buried your face into his chest. After a delay, he wrapped his arms around you. He was warm. You didn’t know what it was, perhaps his strong arms or broad shoulders that made you feel protected. It was crazy. Of course you had seen him around before, but suddenly he had you feeling all these things. “Thank you,” you mumbled. You finally felt like you had a shot at fashion school – a chance. From that moment, you swore he was your lucky star.

Dio had always stuck out in a crowd of high school students with his black gelled hair, kohl eyeliner and multiple piercings around his ears. You were certain he was feared, even by the jocks, but that only drew you in closer to him. He was like an enigma, and in this moment, you had never felt more compelled to discover more of him. Realising your hug probably had lasted way longer than appropriate, you were the first one to pull away. “So, uhm,” you cleared your throat, figuring you should go over expenses. “I can do 30$ for the first hour and if it takes longer… then 10$ for every hour after that.”

“No I don’t want your money,” Dio said, and you knotted your eyebrows together. He wanted more.

Dio knew you better than you knew him. He had been watching you for a while now, taking in your every move. He knew your GPA was above average and that you were worrying way more than you needed to be about college. He had complete faith in you. He saw you every day, laughing with your friends in the cafeteria. He watched you from his seat at the back of the classes you shared with him. He admired how smart you were, and especially how hard-working, something he felt like he could never be. You felt like you would be good for him, a positive influence which is something he knew he so desperately needed. But there was something about you that made him lose his confidence. It was a feeling he’d never felt before which made him question all his motives. He wanted to go out with you, kiss you with hunger and passion. He had done these things plenty of times before and lord knows he was experienced but it was like there was something inside of him that stopped him from making any advances. In the darkness of the library, in the close proximity, he felt the butterflies in his stomach. He felt the spark of electricity when your hands had previously touched. He’d done a lot – been with guys and girls before but the outcome was always the same. Meaningless sex and then never speak to them again. Now, he was suddenly feeling this emotional attachment. A sense of longing.

He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t need your money, he just needed you, and he’d take you right now in the library if he could. He looked around, contemplating his surroundings. He simply couldn’t do it, and yet the urge to kiss you was so strong. “I don’t want your money,” he repeated. “Look, you help me pass biology and that’ll be enough.”

You felt the tension in the air. You wondered if he could feel it too. “Before we start on biology,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “How’s your chemistry?” You intertwined your fingers with his and bit your lip, taking a step forward to him, filling any distance. Dio felt the smirk playing on his lips at your confidence but nervously, you looked up at him doe-eyed. This was the first time you had ever gotten close to someone. Dio lifted his free hand and cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the softness of your lower lip.

“Good enough for me to know it’s alright to do this,” his voice was dark. He leaned in and his nose brushed against yours. You hummed and found your fingers in his hair as you pushed his face closer. Your eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you delicately. It wasn’t how you had imagined at all. You had seen him around other people; the way he’d push his partners into the lockers and run his hands over their bodies. You’d see people hang out with Dio, and they’d turn up to class the next day with hickeys and love-bites all over their jaw and neck. You imagined him rough, but this felt – gentle. He was passionate and took his time to deepen the kiss. You felt safe in his arms, you wanted to stay like this forever. He was such a good kisser, although him being your first kiss, you didn’t have much to compare it to. When he eventually pulled away so you could both catch your breath, you felt your knees weaken and couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. Dio spoke your name softly and squeezed your hand. “Let me walk you home.” He murmured, to which you agreed, but not before kissing him again.

-

I hope you enjoyed!! Like I said let me know if you want to be added to a tag list and I will write more if people want more. Thanks for reading. xx

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @a-partofthenarrative​

“Silver and Gold”

A/N This is a sequel to my 2018 Advent Calendar piece, “Evergreen”. It is not necessary to read that first, but it might be helpful as there are some references to that here. Regardless, I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading. Happy Holidays, y’all!

 Christine loved New York at Christmas.

 The sights, the sounds, the smells…every moment of strolling through the city streets, block by block, had brought an exhilarating thrill that had been absent from her heart for far too many years. Even hours later, as she stood in the kitchen, elbow deep in pie dough, she had been unable to wipe the smile from her face.

 Ms. Fleck had disappeared to somewhere or another at one point, claiming “errands” and leaving Christine to wander lower Manhattan for the better part of an hour. Weighed down by the variety of shopping bags, she had meandered uptown at a leisurely pace, stopping to admire the newly erected Christmas tree in Washington square before making her way up 5th Ave. to Herald Square, where she would find Ms. Fleck and Erik’s odd horseless contraption that had initially spirited her to Coney Island.

 As she passed the stream of elaborate shops boasting anything any man, woman or children could ever desire, she lingered here and there, casting appreciative eyes to the elaborate window displays attracting crowds along the sidewalk. One particular window snagged her attention: a fanciful tower of toys teetering precariously on top of one another, held aloft in some miraculous defiance of gravity. 

 Biting back a smile, she stepped away with a silent resolution to return with Gustave. The poor boy would be positively beside himself when he saw the treasure trove in front of her.

 She had located her shopping companion only moments later and, with confirmation from both parties that their feet and funds were exhausted, bags and passengers were located into the carriage for the trip home.

 At least...she hoped it would become home. Goodness, but it did feel like home; this crazy, complicated family she had formed in a strange netherworld of curiosities. Upon returning to Erik’s home, it had been discovered that they had beaten “the boys” back to the residence, so with no tree to decorate, Christine had set her attention to another one of her favorite holiday pastimes.

 Now, planted firmly in the large kitchen, covered in flour and holiday cheer, she rolled the stubborn dough into a thin sheet, a pie plate stuffed full of apples set to the side patiently waiting for its cover. Satisfied with her work, her fingers had just curled around the edge of the thin sheet when a commotion drew her attention to the front of the house. Brow furrowed, she wiped her hands on her apron and left the kitchen to investigate.

 Ms. Fleck was already present and Christine cast her a questioning look before another shout snapped her eyes to the foyer.

 Dr. Gangle stood just inside the door, the sole member of the group lucky enough to claim the prime position out of the cold, although one’s definition of luck would depend on one’s opinion. The poor man’s arms were wrapped around the top of one of the largest evergreen trees she had ever seen, this one seemingly dwarfing the childhood giant she had described to Erik only hours before. No doubt this had been Gustave’s doing. As his father before him, her son had a tendency to want to “one-up” anyone or anything that he deemed worthy of bragging rights and she bit back a chuckle despite herself. Maybe it was time her beloved masked enigma had a taste of his own medicine; the fact that it was delivered by his own progeny was turning out to be a delightful twist of Fate.

 Shouts echoed from beyond the door, phasing in and out in a cacophony of chaos as the tree twisted and turned in a macabre dance in attempts to be pushed over the threshold.

 “Left! Move it to the left!....No, the OTHER left!”

 “That IS left! Watch it! You’re going to take the paint clean off the frame!”

 “Gangle! Squelch! If either one of you idiots scratches the paint, you’ll be repairing it yourselves with Ms. Fleck’s mascara brush!” 

 Both women watched in stunned silence at the tenuous exchange before Christine glanced down, brow furrowed and voice weary. “Goodness, but it sounds like they’re having some trouble, doesn’t it?”

 The smaller woman shrugged. “Frankly, I’m impressed that the Master knows what a mascara brush is.”

 Christine blinked, unable to answer before the tree moved just so, allowing a small blur through the doorway and straight into her skirts. “Maman!” Gustave beamed up at her, thick snow caked in the hair along his brow. “Look at the tree we found! Isn’t it wonderful? I think it’s even bigger than yours!”

 “It is..something!” she exclaimed brightly, hunkering down to look him in the eyes. “What happened, cherie? You look as though you’ve been caught in a snowstorm.”

 Gustave pulled off his hat and swiped a carelessly palm over his hairline, sending clumps of snow to the wooden floor. “We had the best time! Dr. Gangel and mr. Squelch had a hard time cutting down the tree, so Mr. Y stepped in to help them. Well, the three of them began to argue over which way was the best way and while they were yelling at each other, the tree started to creak and then fell- right toward the sleigh!”

 Christine gasped, feeling slightly “Oh no…”

 “Oh yes!” The boy chattered on, seemingly oblivious to the picture he was painting. “That seemed to get their attention and then they ran toward the sleight. I didn’t get to see much after that because Mr. Y grabbed me, but we ended up in the snow. You should see him, Mama! He looks so funny!”

 “Gustave, do you realize any of you could have been hurt or worse?! Mr. Y likely saved your life!”

 Gustave rolled his eyes in a fashion so similar to Erik that Christine’s breath caught. “Maman, I’m fine. The tree didn’t even land anywhere near us.” His little brow furrowed as he glanced at the tree in the doorway, a frustrated Dr. Gangle staring at its branches with open disdain. “Do you think we’ll be able to get it inside?”

 “I..don’t know, love. I’m sure Mr. Y and the others are doing everything they can.”

 More grunts and shouts caused mother and son to glance up and Christine quickly snatched Gustave and stepped back as the tree hurtled forward, succumbing to a final desperate push from Squelch and Gangle. With one hand planted firmly on her son and the other pressed to her chest, she watched wide-eyed as the men muscled the enormous evergreen deeper into the house, and a masked figure stumble in behind them, shutting the door with an echoing bang and slumping against it with a weary sigh.

.

This man looked nothing like the impeccable figure she had always known. Instead, the man before her was a disheveled mess; wilted against the doorway, chest heaving, hair caked with snow, overcoat askew and one glove and his cravat missing (although really, who wore full evening dress to trek through the woods?).

 With a quiet word and a promise to reconvene soon, Christine sent Gustave upstairs with Ms. Fleck to clean up before pasting a sympathetic smile on her lips and moving to his side. “Oh, my poor Erik,” she soothed, taking his gloveless hand in hers. “Something tells me today did not go exactly as planned.”

 He cracked one eye open at the sound of her voice. “Christine…” Even his voice was exhausted. “Never again…”

 “But Gustave is happy, Erik. You did well.”

 “...and nearly killed us both in the process.”

 “Yes, well, he did mention that,” she muttered. “But thankfully no one was killed or maimed and the tree was delivered successfully…”

 Both eyes opened to regard her now and she only sighed and smoothed a hand over his snow-wet face. “I am nearly done with an apple pie. I meant it to be a surprise, but given the circumstances…” She chuckled at the faint light that came to his gaze at the mention of his favorite dessert, another newly discovered similarity to their son. “Go and clean up while I finish and then we’ll all decorate our new tree together.”

 This brought another groan as Erik let his head fall back against the door with a thump. “Christine, I have a bountiful staff. This is what they are paid for.”

 “Not this year.” she countered. “Besides, decorating is the most fun of all. I’ve already laid out the popcorn to be strung and I picked out some lovely ornaments in the City today.”

 “The City? Christine, you went to Manhattan alone?!?”

 “Of course not, Erik. Ms. Fleck accompanied me” She squeezed his hand. “Now up you go.”

 “But Christine!”

 She met him eye for eye. “Don’t! I am a grown woman. We were perfectly safe. Now go upstairs, change into some fresh clothes and decorate the Christmas tree with your son.” Stepping back, she helped him to his feet, smoothing her hands down the sleeves of his overcoat and pressing a kiss to his frozen lips. “I shall join you as soon as I get this pie in the oven.” 

 *********************************************************************

Nearly an hour later, the pie covered and browning nicely, Christine untied her apron, let down her hair and migrated to the living room where the festivities already appeared to be happening in full swing.

 The tree now stood in the place of honor in the front corner of the room, beautifully centered in front of the large bay window, creating a lovely visual for anyone who happened to pass along the street. Dr. Gangle, Squelch and Ms. Fleck had taken up positions nearby, sorting through the packages and parcels from their shopping excursion, taking turns to comment on the contents of each.

 Muttering from the back corner turned her attention to Erik and Gustave, both dressed in fresh shirtsleeves, waistcoats and trousers, and seated side-by-side on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them. Gustave was attempting to teach his father to string the snack food to create a festive garland that would be just perfect. Erik, bless his heart, listened indulgently as he tried to copy Gustave’s motions. Unfortunately, while the former Opera Ghost was a master of innumerable things, the muttered curses and muffled cries of pain indicated that the needle was making better progress connecting with skin rather than kernels. 

 The rustling of skirts announced her presence to the room and Erik immediately set the string and bowl aside as he stood to greet her. “Ah, there you are, Christine. Would you care to ah...take over the garland crafting?”

 Biting back a smile at his attempts to cover his inadequate stringing skills, she gave him an impish grin as she drew near. “And deprive you of the experience? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 “It’s all right, Maman,” Gustave commented, never taking his eyes from his work. “He’s not very good at it.”

 Erik’s gaze snapped to hers as if to say There! You see? but she quickly and quietly tempered it with one of her own. “Not everyone excels at the same things, Gustave. But if there is one thing I know about Mr. Y, it is that he has quite the eye for making beautiful things.”

 “Except popcorn garland,” Gustave supplied.

 Erik’s expression was positively indignant as she worked to suppress the quirk of her lips. “So it would seem.”

 “We’ve got all of the ornaments arranged for you when you’re ready, Boss,” Squelch announced, waving a hand over the various boxes of colored bulbs laid out beside the tree. “Ms. Christine picked up quite the selection.”

 “Wonderful. Thank you, all.” Erik managed, taking Christine’s hand as they approached the tree. “Shall be begin?”

 The three glanced between themselves, then back at the Master and his lady. “You want us to help?”

 “Of course!” Christine smiled, “besides, none of this would have been possible without you.”

 No further permission was needed by any of the parties. Gustave, finished with his popcorn garland, wound it around the tree, accepting assistance from Erik and Dr. Gangle at different points depending on height and availability. Christine, Squelch and Ms. Fleck declared themselves in charge of the myriad colors of ornaments and directed where and what were hung until the tree was transformed from a blank green palette to a wonder of color and light.

 One of the most important purchases for Christine had been a set of candles for Advent. “This was one of my favorite traditions growing up,” she remarked as she struck a match. “With all of the traveling my father and I did, there were many of our traditions that we were forced to forego, but he always made certain we had a set of candles for Advent.” With a radiant smile, she lit their first candle, relishing in the pop and crack of the wick catching fire. “This one represents hope.”

“The second represents faith,” Passing the match to Gustave, she helped him light the second candle before offering it to the masked man standing at her side. Wordlessly, he accepted it, his expression unreadable as he set the match to the wick and the third candle spring to life. “And the third,” she supplied, meeting Erik’s gaze over the flickering flame, “is for joy.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips then and her heart squeezed a bit tighter in her chest.

 “What about the other candles?” Gustave asked.

 Christine blew out the match and smiled down at him. “Traditionally, there are four Sundays in Advent and each week one more candle is lit. The fifth is lit on Christmas Eve. We’ve started a bit late this year, as it’s nearly Christmas, but all will be lit as the season progresses.”

 Gustave studied the candles, then glanced at her “Did mofar teach you any other traditions that we can have here?”  

 “Oh, cheri, so many! Although, we rarely had the chance to partake in any of them given that we were never in Sweden much after my fifth birthday. The legend of St. Lucia, julbord, julklapper.” She brightened. “I may be able to make julmust for Christmas Eve if I can find the proper ingredients. That is, if you don’t mind, Erik?”

 Slipping an arm around her waist, he remarked. “I want to know everything that is important to you, ange. If it makes you and Gustave happy, then consider it done.”

 The boy’s attention shifted to him then. “What about you, Mr. Y? Did you have any traditions growing up?”

 Erik’s panicked eyes immediately shot to her and Christine smoothly took control of the conversation. “Gustave, I’m sure Mr. Y knows many of the same holiday traditions that you do.”

 “But he’s never even had a Christmas tree before…”

 “And there were many years where I did not either. Like myself, Mr. Y has spent a great deal of his life traveling, haven't you, Erik?”

 “I have,” the masked man confirmed, but offered no further explanation.

 Thankfully, this seemed to satisfy the boy for the moment. “So... we’re blending. Maman’s traditions with Mr. Y’s?”

 Christine glanced at Erik, who looked as lost as she felt. “Er…”

 “In a sense, I suppose,” Erik supplied. “But perhaps it is more accurate to say that we are starting our own traditions. As a..” he trailed off suddenly, his normally stoic face slipping into something akin to sudden wonder.

 “As a family?” Gustave ventured.

 “Yes, my love,” Christine whispered, fingers covertly creeping into Erik’s palm as he held her hand like a lifeline. “Exactly that.” Drawing him close to her side, she bent down to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve had an exciting day and according to that clock in the hall, it is much past your bedtime. Say goodnight to everyone and I’ll be up in a moment.”

 “Ah, actually, Christine, may I speak with you for a moment?” Erik cut in.

 “Come on, little master,” Ms. Fleck said with a wink, catching Erik’s eye. “If you can get your nightclothes on, I’ll read you a story before your mama comes to tuck you in.”

 Gustave broke into a grin, pecking Christine on the cheek before dashing for the stairs. Christine watched him go with a loving smile before tipping her head back to smile up at the man stationed behind her. “Look at how happy he is, Erik. You gave him one of the best days, despite all of the trials that came with it. That boy worships the ground you walk on.”

 “I care for him in a way that I never knew I was capable of,” he admitted, tucking her hand in his arm and turning to the tree. “I would move heaven and earth for that boy.”

 “Welcome to parenthood, my love,” she whispered.

 With a sigh, Erik moved to stand before her, cloaked in the colors cast by the candles flames against the glass ornaments of the tree. “Christine, I admit I’ve been struggling when it comes to you and Gustave. I am not proud of it, but you must understand that I spent the majority of my life in utter solitude. Even in our...early acquaintance, the very notion that someone would care for me, let alone that I would one day have a son of my own…. was laughable.

 “Both of us know how the last story ended and quite frankly, as far as I was concerned, that was the end,” He shook his head, glancing down to the floor. “But then our paths converged again, ten years later with the knowledge of Gustave...and almost losing you again...it awoke something in me, Christine. Something that made me realize that I never want to feel that way again.

 “You, my darling, are the only thing that matters to me. You and Gustave and, if it is agreeable to you, you would make me innumerably happy if you would remain in Coney Island.”

 Her breath caught as the weight of what he was asking began to sink in. “Erik, are you…?

 He gripped her hands tighter, gaze steady, but pleading. “Stay with me, Christine. Be my wife. Let’s give Gustave the family we should have been from the beginning.”

 ‘Erik…” she whispered, leaning her forehead into his chest as tears flooded her eyes. “Truly?”

 In response, he pulled a box from his vest pocket, flipping it open to reveal a diamond solitaire. On one side, a band of gold, warm and radiant, linked a band of silver on the other, cool but elegant, joining in metallic harmony to cradle the diamond that winked up at her.

 “Oh, Erik…” she breathed again, “it’s stunning”

 “I know the tradition is bended knee, but I seem to have had a traumatic incident with a rather aggressive evergreen,” he replied dryly, “so I hope you’ll forgive...”

 “Yes.”

 He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

 “Yes. I’ll marry you. We shall stay.” Christine beamed up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “With all of my heart, I love you, you stubborn boar. The answer is ‘yes’.” Curling her fingers around the edges of his waistcoat she pulled him forward in a flash of motion and kissed him thoroughly in front of said evergreen tree.

 A chorus of enthusiastic cheers broke the spell a moment later and the couple turned to see Gustave, Ms. Fleck, Dr. Gangle and Squelch positively glowing at them from the stairs. “Way to go, Boss!”

 “Yes, well...” Erik sputtered, looking to Christine for assistance. She only chuckled, kissed him deeply again and extended her left hand, to which he responded by obediently sliding the ring on her finger.

 Gustave rushed down the stairs to embrace them both, begging to see his mother’s ring, then beaming up at Erik as if he had just been handed the world on a plate. “Does this mean I can call you ‘Father’ now?”

 Christine’s breath caught as her brown eyes collided with Erik’s mismatched ones, which looked slightly watery again. She watched as his throat bobbed, silently struggling for control before managing an answer. “Of course, my boy. You may call me whatever you wish,” he said, stooping down to look the boy in the eye. “You are my son and I am sorry if I’ve done anything to make you feel as though I’ve held you at arm’s length. I..love you, Gustave. I always have.”

 Christine pressed her hands to her mouth, tears flowing anew as the boy’s mouth trembled and he launched himself into the arms of the masked man whom he had come to idolize. Erik caught him, holding him in an awkward embrace as he met Christine’s teary smile, unbidden moisture already beginning to track down his visible cheek.

 Erik stood, bringing Gustave with him and Christine moved forward to join the embrace. As Erik’s free arm came around her and Gustave’s little hand held tight to hers, she was sure her heart would burst. 

 Her father used to say that a broken, battered path often led to the most beautiful destination and as she stood in the embrace of the two men she loved most in the world, bathed in the silver and gold glow of the candles and Christmas lights, she knew that she was finally home.

 With a family of her own making.

 As it always should have been.

 Eyes slipping closed, her fingers languidly trailed up and down Erik’s spine and smiled as the large hand at her waist squeezed her imperceptibly closer.

 From this day forward, as it always would be.

[winzenni]

didn't mean to make you cry (lee donghyuck)

Summary: when your design project partner’s joking criticism unintentionally makes you cry, how will he fix it? after all, you’re his crush...

Genre: hurt/comfort?, fluff

Pairing: donghyuck x artist!reader, high school!au

Word count: 1.5k

When you were paired up with the outgoing, edgy, purple-haired boy in class for your design assignment, you thought your final grade was done for. The purple-haired class clown, Lee Donghyuck, who wears leather jackets and looks like he plays with fire in his free time, but actually has a kind heart and warm aura. 

You thought Donghyuck would ditch you in the very beginning, dumping the entire assignment onto you and opting to hit up the local night market with his friends instead, but he had surprised you. Throughout the month, Donghyuck had stayed on task in classes and been very attentive to your vision and goals for the project. Together, you were assigned to create a design layout that would display students’ artwork and be printed in the school newspaper.

Though your peers in class all opted for a traditional newspaper design, with serif fonts and boxy modules, you wanted to break out of the norm and create a futuristic vibe, with circles and vivid motifs, to emanate a clean aura in your work. When you were paired with Donghyuck, you feared he would shut down your creative vision, but instead, he had been extremely supportive and helpful in the project, even offering insight to improve the layout and refine the modern look of the pages.

For fun, you had put some close-up photos of your old sketches and drawings in the background. You thought Donghyuck would have called you self-centered for putting your own personal works on the page, but he had proven you wrong by complimenting the design afterwards. Together, your smooth black pen lines and colored pencil textures created a personal, diary-like feeling to the design, while the minimalistic modules and white space kept the clean modern vibes. 

His willingness to cooperate and kindness to you and your ideas had truly shocked you, and erased the bad boy/lazy rebel image you had thought of him. He seemed like someone you wanted to get closer with, maybe.

“Donghyuck and Y/N, time for your evaluation.” the teacher called you two up.

“Hm, this corner of the page is a little crowded. It’s hard on the eyes,” Ms. Kang says. 

“It’s because y/n drew the picture there,” says Donghyuck. “It’s ugly, right?” He says it in a joking manner, and you know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the words stir up some insecurities you’ve suppressed for a long time.

Ms. Kang laughs along with him. “Donghyuck, don’t be mean. Her drawing looks fine…”

--

You know he was joking when he had called your drawing ugly, but you couldn’t help but think that maybe he truly meant it. People were always like that to you.

In elementary school, your parents had loved your art. Your scribbly golden retrievers, your painted landscapes, they had praised each one and hung them up on the refrigerator, and you were so proud to have a talent that they were proud of. 

In eighth grade, your hyper realistic self-portrait earned you a ticket to New York to have your art displayed at a museum’s exhibit highlighting children’s artworks. You began to think this talent could take off and become a career, but your parents disagreed.

“Art doesn’t make money, y/n. Do you want to starve when you grow up?”

As you grew older, your art got better but your parents’ support decreased. Though you could draw a golden retriever 100 times better than before, your parents weren’t praising you.

“It’s ok, y/n. It looks kind of ugly.”

“That’s supposed to be you? It’s ugly-”

“Why did you draw me so ugly-”

Ugly was such a short word. But why did it hurt so much? Whenever you saw your parents’ faces, you just thought about your ugly, meaningless passion: art.

--

The bell rang. 

“Ah, I barely noticed the time. We’ll finish grading your design next class.” says Ms. Kang.

“Cool, thanks seonsaengnim,” Donghyuck responds. “Y/n, what did you think? She really liked the-”

You stand up, grabbing your bag and leaving for the cafeteria. You couldn’t hear Donghyuck’s words over your parents’ criticisms ringing in your head.

“Are you dumb? You’re NOT going to art school.” “No more art, y/n. It’s meaningless.” It had been a while since the word “ugly” had come up when talking about your art, your hobby, your talent, no -- your sole passion in life that gave you a purpose. You didn’t even notice your eyes watering up.

“Y/n, didn’t you hear me?” Donghyuck catches up beside you. “Ms. Kang said -- wait, are you crying?”

You’re taken aback, looking up to the face on your left. Concern flashes through his eyes as a sense of embarrassment pierces your chest. He thinks I cried because of a dumb joke he made, you think to yourself. He thinks I’m too sensitive and weak like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, taking a u-turn to seek refuge in the bathroom. 

At lunch, you plop your tray beside your friend Renjun, taking a seat.

“How was the project evaluation?” He asks. 

“Renjun, you’re gonna laugh when I say this. I cried for no reason in front of Donghyuck,” you reveal.

“Why? What happened?” He asks worriedly.

You explain the purple-haired kid in your class, the design project, the thoughts that had rushed through your mind after Donghyuck had jokingly called your art ugly. Renjun, who you had first met in art class and hoped to become an art student himself, was one of few people who truly understood your insecurities about your future in art. 

“He probably thinks I’m weird and too sensitive now,” you say.

“Maybe,” he says. Renjun was never one to lie, even if the truth hurt a little bit. “It’s okay though, you probably won’t see him ever again after this year.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, patting it comfortingly.

“You’re right,” you laugh, scooping up another spoonful of rice.

--

How can she be laughing so much after crying less than twenty minutes ago? Donghyuck asks himself from across the cafeteria. Did I do something wrong?

“Donghyuck, what’s on your mind?” pipes up Jeno. “What are you looking at?”

“Hm? Oh… Earlier in class, that girl over there cried after I said something but I’m not sure why.” Donghyuck answers.

Jeno raises his head to look over at the girl in question. “Oh! Y/n? She’s so nice though, how did you even make her cry?” “I don’t know! That’s what I want to know!” Donghyuck defends himself. “Who’s sitting next to her though? She was just crying last class, why is she laughing already?”

“Oh, that’s Renjun. Why don’t you just ask him? He seemed pretty chill in math class last year,” Jeno suggests. 

-- 

When Donghyuck sees Renjun turn into the boys’ bathroom before class, he follows.

“Renjun!” he calls out.

Renjun turns around to see the owner of the unfamiliar voice. 

“Why did y/n cry? Did I do something wrong?”

Tilting his head to process the sudden interrogation, Renjun notices Donghyuck’s bright purple hair and makes the connection.

“Oh, you’re Donghyuck,” he remarks.

“Please, Renjun, tell me if I did something wrong. I need to know.”

“Why do you care so much?” Renjun asks. “Don’t worry about it, she’s not mad at you.”

“No, please. Please tell me. I-” Donghyuck starts. How can he admit his crush on you to a stranger right now? He can’t miss his chance. “I-I like y/n. I need to know if I did something wrong. I want to fix it. Please, Renjun.” 

Donghyuck had loved your drawings. He had loved your designs too. And loved you too. He loved how concentrated you focused when designing the layout, how your fingers gracefully pushed hair behind your ears when it fell in your face. He loved how your passion and dedication shined through in everything you did, whether it was your voice in a presentation, or the speed and concentration of your fingers on a keyboard. You were his crush, but also his role model. He couldn’t live with himself if he had made you cry.

Renjun explained your situation, your art, your parents, your self-doubt to Donghyuck. “Shoot your shot, Donghyuck. I think maybe y/n likes you too,” he said before pushing the door open and leaving quickly to hide his growing smile.

Alone in the bathroom, Donghyuck breathes a sigh of relief.

--

The next day in class, Donghyuck slides his backpack on the desk beside you, instead of his usual seat in the back. 

You look up, unsure how to face him. Should you explain why you cried? Or pretend like it didn’t happen?

He slips a folded pink piece of paper onto your desk, nodding at you to open it. 

You unfold the paper to see a doodle of a girl and boy, painting the sky together under some clouds. Amongst the clouds read “Your art is amazing. And you are too.” in a neat script. On the bottom of the paper: “Wanna come with me to the night market on Saturday?”

You look up at Donghyuck, searching his eyes to see if this is some pitiful joke or attempt to amend. Instead, you just see a glazed, lovestruck gaze in his eyes.

“I promise I won’t make you cry this time,” he says.

[impaladolan]

Capture - Grayson Dolan [2/-]

summary: after an unsuccessful attempt to escape, Y/N is in for more than she bargained..

warnings: lil bit of smut, swearing, and bdsm undertones

a/n: this is part TWO of this little series! check out part one before reading this!

Your senses slowly began to settle back into you, and you finally realized just what kind of mess you were in..

Right after his bold exit, your exhaustion caught up to you and your eyes became as heavy a dumbbells. But when you awoke for the second time that evening, the situation truly hit you right in the noggin.

You were in a foreign place, that you were incredibly scared to even attempt an escape out of. The foggy memory of the stunning man that had entered the room, was becoming a false reality. Had you dreamt of him? Was he just a twisted piece of your imagination?

Surely not.

It seemed so utterly real that the nameless man had to be an actual human. And even that thought scared the absolute shit out of you. If he were to barge right through the same door, you wouldn't know how to even address him, let alone look at him. So you stayed hidden beneath the large comforter, softly shaking with fear as your eyes began to water. You were starting to miss things you never thought you could miss. Like the pumpkin-apple candle that you'd light from time to time, or your piano you love to play, to wake you up in the mornings and settle you down in the evenings. Hell, you were even beginning to miss your refrigerator that held all your favorite foods and drinks, and your spacious bathroom that you regularly took a soaking bubble bath in.

Oh god, a bathroom. Just at the mere thought, your bladder revolted and signaled it's everlasting need to be freed. But you were too scared. Though, you couldn't last much longer without accidentally pissing yourself, but that'd just make this dreadful day even worse. So with your fears in mind and the shaking of your body reminding you, you pushed back the covers and lifted yourself from the cushiony mattress, your toes curling at the frigid touch of the marble floors. You oddly looked left and right, in search of what could possibly be a hidden camera or worse— a person, but came short with nothing of the sort. You began your tip-toeing steps towards an open door that unmistakably led to the sacred toilet you were literally yearning for, and ever so softly shut the door, for at least a little privacy. It was an expensive looking bathroom with even more expensive looking appliances.

But without further examining you rush to the porcelain bowl and pull down your undergarment, quickly seating yourself and letting all the filtered tension go. A relieved sigh escaped your lips, but your asscheeks sure did feel sore.

Maybe it wasn't a dream..

You let your thoughts roam as you emptied your bladder and tore a piece of toilet paper from its roll and wiped, finishing with the click of the flushing button and directing yourself towards the sink. The women in the mirror caught your eye, though she looked oddly untouched. You thought you'd at least have a bruise or two fluttered across your arms or your face, but it appeared as though you were as good as new and unbothered. Whoever had kidnapped you didn't fully intend harm, but rather some other premeditated plan that you weren't truly sure of.

Though you felt somewhat at ease, your frightened thoughts lingered and you washed your hands quickly and tip-toed back to your aclaimed warm bed that you slightly missed the absence of. You could've gone for round three of sleeping that day, but yet again, to your dismay, the familiar sound of a door opening and closing kept your eyes open, and an unfamiliar scent glided into your nostrils and made your stomach growl profusely.

"Hungry, darling?" The same voice from your dreams questioned the air around you and just as before, you couldn't refrain from laying your eyes on him. He was undoubtably real, except this time he was fully clothed in a tucked white dress shirt and pants, a belt tightly wrapped around his waist. He was even dreamier than before with his hair all done up and his fingers clad with shiny rings that hadn't caught your eyes before. You drew your attention away and slowly nodded, bringing the large blanket up to shield yourself from his eyes. He set the platter down on the nightstand with what looked to be a sweet smile and grabbed a little portable table to set just above your thighs. He neatly settled the prepared food onto it and seated himself at the end of the bed, motioning his hand for you to begin.

You were hesitant to eat anything he could've made at first, but you were more scared of him becoming mad, so you gladly picked up your spoon and began to chew on the nice noodle soup, it's brothy flavor feeling nice on your throat. You almost whimpered at the taste when you finished your very first bite, your eyelids shutting and your head titled back in sensation. "Good?" His deep, softened voice brought you back to reality and your head was nodding before you could detest anything of it. "For how mouthy you were this morning, you sure haven't said much at all." His words struck true as you thought back to the prior events, his seething words and your snooty comments that arises the anger in him.

"Well, I'm sorry to inform you, but you had caught me in a moment of weakness and I will forever regret it. I was taken against my own free will, without the ability to even fight for my freedom, and you think it's fair to treat me like a whore who "deserves to be punished" and was in quite a drowsy state of mind. You're a sick bastard whether you've been told that or not." You seemingly growled at him, but he didn't seem to be angered, let alone offended. With all the stillness and subtleness in the world, he answered;

"Yes, it may have been a moment of weakness, Ms.

Y/L/N, but when was the last time that that pretty pussy of yours was touched, hm? How long has it been since you've came by someone else's hand, or cock perhaps? Darling, I may be a stranger to you, but you're no stranger to me." And with that, he left you stunned (and regrettably horny), all alone in the same room you've been trapped in for who knows how long? Ugh, it was so angering the way he could flip what you say into something far from being similar to anything you were trying to argue.

But he was right..

Yes, it's been a rough couple years in the dating life for you. Though, it never had to do with "supply of men" because here and there, you'd get a little flustered by a handsome man wondering if you'd like to get coffee sometime. But you'd always sweetly decline and carry on with your day. You were a focused, driven person that had their mind set on nothing else but your arising business endeavors. You simply didn't want to begin a relationship because you weren't fully ready to give so much attention to one thing while you were too focused on another.

And being honest, men are very clingy. And mysterious..

His final little statement about "You're no stranger to me" really confused you. Had you met him before? Was he from your hometown? It was truly a mystery. Who's to say he wasn't some sort of stalker whose been following you for the past five years? But that sounds absurd. Why would such a handsome, dreamy, sexy— a'hem, man want to have anything to do with you? Whatever it is, you weren't exactly mad about it. Because just like earlier, when you were hazy and half asleep, you felt the same tingling and flutters right down to your core. He was so smooth with his words, it's hard not to fall to your knees and become his beckon call. Fuck, anytime you laid eyes on him, your body begins to writhe with shudders, creating that pooling sensation where your core throbbed the worst. A large part of you couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow, throw some sly comments at him or even try escaping, anything to catch his attention.

So before drifting asleep, your mind raced with loose plans and tactics for tomorrow, when you’d awake in the same room for presumably the third or fourth time.

-

Go time.

Initially, you had planned to sneak out only to anger him, but now that you were thinking about it, why not at least try to escape the clutches of the room and run away, hopefully home if you could.

You were missing it so much already, though you’ve only been gone for approximately thirty-two hours (maybe). But you were becoming bored with the view of absolutely nothing except gray walls and the one large painting on the wall. It looked like a countryside, a barn with a red roof-top and white siding while trees decorated the entire area around it. It was an odd picture to be put in this room, it didn’t really match the minimalist vibe the entire rest of the proximity put off. But anyway, it felt weird getting out of bed and twisting the handle on the door, and to your satisfaction, it opened with a faint click and you were finally able to be freed of this room.

The even more so frigid air smacked you straight between the eyes the moment you fully opened the door, it made your eyes water slightly. Taking the very first step out of the room, you notice that the walls in the long hallway are a powder color, which brought a weird grin to your face.

Those gray walls just weren’t doing the trick.

You slowly begin to tip-toe to the right of the entryway, looking in every direction possible. You didn’t really know if he lives alone or with others, but you were banking on the possibilities that there were others in the nice, freezing home.

Why the fuck does he keep it so cold?

You continued your slow, padding steps until you came across another door-less room; the kitchen. Thankfully there was no one in the huge kitchen, and your stomach jolted to the smell of just another soup, you just couldn’t recognize it. You almost scavengered for a spoon, but the faint sound of shallow footsteps corrupted your hearing and you b-lined straight to a cabinet, that happened to be a pantry once you were enclosed inside. Before entering, the pairs of footsteps let out a few hoarse chuckles and cackles, ultimately placing them as men. From what you could see in the tiny, barely visible crack, you could for sure make out who was standing directly left to the cabinet you were stuck in; the panty-dropping hottie from earlier.

You were just praying to God that he wouldn’t find you.

You took every breath as carefully and slowly as possible, not moving a muscle as the two men conversed, though it was muffled and incomprehensible. After what seemed like hours, you swore you heard a few goodbyes and a loud door shut. You wanted to sprint out of the damn tight-knit cabinet and run for your dear life, but you slowly opened the door and breathed in a large breath once you were finally free of your slight claustrophobic fears.

“Better run, sweetheart.” His deep, distasteful voice scared the wits out of you, which made your instincts ignite the moment he took a step closer to you. Before you knew it, your feet were pacing back and forth in long strides as your arms pumped up and down, though your blanked mind came to a loss on the directions out of the house.

This was it.

There was no way you’d make it out of here. He was obviously much faster and actually knew the layout of his own house, while you, on the other hand, had no damn clue where the front door is. So your heart sank deep in your chest when you felt his warm, muscular arms wrap around the entirety of your waist before you hand could even grasp an unknown handle that you were violently reaching for.

“Think you’re fucking smart, princess?” He whispers in your ear, carrying you away, presumably to your prior settings while you helplessly let him. You didn’t even thrash against him, or even attempt a kick to his groin.

You just.. let him.

“Fuckin’ lucky I don’t tie you up and spank your ass until it’s numb again.” He murmurs to himself, dropping you off on the same bed you’ve been sleeping and awakening in whilst he shuts and locks the door too. Just his little comment to himself made your mouth water and your pussy clench. It was hard enough being in such a close proximity with him.

Once testing the door to see if it was locked properly, he turned back to look at you with a cold, lustful stare that had you aching all over yet again. For someone that you don’t even know their formal name, you sure did have the ‘hots’ for him. In a flash, his shirt was off and his pants were unbuckled, the heat arising in your cheeks as he strode over to you in his nakedness. “Knees. Now.” He points to the floor below him, watching with demanding eyes. You, of course, reacted before thinking. You were on your knees in seconds and had your hands wrapped around his increasingly large girth. You really hadn’t looked at it before, you were honestly terrified to. But now that it was right in front of you and your fist was slowly pumping it, you craved it.

“Since you haven’t been very nice to Daddy, you’re gonna have to give him a little sweet treat..” He caressed the top of your head, looking down upon the sight of you stroking him made his cock jump slightly. With your own eyes in him, you ran your tongue along the protruding, red vein of his cock, suctioning off his tip like it was a straw. He threw his head back with a pleasured sigh as your warm and thick muscle made his erection grow. With a few internal encouragements in your head, you let your mouth intake more, slowly edging its way to his public bone. What you hardly couldn’t fit, you let your fingers glide over. His sharp intakes of breaths and groans had your own self a mess, and you almost wanted to creep your own two ‘flimsy’ fingers down there and relieve it.

You let your hands travel to his constricting balls, fondling them with the slightest of touches. He squinted his eyes and held himself back from coming right then, but it was too late. For his thick, hot ribbons of cum released all the way down your throat and to your chin.

He didn’t last long..

It unusually tasted sweet, compared to others who seemed to be sour and gummy. Though he was done and physically drained, you continued slow motions, only quickening them by the second. Overstimulating has and will always be one of your favorite kinks. To see someone shaking and aching from their own sensitivity made you all the more horny and sexually-frustrated. But the overstrung man put an end to the real quick, pulling you to your feet and shoving you back onto the cushiony bed where your comfy gown rose and his intense stare darkened.

“Don’t you make one fucking sound..”

(masterlist)

[thatesqcrush]

Ingénue

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Oh come on my wonderful readers... you didn’t think Bryan was one and done right? This is dedicated to @madpanda75​ who told me she needed a money shot Kneef fic and the lovelies of the discord chat I am in, who encourage the most salacious shit... the pillow is all you heathens. C/W: Blow-job! So much penis talk. Cum. This fills the money shot square in my K!nktober challenge (of course I have to participate too!).

WC: 1668. 

Note: This is a one-off piece, which takes place between chapters 5 & 6 of Fall From Grace. I start off with the ending of ch. 5 just as a refresher, intro. 

--

S/O again to @prurientpuddlejumper​ - Kneef is such a cranky asshole. Thanks for the gifs!

--

You rapped your fingers in annoyance as the presentation wore on. Between the monotonous drone of the associate and the dimmed lights, you were headed to snoozeville.

“If you can turn to slide 35, you can see that the Firm billables have increased substantially…”

You opened your interoffice messenger. You looked around the board room. Everyone was too busy listening to your colleague’s ramblings.

[YN]: Rescue me.

To your delight, Bryan responded rather quickly.

[BK]: Bored are we?

[Y/N]: Yes.

[BK]: That’s a shame. I’m busy in a meeting with Diane. You know this is a STR computer. People are probably monitoring.

You rolled your eyes at Bryan throwing your prior words back at you.

[YN]: And seeing what I have to say to you would be the most exciting thing to happen in their mundane lives.

‘Ha!’ you thought victoriously, using Bryan’s own words back at him as well.

There was no response from Bryan. After a minute or two passed, you felt something in your guts twist. You were about to give your attention back to the boring presentation when one of the STR Laurie gatekeeper’s rapped on the glass door.

“Ms. Y/L/N – Mr. Kneef would like to see you. Immediately.”

The group of your colleagues let out a low whistle, as if you were in trouble with the teacher.

You bit your cheek from smiling. If they only knew.

--

“This way.”

You followed the blonde gatekeeper up the spiral staircase to Bryan’s office. Your heart pounded in your chest and your nerves were already tingling in anticipation. Tiny explosions emanated from each synapse.

As you walked down the long hallway, it occurred to you that you had never been in Bryan’s actual office. The many encounters you had, he had always come to visit you. In a weird way you felt this was a huge step – to be allowed into his personal space.

Finally, you approached his office and you entered. To your surprise, the room was empty. You were instructed to take a seat at his desk and as you did so, you took in the room décor. Bryan’s office was a massive corner office with floor to ceiling windows offering an expansive view of Lake Michigan. The walls were painted a dark charcoal and included a built-in bookcase that was filled to the brim. A rolling wood step ladder accompanied it. In the middle was a glass coffee table flanked by a black leather couch and two matching armchairs. Two Appropriately so, there was an iron bar cart with an ice bucket, various alcoholic bottles and glasses hanging in storage.

There was a sound of a toilet flushing and then a sink being turned. You realized Bryan had a bathroom in his office.

“Ms. Y/L/N, thank you for coming.” Bryan greeted you, before turning to the gatekeeper. “You can go now.” He waved his hand dismissively and the gatekeeper dropped their head, nodding before closing the door with a click.

Bryan sat down and kicked his legs up on his desk, crossing them at the ankles.

“How was your meeting with Diane?” You asked.

“Not important.” Bryan replied. “I called you because you had said you were bored.”

“I was.” You replied. “Nothing like hearing about firm billables to really jazz up one’s day. It was titillating.” You rolled your eyes as you stood. Bryan raked in your outfit – a tight sweater which showed off the swells of your tits and cigarette-style pants. Completing your outfit was a pair of patent leather pumps and a bold red lip. You came around and hopped onto the corner of the desk carefully, making sure to not disturb the items on the desk.

Bryan leaned past you and hit the page button on his phone. “This is Kneef. Hold my calls, no interruptions. Working through lunch with Ms. Y/L/N on the Higgins case.”

“Will do sir.” The voice on the other side complied.

“Oh, sir.” You teased.

Bryan’s eyes flashed with heat and you leaned back, a half-smirk gracing your face. “Do you like that? Being called sir?”

Bryan didn’t reply as another flash of heat coursed through. “Take off your sweater.” His voice was dark and gravelly as it dropped an octave. “Show me those tits.”

“Yes, sir.” You replied, batting your eyes coquettishly. You gripped the hem of your sweater and pulled it off. Bryan groaned at the sight of you in a simple cotton bra. While he loved you in dainty lingerie that left little to the imagination, there was something erotically charged about you in something so… virginal. You reached around to undo your bra clasp to free your breasts from their encasement when Bryan held a finger at you, pausing you. He walked over to an arm chair and took one of the oversized pillows. He threw himself back into his chair and tossed the pillow in front of his legs. “On your knees.”

You knew exactly what he was getting at and sunk down to your knees getting a close-up of a truly impressive cock creating an outline against his expensive suit. You rubbed him through the materials of his pants, feeling his cock grow even harder under your palm. You made move to undo the belt, button, and zipper. You rubbed the head of his cock first, and then ran your fingers down the cloth-covered shaft. You reached in and pulled out his cock, which was angrily red and weeping pre-cum. You licked your lips and drew up some saliva in your mouth, before spitting into your hand. Bryan grunted and his hips jerked in response as you wrapped your manicured hand around the girth of his cock. You pumped his cock a few times before you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. The salty taste of his pre-cum flooded your mouth as your tongue swirled around the head before flicking over the tip and then underside to the frenulum.

You flattened your tongue and then took the entire length in your mouth. Bryan’s cock was thick, with a large vein down the shaft, and you could tell it was painfully hard. Bryan let out a hiss of relief as he buried his hands into your hair. “Take it all.” Bryan commands and you relax your throat so you can take his length until he hits the back of your throat.

Bryan gives your hair a tug. “There you go.” He sounds almost kind, almost caring. He watches his cock disappear in your mouth and his eyes roll back. You hum your assent and stroke your hands over his thighs before reaching to cup his balls and give a gentle squeeze. “Oh fuck yeah. Just like that.”

His praise causes excitement to flood you. Much like your panties which you are certain are ruined. You look up at his face and Bryan’s eyes meet yours. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing on his length with more gusto. “Keep doing that… uhh... don’t stop.”

You feel empowered having rendered such a powerful man helpless because of what you can do with his mouth. The seam of your pants presses tightly against you causing some friction and you wish you weren’t wearing pants so you could touch yourself.

“You look so pretty like that.” Bryan grits. “With a mouth full of my cock.” And with that, he’s fucking into your mouth in long strokes. Your eyes water and saliva pools from out of your mouth.

“I’m gonna cum!” Bryan blurts out. You brace yourself to swallow the hot liquid but instead Bryan shoves you off of him. You don’t even have time to react because he’s fisting himself rapidly – and then it happens – with a deep grunt, he shoots his load. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue as thick ropes of his seed coat your face, your tongue, and even along your neck.

You hear Bryan collapse on the chair and you finally open your eyes, thankful nothing got there. Bryan smiles like the cat who caught the canary and he strokes your hair.

“Well, I’ll be damned. That was fun.” Bryan tucks himself in and then reaches into his drawer, pulling out a kerchief. “Here, go clean up in the bathroom.”

You nod, a bit stunned and you walk over to clean up. In the bathroom, you realize you look like a mess and there was no way to clean up without washing your face. You use the expensive hand soap to work up a lather and you clean up. You fix your hair and after a few minutes you head back out.

Bryan’s on his phone, arguing with someone and your sweater is neatly folded on the corner of Bryan’s desk.

You tug the sweater back on and you wait for what was probably a minute but seemed like forever for Bryan to acknowledge you. Instead he meets you with raised brows and you nod, heading back to your office.

When you return, Marissa is there waiting. “I heard you got sent to Kneef’s office. Are you fired?”

“No, I had to help him with the Higgins case. Damn associates don’t know what they’re doing.” You lied.

“Anyway, I picked you up a latte.” Marissa replies, placing the cup on your desk. “You look like hell. I hope Bryan didn’t ride you that hard. You should put some lipstick on.”

You let out a small laugh. “Thanks for the pro-tip.” You move your mouse to wake up your computer and the message on it causes you to freeze.

[BK: Such a hard little worker with that job.]

Your phone rings and your breath hitches as you answer. “STR Laurie, Y/N speaking.”

“My little office slut. Just you wait and see what I have planned for you later.”

“Come again... sir?”

“Oh you bet your sweet little ass you will. Again and again and again.” Bryan purrs before the line disconnects. 

You look at the clock. It was half-past one. Time couldn’t move fast enough.

FIN.

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