#old wip photos of my clear guy :^)

[balljointedzombie]

[yeetus-feetus]

WIP Wednesday

Tumblr prompt: Tim is the first to find out the Red Hood’s identity and from then on sticks to Jason during patrol like glue (much to Jason’s chagrin, dammit, it would feel wrong to beat up Robin when he’s that starry eyed…) Cue: panic from the rest of the batfamily who still think Hood is a 40-something year old crime lord and now assume they’re dating.

@ghost-bxrd

Jason sighs, looking up at the sky dramatically. “Robin, I know you’re following me”, he calls out into the darkness, and there’s shuffling behind him.

He turns around to see Robin step out of the shadows, letting his cape fall apart and reveal bright red and green spandex and kevlar. “I wish the outside of my cape was black, I was running around like a sparkling traffic light”, he pouts under the helmet.

“Mm, maybe you should’ve taken some initiative. I designed my Robin suit all by myself, you took whatever B gave you”, Tim replies teasingly.

Jason chuckles. “Mmm, and maybe you should try humbling yourself every once and a while”. He removes his helmet and quirks an eyebrow from under his domino mask. “Hard to believe Batman never noticed you following him, I noticed you 10 yards back.”

Tim grins, holding his camera up and Jason sticks his tongue out as he takes a photo. “That’s funny, Hood, considering I started following you 50 yards ago. I got bored and started wondering how long it would take you to notice me if I started being less careful.” he explains, looking down at the screen to check the quality of the photo he just took.

“Oh, that right huh?” Jason asks sarcastically, not really believing him.

Tim’s grin widens mischievously and he waves the camera in front of his face. “Want proof, big guy?” he asks.

Jason laughs and snatches the small device, clicking through the recently taken photos. After a moment he groans defeatedly. “Yeah okay, I should've known you’d do something like that you little weirdo. so, how’d I hold up to your little test?”

Tim shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it a test, more of a game to entertain myself really”. But Jason raises his eyebrows up at him, making him sigh. “Yeah okay, you lost the game or failed or whatever. But you did fare better than Big Blue, so there’s that.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason smirks, still clicking through photos.

“Yup”, Tim says, popping the ‘p’. And hoists himself up onto the brick parapet, back facing the city as his feet dangle about an inch off the concrete roof. He tilts his head at Jason when he doesn’t move from where he’s standing, low glow of the open camera screen illuminating his face.

“These are actually really good”, Jason finally says, looking up at him. “Like really clear and in focus. It’s impressive”. He walks over and hands the camera back, leaning against the brick.

“Thanks”, Tim smiles. “I’ve always been really into photography, y'know? It’s like capturing a moment in time and immortalising it, so it will exist forever, even when I'm gone. I really like that aspect of it”.

Jason hums in response. “Never took you as someone sentimental”, he comments.

Tim is quiet, but it’s obvious he’s thinking. And then he hums back. “I didn’t realise I was either”.

This time Jason is the one observing, watching Tim rub his thumb over the side of his camera, and wonders if Tim felt the same way about his photos from before he died, if he looked at the the same way he’s looking at these photos now… if he kept jason alive in still frames while he was gone.

Then he decides he’s making it too deep and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as Tim turns his head towards him and scrunches up his nose. “Gross, dude.”

“What?” Jason asks, mildly offended.

“I hate the smell of cigarettes”, Tim states. “I don’t care if you smoke them just, not around me, please”, he says, nose still scrunched as he shimmies away, keeping his hands braced on the brick so he doesn’t fall backwards.

Normally, Jason would roll his eyes and take a deep inhale, maybe blow the smoke back out into the other person's face just to spite them. But Tim isn’t telling him not to smoke, he’s asking him not to smoke around him. And, maybe Tim’s scrunched up nose is kinda cute.

So he snubs the cigarette out and puts it back in its box to save for later. “Fine, but I’m getting something to eat then”, Jason complains.

“Cool, I know a really good burrito place not far from here”, Tim smiles, and then he’s throwing himself backwards off the roof, laughing loudly when Jason rushes up to look over the edge.

“You little fucker!” Jason shouts out as he watches Robin shoot his grappling line and swing from a lower roof across the way. “Oh, I’m gonna get that little shit!”, he grumbles to himself, taking a breath to calm the sudden spike of worried adrenaline Tim caused before chasing after him.

Tim pays for their burritos and a tub of Mexican rice before Jason even has the chance to get out his wallet, and they end up eating them on a roof together a block away.

“Ohh yeah, this is good stuff”, Jason moans around a mouthful, and Tim giggles around his plastic spoon. “Okay, you’re forgiven for scaring the shit out of me earlier”, he mumbles, taking another bite of his burrito.

Tim sits the rice aside to take a picture of Jason with food on his face, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. Then another photo of Jason sticking the finger up at him. “Lol thats gold, I might make that my laptop’s screensaver”, Tim laughs.

“The laptop you keep all your creepy stalker folders on?” Jason asks, mouth still half-full, leaning over to try and get a look at the camera screen. “oh my god I look so stupid, please don’t!” he laughs.

“Oh gross Jason!” Tim squeals, brushing little bits of burrito off his suit. “Stop talking with your mouth full, you’re getting food everywhere!” but Jason only laughs harder, and ends up choking.

Tim rubs his back as he chokes and sputters over the edge of the roof, and laughs at his expense. “Here, have some of my water.”

Jason ends up chugging all of Tim’s water, so Tim steals his Soda in retaliation. It ends up as a game of rooftop tag until they’re both out of breath and decide to head to their separate ways to get some rest.

And that becomes a frequent occurrence on quiet nights after that. Sometimes even working together on a few cases. It’s honestly quite a lot of fun for both of them, a nice change of pace from the usual doom and gloom of Gotham’s streets.

⧫

Tim is tinkering away with some sort of gadget in the Batcave one afternoon when Alfred stops by with some snacks on a silver platter. “Everything alright with you young sir?” he asks politely.

“Yeah Alf, everything's great actually”, Tim replies cheerfully. But Alfred loiters by him for a few moments too long, making Tim lift his head to look at him questioningly. “What’s up?”

Alfred frowns. “Nothing, Master Timothy. Just, do know that you can come to talk to me about anything if you need, absolutely anything”. He pats Tim on the shoulder in some kind of gesture of comfort before leaving Tim confused at his desk.

What was that about?

But Tim is even more confused later on patrol with Batman. Which was already odd actually, usually they don’t patrol together unless they’re working on a case together, or on a mission, or just something important– there’s nothing important happening tonight. B just told him that they were patrolling Midtown and to get in the batmobile.

And so there they were, driving around in dead silence.

“So… Tim, how’ve you been lately?” B asks, voice gruff and tone awkward.

That makes Tim turn around in his seat to face the older man with his whole body, confusion and worry on his face. “I’m good… why the sudden interest?” he asks cautiously. “Is there something up that I should be worried about?”

Bruce grunts and spares a glance at him before looking back at the road. “I was just asking.” and then, after a few beats of quiet: “You’ve been spending an awful amount of time around the Narrows and Crime Alley”, he states. Oh. That’s Jason’s territory.

Oh.

“Are you worried about Red Hood or something?” Tim asks. Well, this is… complicated.

Bruce grunts again. “Or something.” he turns the car around a sharp corner and Tim braces himself against the seat at the sudden change of route.

He thinks whatever that conversation is over, but a few moments later Batman speaks up again. “Just stay away from him. He’s bad news Robin.” Tim turns to give him a look. “I’m serious. No more patrolling Uptown”.

“What!?” Tim asks. “Are you banning me or something??”

“Yes.” And Tim knows his word is final. Batman’s word is law after all.

He huffs and sits back in his seat, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Fine, he won’t patrol in Uptown. He’ll just have to figure out a way to convince Jason to meet with him in Midtown somehow. No, that won’t work. Red Hood won’t leave his turf unattended to.

Buut. there is a loophole here that he can take advantage of…

[noxspost]

alright you all getting memes of my Sarai lives AU

First things first here is a wip of ethari being an Aphrodite child and I finished art piece of runaan on being in a Ares kid.

Yes ethari is and was a goth kid

Here is runaan

Runaan comes from a tribe of Moonshadow elves who left xadia about 9,200 years ago

Here is the little to know context memes I have made there's two there should be more parts

So the top left one, is two things two photos the first one is a template of two dudes. One is a duy in a riot shield and a baton running after another guy in a beanie and smirking.

The guy that's running and looking very proud of himself is gren (who is it Hermes kid) who was stealing from Lord viren to stop him from doing dark magic at the age of 16.

That is in the orange letteringThe blue words are lord viren and the castle guards

That one is marked pre-Aaravos meeting The second photo is on the right and marked post-Aaravos meeting.

It is after Lord viren got to Xadia and he was looking really old and dying essentially. The guy floating is representing a fun little moment in the thick I am writing and it reads Nemesis chasing veeran for his crimes death is approaching in parentheses and the guy running from that floating dude in the picture is Lord viren now old and in xadia about to die by Suicide then realizing harrow is still stuck in Pip's body

the bottom left oneIt's a lot more clear but for those who cannot tell, ethari trying to outrun the suitors that are both gold diggers and power hungry shallow people considering he is it Aphrodite childhood is quite beautiful and charming and his husband is "dead" it takes place after runaan's flower went down.And it's titled child of Aphrodite problems

[a-romantics-guide-to-life]

Tumblr was glitching out so for some reason I was seeing posts of yours from days ago, and I saw your idea about Billy and his lover being reincarnated and I RAN to your blog to see if you had said anything else about it, and I was SO EXCITED TO SEE THAT ITS IN YOUR DRAFTS OMG THRJFJJDDHSJ. That’s the most beautiful and romantic idea I’ve heard in a long time, seriously can’t wait <33

OMG I AM SO SORRY FOR NOT RESPONDING TO THIS SOONER!!! AHHH, I am so glad you liked the idea that spouted from me and my friends shenanigans! YOU ARE LITERALLY SO SWEET!!!

I have been working on this WIP (as well as my other corio fic) BUT I FEEL SO BAD FOR LEAVING YOU HANGING SO HERE IS A LIL BLURB FROM THE FIRST PART!!!

Billy loved Billy the Kid. Your very own kid brother, WIlliam, had declared his own nickname to be Billy because of just how much he loved the famous old western outlaw. He printed and weathered his wanted posters, filling the four tiny walls of his room at your fathers ranch. He even begged you and your father to teach him how to shoot just so he can connect with his hero.  He even roped you into sewing him trousers and a blouse just like the Kid wore in his iconic wanted photo. Billy even stole your fathers hats and boots and your wine red cardigan. He would walk outside, toothpick in mouth, and walk around, playing pretend. He’d pretend that he was in the famed Lincoln County War, surrounded by Jesse Evans and his gang of misfits employed under Murphy and the House. He’d use his pretend gun and shoot all the bad guys down just as Billy the Kid had as he fought for his life in the burning McSween house.

THANK YOU AGAIN ANON, YOU ARE SO SWEET AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS EXCERPT FROM THE FIRST PART!!!

side note: your brother is DEFINITELY NOT the reincarnation of billy and I hope that was clear enough but please do tell me if it's a little confusing!

[vlad-theimplier]

WIP Wednesday: Custos Custodium

In which Jensen returns from Golem City and has a friendly little chat with Fletcher about timelines and urgency. This was another realism deficiency that bothered me in the games--hopefully my explanation makes sense of both their positions.

Jensen descended into the bowels of the Task Force the next morning to find the office bustling with activity. Brushing off Argento and a handful of others who wanted to know what had gone down in Útulek, he made a beeline for Forensics. Fletcher was going to have answers for him, or he’d know the reason why.

When he badged the lab door open, though, the holotable wasn’t even turned on: Fletcher was just getting set up. He gave Jensen a twitchy, guilty look. “Adam! Hi! I was just, uh…”

“You look rough, Smiley. Been burning the midnight oil, sifting through the data I brought you? Or making time with Sonia?”

Fletcher’s blush was answer enough. “Hey, gimme a break, okay? We’re not all cy—uh, si-i-ingle-minded about the job like you, I mean.”

Jensen fought back a wave of ire, not even sure what had him so pissed off: that even the friendlier members of the team saw him as an Aug first and everything else second, that Fletcher could blow off work to hang out with a lady without fear that he’d accidentally skewer her or blow her up or something, that Jensen himself was less single-minded and more duplicitous than he liked to think about… He went with the safest and least shameful option. “Smiley. People died in there. As did our only other lead. Get your ass in gear.”

“Sure, sure, only… Here, look for yourself, wise guy.” A galaxy bloomed over the holotable in shades of blue. Jensen looked closer and saw that what he’d taken for stars were fragments of shrapnel or rebar. Or people.

“Every single one of these is an artifact I have to examine and rule in or out. Well, okay, I’m double-checking the algorithm, but it’s set to err on the side of inclusivity. This is what I’ve cleared.” A wave swept over the display, turning two-thirds of it dull navy at a stroke. Another wave picked out a loose constellation in teal, pieces joined by wavering lines of light. “This is definitely in. No smoking gun, but components of the bomb.”

“Bombs. Multiple detonations. I told you that, right? It was in my report.”

Fletcher shrugged. “Haven’t read your report. Too busy sifting the debris. But that checks out.” He hit a button and the constellation split, wheeled, and reassembled itself into five more compact arrangements.

“Save you any time?” Jensen asked hopefully.

“Nah. But it looks right. Thanks for the insight, okay? I’ll let you know when I have something.”

“Don’t get distracted.” Jensen gave him one last stern and hortatory glare, then turned to go.

“I’m supposed to have a team, you know,” Fletcher muttered.

Jensen paused on the threshold. “Are you now.”

Fletcher shot him a sulky sidelong look from where he stood bent over the holotable, prodding at the glimmering array. “Prague’s HQ, right? For Central Europe? Our lab’s supposed to have a forensic technician to do this sort of thing, plus someone for DNA and other biologicals, plus someone else for chemical analysis—drugs, explosives, you know.”

“I get the picture.”

But Fletcher had a head of steam up. “And a forensic cyberanalyst, and a ballistician, and a crime scene services unit: one person for photos and scans, one person for evidence collection and chain of custody. Instead, you have me. Pete’s been handling digital forensics on top of the rest of his workload, and Aria’s done the guns, when we’ve had them. But I’m supposed to be overseeing six to eight people. So maybe cut me a little slack, huh?”

Jensen grunted. “So where are they? Your merry band?”

“Well, the Task Force itself is barely a year old. It takes time to find talent.”

“You don’t say.”

“And apparently not everyone wants to work for the UN. Between all the bureaucracy and the joys of getting reassigned to the other side of the planet if they decide they need you… I hear I might get a chemist next month, if the background check clears, and they’re interviewing general forensics techs. You’ll just have to be patient until they get started—then things will speed up.”

“I get it. But we’re working on a bombing, and hopefully stopping the next one. We all gotta make some sacrifices. Still, I hope your team comes through—just be a little less ‘collegial’ with them than you were with that tech at State Police, okay?” He pretended not to notice Fletcher scratching his cheek with one extended middle finger as he turned and headed for his desk.

[rosieblogstuff]

First Sentence Tag Game

So I was going through my drafts and I have this mostly-completed tag game post from April??? that I appaently never finished. Probably because there aren’t 10 things here. WHATEVER. HAVE AN OLD POST. And since it’s a tag game I’m tagging @lailuhhh @commanderbunnbunn @bloodfromthethorn @nativestarwrites @appalachianapologies @you-go-kaboom-i-go-kaboom @readingwriter92 @thesammykinz @ruztyryan @dinosaurswant2rule GO FORTH AND TAG!

------------------------------

Tagged by @lailuhhh and @authorangelita - thank you!!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

I decided to post the first lines of 10 WIPs instead of 10 finished stories. I opened these docs in the order I’ve workedon them, most recent first (skipping the Murdoc thing and the Wilderness thing, since they’re partly posted).

A thing with boats:

Water cuts through the air on the left—port—side of the boat as Mac turns it toward the mainland. The hint of fog hanging in the air to the south is a strong lure, even though it doesn't look very thick.

Crouched against the back of the boat behind him, Jack curses but gets off a trio of shots, earning them a momentary break from being shot at. The green band of trees is getting larger, but it’s going to be dubious safety if they don’t get farther ahead of the boat filled with guys who want to murder them.

Patty but Worse:

Prologue - January, 2012

The two files lay open on the desk between them, a spread of photos and reports that Patricia Thornton refuses to let distract her. She knows what they say. She read both files forwards and backwards five times before she even agreed to her boss’s little plan to just drop by Afghanistan.

“Training Day” (a WIP I apparently started for the writealong):

Jack is lounging against the passenger side of the truck with his canteen in hand when Mac gets there. He’s got his uncomfortable vest on but in an apparent concession to the fact that they’re on base and it’s about a billion degrees in the shade, he’s not wearing his helmet for once. “How’d it go, professor?”

A 1x11-related WIP  

No one is more surprised than Mac when they’re out of prison a mere four hours after they went in. When the guard woke them up and hauled them out of their cell, he really through his Mandarin must be getting rusty. But when they reach the prison’s waiting room, Riley is already there, along with two people he doesn’t recognize who are obviously waiting for them.

“Paper Pushing”

Paper folders. They seem archaic, but then, keeping your secrets on paper does make it harder for people like Riley to get at them.

Although there are probably digital copies of all these folders, too. They’re stacked in four neat piles along the edge of Thornton’s desk. Every last one of them has a security tag on it.

Another WIP from the writealong called “Ranch Day”:

Departing: Los Angeles, 12:41pm. Arriving: Dallas, 5:53pm.

Mac realizes he’s been staring at the airline tickets a beat too long when Jack clears his throat. “You, uh, you do still want to come, don’t you, Mac?”

“Yeah, no, I do. I want to go. I just didn’t realize–I mean, I didn’t realize you were buying tickets. I can pay you back–”

[brunchable]

Can't Love You In The Dark (Part III) || Doctor Strange x F!Reader.

Word count: 8K Genre: Light Angst. Happy Ending. Warning: SHORT SEX SCENE. 18+ Strictly do not: claim, repost, copy, translate my stories anywhere else

A/N:I finally finished this and finally getting it out of my WIPs. It was so hard to write this and idek cekjns. My mushy brain has done it's best.

SONGS TO LISTEN TO:

IF YOU WANT THAT KOREAN DRAMA FEEL, LISTEN TO THIS:

“Hi.” Stephen greeted you with kind eyes and a longing expression on his face.

“Hi, Stephen.” You greeted him back with a soft voice, your smile never fading. There was no bitterness or hard tones, your voice felt like the summer breeze on a warm spring day. The little boy stared at Stephen with his blue-green eyes and clung to your neck with his arms.

“It’s really nice to see you.” He chuckled and couldn’t take his eyes off your features, you looked the same but different.

“It’s really nice to see you too.” You smiled, dropping your gaze and looking back up at him, “How have you been, Stephen?” 

“I’ve been missing you so much, every single day.” 

You nodded and let out a nervous chuckle, “This is Finn, by the way.” 

Stephen turned his eyes towards the boy, "Nice to meet you, Finn.” 

In the back of his head, Stephen was doing the maths, he was searching for the probabilities that the child you were holding could be his. He had to be, Stephen could feel it in his veins. Stephen held up his finger, in which the child wrapped his little hands around, and Stephen shook it, “What a polite young man– I didn’t know you were back.”

“Yeah, I have been back for a week, I was planning to come and see you tomorrow, but it seems like the universe had the same plan.” You chuckled and pressed your lips together. 

Stephen nodded, "Yeah, that must be.” 

“Yo (Y/N)! I got food, let’s go.” Jean called out to you, holding a tray of hot food from outside of the rink. You turned your head and looked at Stephen.

“Coming!” You replied, “I’ll visit you in the Sanctum tomorrow, see you, Stephen.” You flashed Stephen another smile before turning to leave towards the other guy.

•••

2 years ago 

You arrived at a small cottage in Switzerland where you were lucky enough to be able to rent for a year from your friend. It was located in the small town of Engelberg near the mountains where you plan to work at a ski resort when winter arrives. For now, you will work in an old friend's bakery. You've always fantasised living a cottage life, with your own garden and crops, it's simple and therapeutic. 

It was a huge step down from being the Director of Orthopaedics back in Metro General Hospital back in New York. 

You started your new life by rearranging the furniture to your liking. Placing the photo frames you brought with you on the shelves. You were blasting your favourite music using your bluetooth speaker while you cleaned with the windows open; to allow the cool breeze to circulate around the home. The next door neighbours were at least one or two kilometres away from you, so loud music was the least of your worries. 

You hummed to Sam Smith's 'How do you sleep?' When the knock you've been expecting finally sounded through your door. You set the broom against the wall and found two of your old friends standing at the door.

Zara screamed as soon as you opened the door and almost tackled you on the floor, "I can't believe that you're here! We haven't seen you in person since our honeymoon in New York! I missed you!" 

Jean cleared his throat, "Hi (Y/N), welcome to Engelberg." He smiled warmly and joined the hug. 

Jean and Zara were exchange students you met in college and have been in contact with ever since. They were also invited to your wedding but because they had a business to run, they couldn't leave it behind. 

"I'm sorry for what happened– Ow!" Jean massaged his arm where Zara elbowed him pretty hard.

"We will not mention anything about that! She came here to heal." The pretty cherry blonde girl squeezed your arms. You chuckled and waved your hand dismissively.

"It's fine. It is what it is." 

Zara pressed her lips together, "Well, I hope you like my granny's old cottage. You didn't have to pay me, you know. If you decide to stay for another year, I will not accept your payment!"

You stifle a laugh, "Alright but I must give you back at least something and I love it here already, to be completely honest."

"Helping us in the bakery is enough, we're so popular in town we need all the help we could get!" Zara winked and crossed her arms proudly.

"That's because we’re the only bakers in town, sweetie." Jean grinned and earned another elbowing from his wife.

•••

1 and a half months later

You couldn't help but notice that despite your healthy diet, your weight increased a few kilos, you checked your tracker app to see if your cycle was soon and you noticed that it's late, very very late. You were too busy enjoying your time in your new environment that you've forgotten to check about it. 

You placed your hand over your lower abdomen and pressed on it gently. There wasn't any bump, so you tried to convince yourself that you're probably having some hormonal imbalance. 

"(Y/N)! I brought some snacks for our movie night!" Zara called out from the kitchen and you came out of the bathroom looking pretty dazed with a messy bun.

"You alright?" Zara asked while taking all the snacks out of a bag. 

"Yeah… there's just something weighing on my mind." You replied truthfully while you sat on the high chair, and laid your head against the table.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Zara asked, now busy putting your drinks into the fridge to cool.

"My period's late…" You sighed, "Like, very very late." 

Zara spun around slowly, "Okay… um, have you seen anyone since you've been here?" She asked, now leaning against the counter as well.

"No. Definitely not. I didn't come here to sleep around…" You sat up with a grimace and shook your head.

"Then do you remember when was the last time you…?" Zara trailed off since you already knew what she meant by that.

You and Stephen broke off the kiss and stared into each other's eyes breathing wildly. Stephen pressed your knees harder into your chest and started thrusting his hips towards you with all of his strength. You raised your pelvis and met each stroke, begging for every inch of him.

"Baby, I'm so close." Stephen moaned breathlessly and hung his head over your shoulders.

"Don't pull out." You demanded and reached for both sides of his hips to prevent him from pulling out and pushing him towards you with every thrust.

"Are you sure?" Stephen asked, beads of sweat appeared on his chiselled chest as he picked up the pace. 

"Mhm."

He began to move his rhythm more assertively, pulling almost all the way out on each stroke before crashing back into you. He drew nearly all the way out one more time and cried out as he plunged deep within you with one last, violent stroke. The sensation of him throbbing and releasing within you drove you to your breaking point, and you erupted into your own powerful rush while writhing under him. 

"Ohh noo," You covered your face, remembering the last time you and Stephen had sex, which was a few days before the wedding. You lightly banged your head on the table and Zara placed her palm below your forehead.

"Let's take a trip to the pharmacy! I'll grab you a coat!"

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ 

Three different brands of pregnancy tests lay face up on the bathroom counter covered with a paper towel to cover up the result. Ten minutes was up and you were dreading to see the results. Zara knocked on the bathroom door to check on you.

"What does it say?" She asked.

You cracked the door open for Zara, "Wanna check with me?" You asked, feeling anxious.

“I would love to!” Zara squealed and allowed herself to squeeze into the bathroom with you, “I take one and you take one, alright?” 

Both of you took one each of the tests while trying your best no to look at the results until after three, “One, Two, Three.” You counted and looked at the result.

Zara gasped and a smile grew on her face, “Oh my goodness, congratulations. You’re going to be–”

“A Mom.” You held the tests in front of you and swallowed the lump on your throat. This was real, this was all very, very real. Your eyes watered since you didn’t know whether to be happy or worried. It felt like up until now Stephen has got a hold of you and that was scaring you.

By the tone of your voice, Zara felt that you weren’t so happy about this and placed a hand over your shoulder, “(Y/N), I could only imagine how you would feel in this situation, but I think this is a gift, you used to never shut up about having a baby and now you got one." Zara tucked your hair behind your ear and gently placed her palm over your cheek, "Breathe, me and Jean got your back… and I think you need to make a few phone calls.” 

Zara passed you your phone and was referring to your parents. You took it hesitantly and stared at your Mother's phone number and pressed call. It rang a couple of times, before she finally picked up the phone.

"Hello, Rose speaking." Her voice sounds tired and sad, like she's been crying and you felt an overflowing amount of guilt because you knew that you were the reason.

"Hi, Mom." 

"(Y/N)?" She asked and you heard your father's voice in the background asking if he was really you.

"Yes. It's me."

You heard her release a sigh of relief, "I'm so glad to hear from you. Are you safe? Are you doing alright?"

Rose didn't want to scold you for running away and making them worried, she saw the hurt you were experiencing because of how much you loved Stephen. She was just happy you decided to contact them.

"I'm safe, I've got really great people looking after me… but I have something important I need to tell you, is dad there? Can you put me on speaker?" You asked.

"Yep, I'm here honey." You heard your father's voice, "What is it?"

"Um… first of all I'm sorry for making you both worry for me, I'm honestly doing great and I'm enjoying my time where I am… however, I've hit a bit of a speed bump." 

"Okay, well we're here if you need anything."

"I just found out that I'm pregnant." 

Rose chuckled while she exchanged looks with Jack, "W-What?"

"I'm having a baby… You're going to be grandparents." You repeated.

Rose placed her hand over her mouth and felt tears of joy welling on her eyes, the same as Jack, "O-oh my gosh… sweetheart, congratulations! How far along are you?"

"Not too far along, I literally just found out now." You glanced at Zara who smiled at you.

"W-well can we come and see you?" Rose asked, hoping you would allow them.

You paused to think for a second, "Yeah, of course… but please keep everything a secret for now, please?"

"No, of course. Anything you want sweetie. We won't tell anyone."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Present Day

You and Stephen sat opposite each other in his study in the awkward silence that followed the ‘hi’s and how are you’s’, the coffee table being the only thing that puts distance between the both of you. You couldn’t deny that his gaze pierced right through you and you found yourself clearing your throat nervously. 

“So… the reason I’m here.” You began, rubbing your arm to comfort yourself for having to now confront the father of your child.

“Yeah.” Stephen simply said with his deep sounding voice, the kind that anchors your soul.

“Um. After we broke it off and cancelled our marriage, I left for Switzerland,” You paused and Stephen nodded, since he was aware of that already, “After a month of trying to forget you, I wasn’t aware that I was not alone and after all that time… I was already carrying Finn.”

Stephen never said a word and kept nodding, he already knows what’s coming next. He knew all along that his hunch was correct, he is Finn’s father. Stephen was elated to find out that he has a son, especially with you. However, he couldn’t help but feel sad and disappointed that you waited until now to tell him.

“Finn, he’s your son.” You finally spat out and heard Stephen softly exhale a breath, and yet he didn’t say anything. 

Stephen’s pained smile twitched, “I figured. Black hair, blue eyes? Not to mention he looks exactly like me when I was his age. I just wish you could’ve put our differences aside and told me about him from the start.”

Even though he was calm, you could feel the bitterness in his voice. Stephen cleared his throat and stood up to gaze out the window, but all he was doing was hiding the fact that he was on the verge of crying for having to miss the birth of his first child, and probably all of his first milestones. He wanted to ask whether you did it as payback for his mistakes, but he chose not to, because that was unfair on you.

“I want you to be part of Finn’s life, Stephen.” You told him as you remained seated, “That’s if you want to.”

“Of course I want to. I’ve already missed what? One and a half years of his life? But being a part of his life means I need to be part of yours too. The real question is, are you okay with that?” Stephen slightly rotated his body to face you, with hands in his pocket and found a surprised expression in your eyes.

“Sorry I had to ask, because you kept him a secret until now. Did you think so little of me that you thought I wouldn’t want anything to do with him? Because I would trade everything I have to be present at the moment he was born, with you, but you—” took that away from me. Stephen sighed and stopped himself before he got carried away by his emotions and says something he might regret after.

“I was heartbroken Stephen, I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to get over you; that the scars would open up when I see you or hear your voice—everything here reminded me of you that’s why I left—”

“And how did running go for you?” He was quick to cut you off, “Hm?”

Tell her everything, be vulnerable towards her. The advice that Jack gave him two years ago echoed in Stephen’s mind.

You didn't know what to say, because when you were in Switzerland, you only learnt to forgive him, not stop loving him but you were oblivious to that and confused your forgiveness as getting 'over' him. He has every right to feel this way for missing the first year of his son. There were many times you attempted to call him but you didn't have the guts, your own pride and your own fear held you back because he will be part of your life permanently once you tell him about Finn.

Stephen sighed when he didn’t hear an answer from you and also disappointed at himself for holding himself back for being vulnerable towards you, again. 

"Can I see him?" Stephen asked instead.

"Of course. We're staying at my parent's house. Come with me." You snapped your head up at his question and invited him over at your parents, where Jean and Zara are also staying.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ 

You and Stephen walked through the portal and got surprised stares from everyone that was in the living room. Jean, who is a big fan of Stephen, dropped his jaw and knocked over the jenga tower, making Finn giggle. 

"Stephen!" Jack, who was playing with Finn on the floor, got up and gave Stephen a hug, "Long time no see. We're so glad to see you." 

Stephen returned a smile towards Jack and patted the older man's back, "Likewise, Jack."

"Can you guys give us a moment please?" You asked everyone and kindly obliged and headed into the kitchen all at the same time. Zara, who was now also pregnant, smiled at you and squeezed your hand as she walked past.

You led Stephen to Finn who was playing on the floor with blocks, you carefully sat on the floor with him and Finn smiled at you, "Mommy!" 

"Yes, hi honey." You greeted him, an instant bright smile appearing in your face. Stephen sat next to you with crossed legs feeling nervous about how Finn is going to react, "There's someone who wants to meet you. Someone who's very important, so~ can we stop playing with blocks for a few minutes please?" You gently asked Finn who obediently put the blocks down, shyly glancing at Stephen from time to time.

Finn stood up on his feet and went to you for a hug, his fingers in his mouth as you gently rotated him around to face Stephen, "This man," You patted down Finn's pointed hairs and rubbed his back for comfort and encouragement, "His name is Stephen and he's your Dad, do you want to say hi?" 

Finn hummed and nodded, his body swaying while staring at the man who looked exactly just like him. To a little toddler like himself, Stephen looked big and intimidating, especially when he wasn't smiling, "Daddy?" Finn asked and pointed at Stephen.

You nodded and Stephen broke into a smile and nodded, "Yeah, bud. It's Daddy."

"Say hi, do you want to give him a hug?" Finn kept swaying his little body while nodding but hesitated to go towards Stephen. 

You noticed Stephen’s closed off body language and mouthed to him to open his arms towards the boy.  Open your arms.

Stephen opened his arms towards Finn and smiled at him, "Look, he also wants a hug, go give him the Finn bear hug." You pointed at Stephen and encouraged the boy to go to him. The boy started to walk and when Stephen folded his fingers to beckon him, Finn ran and crashed into Stephen's chest, his little arms too small to go around so he clung onto Stephen's shirt instead. 

Stephen folded his protective arms around his son, and his big hands held the back of Finn's head in place as Stephen hung his head down the child's little shoulders, getting a whiff of his scent which had a hint of you. At that moment his heart felt so full of love that he didn't know he had and this fuzzy feeling of his son being in his arms made him tear-up. Stephen kissed the side of Finn’s head and squeezed him gently.

You smiled and wiped your own tears before they fell. You felt genuinely happy for Stephen after finally meeting his boy, you always had this image of him in your mind towards your children.

Finn could hear his father sniffling and looked up at the man, reaching for his face and wiping his tears, "Daddy sad?" 

Stephen smiled at the boy's perceptiveness and shook his head, "No. I'm happy." He looked at you, "Extremely happy."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Stephen watched by the doorway as you tuck your son carefully to sleep, whispering 'I love you' into his ear before planting a soft kiss on his forehead. He appeared pensive as he stared at you, he thought being a mother suited you very well and he imagined having a moment just like this with you, but he never imagined it as both of you being separated.

But, This. This is what he wanted, he felt complete by finally having you and Finn around. Stephen had plenty of time practising what he was going to say in case you came back but now that you're here, his mind goes blank. 

"He's out like a light, I think he's still getting used to the time difference." You stood up straight, glancing at Stephen, noticing the way he was looking at you filled with unspoken emotions, like he already has the whole world in front of him. You quickly snapped your head away from him, refusing to take on the effect that was washing over you.

"Stop looking at me with eyes like that." Says you while you unconsciously bite your bottom lip, looking down.

"Like what?" 

You shrug, he was getting you to look at him again and you felt him shift his position by the door, "I-I don't know." 

You couldn't find the words because the way he was looking at you, it just made you feel. He was trouble. You're in trouble. You knew the second you indulge yourself with his presence you'd be wanting to chase that rush. You still want him—no, you never stopped loving him.

"Should I put the words into your mouth?" He asks, he sounded really keen on describing it.

"You'd better be going, Stephen. It's late." You say, trying to dig your way out of this. You walked past Stephen into the upstairs hallway since the conversation might wake up the kid. Stephen closed the door behind him and spun around to face you. It would be worse to lead Stephen on, especially when you don't plan on staying in New York. You've adjusted quite well in your new life and were able to convert your Doctor's licence to Switzerland. 

He sighed, "Right, OK then." He sounded a bit sad, he really seemed to want to stay a bit longer, "I wanted to ask you something, sorry but I overheard your little chat with Rose. Are you really not here to stay for good? Why?"

"You heard that…" you muttered and trailed off, Stephen seemed to be regarding you intently, with the same pensive look which never left his features, "And I said please, stop looking at me…"

"... with eyes like that." finishes Stephen and adds, "You don't have to tell me if you don't

want to."

"No, no. I've been meaning to tell you, I was just finding the right timing." You say briskly. It occured to you, at this moment, that you will very likely not see Stephen again. And by seeing him, you meant forcing yourself to close your heart on the idea of getting back together with him. You pretty much were already implying that you had no interest in getting back with him since you're choosing to live somewhere far away, "But you can always easily see Finn, right? You got that magic portal."

You look at Stephen, half expecting him to laugh or shake his head, but he just smiles at you, that artless luminous smile which makes him unexpectedly appealing; he seems so radiant that you had to stop yourself leaning unthinkingly forward, as though you might stretch out and warm yourself on him. Apart from taking your arm on occasion when you guided him, he has never touched you, never even tried to hold your hand, but now he leans forward himself, and places his warm palm over your upturned forearm.

"I can't say I'm happy to hear that and I'm not really in a position to stop you but…" he says, brushing the skin on your wrist very gently with his thumb, "I really wish you'd stay, (Y/N). Because it's different when you're here. I wish you knew how much it destroyed me when you left. Every day without seeing you feels like living a lifetime without happiness. I miss you. Stay." 

You're taken aback by the sudden intimacy of his touch, and something unidentifiable rushes through your chest as he makes the gesture. You were forced to take a deep breath as Stephen hovered over you, his body near enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from it. You couldn't turn away from the pleas he was making with his eyes; they were like a magnet, particularly as his fingers closed in on yours, and you felt yourself being swallowed whole by him. Your chest tightened, and a blush of heat spread over your face as a result of your clenched heart.

"I can't imagine myself in love with someone else, I really can’t and I wish I could elaborate the depths of what I feel but you already know I'm not good at communicating it." He says and yet there you were in front of him, battling the impulse to kiss the man and simply reassure him that everything is going to be okay. You were tempted to give in, but at the same time, you wanted to put your own needs first for a change.

"I'm happy with where I am now, Stephen." You told him the truth, but he didn't respond; he just attempted to gaze deeper into your eyes, maybe searching for a trace of self-deception. As he couldn't find it, he just removed his hands from yours, and you nearly felt yourself wince when his fingers left yours. You are happy, but that does not mean that your love for him has dwindled in any way.

"Okay." He spoke gently, his voice was nearly as soft as the touch that had just left you. There was an awkward pause followed by complete silence. In Stephen’s point of view, it just dawned on him that you've probably moved on from him because you haven't responded to him at all, each time the subject was about between you and him, you change the subject or give a vague reply. 

Stephen cleared his throat, "It's really over for you isn't it? You're going to ask me to do the impossible and move on from you… aren't you?" Sniffling and chuckling in unison, he turned away from you, brushing away the tears that had slid into his inner eyes while he chewed on his bottom lip to keep them from spilling.

"S-Stephen…I–" 

"Aren't you?" 

You were stunned by the unexpected rawness in his emotions, a side you've never seen before, and it left your mouth drained of words. This man was desperate not to lose you for the second time around. Even if your head was in a total state of disarray, your body looked to be in a placid posture.

"I understand that even if I say sorry, it will not change anything. (Y/N), I regret nothing more in my life than what I have done to you, and if you can’t forgive me that’s justifiable. I was wrong, foolish, and immature, and you do not deserve the pain and grief I have caused you, but it pains my heart to think of a life without being able to see your face, speak to you, to hold you, to kiss you…" 

Those eyes stared at you with the greatest sincerity, his bottom lip quivered as he spoke, his voice was a touch gravelly owing to the thickness inside of his oesophagus, and his shoulders sank in resignation. Tears had filled your vision, making it difficult to see clearly. You could feel the barriers you created swaying, but your fear held them in place.

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago Stephen, but it’s the aftermath of it all… it’s left me in fear that I will lose myself if I ever love again, because when I did; loving you, pleasing you was all I knew, I gave my everything to you, and ripped myself bare and in exchange of that I lost myself… and I’m not blaming you now, because that was my choice.” You gently cupped Stephen’s cheek and wiped off the torrents of tears that ran down his cheek, “And in Finn, I discovered myself again, he was the greatest gift you’ve ever given me. All I want is to focus on being a mother to our child, I hope you understand.”

Stephen leaned into your touch, closing his eyes to savour this moment and nodded even though he wanted to keep convincing you to stay. He knew that once you've set your mind on things, it's hard for anyone to change it. All he could do now is endure the pain of your decision, "I understand, I want you to be happy, and I'm glad you are because you deserve to be."

"Thank you Stephen." You smiled gently, lifting yourself up into a tip-toe and leaving a soft peck on his cheek.

This is the moment when Stephen surprises you by leaning forwards and kissing your lips. This kiss is so delicate that you can hardly feel the warmth of his lips, and you didn’t even try to object. His lips drew back gently as swiftly as they had found yours. 

"If you want me to stop, tell me now," he whispered. He stared intently into your eyes and waited for any kind of resistance from you, but you didn't give him the slightest indication that you were going to fight back at all. Now that you're thinking about the kiss, you realise that the distance between your lips is just a few millimetres. You take a deep breath as you stare into his eyes, and when you don't say anything, he tilts his head and this time, it was you who landed a kiss on his lips.

The second kiss he gave you was just as tender as the first, and it made you feel warm all over as your lips melted together and your eyes closed in enchantment. You could feel the two years he longed for you through his kiss. You feel your top lip being snatched into his mouth by the latching of his lips on your lips as they roll back and forth. Your eyes widen in shock, but just as swiftly as it occurred, he releases your upper lip, and then he does the same thing to your lower lip. With each kiss, your top lip is pulled in, then let free, and your knees start to fold, at the same time, your eyes start to shut allowing yourself to spiral down this bliss. 

You just manage to crack your lips open for a split second, yet in that time you feel his tongue pass through your mouth. Tingles run through your body as you lock lips and dance with your tongues. You can feel the blood pumping through your body as your chest tightens and your breath becomes shallow. Your body automatically gives in and you reach out to grab his side for support as your hand rests there. As the soft kisses evolve into more intense ones in time with the rhythm of your breathing, you begin to tremble and feel as if you could faint as a result. You are experiencing a rush of adrenaline, and you can feel your heart thumping in your chest as if it were competing in a race.

You reached out with your hands and found Stephen's chest, at which point you gently redirected his kissing away from you in an effort to prevent it from developing into anything more. Your lips are slightly ajar while the rest of your body heaves a small sigh and draws in a deep breath of air. 

“Let’s stop here.” You said, still catching your breath, “It’s late.” 

“Yeah, it is…” Stephen agreed, pressing his lips together, a portal opening straight into his bedroom and steps aside from you, walking into it, “I’ll see you tomorrow, my parents are excited to meet Finn.” He said looking back, the portal disappearing in a flash. 

You brushed your hair back with your fingers, the full weight of his kiss now sinking into you, “What were you thinking?” 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Three days later.

"Are you guys ready to go?" Jack asked as he entered back inside after heating the car up outside, "Oh let me help you, honey." 

Your father hurried over to you and assisted you in bringing your belongings down the stairs. Given that you choose to remain in New York for a few more days, Jean and Zara returned to Switzerland two days before you did. Because yesterday had been such a long day spent with you and Stephen, Finn was still sound asleep and exhausted when Rose held him in her arms.

Since you had a few remaining days left, you decided to let Finn and Stephen have more time with each other and hang out, Stephen insisted that you stay with them on the last day, his reason was he wanted to give Finn a memory where both his parents were together, playing with him outdoors in the snow, going sledding, building a snowman, having snowball fights and making snow angels. Stephen, who may be described as old-fashoined, went out and purchased a disposable camera so that he could take pictures that would be preserved forever. Stephen has assured you that he would provide you with copies, but it seems that he will not be able to do so before you depart for Switzerland.

The car ride on the way to the airport was quiet and sad because it felt good to be home, to see your family and friends. You couldn’t help but think about that kiss you had with Stephen the night he showed you how vulnerable he was when it comes to you. That kiss felt like it was the last time he would ever do that, it felt like pure acceptance of the fact that he was going to lose you, although he does not want to. And it grew to sting you in the end when he decided to put your needs above him, he truly has changed. 

You glance over at Finn, who was still fast sleeping, and you can't help but notice how much he resembles Stephen. There is not the slightest indication of your facial characteristics. You speculated that he would inherit several of your qualities and hoped that it would be the positive ones.

Your parents remained with you until you collected your boarding passes and were ready to go through security screening. You turn around to look at Jack and Rose again and wave at them as you are ascending the steps. Even though he was attached to you, Finn gazed up at his grandparents and waved to them too. It's certainly one of the benefits of having Strange's DNA because he was highly perceptive for a child who was only one and a half years old.

"Bye-bye poppa, bye-bye nana~" he mumbles and giggles when Rose sends him tons of flying kisses from upstairs until the both of you disappear out of sight to go through security.

Rose sighed and wiped a tear away watching you and her grandson say goodbye, "I really thought that kiss would change her mind." She shook her head and Jack furrowed his brows, confused as to what his wife was talking about.

"What are you talking about?" 

"I woke up to go get a drink downstairs and I walked in on Stephen kissing your daughter, so I quietly backed away." She explained to Jack, who was so confused that night as to why Rose was so insistent with him staying in their room that night, finally knowing the reason why.

"Oh… is that why you came back too quickly?" He asked and Rose nodded, "Maybe they just need another baby–ow!"

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

While you wait for your aircraft to be boarded, you remove Finn from his carrier and grab a seat in one of the empty seats near your gate. Finn remained by your side the whole time, occupying himself quietly with his favourite stuffed animal and nibbling on the chopped fruits you had purchased for him when you offered it to him. In an effort to communicate that he did not want any more, Finn started shaking his hand and pushing your hand away.

"No more?" You asked and he shook his head, "Alright, but you gotta drink water." You pulled out his bottle and gave it to him, instead he tried reaching for the backpack while opening and closing his little hands.

As you switched your focus to your bag, positioning it between you and him where Finn grabbed it and accidently dumped the bag onto the floor, you let out a faint gasp as the contents of the bag poured out into the floor.

"Uh-oh." his little voice peeped. 

"Aw Finn.." you sighed and muttered quietly as you got off of your seat to pick up his stuff. 

"Sorry Mommy." Finn pouted and sat back down. 

"It's okay baby. Use your words next time if you want something from the bag okay?" 

"Pictures!" Finn beamed, bouncing his body while staying seated, "Pictures!"

"You want to take pictures?" You asked in an attempt to clarify what he wants.

Finn shook his head and playfully glared at you with a pout, "No. Daddy pictures!" 

"What?—" You suddenly jerked your head back and saw a rectangular envelope that you hadn't seen before. When you picked it up, you realised that it contained the photographs that Stephen had taken that had been developed.

You went through the images one by one and saw that most of them portrayed Finn having a good time in the snow by giggling, laughing, and bouncing about. You couldn't help but grin as you looked at the picture you had taken of Finn and Stephen creating a snowman together, as well as the one you had taken of Stephen holding Finn to his body while sitting in the snow with a huge grin on his face and looking at his kid.

You flicked the picture over to the last one and saw how happy Finn appeared to be in it. You looked at your son with teary eyes and asked, "How did you know these were in here?"

Finn looked at you and placed his little index finger in front of his mouth, as if telling you to keep quiet.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Stephen stared out of the large sanctum window, watching every plane that flies across the sky, wondering if you and Finn were in it. He flicked through the photos that he took, and his copy mostly consisted of you and Finn, he stared at each one of the photos, searing it into his eidetic memory. Even though you told him to come and see Finn anytime he wants, it still didn't feel right for him to just appear whenever he wanted, especially now that you've built a wall against him. 

Stephen sneaked into your bedroom the night before your flight, and Finn woke up next to you, sensing his father's presence. He awoke, blinking his eyes, to watch his father carefully insert an envelope inside the backpack. Stephen noticed that Finn had woken up and put his index finger in front of his mouth, trying to convince Finn to be quiet. Stephen lowered himself to a kneeling position next to Finn's bed and uttered the reason he had come.

"I love you, son. Be good to your mom." Stephen quietly whispered to not wake you up and kissed his son on the crown of his head, "Go back to sleep." 

Stephen heaved a sigh as he looked at the picture of the three of you together and ran his fingers down the surface of the photo. He wanted to relive the happiness he had during that moment.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Would all passengers travelling to Zurich on flight LX3421 please have your boarding passes and passports ready for boarding. Flight LX3421 is now boarding at gate 81.” The staff announced through the PA. 

You collected all of your belongings, and after that, you fastened Finn back onto your body in a secure position. You made sure to have your passports and boarding passes on hand before getting in line for the priority queue. You were so preoccupied with the rapid beating of your heart and the sensation that anxiety was rising up inside of you that you failed to see that you had moved to the head of the queue.

“Ma’am, your boarding pass and passport please?” The man asked you, waving his hand in front of your face to bring you back. You handed over your documents, in which he scanned, “Here’s your passports back, you can head on through.” 

You smiled at the guy, collected your bags, and started walking towards the bridge that headed towards the aircraft. Your thoughts started to drift towards Stephen, and you could almost make out the sound of his voice crystal clear in your head.

“I miss you. Stay.” 

You reached the middle of the bridge and then turned around to look behind you. When you moved to the side and simply stood there, people you didn't know gave you weird stares as they went by. You glanced at the only photograph that you had kept in your hands, and it was at that moment that the realisation dawned on you that you didn't want to miss Stephen anymore. You spun on your heels and departed the bridge, strolling past the workers who were perplexed as to why you had returned out of the overpass. You chose to ignore their calls and instead hurriedly made your way out of the terminal  while simultaneously contacting your parents.

“C’mon, pick up, Dad.” As you retraced your steps from the direction you had come, you murmured to yourself. 

“Hello?” Rose picked up the phone for Jack.

“Mom! Are you still near the airport?” 

“Yeah, I think so. Why?” 

“Can you turn around please? I’ll wait for you in the pick up area.” You pleaded as you approached customer service to get assistance on going back outside. 

“Jack made a u-turn and go back to the airport, right now.” Rose ordered, to which Jack responded with a perplexed expression, but he nonetheless obliged without question and did a speedy U-turn when they reached the next intersection.

“Can you tell me what is going on?” Jack questioned as he experienced the want to rush due to the manner in which Rose was behaving all fidgety.

“(Y/N) will be waiting for us at the passenger pick-up.” 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Stephen sighed for the hundredth time in one day while placing a now framed photo of the three of you near his bedside, where he could wake up and see it every morning. The photograph depicted both of you planting a sweet kiss on Finn's face as the little boy smiled broadly and flashed his two front teeth. After getting cleaned up in the shower, he changed into considerably warmer attire. America encouraged that they spend their time together outdoors so as to divert his attention away from the sad thoughts that he was having. He was fixing his scarf when he saw a glimpse of your figure over his shoulder through the reflection of the mirror. He abruptly turned around to check if he was hallucinating at the extent of his longing for you and was relieved to see that you were really there, he was worried for a second that he could have been losing his mind.

You raised the photo in your hand, the same one that he has on his bedside, "Do you mean it? Everything you said to me that night?" You asked him, both of you still rooted to where you're standing. 

When Stephen found that you were really standing in front of him and not on your way to Switzerland, his eyes glistened and a thin film of tears delicately brimmed the edges of his eyes, "With every fibre of my being." 

"Then that's good enough for me." You charged towards Stephen who prepared to hold you as you reached up and pulled him down to you, and the rest of the words he tried to say were lost against your lips. He kissed you softly and tenderly, but it wasn't gentleness that you want, not now, not after all this time, and you twisted your hands into his scarf, tugging him even closer to you. He emitted a muffled groan from deep inside his throat, and then his arms encircled you and gathered you against him. Veins throbbing, hearts exploding. You feel him—the entirety of him—pressed against you, and you inhale his shaving cream, his shampoo, and that extra scent that’s just… him. The most mouthwatering aroma you could ever hope to encounter. His lips taste like honey. His face has the barest hint of stubble, and while it scrapes against your skin, you don't care in the least—you didn't care at all. He feels incredible.

"I still love you too, Stephen." You pull away in a gasp, your heads still pressed together and you hear Stephen chuckle against your lips.

“Yeah, I feel that—but I must say I love you more.” Stephen said in a low voice, unable to suppress the smile that was brought by how happy he was feeling, “So what now?”

You drew your head back and stared at him with a massive smile on your face, “Well, you’re now going to be stuck with me and a mini version of you. And I’m stuck with you and a kid who loves her pizza.”

“Sounds perfect.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ 

Epilogue  - Summer time.

"So how was your day?" Stephen knelt down, draping a towel over his son's small figure, drying him off before he sent him to grab some lunch.

"Good!" 

"Did you enjoy swimming?”

"Swimming~" Finn repeated the words, beaming excitedly at his father, pointing again at the lake.

"There, all dry!" He pulled the towel off Finn’s head and ruffled it.

"All dwry!!"

"Can you say, love you?" Stephen asked.

"Wove you!"

"Can you say, love you dad!"?

"Wove you Dad!!" Finn stretched his arms really wide, causing Stephen to chuckle at his son’s cute antics.

"Oh that much? You're going to make Mom jealous, can I have a hug?" Stephen spreads his arms and Finn skips towards him and gives him a quick hug. He squeezed the boy, lifting him up and twirling him into the air before placing him back down on the ground, “Alright go ask America for some hotdogs.”

Stephen approached you as you sat by yourself at the end of the dock, swirling your feet into the clear and slightly cold water. You felt Stephen’s presence and looked up to smile at him as he took the spot beside you.

“Not wanting to brag but Finn loves me from his left arm to his right, you know how many bones that is?” Stephen leaned back against his hand.

“Are you really asking me? An Orthopaedics Director?” 

“Seventy-six, including his head.” Stephen ignored your question and you threw your head back laughing at him.

“You’re such a nerd. Do you know how many bones I have?” You countered him with a trick question and Stephen scoffed.

“What kind of question is that? Of course you have 206 bones.” 

You frowned and shook your head, “No… I have 506 at the moment.” You casually said, looking at the view from straight ahead and gave him a side-eye thinking whether he would understand what you were trying to say.

Stephen scoffed out a laugh, “That’s impo— wait a minute…” his smile disappears.

You just continued looking out into the distance towards the horizon rather than engaging in conversation with him. You caught a glimpse of Stephen sitting up and narrowing his eyes as he looked at you out of the corner of your eye.

“Are we having another baby?” Stephen asked, sounding very hopeful but you didn’t respond to him, “(Y/N) I swear—you’d better stop joking because I—”

“I’m not joking.” You turned your head to face him, looking a bit more serious this time. Stephen froze to stare at you for a second before pulling you into a hug, “Are you happy?”

“Happy? Are you kidding me? That’s an understatement, I’m over the moon. I hope we have a girl this time.” Stephen smiled, kissing the side of your head, “I love you. I’m so lucky to have you as a mother to my children.” 

“I love you too, but three is enough. America and Finn together are already a handful.”

“I’m good with that. Three’s a magic number.”

TAGS: @simp4fictional @praetorrara @poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @elicheel @vintageroses10 @sherlux @graniairish @lucywrites02 @stanny-uwu @frostandflamesfanfic @jamiethenerdymonster@zdhunn @captaincarmel164 @justsomecreaturewandering @soiopathicdetectivekid @fan-of-fic @gaitwae @shit-post-things @seasonofthenerd @patbrdac @evelynrosestuff @singhfae @severuined @mischiefmanaged71 @farfromjustordinary @ironstrange1991 @spideyyhoe @lovecleastrange @mando-is-the-way @peachypie97 @ghost-lantern @sleutherclaw @the-mouse27 @zelspktr @bobateadaydreams @junkertown-princess @apple-and-berry@ohchoices @faithinhome @mochuchi @the-royal-petals @goldencherriess @lykaonimagines @sigyncevans @sherlocksgirl91 @strangeobsessed @romanvffa @strangefilms @marcelin3 @ohholyaphrodite @sierlock @erenluvsrini @chinjk @hobimysolecito @cumberdaddys @lokislov3

[light-lanterne]

so, fun fact: exactly one year ago i started writing "the darkest eyes". i wrote most of the first chapter in one sitting (ending up around this time), then finished the rest of it throughout the week and, as you know, posted it on the 29th. as excited as i am working on other stories and concepts, this one is still my favourite and i fully intend to finish it (as soon as i can bring myself to do it).

now, not so fun fact: exactly one year ago, at this very time (at the moment i'm posting this), my dad left our apartment to go to work and then never came back. as far as i know, he died soon-ish and i can only hope it was as painless as possible.

,,,so yeah, if you ever wonder why it's been taking me so long to get chapter 7 out and all that, it's because once reality sunk in and it became clear that i'm not ever going to see my dad again, i could only associate the story to my dad's disappearance and it became increasingly harder to work on a fic that's all about hopper being a paternal figure to mike.

so there's that.

please, don't get me wrong, though. i don't feel sad or upset whenever i open up my file. i don't even feel particularly upset right now, as i'm writing this.

for what it's worth, i'm okay-ish.

i just,,, can't focus on anything as i write. dissociation aside, all i can think about in moments like these are old memories with my dad that i'd rather not discuss lest i start crying. or the fact that i barely have photos of the man (let alone recordings,,, i'm already forgetting his voice). or the obvious fact that i wish he'd been here to eat some of the chocolate cake i made a year ago for when he came back, just like the one i made earlier because i got bored and i wanted something sweet.

(funnily enough, my cakes keep splitting in two when i remove them from the pan. that hasn't changed in a year >.< )

but yeah. it's a struggle to write that one story and i can only hope it gets easier before we hit the end of the year because i do not want this story to haunt me for years to come x.x

ultimately, i'll be okei. i'll get the story done at some point, and then i'll finish the rest of my other wips and my graphics and get rid of this byler brainrot i've been stuck in for the past year, and hopefully you guys will continue to enjoy whatever i put out whenever i do it.

just maybe not today.

today i eat chocolate cake and watch silly stuff and maybe do a couple graphics if i get the energy for it, okei ?

hope that's okay with you guys.

now for something fun,,, below the cut you will find the last photo i have of me and my dad alone. neither of us has ever been fond of self-portraiture so uh,,,

yeah. derpy baby face it is.

anyway, thanks to everyone who's been keeping me company today and throughout the year. it's really helped :]

[mysticraven20]

Here’s an unfinished and unedited fic for Valentine’s Day 🤣

I don’t think I’ll ever complete this; but there’s no point in it just sitting in my WIP folder. So enjoy and let me know what you think would happen at the end…

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 16 years old and feeling incredibly wanted.

She stood over her desk looking at the pictures of the three guys currently trying to take hold of her heart, studying them with skills Sherlock Holmes would be proud of. She tilted her head to the left before swapping it to the right, then again, and again. Nothing was getting clearer. Perhaps she needed a different perspective?

“Hey girl, what are you –” Alya stopped at the top of Marinette’s trap door looking at her friend, who was now attempting (and failing) a headstand on her desk chair.

Walking over to Marinette, Alya looked from the girl to the pictures laying on her desk. Three pictures. Three guys. And an upside down Marinette.

“What are you doing?” Alya asked her friend.

Marinette manoeuvring herself from the awkward position before flopping in the chair with a rather loud grunt.

“Trying to decide.” She said, moving the pictures around as if the order would change her perspective. She moved them, again, and again, and again.

“Decide what exactly?”

“Who I’m going to date.”

Alya blinked once, then twice before opening her mouth and closing it again. Marinette had spoken in such a matter of fact, Alya was… gobsmacked. Was this really the same girl, who only a week ago was giving up on love?

“Your ego’s working overtime I see,” she laughed.

Marinette rolled her eyes, standing up and bracing her hands on the table; one hand either side of the pictures.

“Har har! This whole boy thing needs to end. It’s a distraction which I don’t need, so once and for all I’m making a choice and then making it perfectly clear to the other two that we’re only friends. Just friends.”

Alya picked up Luka’s picture and pursed her lips. “Luka? Really?” She turned the picture around and Marinette shrugged.

“I feel he deserves to be included.” She grabbed the photo and placed it back down beside the other two.

“Whatever you say.” Alya moved closer to Marinette, who once again was frantically moving the pictures around.

Stretching forward, the fox themed hero went to pick up the picture currently in first position only to have her hand slapped away.

“Leave.”

“I’ve just got here!”

“Not you, the picture. Leave the picture where it is.”

Alya looked between Marinette and the picture as the crazy hero girl moved them around again, this time second place swapped with first.

“You do realise you always put Luka last, right?”

“Pfft, no I don’t.” She went to swap him with second position only to stop and try for first, nope couldn’t.

“See.”

“Listen, Alya Césaire, this is an important hero business.”

“Your love life is not hero business.” Her friend snapped back.

“It is when it’s distracting me.” She moved the pictures around again. Unable to decide between one and two, Luka, meanwhile, held his solid third position.

“If this is going to work. You need to make a list.” Alya offered in support. Marinette freezing and raising an eyebrow at her friend.

“That’s a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re in some weird Chat Noir vs Adrien Agreste battle.”

“And Luka!”

“Marinette, forget Luka. You don’t need to add him because you feel sorry for what you did. You had no choice. Yes you like him, he’s a sweet guy. But he’s not one of these.” Alya picked up Adrien and Chat Noir’s pictures and thrust them in Marinette’s face.

“I’m still keeping him in.” Marinette grabbed the pictures from her friends hands and slammed them on the table. Once again, Alya was getting too involved. She had this covered!

“Okay, then amuse me… how many days, over the past 26 days have you spent with Luka?”

“That’s not important.” Marinette crossed her arms, pursed her lips and looked away.

“Because you know where I’m going with this.”

“Fine, I was with him on the day of Truth, and a couple of the days before that.”

“Okay so we’ll count that as four.”

“Then there was the ‘Crocoduel’ incident, oh and ‘Wishmaker’ and - um - I saw him briefly during our last battle with Chloé.”

“Okay.” Alya grabbed a piece of paper, dividing it into three sections. “So Luka, we can put at what? Four,” she began to use her fingers to count up. “Five, six, seven. You forgot the whole Bob Roth bank akuma thing. Okay, so eight. Eight times in the past 26 days. At least half of those being because of needing his help with an akuma” Alya took the pen and wrote eight below Luka’s name. “Now let’s go onto your current second position.”

At the top of the next column, Alya wrote the name.

Adrien

Marinette brought her hands in front of her body, beginning to play with them nervously.

“What’s wrong?” Alya asked, her voice laced with exhaustion already.

“I just don’t know if he should be in that column, or -“ she moved her hand over to the first, “that one.”

“For the love of all things Miraculous, Marinette! Get a grip!”

“Can’t you see that’s what I’m trying to do!” She hissed back at her friend, causing Alya to roll her eyes. “It’s making me feel insane!” The hold and pull of her hair only added to the theory. Yep, insanity was truly kicking in.

“Chat Noir is going in column one, personally that’s where I think he should be but whatever.”

“Biased much?”

“What can I say? After working with him and spending a little time out of the suit with him I can see what a cool guy he is.” Alya shrugged, scribing Chat’s name at the top of the first column, or at least Marinette thought that was what she was doing.

“My Kitty?” she read, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“You call him that, not me!”

“Traitor!”

“Anyway back to Adrien. How many days have you spent with him?”

“Well, we’re at school five days a week, two days off for weekends, but I saw him that one Saturday when I fixed his wing. So, um, 26 divided by 7 is around 4, so pretty much 4 weeks of seeing him 5 days a week which is 20 days plus the extra 1, so 21.” Marinette was looking at her ceiling counting on her fingers the different numbers before turning back and seeing Alya’s dumbstruck expression.

“That was extra even by your standards.”

Marinette nodded and pointed to the column, “write it down please.”

“Adrien. 21. Okay so last but not least, Chat Noir.”

Marinette coughed covering her mouth.

“What was that Marinette? I missed it.”

“25.” She mumbled out.

“Sorry.”

“25!” She shouted, Alya flinching at her outburst.

“No need to shout, I’m standing right next to you. Damn, you’re touchy at the moment.” She wrote 25 under Chat’s name. “Pass me your turquoise highlighter.” She held her hand out to Marinette.

“But I like pink.”

“And I like turquoise. Also, I’m in charge of this list and what I say goes.”

Marinette grumbled as she found Alya’s desired colour and slammed it into her hand. “I’m going to let you off for that, only because you’re a mess at the moment.”

“You're a mess.” Marinette retorted, causing Alya to laugh.

“Whatever you say, Bugaboo.”

“Don’t call me that. What’s next then ‘oh mighty highlighter holder’?”

“Looks.”

“Looks? Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“No, but everyone is human and it can make a difference, Marinette.”

“Fine. Luka’s cool. He has his own look and doesn’t seem to care about what others think.”

“Okay. Now imagine you’re 30. Does the look still work for you?”

“Hum, well, I’m sure it’ll change and become more refined. Maybe even more piercings, or even tattoos?”

“Does that do it for you?” Alya asked.

“It’s not my personal preference but people are allowed to do what they want with their own bodies.” She shrugged.

“So what do you want me to put down as his body rating?”

“Like out of 10? I don’t know if I like this.” She bit down on her lower lip, her hands worrying between themselves again.

“It’s for our eyes only, it’s just to help decide.”

She exhaled, shaking her head before looking at the picture again. She really did need to get this sorted. “A solid 8.”

“Really? I thought you’d go for 7.” Alya said, writing it down.

“Nino’s a 7.”

“Excuse me? I’m quite sure Nino’s a solid 10. You haven’t seen under that tee.”

“I don’t want to either.” Marinette shuddered.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“I never asked for it.”

“You didn’t, but you need it.” Alya said, writing Luka’s score before moving to the other two. “Now what about Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?”

“Which is which?”

“Choice is yours really.” Alya shrugged.

“I’d probably say Chat’s more Tweedle Dum, only because of his jokes. He’s actually pretty smart,” Marinette replied.

“We’re not on ‘smarts’ yet, so let's think about his looks.”

“Well, because of quantum masking I can’t really tell a lot about how he looks. But I know from both his stint as Chat Noir and Mister Bug his body is pretty decent. Plus he’s a superhero, and if he’s half as toned from it as I am, then yup… he’s going to look good.”

“What score do you want to give him?”

“I’m going to have to go for 8, only because I don’t know how he really looks. It would be unfair to give him more.”

Alya wrote it down under his name before looking back at Marinette. “Yet you score him the same as someone whose face you can see. Interesting. And last but by no means least, Buttercup.”

“10.”

“At least think about it first.” Alya laughed.

Marinette pursed her lips once more and looked at the few remaining pictures of Adrien scattered around her room. Maybe she was being a little haisty with the 10. She studied his body and face. Face, with that cute lopsided smile, was definitely a 10. Hair, 10. Body? Okay, so maybe he could do with eating a little more? “9 and a half.” She said decisively.

“Fine. As you wish.” Alya wrote the scores underneath Adrien’s name and then turned back to Marinette. “What do you want to do next? Healthy relationship status, or their pros and cons?”

“What’s ‘healthy relationship’ status?” Marinette asked, intrigued by what her friend was going to throw into the mix next.

“Whether you’ve argued with each other, talk it out, have fun, spend time together, get bored of each other, understand each other… you know, just things that make relationships healthy.”

“We’ll do that one next. Can we start with Chat?”

“It’s your list, M’Lady.”

“Honestly, quit it!” Marinette said in a huff, grabbing Chat’s picture from the table and studying it. Oh boy, this is about to open a can of worms.

“Myself and Chat Noir have a complex relationship. We argue, we talk about most things, we understand each other. I just think we’re still too young to understand what we want and what we need from each other.”

“Think of it this way,” Alya interrupted, “if the guys were going to completely disappear from your life forever, how would you feel?”

Marinette’s stomach dropped, and a lump formed in her throat. If they were gone ‘for good’. Memories and tears built in her eyes. This was starting to hit too close to home.

“I - um,” Marinette coughed to clear her throat, closing her eyes to regain composure before attempting to speak again. “I would be sad if Luka left. He’s a great friend.”

“Would you get over it?” Alya’s voice had grown soft, obviously understanding something had struck Marinette deeply.

“Yeah. I mean, I managed to avoid him fine after we broke up. I, oh I’m going to sound like a bitch.”

Alya smiled at her, a smile of understanding and care, helping her to carry on.

“I didn’t miss him. I had no urge to call him, or see him, or anything. I was just sad I broke his heart because he loved me.”

“And Adrien?” Alya probed.

“I was heartbroken when he left with Lila, like, I think I would eventually get over it, but it would kill me at first.”

“And Chat?”

Marinette stilled, placing Adrien’s picture down and selecting Chat’s instead. She ran a finger over his face and her voice became an emotional whisper. “He left me once.”

The statement took Alya by surprise, the girl recoiling back a little. “What do you mean? Left you?”

Marinette looked up to Alya, her eyes filled with tears. “He left me. Handed the ring back and disappeared. Actually he’s done it twice.” Alya gasped as Marinette continued talking. “I went insane. If you think this is crazy, you haven’t seen anything. I couldn’t eat, drink, or sleep. I didn’t get changed or shower. I just tried to figure out who to give the ring to; someone who wouldn’t fall in love with me. Then I had to battle an akuma and… it was hard. I missed him so much.”

“Did you find someone to give the ring to?” Marinette shook her head.

“No. Plagg took the ring to a new owner. He was amazing, his name was ‘Catwalker’, but he was a bit too perfect. He did everything I could have asked. He was professional, and helpful. He came up with plans and ideas.”

“But he wasn’t Chat Noir.”

“Exactly.” Marinette’s words pushed through the thickness in her throat, releasing a tear down her face. “It was like I could only think about him. I even thought the akuma was him. That I was the cause of it.”

“And ‘Catwalker’ helped.”

“Yeah. He did! If I knew who he was I would have recruited him for the team. He was wonderful.”

“Sounds like Adrien.” Alya laughed, Marinette moving like she’d been hit with a baseball bat.

“What?”

“He sounds like Adrien. Perfect, smart, professional.”

Her eyebrows creased together as she once again picked up Adrien’s picture, imagining him in the mask. “Maybe.” She said, holding the thought in the back of her mind.

“Or, Plagg could have just given the ring back to Chat Noir and changed the design of the suit.”

“I know Chat, and this guy, whoever he was, was not Chat!” Marinette announced, squinting her eyes as she looked at Adrien’s picture once more. It couldn’t be? Could it?

“Do you want me to add this mysterious Cat Walker to the list?”

Marinette placed Adrien’s picture down, before picking it back up and turning it around. She looked at the plain back, she looked at it upside down…she grabbed a pen and drew a mask and green hair on the picture, making a mental note to print another later.

“No,” she decided, eyes still scrutinising, “but add Cat Walker under Adrien, I think you may be onto something there.”

“Green hair? Adrien’s got more taste than I expected.” Alya nodded, impressed by this possible turn around for Adrien Agreste.

“Also add ‘Aspik’.”

“He picked what?” Alya shrieked, glaring at Marinette with wide eyes and almost dropping the highlighter.

“Alyaaaaaa!”

“Marinetteeeeee!”

Marinette snatched the piece of paper from her friends hands and wrote two names under Adrien’s:

Aspik

Cat Walker?

“Remember, this is for our eyes only. It doesn’t leave this room, and it doesn’t get mentioned outside of this room.” Marinette said, placing the photos back in order.

Alya snatched the list before Marinette could do anything else and wrote underneath Chat Noir’s name. As Marinette attempted to look over at what Alya was writing only to be pushed backwards and out of the way. She stumbled a couple of steps before her knees met her chaise throwing her backwards over the piece of furniture, a squeak leaving her lips.

“Are you okay Marinette?” Tikki flew down beside her chosen, only for Marinette to respond with a rather fake thumbs up.

The raven haired beauty pulled herself to standing and brushed off her trousers. “What’s next them ‘oh mighty Alya Césaire’?”

“It’s quite simple…what they’ve done for you. I’ve already filled in Chat Noir’s for you.”

Looking over Alya's shoulder she finally saw what Alya had written.

He puts up with all your shit without question.

“I can’t even deny it,” Marinette said, rubbing the join between her neck and shoulders. “What about the others?”

“I don’t know, it’s your life. What’s Adrien done?”

“He’s-um-” her eyebrows almost fused together as she considered what Adrien had done for her.

What had he done?

“He moved me out of the way of the akuma’s during Scarlet Moth,”

“Okay, good start. Anything else?”

“Oh, Kagami, when she was trying to kill me as Riposte, he got me out of the way.”

“That’s brave of him, saving a superhero.” Alya wrote it down in Adrien’s column.

“He is brave! And he trusts me. He dove from a building knowing I’d save him, he believes he’s always believed me about Lila, he made that speech on heroes day, he supports me through everything. Remember the hat? Even though it was made with real feathers he still wanted to wear it. And my lucky charm. He made me a lucky charm for my birthday.”

Alya was struggling to keep up, as Marinette reeled off what she could remember off the top of her head.

“What about the Valentine’s card?” She asked, Marinette taking the poem from her top drawer.

“We still don’t know who that was. He didn’t know Kagami at the time and it’s not like he’s been actively after me, I think I over read into it.”

Alya took the paper from her friend and glanced over it. “What if it was for you? But not ‘you’ you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hair as dark as night, bluebell eyes — they’re both you right? But then let’s look at this next section ‘underneath that strong disguise’ who do we know that looks like you but wears a disguise?”

Marinette bit her lip as she considered what Alya might be hinting at. Would it be too much to wish?

“He couldn’t mean…could he?” she said, praying her friend had all the answers.

“Well, let’s look at it this way. He dived off one of the tallest buildings in Paris trusting you to catch him; if he was this Cat Walker person he obviously wanted to be perfect for you, and I don’t know much about this ass picker character, but I’m guessing he went out his way to save you?”

“Over 25,000 times,” Marinette stated, biting into her lower lip.

“Woah! You ask me, the dudes got it bad.”

Marinette’s heart leapt in her chest. This was insane. After all this time could Adrien be in love with Ladybug? With the other side of her?

“Let’s move on before you go into an Adrien affected breakdown.” Alya grabbed Luka’s picture and placed it over her face putting on her best Luka voice. “Hey Marinette, you’re the sweetest most confusing song I’ve ever heard. You need to let me go so I can discover the notes of my true musical path.”

“Don’t be so mean,” Marinette snatched the photo out of Alya’s hand and lay it smoothly on the table in the number one spot, before moving it to two. Still not happy she shuffled it once more to spot three. “Luka’s a great guy.”

“I never said he wasn’t, in fact, I’m sure he’ll change the world one day, but without you by his side.”

“He wrote me a song, and defended me against Bob Roth, oh and he put himself in the way of the wasps during Miracle Queen.” Marinette said softly, looking at the picture of him on the table. Maybe Alya was right, maybe it was time to let her security blanket go.

“Which is really sweet. He’s a sweet guy. But he’s someone else’s sweet guy, Marinette. Not yours.”

Marinette nodded before picking up Chat’s photograph and holding it in front of her. Her eyes took in his huge smile, and she knew that when he had the photograph taken he was looking at her.

“Can you add Luka’s to the list please?”

“You’ll never learn to take a risk, will you?” Her friend shook her head as she scribed the notes onto the paper.

“Can I ask you something, Marinette? That moment, when you were on the rooftop and had lost all the Miraculous’, when Monarch’s face appeared threatening you and all of Paris, who was it you wanted beside you? Who did you want to hold your hand?”

Marinette switched the pictures around once more before finally releasing her grasp on them. This was the order, this is where they needed to stay.

Adrien

Adrien had been sleeping awfully. Not only were the Akuma attacks wiping it out, but daddy of the year had decided Adrien needed more study sessions now he’d stopped modelling. Oh, yippee do!

The old man was really starting to make Adrien dislike him, if it wasn’t one thing it was another, and to be honest he thought his father might be more fair once Adrien had stopped and allowed him to use his free time like a teen for a change, but oh no, that was too much for cranky pants Agreste.

[winterscaptain]

figure it out.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this has been in my wips for literal months as i’ve done my best to get it just right for yall. i hope you enjoy it, and tell me what you think! There’s an addendum to this one, and i’m already working on it, but we’ll see a few more things before that’s ready :)

words: 3.5k warnings: sex mention, sex implication, language

summary: “love is like a backache. it doesn’t show up on an x-ray, but you know it’s there.” - george burns. au!january 2012. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You roll over in bed when your alarm goes off, but you don’t get very far. Aaron throws an arm over you and pulls you back to him with a grumble. 

You huff a laugh and wiggle up against him. It’s all a tease and you both know it - there isn’t any time to get up to anything fun before work, but it’s far too entertaining to rile him up.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” His voice escapes his lips between your shoulder blades and you can feel his smile. 

“Oh, trust me, babe. I can finish.” 

He hums, his smile breaking out into something real. “I noticed.” 

+++

When the two of you finally make it out of bed (surprisingly still on time), you grab one of Aaron’s scarves and a hat on your way out. It’s your turn to drop Jack at school today on your way into the office, and the task serves two purposes. 

The first? It’s nice to spend time with Jack, just the two of you, when it’s your turn and you’re not on a case. It’s the same for Aaron, who always leaves a little earlier so he and Jack can sit down somewhere and have breakfast together.

The second is pure logistics. You two can’t show up to work in the same car at the same time, so a convenient excuse to separate and stagger your arrivals is welcome. 

“Really?” 

Aaron’s question stops you at the threshold and you look over your shoulder “What?” 

“My hat? My scarf?” 

It’s almost too tempting to cave when he’s looking at you like that - his tie hanging around his neck, shirt untucked, arms crossed, and playful frown hiding a smile. 

“Yeah. It’s warm and it’s here and we’re late.” 

Jack squints up at you and says, “We’re not late.”

“You’re not late.”

The observations come within split seconds of each other and you laugh. 

“Fine. Not late, but warm. And you have more hats.” You scamper back into the house to plant a kiss on his lips, smoothing the hair at his temples. 

Jack’s laughter is the underscore to your next quip. “You’re very handsome and I’m sure you’re very smart so you can figure it out.” 

“Yeah, Dad,” Jack chirps. “Figure it out.”

He has nothing to say to your retreating forms as he catches a glimpse of your smile through the crack in the closing door.

+++

Emily and Spencer are away at a conference-book-signing thing, so it’s just the five of you and Penelope this morning. You’d normally figure that would be Rossi’s purview, but apparently - 

“My book-signing days have been put on hold indefinitely in favor of -”

“ - He’s back.” Garcia interrupts, tossing case files at all of you. The conversation is cut short and you suppress a smile. “The Marin headlands last night.” 

You can see Aaron’s lips pull as well. 

It’s the little things. 

Penelope gestures with the notes and crime scene photos appear on the screen. “David Atley and Nicole Puli, both 24, both grad students at Berkeley, shot multiple times in their vehicle-- wait for it--” She clicks again and a familiar sigil appears. 

“The Zodiac?” Morgan’s shock is almost sardonic in its delivery. 

Rossi snorts. “No way.”

“Come on,” Derek says, amused, while JJ chimes in as well. 

 “It's gotta be the 2.0 version.”

While neither of you speak, you share a glance with Aaron. You’re kidding. 

He only raises his eyebrows for a split second and shrugs. 

There’s some part of you a little paranoid that you’re the most obvious couple to exist in the history of the universe. Sure, the team has been teasing you about your friendship for years, the will-the-won’t-they of it all, but now that it’s real you’re almost terrified that they know everything. 

Thus, the overcompensation has been wretched. You and Aaron barely look at each other in the field if you can help it (which you usually can’t) and he tends to put you with Derek more often than not. 

In truth, the others have noticed, but are far too interested in the spectacle to say anything. Emily’s almost certain the two of you have slept together, and Dave may or may not have suggested the possibility of a secret marriage during your period of suspension. 

However far-fetched and ridiculous their theories, they know you two well enough to know that something happened. The tension is gone. 

Derek almost finds himself missing the tension. There hasn’t been much to tease you about lately in its absence. 

“Yeah, you would think so, except for the crazy similarities in the MO.” Penelope clicks through the photos as she talks. 

“I'm talking same victimology, same geography. And,” she adds. “Two souvenirs were left at the crime scene.” She clicks once more and stands back for the full effect. 

“He left a photo?” Rossi asks.

She hums in the affirmative. “Local police say that is Marcia Miller. She was found near Napa in 1971. Strongly suspected that she was a victim of the Zodiac, but police never confirmed it and they didn't publicize the case.” 

Morgan’s still squinting at the screen. “So the Zodiac took this photo at the killing and then saved it all these years?”

“The Zodiac's last confirmed victim was the cabdriver Paul Stine,” Dave notes devolving into a conversation about The Zodiac, his timeline, his signature. 

It’s nothing new - The Zodiac Killer’s case details are common knowledge in your line of work, nevermind the sheer number of copycats that try their hand at the highly-ritualistic murders before inevitably getting arrested. 

There’s a reason this guy hasn’t been caught in forty years. 

After a few minutes of bouncing between you all, Hotch pushes back from the table and stands. “Have Reid and Prentiss meet us in San Francisco. Wheels up in 30.”

He heads straight to his office to collect his things and you swing in by the tips of your fingers for just a second. “You wanna call Jess or do you want me to?” 

In the middle of throwing files in his briefcase, he doesn’t look up when he answers. “Can you, please? I was supposed to meet with Strauss this afternoon and need to stop by her office before wheels up.” 

You smile at him, tapping the door frame twice. “You got it.” 

+++

It’s boots on the ground right away when you land in San Francisco. You drive to the crime scene with Aaron in the passenger seat beside you and JJ in the back. The radio’s on, and you sing under your breath, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel as you make your way up to the crime scene. 

Before you get to the local FBI agents, JJ catches you by the sleeve. “It’s nice to have music in the car again.” 

You just smile at her. Aaron looks a little puzzled. 

The three of you wipe the looks off your faces by the time you get to Agent Lynn. 

+++

“What did JJ mean?” Aaron asks you. 

The two of you are alone for the time being, posted up in the conference room with the old Zodiac case files. You look up. “Hmm?” 

“What did she mean when she mentioned the music earlier?” 

“Oh.” A little flush of embarrassment shoots down your gut. “Derek pointed out to me last summer that I didn’t play any music in the car.” 

...while you were gone is the thing you don’t say, but he knows that’s what you mean. 

“I didn’t really notice.” You shrug to cover your fib. “I guess I’ve reacquainted myself with the radio in the last couple of weeks.” 

Aaron hums, returning to his work. Something’s off, but you’re sure it’ll come up later. 

+++

“You don’t think it’s really him, do you?” You ask, unbuttoning your shirt and throwing your pajamas on. 

Surprisingly, this case seems to be one of those that allows for sleep at regular hours. For that, you’re grateful. It’s much harder to find time to wind down with Aaron at the end of the day when you’re all forced to sleep in shifts. 

Aaron shakes his head, “No, I think Reid’s right. We’re looking at a particularly sophisticated copycat.” 

“Isn’t that kind of worse?” Hopping up on your bed, you curl up and look at him over your nose - a clear invitation to join you. 

With a huff down his nose and a little smile, he flops down beside you and props his chin on his arms over your belly. “Could be. Luckily, we have Reid.” 

You almost think he’s going to say something else, but he gets that pensive look on his face again. 

“What?” 

With a sigh, he says, “I’m just thinking about what JJ said.” 

“Oh, Aaron -” 

He doesn’t let you finish. It’s probably a good thing. You didn’t know what you wanted to say anyway. 

“I knew how hard it was on me, but I’m realizing more and more how hard it was on you, too.” He shakes his head. “I feel ...I don’t know. I feel like I should have known better… or something.” 

Winding your fingers in his hair, you sit in silence for a moment. He doesn’t have anything more to say and eventually he crawls up your body and settles in under your arm, his head on your chest and legs wound between yours.

Sometimes, you’ve found, he likes to feel small.  

“You’re safe and you’re home. That’s what matters.” You kiss the top of his head. “And I love you.” 

He hums, arcing into your touch and wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you.” 

+++

You spend much of the next day chasing Spencer around the city, keeping notes handy (for yourself, not for him - he doesn't need them) and reporting back on his discoveries to the team like some kind of overwrought and hyper-trained secretary. 

Stepping off to the side, you answer a call from Aaron. 

“Hit your limit yet?” 

You look over at Spencer, who’s flipping through a newspaper like a man on a mission. “It’s actually kind of entertaining.” 

And that’s actually true. Watching Spencer push the limits of his intelligence is always a treat - it happens so rarely you almost forget how much you enjoy it every time. 

He huffs into the phone. “Hang in there. We’ll all meet back at the precinct once Reid’s done -”

“Doing magic?” 

“Exactly. Keep me posted.” There’s a pause. It’s an odd little habit you two developed in the field to leave space for the words you can’t say in front of the others. 

I love you.

“Me too.” 

+++

You’re almost asleep when a sliver of yellow light shoots across your room, promptly disappearing as the door to the hallway closes. 

He pads across the room and slips under the covers. “Hi.” 

A little smile crosses your face as you roll over to face him. “Hi.”

Before you can say anything else, his hands are on you and he’s half on top of you as he captures your lips. 

Needless to say, the lack of sleep is worth it. 

+++

Emily, long after she and Aaron are the only ones left in the precinct conference room, squints as she notices something right under his collar. 

He’s already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, no longer standing on ceremony now that all the local police have retired and the rest of the team gone up to their hotel rooms. There’s not much to do, but the compulsion to get ahead for tomorrow is one neither one of them can shake. 

What Aaron failed to remember when executing his wardrobe adjustment was the rather...spirited romp in your room the night prior. The little purple swatches painted on his skin just under the line of his collar stood out stark against the crisp lines of his dress shirt. 

Fortunately for you, there was no way in hell the rest of the team would find anything he left on you last night. 

Emily reaches into her purse and pulls out a tube of concealer and a powder compact. Though he’s more olive-toned than she is, it’ll be good enough in a pinch. “Hey, Hotch.” 

He looks at her over his nose, his eyes tired. 

“You might want this for tomorrow morning.” She pushes the crisis control kit across the table to him, but he only frowns and deepens his squint. 

By way of explanation, she reaches across the table and presses the tip of her finger into one of the visible bruises in the hollow of his throat. He flinches, freezes, and then immediately drops his head into his hands. 

It’s easy to say Emily is amused in the extreme. “Those look...really fresh.” 

He shakes his head, insisting as he picks up a file at random, “They’re from before we left.” 

It’s only because it’s Emily that he’s even humoring this conversation. 

“No they’re not.” She sticks her tongue firmly in her cheek. “These ones are though.” She points at yellowing marks on his collarbone and he smacks her hands away. 

“And I know what fresh hickies look like, Hotch. Those are fresh fresh. Like, last night fresh. And we’ve been here for four days.” She frowns, tracking back through the day. “When on earth would you have time to -” 

A series of images flash through her head, random wayward connections flashing together in an alarmingly clear picture.

You, avoiding her at the office back in September with quickly-covered marks painted across your neck.

You, flirting with Sean and having way too much fun doing it, looking over his shoulder at ...someone else.

Hotch, in a perpetually good mood (for him, anyway, and despite looking ill-slept) for the last five months. 

The way the mistletoe kiss at Dave’s Christmas party looked way too easy, too familiar. 

And now, the obvious indicators that Hotch is not only getting it, he’s getting it good. 

If he got those last night…

Wait. 

Their hotel rooms are right next to …

Oh my God. 

Hotch watches the realization flash across Emily’s face, and he knows you’re both busted. Instead of losing her shit like he expected, Emily just leans back in her chair - smug. 

“So. Are you still Not the Boyfriend, or has there been an update?”

He sighs. 

The corner of her mouth tips up. “How long?”

“For which part? The not-boyfriend part, the boyfriend part, or this part?” He gestures vaguely to the space behind his tie, and Emily snorts. 

“Just spill it.” 

Holding up a finger, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, dialing the first number on his speed dial. 

You’re hardly asleep, sitting up in bed waiting for him with a case file in your lap, when you get the call. You’re not sure who’s listening, so a “Hey, Hotch. What’s up?” will have to do. 

“Emily knows.” 

You straighten. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter. She knows.” 

There’s a scramble, and suddenly Emily’s on the other end of the phone. “He’s got very questionable and very fresh bruises just under his collar. Care to explain?”

There’s another shuffle. 

“Ignore her,” Aaron says. With a hand pressed to your forehead, you understand the question implicit in his phone call. 

“Just tell her. It’s basically her fault, anyways. If she hadn’t ditched it then we’d have our heads up our asses for another five years.”

“Alright,” then, after a second of realizing you don’t sound sleepy at all, “Go to bed.”

“I’m in bed.” 

He rolls his eyes. Emily can only look on with amusement, gleeful in the extreme. “You know that’s not what I mean. Go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright. Fine.” You reluctantly close the casefile and put him on speaker so he can hear the light click off. “I’m going to sleep.” Then, “I love you. Come up soon.”

“Okay.” He shoots a glance at Emily. Because he’ll never hear the end of it anyway, more ammo won’t hurt at this point. “I love you too. Now, really. Go to slee -”

You hang up on him. He double-takes at his phone for a moment before shoving it back in his pocket. 

He’s met with Emily’s surprisingly moved eyes. “You’re...okay.”

What she means is, You’re happy. 

He knows. 

He nods. “I’m okay.”

She puts her files down and leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers. “Tell me.” 

So, he does. 

He tells her about the way you stuck to him like glue through the divorce, the way you wiggled your way into Haley’s heart, captured the love of his son, and earned the trust of his entire family. 

He tells her what Haley said in the hospital, the tenacious care you showed his unyielding and unwilling ass when he was healing, the way your grief soothed his in the wake of Haley’s loss. 

He tells her about the moments of euphoria in the years of want and doubt and fear. 

He tells Emily about the day she died, how there was nothing more painful than that necessary lie. He tells her how easy it was to lie to the others, how it ripped him in half to lie to you. 

He tells her about the day he left for Pakistan, about the fight the night before, the kiss he pressed to your cheek on the tarmac, the endless, wretched nights missing you in the desert. 

He tells her about the fight when he finally came home, skims over the following days, jumps and meanders around to Christmas, to moving in, to the bliss that now seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

Emily watches the smile that plays at his mouth when he talks about you, the softness in his eyes as recalls the look on your face and the words you said and the way you are with Jack. There’s a kind of peace in him that she’s never really seen before. 

Maybe, she imagines, it was there before she met him (the second time). Maybe this peace existed with Haley. Maybe this is the most she’s ever heard him speak at once. Maybe it makes her smile. 

Maybe this peace is what his love looks like. 

If that’s the case, she thinks, you are very lucky indeed. 

It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, but at some point he stops talking. 

“Hotch?” 

He looks over at her, the softness lingering in his eyes. 

“I’m really happy for you.” 

His lips twitch. “Thanks.” 

“And you know it’s my God-given right to tell everyone else once this case is over, right?”

+++

You actually are asleep by the time Aaron gets back to the hotel. He leans against the wall in the dark with his hands in his pockets, enjoying the peace before the inevitable shitshow. 

He crosses the room and crouches at your side, running the back of his fingers over your cheek. You stir, sleepy noises leaving your throat as your eyes crack open. 

“Aaron?”

“Yeah. Just me.” 

You smile a little and close your eyes again. “How’d she take it?”

“Remarkably well.” He kisses your forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“No,” you whine, drawn-out and slurred. “Don’t leave. Stay. I set an alarm.”

With a resigned sigh, he strips and slides into bed behind you, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close. 

+++

You and Aaron sit on proverbial pins and needles for the rest of the case, but Emily keeps her word. The only indication of her knowledge came the morning after her chat with Aaron, when she pulled you to her and hugged you so tight you could hardly breathe. 

She seizes her moment on the plane, about halfway home. 

“Derek, you owe me fifty bucks.” 

She hardly looks up from her book as she speaks. 

He takes off his headphones and wrinkles his brow. “What?”

She repeats herself, slower, as if she was speaking to a child. “You. Owe. Me. Fifty. Bucks.”

“...Why?” 

Emily finally looks up from her book to pointedly stare at you and Aaron, seated next to each other and sharing a bag of Goldfish you stole from Jack’s snack drawer. You’re both reading from the same file, absently reaching for crackers as you go along. 

Derek’s confusion continues to smother his face until it finally clicks in. 

He steals a page from Reid’s notebook and balls it up, tossing it across the plane and breaking your concentration. You look up, only a little startled, to find a face-splitting grin blinding you across the cabin.

Derek’s small ruckus has drawn the attention of the rest of the team - well, all except JJ, who’s fast asleep on the couch. 

There seems to be a collective sigh of relief as money exchanges hands. You’re not quite sure what the bet was, but Emily seems to have won handily. 

Aaron takes your hand under the table, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It doesn’t. 

Everyone simply returns to their tasks, little smiles on their faces. 

+++

tagging: @quillvine @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @arthurmorrgans @the-falling-in-the-danger @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos

[dragon-pups]

 Masterlist

AO3 Link

Greeting

Commission Rules

Observations

Bad Batch Episode 1

Pre-Episode 9 thoughts 

How Long the Bad Batch has been Active?

Hunter and Omega art Theory

Bad Batch Episode 5: Muchi!!!

OMEGA IS NOT A MARY SUE

CROSSHAIRS BLASTER BOLTS CHANGED DURING THE FIRST EPISODE

Pre-Episode 16 Theories (fucking cryptic tweet)

Episode 15 Number of Nala Se’s Experimental Clones

Crosshair’s Chip Theory 

Omega’s Age? Maybe...

Tech’s Name Origin

Bad Batch Behavior Dissection: Infighting

Bad Batch

Writing

Freedom

Water on Tile

Breathe, Please..

Clear Water

Happy Endings?

Training Ground

Stuck Below

What I’ve Done

Fighting the Trigger

Never Again

HC

Drunk Crosshair

Feral Tech

Omega’s Creation

Bad Batch Sexuality

S’mores

First Zoo Trip

Cat or Dog Person

Favorite Desserts 

Favorite Hot Dog Toppings

Favorite Disney Rides/Attractions

Drunk Hunter

Drunk Tech

Drunk Echo

Uncle Crosshair and Omega

Drunk Wrecker

Lego Night

X-Men Universe

Comfort Foods

Favorite Movie Genres

Sleeping Positions 

Hunter the Himbo

Polls

Whose the most chaotic?

Incorrect Quotes

After Crosshair’s chip is removed

Art

Bad Batch as Dragons

Sniper in a Sundress

Hacker in a High-Low

Tracker in a Tango

Specialist in a Slit-skirt

Brawler in a Bustier

Family Photo

Bedtime Routines 

Tech the Workin’ Man

Emo Cross

Stargazing

Alternative Ending

Can We Keep Them?

Undercut Crosshair

Wrecker Leia Slave Outfit

Dragon Batch Redraw: Crosshair

Dragon Batch Redraw: Wrecker

LOTR Crossover Verse

Art

Jesse

Arda Marauders (Collection/Possible book series)

Writing

TBD (currently rough blocking phase)

Art

Echo

Hunter

Wrecker

Tech

Crosshair

Omega

Batcher

Squad + Premise

Ringwae (Tech’s Dragon)

Hunter and Havoc

Echo and Blaze

Omega and Sunshine

Crosshair, Mayday and Batcher

Tech, Atari and Ringwae

Wrecker and Claymore

Clone Wars

Writing

Go the Kark to Sleep

HC

Soup and Toast Clone

Art

Cadet-napping

Bad Batch and Clone wars Randomness  

Gingerbread Men

Teaching Kids to Curse

Types of people during class photos

Notices their friends shoe is untied

What they do in Among Us

I’d Die for You

Can I copy your homework?

Jock, Nerd, Goth, Prep

Abandoned House Ghost Hunt

“I’m Too Hot“

When a bag gets stuck in a vending machine 

When crying you...

Be Gay Do Crimes

Chart of Anger

How they sneeze

How they eat oreos

Unable to find their pajama pants

Hugs

“Guys my mom’s calling...“

A child starts crying in public

Looks Like VS Actually Like (Leaders Edition)

Vibes and Crimes

Meme Alignment

Clone Wars/Bad Batch OCs

The 784th

How they came about and Asks

Ask answers

66 and 144

482

Writing

Homecoming ARC Style

The Eyes

Finally Home

Bolt Squad

Battlefield Vow

The Shovel Talk

WIP

Old Sassy Bounty-Hunter

Art

Chaos Squad Fluff

Poor Melody

Star Wars Movies Randomness

What gives people feelings of power

Commission Work Examples

Character Design Example Works

Outfit Layers 

Character Example Works

Avalon 

Gizmo

Character Bust Example Works

Khos’a Grunt

Fives and Ghost

Last updated 2/01/25

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙4

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (to be warned later in series)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Well, at long last you get another chapter of Andy Barber and I’m just as impatient all y’all!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Masterlist

Andy's perfect suburban neighbourhood was enough to make you feel out of place. His house only added to that boiling insecurity as he pulled into the wide driveway. He kept his calm but taunting silence up as classic rock continued to blare from the radio, interrupted by jarring jingles and ridiculous radio jockey banter.

As he killed the engine, the sudden silence hit you like a wall. You opened the car door but found it hard to go much further. The door shut and you planted your hand against it. 

Andy startled you as he came up beside you, your suitcase rolling behind him as your large tote was slung over his shoulder. You made to grab the bag and he waved you away.

"Come on," He nodded to the house, "You said you were tired. I'll get you settled and you can rest."

You frowned but said nothing. You walked ahead of him around the front of his car and up the mosaic path that led to his front door. He fished around in his pocket and brushed against you as he reached to unlock the front door. He pushed it open and waited for you to enter.

The place looked straight out of a catalogue. White furniture!? Who in their right mind lived like this. It would be like living in a museum. You inched inside and stopped short in front of Andy as a photo of his wife and kid met you on the small side table just beside the couch. He barely kept from colliding with you.

He dropped your bag against the wall and let your suitcase go. He reached around you and took the picture. He cleared his throat and stepped away. You watched him through the wide archway that opened up on the other side of the staircase. You could barely see him as he went to the kitchen and shoved the frame in a drawer.

He returned, his eyes avoiding you and gathered up your bags. He edged past you, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to look back at you.

"Well, you coming?" He asked and started up the staircase.

You followed a few feet back as his footfalls echoed around you. He led you down the hallway and pulled closed a door as he passed. You glanced the posters on the wall and a seemingly interrupted scene still set up within. The snap of the clasp kept you going.

He turned back at the next doorway and sighed. He shrugged and nodded to it.

"I'm just across the hall," He said. "And you'll have... space."

His tone was sour and you didn't miss the tic in his jaw. He waited until you stepped ahead of him and opened the door yourself. He pushed your suitcase just inside and set your bag on the bed. A floral quilt was pulled across the top as similar flowers hung in oval frame along the wall.

"Never really had many guests," He said as he pushed back his jacket and gripped his hips. "Don't even know if anyone but me ever slept in here. You know, had a beer too many and... well, you take a nap and we'll talk when you get up."

"I can find somewhere else," You said.

"You won't," He insisted. "Not now. Talk later." He went to the door and grabbed the handle, pausing before he could pull it shut behind him. "I've got some work to finish up. I'll be in my office. Downstairs, just off the front room. Just by the Sox banner."

"Sure," You turned away in resignation. "I guess I'll find you."

A long exale came from him just before he slowly pulled the door closed. You listened for the click then hung your head. How did this man expect to start a new family when his old one still lived here? It didn't matter how many pictures he hid, he couldn't just push them out.

🌙

Once you laid down, it wasn't hard to fall asleep. The days had piled atop your eyelids and dragged you down into a heavy doze. You awoke on your side, your arm trapped beneath you and tingling. You groaned and sat up, your head ached with each move.

You yawned and looked out the window. It was dark. You rubbed your eyes and did your best to rouse yourself. The house was silent. You inched the door open and listened. You crept out and headed down the hall to the stairs. Again, you listened and heard nothing.

You descended and went to the kitchen. You found a tall glass from the cupboard and filled it from the tap. As you turned around, the rim just before your lips, you jumped at the shadow that appeared in the archway. 

Andy flicked the light on. He leaned on the wooden frame and crossed his arms. His button up was rolled up past his elbows and his hair was mussed as if he'd been running his fingers through it over and over. You choked on the water and steadied yourself.

"Hey," You coughed. "What's, uh, I was just... thirsty."

"It's fine. By all means," He uncrossed his arms and stood straight. 

He neared the end of the island that stood parallel to the sink. You set your glass down on it nervously. 

"I... just woke up. I thought maybe you were already... sleeping." You said. You were hoping, actually.

"No, not yet. You hungry?" He asked.

"Not really," You replied. "Thanks."

"You should eat. What did you have today?"

"I... um," You tried to think. You'd had half a club sandwich at the diner. "I had a sandwich and um, a cookie on the way home."

"That's hardly enough for two," He neared the corner of the island. "I'm not a bad cook. I could make you something. Or order something?"

"Really, it's fine--"

"It's not--" He raised his hand to calm himself. "It's not fine. You're carrying my child. You starve myself, you starve them. So... eat." He turned and opened the fridge. "I've got some hummus and veggies you can munch on and uh, thin crust pizza I can toss in."

He turned and set down a tupperware of celery, carrots, and cauliflower along with a container of hummus. He closed the fridge and opened the freezer with a puff of cool air. He took out a thin crust cheese and spinach pizza.

He went to the stove and held down the temperature button. He turned back and opened the box as he waited for the over to preheat. He took out the pizza and peeled away the plastic. He left it on the counter and came closer again. He pulled the lid off the tupperware and the smaller container.

"Eat," He said. "Is everything gonna be this difficult?"

You scowled and grabbed a carrot stick. You scooped up a glob of hummus and bit into with zeal, all the while staring him down. You smiled at him with mouth full and chewed.

"So, can we talk or are you going to continue to act like a child?" He asked.

"I don't know, are you going to keep acting like my dad," You huffed.

He blinked and shook his head.

"I'm open to compromise but if you're gonna be like this, I won't be so understanding," He hissed. "So sit," He pushed a tall stool towards you. "And eat."

"Yes, father," You climbed up on the stool and grabbed some celery.

"I always thought it was 'daddy'," He raised his brow. You scoffed at his bad joke.

The oven dinged and he shoved the pizza inside. He set the time and stood across the island from you. He put one hand on his hip as his other gripped the edge of the marble.

"Tomorrow, you make an appointment." He said.

"Sure," You picked out a piece of cauliflower. 

"And you can't keep working two jobs. You gotta drop one." He stated. "It's not good for you or the baby."

"You can't just make me give up my livelihood." You argued.

"Livelihood? How much do you think you make in a year? Probably no where close to twenty grand. I make at least five times. We can afford for you not to kill yourself--"

"'We'?!" You exclaimed. "Andy, there is no we."

He slapped the countertop suddenly and swore.

"Fuck's sake. You know for someone so damn helpless you sure do hate help!" He snarled. "It's like you want... you want this to go wrong. Everything has to go wrong so you can keep being the innocent little victim of your own life."

You recoiled and swallowed your mouthful. You threw the carrot stick in your hand at him. He batted it away easily.

"You don't fucking know me," You spat. "So don't you judge me."

"I know you fucked me in the toilet after about twenty minutes," He snickered.

You took the hummus and wipped it at him too. It splattered across his front and the container bounced across the counter.

"After three drinks, on top of several before," You snapped. "I don't have to explain myself to you." You got off the stool. "I don't want your fucking pity or whatever you're doing. I'm not going to be your little project."

You swept around the island but he caught your arm and pulled you back. The garlic from the hummus filled your nostrils and woke your hormonal hunger.

"Where are you going to go? You think I want you sleeping with my baby on the street?" He squeezed, hard. "And whatever you want to call it, my pity is better than the alternative."

"Let go," You wriggled in his grasp.

"You really wanna be a little bitch over a cafe gig?" He lowered his voice. "You walk out, I'll find you. I will not stop," He sneered. "You got it?"

"You're hurting me," You gritted through your teeth.

"Tomorrow you tender your resignation," He growled as his other hand came up to frame your chin. "Right?"

"Stop--"

"To-mor-row," He said decisively.

"Tomorrow," You uttered softly. "Okay?"

He smiled and nodded, slowly releasing you. He pulled loose his tie and slipped it over his head and unbuttoned his short. He slid it back down his shoulders and bared his chest. He approached the broad archway as he shed the shirt entirely. He stopped and turned to glance over his shoulder.

"I gotta clean myself up," He said. "I expect you to clean up the rest."

He left you and you squinted at the doorway. What an asshole. You took several deep breaths then took several sheets of papertowel from above the sink. You wiped the hummus from the counter and the floor and tossed the towel. You picked up the errant carrot stick as well and the oven beeped.

Everything about this kitchen was idyllic. It was the perfect suburban haven. The oven mitts, printed with an image of cheese and grapes, hung from the cupboard just beside the stacked ovens. You took them and pulled out the rack. You eased the pizza onto a plate and set it on the counter. You snapped the oven shut and turned it off after a brief struggle with the buttons.

Andy reappeared as you turned back, he wore a grey tee a some plaid pajama pants. Even in the bar, having done what you'd done, you'd never seen him without his suit. He was always the staunch lawyer man, even with a belly full of whiskey. Now he just looked like some guy.

"Two bulletpoints down," He said as he went to the drawer and searched for the pizza cutter. "I'd like to sort this out tonight. I have a long day tomorrow."

"Fine," You took the cutter from him and sliced the pizza into triangles. "What else can I do to appease you, your majesty?"

"For one, you will not be working beyond six months," He stated. "Can't risk it. Especially with those heavy trays."

"Six months? You know, they would accomodate me--"

"I'm a lawyer. You know how many workplaces are dragged into court for not accomodating employees?" He interjected.

"I'm a lawyer," You mimicked. "I get it. Six months."

"House rules," He raised his index, "Home before nine when you're not closing, but I'd prefer it if you stuck to day shifts," He instructed, "I'm pretty good about housework." He went tot he fridge and took down a notepad that had been pre-printed with a roster of chores. "We can switch off with dishes. I do laundry on Sundays but I take my dry-cleaning in on Friday. Sweeping and mopping, about once a week. I can take care of that if you can do a bit of dusting and tidying in the living room."

You stared at him. Was everything about his life so ordained? Well, surely not fucking a stranger ins a bar.

"I think I can clean up after myself," You sniffed. "Curfew, cleaning, good, got it."

"Right," He said gruffly, "And in regards to your care, you will inform me of all your appointments and medical concerns."

"Okay."

"And, I don't mind if you have friends over but let me know ahead of time," He continued. "No guys."

"What?" You chuckled dryly. "What are they gonna do? Knock me up again?"

"No guys," He snarled. "I mean it." You stared at him. You shook your head and he shoved the plate at you. "Eat."

You took a piece, the cheese stringy as it clung to the next. You bit into it and swallowed before you found your voice.

"Andy, this isn't-- we fucked in a bathroom," You muttered. "You can't think--"

"My house, my rules," He warned. "Now, you have your own room and freedom to anything inside this house. That's it. Fair trade. This isn't a negotiation."

"Fucking lawyer," You rolled your eyes. "You know, we get you in the diner all the time. You complain about the fucking food yet you're barely paying pocket change for a damn omelet then you don't even leave a tip. Write something on the receipt like 'resilience is more valuable than any bill'."

He laughed and ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

"Well, with an attitude like that, I can't imagine you ever getting stiffed..." He said. "...on a tip."

"Alright, I play by your stupid rules until this damn thing is out of me," You sneered. "That's it."

"Good girl," He smiled. "Now have a few more slices and you're free for the night."

[cyclesprefectpress]

[image ID: 4 photos of a letterpress printed broadside and the handset formes used to print it. The broadside is an excerpt from The Magnus Archives, episode 173, Night Night. Individual photo IDs under the cut. End ID.]

more smirke's 14 broadsides

173!! the Dark is hard. textures are hard. UGH photographing black paper is hard!! but I did my best with making it, and with balancing what it's like to look at in person. i think i like it a lot in the end but ooooof i did not feel confident about my choices until i was nearly done.

except for the font! that took me about 3 seconds to choose. Packard for main text, Parsons for the clear varnish pass in the background—very children's story book to me, both of them. but i COULD not predict what the right texture would be for this, so i just had to try some things. the winning formula turns out to be: print white text delicately, and save those registration pins right where they are; just KISS the sheet again with the transparent varnish part, no punch at all; then go back to the old registration pins, use no ink, and hit the text again with deeper punch. solves several problems i was worried about concerning layering and ink absorption and uneven impression, and also, conveniently, gets some really crisp edges on the white Packard text that i don't think i could achieve by punching that hard on an inked pass. it's really old and worn type, the edges are so rounded—it might just get sloppy.

(Packard & Parsons are probably some of the oldest cases of foundry type we have—the Parsons came from a guy who said he got it from a guy who used it to set proofs for title cards for silent movies in Hollywood. cast in the 20s, probably? haven't checked the pin mark or anything, they're way down on my list of cases to clean & catalog.)

the Buried : the Corruption : the Dark : the Desolation : the End : the Flesh : the Hunt : the Lonely : the Slaughter : the Spiral : the Stranger : the Vast : the Web : the Extinction

wip 1 : wip 2 : wip 3

[individual photo ids:

1: a picture of the entire broadside. it’s a 5.5 x 8.5 inch sheet of black paper. the main text is printed in white type in a pretty short paragraph, centered, on the upper third of the sheet. "Jack is scared all the time. The world is so big and the night is so long…" Faintly, behind the main text, there's words printed in more decorative font, made a shinier, deeper black by printing in transparent varnish. "Run into the dark."

2: a close-up of the handset printing forme for the white text, assembled from individual relief characters. "…and the monsters are waiting under the bed and in the closet and down the hallway and in the street and 'round the corner and behind him."

3: a close-up of the text, showing the specially curled loops on select ws and ys, and that the white text is impressed into the page, but the varnished text behind just barely hit the sheet.

4: a close-up of the handset printing forme for the varnish text, assembled from individual relief characters. The Parsons font has special characters as well, like d and k used in dark with extra-long ascenders that reach twice as high as the regular letters.

end id.]

[trexrambling]

New Fic?

HELLO, LOVELIES!

So... I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for weeks now. I’m not technically writing on here anymore, but I wanted to put this out there and see what you guys had to think in the most natural way possible - no tags, just a raw WIP that could easily change from what you see below. If you like/hate it, let me know. If you have any ideas, let me know. If you see something you think I should change, let me know. If you have any questions, ask them :) Looking forward to hearing from you!

My feet slide off the table they had been previously perched on, black boots hitting the concrete floor with an empty thud. I lean forward, slowly, and put my hands in their place, leaning forward slightly, eyes squinting.

“You want me to do what?”

The man across the table has a deep scowl on his face that only deepens at my question. “I think I was very clear.”

“That’s the most unclear thing I’ve heard in my life, so try again.”

He stands abruptly, reaching for the loose papers and photographs he’d overturned on the table not two minutes prior and stuffing them back into his briefcase. I snag a loose photo before he can grab it, studying it closely, just barely staying settled in my chair.

“This is an old photo,” I comment.

He pauses in his motions. “You know him?”

Air huffs out my nose in the form of a scoff. “Everyone knows them. Well, everyone in this line of business, at least.”

The man is sweating, big fat beads slowly from his hairline and down his chin. “I’m not interested in the brother.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to be,” I say, mostly to myself, as I continue to look over the remaining papers. “Where the actual hell did you get all of this?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Look, buddy-” I settle further into my chair, looking up from what I’d been reading to meet his gaze- “if you’re asking what it sounds like you’re asking, you better believe everything is now my concern.”

His scowl lessens slightly, and he finds his chair again. “So you’ll take the job?”

“You can’t really call this a job. This is more along the lines of a suicide mission, like choosing to drive the car right off the cliff.”

His sweat is now starting to stick to his shirt collar. He adjusts his cheap necktie, swallowing before speaking again. “They said you’d do any job. Anything.”

I keep my facial features clear despite the rage that instantly begins to boil at his words. “I’m very aware of what they have to say.”

“So you’ll do it?”

I set everything down on the table, recline myself back again, sans feet this time, and focus fully on his face. “Why him?”

“Does that really mat-”

“Why. Him.”

I over annunciate each word, clipped and icy. He grips his briefcase tighter with one hand and uses his free arm to mop his sleeve across his forehead, collecting the copious amount of moisture gathered there. He won’t meet my gaze anymore, and his left foot won’t stop tapping the ground. 

Everything about him was off when he’d first walked in the room, but it’d only gotten worse the more we’d been talking. The tight knot in my stomach that normally knows what’s up was throwing a mini rager.

“They said that-”

“Enough of what they have to say,” I reply quietly, cutting him off again. “I want to know what you have staked in all of this.”

He doesn’t answer.

I give it a few more moments of silence, letting him fidget in the chair, then slowly extend my hand, palm up.

He stares at it, a question in his beady eyes.

“The briefcase.”

He hands it over with shaky fingers, and I grab the handle with confidence despite the ache in my stomach. I never really had a choice to begin with. I’ve never had a choice. 

He gives me a tense nod, then stands too quickly. His chair harshly scrapes the floor as he bumps into it, an ugly sound that matches the mood. He’s out the door before I can even open the case again, the remaining stench of body odor the only trace of his previous existence.

I slowly set out and sort through all the photographs, documents, and other odds and ends, holding up one photograph to the lone light in the room to get a better view. 

“Such an old photo,” I say again, but it’s a whisper this time.

I know they’re watching, but I have no desire to hurry. This is going to take immense skill, eons of time, and more planning than I’ve ever done for a hunt.

Killing Dean Winchester was the farthest thing from an easy task.

[maybe-your-left]

A Case In Need: Trash and Treasure

Here is my Masterlist which has all the chapters and WIP! 

TW/CW: Tons of control! Ren is a snarky bastard but no smut in this chapter! 

The next hour was filled with Ren making two separate piles throughout your home, what he had defined as ‘trash’ and ‘acceptable’ amongst your belongings. You felt like you were in a fever dream, nothing you said really seemed to register in his head while tearing items from shelves and walls. 

“Ren wait,” you pleaded as he started to go through your closet, “can’t we talk about this?”

He hummed at you, ripping clothes down from their hangers and throwing them into distinct piles. All your work clothes were falling into the ‘acceptable’ category but your comfy clothes, everything that had an ounce of color, he deemed ‘trash’. 

“Just stop for a minute please!” 

Finally looking at you he crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for you to speak. Before you could even say your piece a knock came from the front door. 

“Finally,” Ren sighed as he breezed past you towards the front of your former apartment. Huffing, you followed him to see whoever had decided to grace you with a visit. The door had opened before you had the chance to enter the living space and in walked 6 giant men, dressed in black from head to toe. “Uh… hi?” you squeaked out at their hulking forms. 

“Angel, these are my men,” he gestured towards the group, “they will be taking the stuff I’ve organized for you.” Turning his back to you he started spouting off commands to the men, telling them to grab what was to go in the moving van and what was to go in the ‘donate’ van. Not one of them had said a word, you weren’t sure how they knew Ren but they listened to him like trained dogs. You cowered behind Ren as they flooded the apartment, grabbing boxes and bins and shuffling them out into the hallway. Within minutes they had already cleared the living room while Ren returned to your bedroom. 

“Wait,” you chased after him, “shouldn’t I get to decide what I want to keep? And who are those guys? Why don’t they talk?” 

“They are none of your concern Angel, just like what I let you keep and what I rid you of,” he stated as if he was a scolding parent. You didn’t understand what was happening, of course, you were grateful whenever you were given gifts but this wasn’t so simple, he had bought you an entire house. That changed a lot of things, you had no say in where it was, or even what things you got to bring there. You felt yourself slowly succumbing to tears as the men made it back to your room while Ren barked orders. “I think I need a glass of water,” you whispered. 

Walking back into your kitchen you saw nothing, all your furniture was gone. All that remained was layers of dust that coated the wood floors and hooks on the walls. You searched your cabinet for a glass but saw that the men had already gone through them, nothing was left. You leaned on the kitchen island and finally started crying. Covering your face in your hands you mourned over the loss of your things, unsure of what Ren had even filtered through in the last hour. What if he threw away all your family photos? Or your favorite old books? Or worse, was he going to throw away your tie-dye blanket? It has become such a comforting item to you. It came all the way from home when you had left for college, it was the only thing you had once you moved away. 

You sobbed even harder at the thought of never having those precious items back, you couldn’t even hear the footsteps passing you. Suddenly there was a hand on your upper back, slowly massaging between your shoulders. You lifted your head and looked over to find not Ren, but one of the moving men. His face was soft yet still had an aura of danger like Rens, but his eyes were seafoam blue*. Flinching away you wiped your eyes and nose on your shirt sleeve, “sorry I don’t know what came over me.” 

“It’s alright,” he paused, “Ren can be overbearing sometimes.” 

You snorted, “Overbearing is one thing, but this, this is too much. He won’t even listen to me!” 

He smiled at you, “Sometimes it seems like he’s going overboard, but he just wants what’s best for you.” 

“Why though, it doesn’t make any sense.” 

“I don’t know,” he turned to leave the kitchen but stalled and looked over his shoulder, “But I do know that you’re the first one that we’ve met since Rey.” 

Then he was gone. The first one since Rey, does that mean that Ren hadn’t taken a ‘mistress’ since his marriage? That seemed like a lie… especially since Finn had told you he was caught with their former paralegal. But something about this new information was unsettling, why were you being given this special treatment? This was something, along with many things, you would have to talk to Ren about. 

-----

Finally, the apartment was empty. You were doing your final walkthrough when Ren came up and snatched your phone from your hands. 

“What are you-” 

“I need to call your landlord,” he said while unlocking your phone, how he knew your password you had zero clue. You sighed and waited for him to make the call. He motioned to your purse and spoke between rings, “You’ll be following me in your car, so get downstairs and park behind me.” 

Rolling your eyes you followed his command as he started speaking to your old landlord, you had never left before a lease was up, and honestly, you were curious how Ren was going to get you out of the contract. But he was a lawyer, so you weren’t too worried. Heading downstairs and out the front of the building, there were three vehicles waiting for you. In the front was a blacked-out Porsche**, with the license plate K.R., didn’t seem very subtle to be driving in a busy New York neighborhood. Behind that was a gap where you assumed your car would be going, followed by two black moving vans with the boy band Ren brought huddled out front. Turning to your left you walked to the parking garage to get your car. You wondered what Ren would say about it since he hated your apartment so badly, it wasn’t a terrible car but it wasn’t a luxury one like his. Sighing you brought it out front and parked behind Ren just as he was coming out the front doors. He approached your car and tapped on the passenger window, motioning for you to roll it down. 

“Follow me,” he threw your phone down in the seat, “and keep up, I drive fast.” 

“Okey-doke,” you smirked at him, of course, he drove fast. Everyone in New York drove fast. 

-----

To say Ren drove ‘fast’ was an understatement. 

He drove like a maniac, he didn’t follow one single traffic rule aside from stopping at red lights. He bobbed and weaved through cars you almost lost him twice, thank god for his obvious car or else he would’ve blended in with the rest of New York. 

After about 10 minutes of driving, you noticed that the vans behind you had separated off in two different directions. You thought about calling Ren and telling him that your furniture was going the wrong way when he suddenly turned into a parking lot, without a blinker. He had backed into a parking spot by the time you found him and pointed to the side next to him as he crawled out of his car. Climbing out of your own car you finally took in the place he had taken you to, a car dealership. 

A fucking car dealership. 

Not just any dealership, but a Range Rover dealership. 

You shook your head to try and snap out of the obvious dream you were in while Ren jogged up to the main building. Coming back to reality you took off after him, throwing the glass doors open to see him leaned against the front counter speaking to a salesman. 

“I need you to draw up a contract for me, along with an offer for,” pointing out to your car, “that vehicle. We will be paying in full.” 

“Yes sir, right away sir.” the salesman responded. 

Walking up to Ren you grabbed his wrist and pulled him away so you could get his full attention. “What the hell are we doing here,” you spoke through your teeth, “why are you selling my car Ren?”

“Angel,” he sighed before leaning in to kiss your forehead, “I won’t be caught dead in that car, and I won’t have my lover caught in one either.” 

Lover? He called you his lover… you loosened your grip on his wrist while taking in a shaky breath. This was not the place you wanted to have this conversation at, but it seemed like Ren was doing everything in his power to control your life. You just wanted answers, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. 

“Now let’s go pick one out, it must be black though.” Then he spun around and dragged you to the car lot. 

After about an hour and a half of test driving different cars, Ren kept nitpicking every small detail of each one. He had to make sure that the inside was perfect, no scratches or dents. He also seemed to be obsessed with seeing how far the seats reclined, or if the back seats could fold down, lots of strange requests. You just assumed he was worried if he could fit his long legs in it comfortably since you were his ‘lover’. You had, even though you had little say, finally found the one you liked. It was black, like he stipulated, with a leather interior and state of the art technology inside. It was definitely the most expensive car you had ever driven, you were practically salivating at the idea of getting to call it yours. 

Heading back inside the salesman talked pricing with Ren, who just threw a card at him and signed the paperwork like he wasn’t dropping almost 100K on a vehicle. Once all the bureaucratic work was done the man smiled at you and handed you the new keys to your car, which Ren snatched from you and got up without a word. You glanced at the man and said a simple thank you since Ren was clearly in no mood to be polite to anyone today. Outside he helped you gather your belongings from your old car and organize them in the Range Rover. 

Before taking your old keys inside Ren pinned your front to the car and brought his lips to your ear. 

“Do you like your new toy?” he cooed while slowly thrusting his hips into your ass. 

You tried to suppress a moan when you felt the hard outline of his cock through his pants. Grinding backward you threw him a glare over your shoulder. 

“I haven’t gotten the chance to play with it,” you mused back. Ren growled in your ear before licking a stripe down your neck, tracing your jugular vein. Pulling away he snarled before heading back to his vehicle. 

Once you were behind the wheel again, Ren tore out of the dealership. Seemingly leading the way towards your new apartment. Fuck you had forgotten about that, what would you tell your friends? You were sure it was going to be expensive, and clearly something out of your price range. Maybe you could just tell them you started seeing a sugar daddy. It wasn’t like that was any different than what was really happening, you smiled at the thought of Ren being your ‘sugar daddy’, maybe if he was being particularly difficult you’d throw that idea on him. 

Ten minutes had gone by before Ren entered a residential neighborhood, looking around you realized that you were in a very rich area. Rich meaning that the brownstones over here were around one million on a good day. Gawking at the beautiful architecture you didn’t even notice Ren had pulled off and parked until he leaned on his horn so you would stop. While you were parking one of the vans had pulled up behind you as Ren was walking up the steps, two at a time. One of the moving men, the one who rubbed your back earlier, walked up to meet him with a key in his hand. 

The anticipation was killing you, the outside was gorgeous in itself but you were itching to know what kind of interior Ren had chosen. Climbing up the steps you made it to Ren’s right side grabbing onto his bicep and squeezing in anticipation. Turning the key in the lock he shot you a look over his shoulder, his mouth pulled up in a smirk, “Let’s take a tour while my men unpack.” 

You nodded back and sprinted in once the door was open. Rushing past Ren you were in awe of the home. The floors were a clean white tile that flowed into the living areas, each room on the first level was beautifully decorated with minimal clutter. The kitchen was absolutely stunning, white, and black marble on the counters, state of the art appliances, you name it. While you stood there in awe, Ren came up behind you and wrapped you in his arms before whispering in your ear. 

“Come, Angel,” he said while pulling you towards the staircase, “I bought you a new bed. We must make sure it lives up to my standards.” 

Ren guided you to the master bedroom, his hand on your lower back pushing you forward. Once in the room, you were shocked. Not only was the decor beautiful but the bed was humongous. You had never seen a mattress that size before, it had to have been a king, covered in white and black pillows. It looked so inviting so naturally, you ran and jumped on it becoming consumed by the plushness of the blankets. You were giggling as you rolled around, attempting to make a little cocoon of your own when Ren grabbed you by the ankle and yanked you towards the edge of the bed. 

“Hey,” you whined, “that hurts! What are you doing?” 

“Did you never learn manners while you were a child? Or are you determined to antagonize me after I’ve provided you with so much?” he said while he flipped you over to lay on your back and face him. His eyes were wild and searching your features before his hand shot up and gripped your jaw, thumb, and fingers digging into the flesh. Shaking your head you struggled to respond to him, “No-no-no I’m sorry.” reaching out and grasping onto his forearm to try and relieve the grip he held on you. 

After the two of you stared into each other’s eyes, Ren let out a deep breath before releasing his hand. You quickly scrambled onto your knees so you were eye level with him. “I’m sorry, I really am grateful for the gifts you got me,” you motioned around you, “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” 

“Oh Angel,” he smiled at you, reaching up and cradling your face in his hands, “I think I know how.” 

Before you could utter a word Ren’s lips were on yours, slowly and sensually working his mouth in rhythm with yours. Tongues gliding over one another, swapping saliva and moans as he lowered you onto your back. Pulling back Ren turned and shut the door and locked it. 

“We don’t want any visitors, now do we?” he mused before he was on top of you again. 

TAGLIST: @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @morby​ @kirah36​ @onlykyloscenes​ @clumsycopy​ @candycanes19​ @desiraypark​ 

*I imagine Vircul as Sebastian Stan 

**Here is Rens Porsche: https://www.porsche.com/usa/models/taycan/taycan-models/taycan-turbo/ 

***Here is the car he buys us: 

https://www.landroverusa.com/vehicles/range-rover/hse/index.html?_ga=2.119954252.5990785.1594159310-830150201.1594159310 

****Here is the apartment my sister and I chose on Zillow, obviously, the interior needed to be fancy and we wanted the furnishings to be very modern and monotone: 

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/154-Van-Buren-St-Brooklyn-NY-11221/30608361_zpid/

[fredheads]

WIP WEDNESDAY (special birthday edition)

i flopped hard and did not write a thing for @fredsythes birthday not a special fic and not even a chapter of my own debauchery that i was gonna pass off as a present real quick so in order to make it up here is an extra long wip wednesday for clown au ft. some real gay ass shit ❤️ 🧡 💛 💙 💜 💚🥰pls enjoy

Harry Clayton came jogging up to them then, no longer wearing the blue uniform of the Church School band. He had replaced his trombone in the Neibolt School music room, and had changed into blue jeans and a cream-coloured shirt. A canvas bag flapped against his shoulder. FP noted, almost unthinkingly, how pronounced the muscles in his legs and arms were. Harry was built more solidly than any of them, even Hal and Fred, who were the biggest and tallest, respectively. 

“Hey,” said Harry abruptly, his eyes sliding over Hiram and FP before landing on Fred. “I saw him,” Harry confided, lowering his voice. “The clown. As we were going up Main Street Hill I saw him passing out balloons to kids. 

“It was the same one you talked about. He had a silver suit with orange buttons. And orange hair. And he was smiling, but… there was something wrong about him. He was facing away when I saw him, but as soon as I recognized him he looked at me. And something about him… it scared me. And the paint on his mouth was dripping. It looked like blood.” 

“I told you!” Hiram suddenly shrieked. He threw his ice cream on the ground and covered his face with his hands. “I told you! It’s here!” 

‘Let’s go,” said Fred quickly. His mouth had hardened into a thin line, and his jaw was taut. He touched FP’s shoulder abruptly, and a warmth flared from the place where his fingers pressed. Fred steered them towards the road. “We should f-find the others. Have you g-got the s-s-slides, Harry?” 

“Yeah.” Harry patted his bag. “My dad’s got a lot of stuff about Riverdale. It goes back a long time.” 

“Why’s your dad care so much?” FP asked. His own ice cream had melted down to a stump of cone, and he threw it on the ground as they walked. 

“He thinks it’s interesting. He told me once it was because he wasn’t born here. It’s like he came in in the middle of a movie and-” 

“He w-wants to see the s-start,” Fred said, and Harry smiled at him. 

“Exactly.” 

They found Hal, Mary, and Alice together at the fence bordering the tilt-a-whirl. Mary had been marching with the Boy Scouts, and was wearing her neckerchief and neatly pressed uniform. Alice was eating a stick of spun pink cotton candy and laughing at something one of the others had said. FP gauged by the exhilarated and terrified look on Hal’s face that they might have spent the morning together. The bigger boy was blushing so badly that FP expected smoke to start spiraling out of his ears. 

“W-We’re g-going to my h-house,” Fred explained. “H-Harry’s going to s-show us the puh-pictures.” 

The smiles disappeared from their faces, replaced by the serious looks of small adults. They walked in a solemn pack through the crowded streets and away from the festival, pushing their bikes by the handlebars. Fred’s house stood vacant and quiet, though music and fanfare from downtown floated very faintly over the tops of the neighbourhood trees. A tattered row of pinwheels turned doggedly in his neighbour’s garden. Fred pulled up the garage door and began setting up the projector while the others pulled up boxes and stools to use as chairs. 

FP stared at a photo tacked above Artie Andrews’ workbench. It was a ragged snapshot of the Andrews family on vacation. Oscar was there, sandwiched between his mother and father with a hand in each of theirs. And Fred was standing at his father’s shoulder, his head leaning against Artie’s arm, beaming at the camera. He looked very young and very happy. 

FP had a fantasy sometimes of telling Mr. and Mrs. Andrews off for the way they treated Fred. In this fantasy he was usually over at the Andrews house, maybe eating dinner or sitting with Fred at the kitchen island. The air was thick and painful, and Fred was trying to talk to his parents, and they were ignoring him. FP could see the tears welling up in Fred’s eyes, and his jaw was clenched like he was trying his hardest to be brave, but he was hurting. FP saw him hurting and it made him lose his cool a bit. 

In this daydream he jumped up and laid into both of them, really blew up and gave them the business. Fred looked embarrassed, a little, but grateful too. He looked at FP with stars in his eyes, like no one had ever done something like that for him before. FP indulged himself in this vision the way he did his dreams of becoming a rock star or a stand up comic in his adult life - it had the same mythical, incandescent quality as those daydreams, though this particular one recurred with frightening severity. 

“You’d better start treating your son right,” he told Mr. and Mrs. Andrews. In this fantasy he also had a strong, gravelly tough-guy voice, like he smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. He was suave. He meant business. “Do you hear me? Oscar’s gone, but Fred’s not. Fred’s still here. And your son is the smartest, strongest person I’ve ever met, and you don’t even know it.” 

His arm would go around Fred, then, wrapping around his broad back and holding him tight. Fred’s parents looked shamed, but FP wasn’t done. No, they’d know when he was done. He was just getting started. “This whole time you’ve been ignoring him he’s been braver than you’ve ever been in your life,” FP told them, and his voice rang out across the dining room clear as a bell. 

Sometimes Artie started to give him some trouble, but FP stopped him cold every time. 

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he would say to Artie Andrews, cracking his knuckles. “I don’t wanna hurt you, but I swear to God, I will. If you make him cry again, I swear to God you’ll regret it.” (He savoured these particular words like spun sugar in his mouth, reciting them sometimes in the veil between dreaming and waking like an actor rehearsing for his opening scene.) 

Fred would pull on his sleeve, but FP wouldn’t be calmed. He was a loose cannon. “I’m not crying,” Fred would say sometimes, wiping his eyes and trying to be brave, and that would make FP hold him tighter. 

Artie always apologized. They both did. “Don’t say sorry to me, you say sorry to him,” FP would order, and Fred would turn to him with those wide, adoring eyes in which FP could see reflected all the stars in the universe, and a tear would tremble on the rim of his lower lashes. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Fred would say when they were alone. He wouldn’t stutter either - FP would have fixed that one up too. 

“Sure I did, kid,” FP said. “You’re my best friend, aren’t you?” 

And Fred would smile at him, a smile that was brave and hopeful and then he would 

(NO! NO NO NO!) 

(yes yes he would KISS-)

kiss FP on the cheek, only here the dream would be so bright and wonderful that FP would come to in a start, would throw it off blushing with his tongue drier than sawdust and his stomach cramping madly, the dream and reality overlapping in lovely translucent strips so that flashes of it were still visible - Fred’s hand on his wrist, Fred’s hot dry lips on his cheek, and then he would leave it entirely with superhuman effort and go back to the start like rewinding a tape, sitting at the kitchen table, telling Fred’s parents that they’d better wise up. 

He got as far as telling Artie off the second time around when he looked up suddenly and realized he was the only one still standing in the middle of the garage. Mary was sitting on a folding chair to his right, asking him what the hell he was doing. FP dropped quickly onto a nearby crate and shook the dream out of his head. 

“Just thinking me thinks,” he said glibly, crossing one ankle on top of his knee and bouncing it, and Mary shook her head slightly and turned away. 

Fred pulled down the garage door, sealing out the light. In the moment before FP’s eyes adjusted to the pitch black, he had a horrible thought. Suppose something reached out of the dark and grabbed his neck, or a set of teeth fastened in his leg? Suppose the clown was behind them all now? Then the projector flashed on, illuminating a square of flat garage wall, and the breath came back to his body. 

“Some of these pictures go back hundreds of years, my dad said,” Harry explained. He was feeding slides into Artie Andrews’ projector, his broad shoulders silhouetted very handsomely in the blue light. “When you all were talking about the clown, I realized I’d seen something like it before. And after I saw it today, I’m sure I recognized him.” 

“You recognized him?” Alice asked, sounding horrified. 

“Look.” 

The slide clicked into place, throwing an outline of a photo on the garage wall. The projection was a scan of a black-and-white ink sketch, showing a clown entertaining a group of children. The children were smiling, but the clown was not. Its mouth drooped down in a sorrowful frown, its eyes gloomy black pits. There was an awful aura about the antique photo, as though the black and white lines radiated malice. 

PENNYWISE THE CLOWN read old-timey writing across the bottom. 

“What’s the date on this?” Hal asked. 

“My dad says this one is from the early seventeen hundreds. Back when Riverdale was just a beaver trapping camp.” 

This phenomenal news rocketed FP into action. “Still is! Am I right, boys?” FP shoved Hiram hard with his elbow and threw a hand up for a high five. Hiram looked at him blankly. Fred frowned. Mary shook her head at him until FP put his hand back down.