#they canonically to these bumpers go MISSING at the end of it

[nbydaphne]

why did hbo velma even attempt a “mature” reboot of the story when we already had the scooby-doo project bumpers from when the blair witch project came out

[steviewashere]

Leaving is Hard, But Loving You is Easy

Rating: General CW: None Apply Tags: Post-Canon, Post Season 4, Future Fic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Eddie Munson is Leaving Town, Saying Goodbye, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kisses, Making Out, Love Confessions, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington

💕—————💕 He watches Eddie Munson leave in the middle of a Wednesday evening, 1991. It’s just turned 6:10PM and the sunlight is dipping low. There’s a chill in the air. Though he’s wearing a sweater, the breeze is felt more with the expected absence that will be left. Maybe he shouldn’t have befriended the guy over the last several years. If it meant he’d be standing and staring at the guy’s back. Watching him lug boxes into a van that’s probably older than the both of them. Toying with the collar of his sweater like the soothed over fabric will warrant him to not be so lonely. Maybe it doesn’t help that it smells like cigarettes. Steve doesn’t smoke anymore.

“That’s everything, I think. Well, I’m hoping,” Eddie’s saying, turning around. His voice is low and raspy tonight. Like it is when it’s been overused. Makes sense, considering he’d been talking through goodbyes and big plans and sincere farewells. Steve’s the last on his list. He’s not sure whether to feel heartbroken or…Who is he kidding? Of course he’s heartbroken.

One doesn’t become friends with somebody like Eddie Munson and then not be overcome with emotion when he leaves. But also. He doesn’t want to just be friends. Steve holds to himself, tight around the elbows, hunching inwards. Maybe if he’s small, the leaving will hurt less. He also doesn’t allow himself to look. Instead focused on a spot of rust on the van’s bumper. At the brand new DMV sticker on his license plate; it won’t expire for a while now. When he’s not even in Hawkins anymore. When he’s long gone elsewhere.

Eddie sits down right where Steve’s looking. Legs extended in front of him. A cigarette dangling between his chapped lips. Not even lit up. He doesn’t have a lighter right now anyway. Steve should know, Eddie’d been complaining about it for the last three days. He mumbles around the stick, “I’m not going to miss this place.”

“Really?” Steve finds himself asking. Though, he realizes it comes out more as a sigh. A breath. A certain type of mourning. He zeroes in on the knee hole of Eddie’s jeans. Large and manmade. Rippling on the edges and cinched oddly from strings of taut denim that Eddie has since plucked away. Probably from toying with the hole too much. From being restless on Steve’s couch during movie nights or birthed from slow lulls in Dungeons & Dragons campaigns or simply made from being shoved over in games of tag at Hopper’s barbecues.

“Well, yeah, Stevie,” Eddie says. As if it should be obvious. “People don’t like me ‘round here. I’ve felt that way for years. Now it’s my chance to leave.” He sighs through his nose. Like he’s actually smoking the cigarette in his mouth. Then, he continues quietly, “The only good thing to come out of…That hellhole and everything…Was the money to keep me silent. Put it away safely. Now, I’m gonna use it to find myself in a place where I’ll just be a speck. Nobody knows me, that kind of shit.”

Steve nods slowly. Agreeing minutely. If only because Eddie wants him to. “There’s not going to be anything you’ll miss about Hawkins?” Why does a part of him want to hear Eddie say his name?

He shrugs. “I mean I’ll miss having band practice with my buddies. And the Hellfire Club because I started it, y’know? I’ll always have an ache in my heart towards Wayne and the trailer, the first place that ever felt like home.” Eddie plucks the cigarette from his mouth and rolls it back and forth between his index finger and thumb. Both ends are practically dry. He’s staring at it. Contemplating. Then, he sighs mournfully. “I’ll miss the first day I came here. How everything was small yet meaningful. How after a week of walking around town, the folks at all the stores knew my name and my favorite things. Benny…Back at Benny’s Diner, you know the place, he had my favorite order down. I’ll miss the people nobody knows anymore.”

But then he looks dead on at Steve. And Steve burns with how intense everything has come to be. In the space of reconstruction after what such disaster he’s experienced, Eddie’s eyes and his bared soul are enough to nearly knock him down. Take the wind out of him for the moment.

“I will always miss the people here, Steve,” he rasps. “The ones that mattered.”

Steve swallows. “Makes sense,” he musters. Then, he does something he knows will destroy him, he sits down next to Eddie. Shoulder, hip, the outside of their opposite feet connecting in a warm line. His clothed elbow scratches roughly on Eddie’s bare one. He looks out at the space in front of him. The dirt road that gives the idea of a driveway to Forest Hills. At the dead grass that has since wilted from the winter weather. He notices the imprint of their shoes. Dangerously close together. He sighs.

Eddie’s quiet next to him. No longer fiddling with the cigarette. Still where he sits. Stoic in thought. “You’re the best of them,” he whispers.

Steve hums questioningly.

“You,” Eddie says, again like it should be obvious. “Steve, you’re one of my favorite people. Did you know that?”

“No,” he murmurs. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Gently, Eddie nudges his shoulder. Knocking them loose, but settling back warmly. Like he can’t get enough of them touching. Simply sitting there. Doing nothing. Saying goodbye. “Well, you are. You changed my whole worldview. Taught me how to be a better friend. To rid of a lot of my stupid high school bullshit. You’ve—“ He takes a moment to himself. A silence. Contemplating again. Searching. “—You’ve been there. For me. For everybody. A guiding hand. A voice in the darkness of a nightmare. A fixture. You’re wonderful. An experience that I don’t think I’ll ever—“ His next word is muffled.

Muted by Steve’s mouth on his. A hand to Eddie’s cheek, cupping him. Another to the back of his head, tangling hair around his fingers, pushing them together. He moves his lips slowly. Savoring. How Eddie’s lips are slightly cracked, yet plush soft. The breath that puffs onto the corner of his mouth from Eddie’s nose, apparent in the way their heads are angled to meet each other. He doesn’t explore with his tongue. Not at all. Leaving this to the simple movements of one another, the carnivorous way he tastes Eddie. Placating this goodbye with years worth of emotion and yearning, bottled up in his ribcage, and overflowing like a rolling boil.

Though when he takes a breath, he’s forced instead to gasp. To hiccup. To sob. Eddie carefully grasps him by the cheeks. Pulling him back enough to take a deep, swallowing, consuming breath. His thumbs tickle under Steve’s eyes. Patting at the warm skin. The edges of his fingernails gently press into the soft give of his bottom eyelids.

“Stevie?” He questions lowly. “Sweetheart, you’re…You’re crying.”

He sniffles noisily. His hand crumples in Eddie’s hair, probably tugging at the strands, but it’s not shown on Eddie’s face. Instead of answering, he dives back in. Pressing more firmly. Squishing the tip of his nose in Eddie’s left cheek. Slicking their chins with his spit. Stuttering through gasps, sobbing on his lips, squinting with every soft cry. He can’t even fully see Eddie’s face. Not his eyes, which he fell in love with first. Or the way his cheeks are lighting up red, given by the warmth radiating onto Steve’s own skin. He can’t see and he can’t breathe, but he’d be damned if he stopped right now. His other hand moves down to the side of Eddie’s neck, squeezing as if attempting to choke him out. The rapid thrum of Eddie’s pulse under his thumb. He thinks if he were to die in this kiss, he could be resuscitated by Eddie’s beating heart alone.

While Eddie is enthusiastic to respond, his eyes don’t close in bliss. And he doesn’t move further into Steve’s space. If anything, he’s inching away. Pulling again at Steve’s head. Forcing them apart. “Steve, you don’t want to—“

“You’re everything,” Steve is sobbing out. “Everything to me.” He swallows harshly. His tongue is heavy with saliva and emotion. “You stayed here with me after…After all the bullshit. When Robin left for school. And everybody graduated. When they moved on,” he’s rambling. He should stop. Get himself in line. Try to make sense of every word falling from between his lips. But he can’t grasp them. They flow. They spill. He’s boiling.

“Baby, I’m going, too,” Eddie cooed sadly. “I’m not staying here.”

“I know. I know, Eds, I know,” Steve mutters. He gasps through a hiccup, reigning in his tears, at least slightly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Tell me what, Steve?”

He bounces his eyes back and forth between Eddie’s. Their roundness. And the dark encompassing color to them. How they pull him in like black holes. He could probably destroy Steve, especially with what is said next.

“I’m in love with you,” Steve confesses. “I’ve been in love with you,” he reiterates, voice cracking and wet and too thick. “For years, Eds.”

The hands on his cheeks slither down to his shoulders. For a moment, his head is heavy enough to careen him to the side. His head resting on the closed back door. He looks on with half-lidded eyes and a shiver against his spine. Eddie’s looking low at Steve’s chest, where his heart is. He squeezes the sweater material under his hands.

He swallows heavily in the stilled silence. Whispers, “I’m flattered, Steve—“ And Steve straightens back up, flailing a little to get out of this hold. To make his escape. To just leave when he isn’t wanted. But Eddie holds to him harshly. Keeping him still. “—I really am. But what you said doesn’t change my mind. I’m leaving.”

“Tell me, then,” Steve shoots. His voice flat. Lifeless.

“Tell you…”

“That you love me, too. Please tell me that.”

Eddie sighs again. His hands pressing harder on Steve’s shoulders. If it’s not his eyes, then Steve will gladly be ruined by Eddie’s hands. “Steve. That’s not a good idea.” He states it like it’s factual.

To hell with that.

“Then lie to me,” Steve pleads. “You don’t have to mean it. Just tell me—“

“I don’t want to lie to you, Steve. And besides, I’d only be lying to myself if I said it like that,” Eddie says. He moves his left palm up to Steve’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead. Tickling it down to where it touches the tops of his shoulders. Moves back up and dully scratches at his scalp. “I do love you, Steve. I do. I love you with every muscle in my body and every freckle on my skin. But…Sweetheart, you’re staying here. I’ll be elsewhere. And I know how you are in relationships. You like being near. You like being able to touch and cherish and hold. You like waking up next to them. You like having a person with you.”

Sometimes knowing Eddie Munson means being known back. And Steve should’ve realized that. He’s been privy to it thousands of times over the last five years. He’s been pulled from his darkest thoughts because of Eddie’s perceptive nature. He’s been taken care of in a lot of aspects. Distracted when he’s bored. Cherished when he’s lack luster.

He moves his own hands down to his lap. Folding them together so he doesn’t do something more stupid than what he’s already done. Something like hold on and never let go. Because Eddie isn’t his. And sure. Maybe they do love each other. Madly. Deeply. Infatuated practically. But Eddie’s right. He’s right and Steve hates that.

“You’re everything to me,” Steve murmurs. “I can’t just let you leave.”

Eddie sighs. A grievance. “Then we’re at a stalemate, baby. I can’t stay.”

“Then take me with you,” Steve says back. Quick as a bullet. Even his words surprise him. He startles back slightly. But his eyes remain on Eddie’s.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Before Eddie blinks. Harshly. Tilting his head to the side. “Are you…You’re not just saying that, right? Do you actually want to leave? Because you didn’t want to before.”

Steve nods. “What’s left for me here anyway, right? I can just go to my house, pack my clothes, the few actual things I have, and we can go.”

This time, it’s Eddie who devours. Swooping in. Sucking on Steve’s lips. Nibbling. Holding onto him as to never let him go again. He barely moves to breathe. But when he does, it’s to whisper, “I would’ve loved you still anyway.”

“Hm?”

“If you didn’t want to come with. I still would’ve loved you. I would wait forever.”

“Well. I don’t want to keep you waiting. Help me pack?”

Eddie’s hands drift to his. He holds. Their fingers tangled. “As long as you won’t regret doing this.” His thumb is warm on the back of Steve’s left hand. It’s kind of funny. How big and moving Eddie seems to always be. Though, in this moment, every ounce of him is dedicated to devotion. To soft caresses and softer words.

Steve gives him a small smile. “The only thing I regret is not telling you that I love you sooner. Come on, Eds.” He tugs on their conjoined hands. “My life starts with you.”

💕—————💕 I thought about them not getting together. I thought about writing it so that Steve's love was unrequited. But I spared you. For today. Maybe not next time. We'll see.

[thatstonedwriter]

Helluva Ride

Content: mentions of substances, gender neutral, swearing

Feat; Blitz, Stolas, Moxxie, Millie, Loona

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Going to an amusement park with the I.M.P squad would probably include...

Blitz immediately wanting to go on the most intense rides (and then getting sick afterwards). I think he would love rollercoasters.. Maybe a bit too much. He would also love showing off how good he is at beating the rigged carnival games. Ring toss, the water squirt game, the one where you climb on the rope and see how long you last, the sharp shooter games, you name it. And if he isn't good at it, well, it's obviously the fault of the cheap gun or the faulty whatever thing-a-majig. Would absolutely play the games for the prizes. He'd probably give a couple to his partner or friends. Maybe he'd keep a couple for himself (especially if someone else won the prize and gave it to him as a gift). Takes tons of pictures and loves going into the photo booths. Definitely gets drunk and ends up puking either on a ride or in one of the bathrooms.

Stolas only enjoys theme parks if he's with someone like Octavia, the I.M.P squad, or partner. Generally won't go on rides unless it's the teacups or swings. Other than that, he probably just sticks to treating everyone to snacks/concessions, clothes, pictures, etc. Probably enjoys the bumper cars and does that little "oohohoho" and clap whenever he rides with someone or when bumping into another car. Also enjoys the photo booths and gets the biggest print possible to display in his home. Only likes some of the carnival food/drinks, but will pay for the food that his close friends/partners want. Mostly supplies the funds for the day and enjoys watching his friend go on the rides. He's really just there to connect and have fun. Other than that, he's probably reading.

Moxxie canonically hates theme parks. Won't go on the rides (unless Blitz or Millie drags him on). Would probably stick with Stolas and definitely wouldn't eat the food. I don't think he would like being in such a crowded place where so much can go wrong. Hates any mascots/statues of mascots that are present. Will punch them. See also: shooting. His favorite thing to do is probably the carnival games where he can shoot at stuff. Adores being able to win stuff for Millie. Likely gushes at some of the cute children and families he sees, because it makes him think of what he could've had, and what he wants with Millie. Mox also enjoys seeing Millie in the oversized hoodies/t-shirts that are sold at the giftshops.

Millie goes on every. single. ride. Always sits with Blitz at the very front and screams the loudest. Not out of fear- out of unfiltered joy and excitement. Adores when anyone (especially Moxxie) tries to win something for her at the games. It makes her feel appreciated. If she notices anyone feeling uncomfortable, she'll stick with them, even if it means missing out on a ride. Millie also loves trying the snacks offered by different vendors. Overall, she loves the entire experience and makes the most out of the time she has there. Goes absolutely feral on bumper cars. She also enjoys competition, so you can bet your ass she'll be in some kind of contest with Blitz. Crowds will gather around Millie when she's playing the games and she loves showing off. Wins the biggest prizes possible to spoil Moxxie and her friends.

Loona acting like she hates everything (and lowkey she hates dealing with the crowds) but enjoys seeing everyone so happy and care-free. Especially likes seeing her dad actually letting loose and having a good time. Takes care of him when he inevitably drinks too much. Will also go on rides, but will barely react. Doesn't care much for prizes, but enjoys browsing the gift shops, even if most of the designs are corny. Kills fucking arcade games. Not necessarily because she's good at them, but because if she loses, she'll kick/punch the shit out of the machine. If she plays any of the carnival games, she doesn't put much effort in. Spends most of the time either on her phone or teasing Moxxie.

[mylostloversbookmarks]

Peaceful Easy Feeling

Chpt 2 of Life In The Fast Lane

Characters - Frankie Morales x Reader, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller.

Summary - As you and Frankie both reminise over your accidental meeting yesterday, you make plans to see eachother again, but will the two of you be able to get over your nerves?

Word Count - 6.8K

Warnings/Tags - 18+ only Minors dni. Typical canon language, Swearing, Fluffy!Frankie, Flirty!Frankie, Insecure!Frankie, use of pet names, mentions slight spice but nothing too explicit, mentions of anxiety and nightmares. Written in both reader's & Frankie's POV.

A/N - This chpt was meant to go a different way but I got so carried away that I decieded to split the rest into Chpt 3, which im hoping to have posted soon!

Feedback, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

June 24th 2016

You climbed into the driver's seat of your now very beat-up car—not that it was in the best condition before. Now with the bumper missing, the slight ripple in the metal of its bonnet, and the scratches left from the tailgate of Frankie’s truck, the car was definitely looking worse for wear.

You said a silent prayer that you had picked it up from a family friend for relatively cheap, and you had never been one to obsess over the looks of your vehicle; it was simply a method of getting you from A to B.

You stare out the windscreen and make eye contact with the kind stranger for the last time, unable to stop the smile turning up the corners of your lips and the blush working its way quickly across your cheeks.

You decide to take a page out of his book and chalk the new scratches up to character building. You honestly weren't sure if it was safe to drive without your bumper, but with as helpful as Frankie had been, you don’t think he would let you drive away if it wasn’t.

So, you put the car in drive and pull out of the slip lane you were both parked in. Allowing yourself one last glance in the rear-view mirror, you see him bending down to pick your bumper up and place it gently in the bed of his truck.

As you drove away from the scene of the accident, you felt both flustered and giddy at the same time. You can’t believe you crashed into his truck, yet he has been so kind and understanding. You couldn't help but think about how he had smiled at you and how his eyes had crinkled at the corners.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts as you make your way down the street. You still had a lot to do today, and you couldn't afford to be distracted. You were supposed to be meeting your best friend, Lianne, at the mall in half an hour.

Turning up the radio dial, trying to distract yourself from the incident that had just occurred. You start singing along to the tune of one of your favourite Eagles songs, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat.

Your thoughts kept drifting back to the man you had just met. You couldn't help but wonder what he did for a living, where he lived, or what his friends are like.

You couldn't shake the feeling that you had just had a genuinely meaningful interaction with someone, even if it was just for a few brief moments.

You pull into the mall parking lot, turn off the car, and take a deep breath before getting out. You spot Lianne waiting for you by the entrance, waving happily as she sees you.

As you walk towards her, you can't help but smile. You were grateful for the distraction that Lianne always provided, and you were looking forward to spending the evening with her. But even as you talked and laughed, your mind kept wandering back to the stranger and his truck.

As you and Lianne sit down at a café, she looks at you curiously. "Is everything okay?" she asks, noticing that you seem a bit distracted.

You take a deep breath and decide to confide in her. "I had a bit of an accident this afternoon," you admit, feeling a flush creeping up your neck. "I rear-ended someone in the middle of rush hour traffic today." You explain, through another surge of embarrassment.

"Oh my God! Are you okay?" She asks, concern knitting her brows together.

You nod, wondering breifly how she hadn't noticed the damage to the car when you pulled into the parking lot.

"Yeah, it was just a small fender-bender. The guy whose truck I hit was so…lovely. He helped me out of my car and made sure I was okay; he even cleaned my leg and put a band-aid on it when I fell on the sidewalk like an idiot. He was just sweet about the whole thing." You state this matter-of-factly, as if you were reciting a news article.

You told her all this while stirring your tea absentmindedly, doing your best to avoid the scrutinising gaze she had fixed on you.

"Well, that's good at least. I'm glad you’re okay Y/N, is your car alright? I couldn’t really see it when you drove in." Lianne smiles sympathetically.

"The car has definitely seen better days, but Frankie said one of his friends could fix it for cheap for me, so that’s good." You shrug, not really caring about the car. Just more about seeing him again.

"Oooh, Frankie? Are you sure that the accident is all that’s got you distracted?" She asks as she bobs her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

You can’t help but laugh at her, still fidgeting with your teacup and trying to find the words to explain the pull you felt towards the handsome stranger.

"Okay, you got me there, but… I just had this weird feeling when I met him. Like, I was meant to bump into him or something."

Lianne raises an eyebrow. "Meant to bump into him?" she laughs at the almost pun.

You nod and laugh along, feeling silly for even bringing it up. "I don't know; it's probably nothing. But I just can't seem to shake the feeling that I was supposed to meet him."

Lianne chuckles softly. "Well, stranger things have happened. Maybe it's fate, or destiny, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe you were meant to meet this guy for a reason."

"Oh yeah, 'cause that’s just my luck." You retort, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Hey, you never know. Maybe he's your soulmate." Lianne reasons, and there is a slight humor in her tone.

"Don't be ridiculous, Lia. I just met him. Besides, I don't believe in soulmates; you know that." You reminded her, shaking your head at the idea.

"Ugh, I know, but really? Why not?" Lianne raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, clearly exasperated at your lack of scepticism.

You take a sip of your tea, considering her question.

"I don't know; I just think that the idea of there being only one perfect person out there for each of us is kind of…restrictive. What if you never meet them? Or what if you do, but they're in a different part of the world, or they're already married, or…" 

Lianne interrupts you: "Okay, okay, I get it. You don't believe in soulmates. That's fine. But you have to admit, there was something special about this guy, right?"

You nod reluctantly and say, "Yeah, I guess. I mean, he was really nice. And he had this…energy about him, you know? Like he was genuinely happy to be helping me, even though I'd just crashed into his truck." A small smile plays on the corners of your mouth as you remember how eager he had been.

"See? Maybe it's not soulmates, but there's something there. Did you get his number?" Lianne beamed.

"He has my number—and my bumper, for that matter; he said he would call me tomorrow once he speaks to his friend, and he kind of invited me to dinner", a buzzing from your pocket distracts you; apologising to Lianne, you pull your phone out and see a text.

When you unlock your phone, you find it's from a number you don't recognise that isn't saved in your phone. It's from him. You take a deep breath, open the message, and read it aloud to Lianne.

"Hey, it’s Frankie the guy with the truck.

I just wanted to check in and make sure you got home okay.  Also, my friend can take a look at your car tomorrow if you’re free?

x"

You stare at your phone, feeling your heart hammer in your chest. You glance up at Lianne and can see she is grinning at you like a Cheshire cat as if to say, ‘I told you so'.

"Oh, would you calm down; he’s just going to get my truck fixed for me, and that’s it!" You laugh at your friend's enthusiasm, and as much as you would like to join her, you needed to keep a level head.

If you were being honest with yourself, it felt like you were floating. One simple text from this man, a practical stranger to you, had you wondering if you had gone back in time to your first teenage crush.

Butterflies are battering violently around your belly, threatening to burst out as you quickly type a reply.

"Hey, Frankie, Thanks for checking in! I ended up meeting a friend for coffee, but I got here in one piece! That would be great; I have no plans tomorrow, so just let me know when works for you guys. x "

You can feel your face heating up; Lianne is looking at you expectantly, clearly waiting for you to tell her what you responded with.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You laugh at your friend, who can barely contain herself.

"C'mon, spill the beans, Y/N!" Don’t make me force it out of you! She pleads with you, literally perched on the edge of her seat in excitement.

"I just told him that I met a friend for coffee and that I'm free tomorrow, that’s all! I'm sorry, there are no juicy details for you to drool over." You cock your eyebrow at her, teasing.

You know that she is just excited at the potential of a romantic relationship after your long spell of singledom. In truth, you don't mind being single; it wasn’t something you gave much thought to. You are happy with your own company and that of your family and friends.

"No, I think you meant to say there are no juicy details yet." Lianne grins as she rubs her hands together mischievously.

"Sure sure, that’s exactly what I meant," you mutter sarcastically while rolling your eyes.

You both finish your drinks, gather your things, and make your way out of the café. Noticing that it’s starting to get dark out, the crickets chirping away in the background, and the streets growing quiet, you offer to give Lianne a ride home; she only lives about ten minutes from you, and you welcome the company.

She gladly accepts the lift, but you can see the worried expression growing on her face as the two of you approach your car. You answer her question before she has a chance to speak.

"Don’t worry; it looks way worse than it actually is. The car runs fine, and I promise it's just cosmetic damage, thankfully. One accident is more than enough for me today," you joke, nudging her with your shoulder as you make your way to the driver's seat.

The two of you chat about her plans for the weekend as you drive and agree that you will take a walk with her on Sunday evening. She asks if you are planning on going to dinner with Frankie tomorrow, and you admit that you don’t quite know what the plan is but that you will wait and see what happens.

You pull up outside her apartment block, and she says her goodbyes as she climbs out of the passenger seat. Before she closes the door, she leans down, holding her hands to her chest as if she were about to say a prayer.

"Please, please promise me you will call as soon as you get home tomorrow and fill me in on all the details?" She was giving you her best puppy dog eyes, and it works like a charm.

"Yes, Lia, if anything exciting happens tomorrow, you will be the first to know. Do you need me to pinky swear?" You laugh as you lean over the centre console towards her side of the car.

"Alright, I'm not that bad! But be safe and call me if you need me, and if you go to dinner, let me know where he is taking you, so I know where you are, okay?" Lianne asks tone suddenly serious. 

"Of course, Lia, thanks; I appreciate it," you say sincerely and nod your head in promise.

This is one of the things you loved most about Lianne; she is loyal, and she protects her loved ones fiercely. She watches a little too much true crime, but you can’t blame her for being protective; there sure are a lot of weirdos in the world.

The drive back to your house is short, the exhaustion of the stressful day finally catching up to you as you pull into your driveway for the second time this evening.

After unlocking and relocking the front door behind you, you throw your keys into the checkerboard-printed ceramic bowl on the small wooden console in the hallway and let your bag drop from your shoulder.

You kick your shoes off and make your way to your bathroom, methodically washing your face and brushing your teeth. Absentmindedly, you pick up your phone.

There’s another text, and it’s from Frankie. You are suddenly much more interested in the device you as you pause to read the message. The toothbrush still hanging out of your mouth.

‘Hey Hermosa, I just wanted to check if 2 p.m is okay for tomorrow? x' 

Your face heats up as you remember how his voice got low and rough when he spoke in what you imagine to be his native language by the way it effortlessly rolled off his tongue.

You have never heard such an inviting sound. It made your skin flush, and thoughts of what it would be like to feel him murmur the beautiful language against your naked skin gave you goosebumps.

Your thighs pressed together of their own accord. You let out a quiet giggle to yourself at how much of an effect he already has on you.

Shaking the tempting thoughts from your head, you decide to be as bold in your reply as he is, your bottom lip catching between your teeth as you type your response.

‘Hey good looking, 2 pm is perfect! Do you want to send me the address? x'

Hitting send on the message before you lose your nerve and change your mind, leaning against the bathroom vanity, and staring at the screen, hoping it’s not too much. You set your phone on the counter and finish your night routine.

You change into your pyjamas, which is really just a baggy t-shirt; you throw the comforter back; pick up your well-loved copy of ‘Crime and Punishment, and settle in for the night. You don’t even get through the first page when your phone dings from your nightstand.

‘Great!  The address is 629 Pennington Ave, 32357 Jacksonville, It’s my friend's house; I'll meet you there at 2 p.m. It’s a date. x'

Excitement and nervousness settle over you as you set your phone on the nightstand. Picking the book off the nightstand, you try to read a few more chapters, but it's a wasted effort.

You are far too keyed up to read, deciding to pick out an outfit for the next day that was casual enough to wear during the day but nice enough in case Frankie asked you to dinner.

With it being the peak of summer in Florida, you know it's going to be another unbearably hot and humid day, so you picked out your favourite sundress. It's pale blue in colour, with tiny, delicate flowers printed all over.

It shows just the right amount of cleavage with a small drawstring that ties into a bow between your breasts and cinches you in at the waist to accentuate your curves.

The skirt of the dress flows to just above your knee. To make the outfit a little less dressy, you lay out a light-wash denim jacket and a pair of white sneakers.

You're happy with your choice, and with one less thing to fuss over tomorrow, you crawl back into bed. Leaning over and switching off the bedside lamp, you smile to yourself and curl into the comforter, hoping the exhaustion from today's events will allow you a good night's sleep.

But with the anticipation of seeing him again, you don't think it's likely.

June 25th 2016

Frankie wakes to the alarm screeching from his bedside table.

A loud groan escapes his lips as he rolls to the other side of the bed, his long legs tangled in the sheets. His hand frantically batted around until his fingers met the offending sound.

Groggily, he squints his eyes at the time, 8 a.m. Cursing under his breath, he swipes his thumb across the screen to silence the alarm.

Rolling onto his back, he stares at the ceiling of his bedroom. Large, veined hands rubbed over his face, scratching through the coarse hairs on his jaw.

The morning sun casts a soft glow on everything it touches as it peeks through the thin linen curtains. Why does he always forget to turn his alarm off on weekends? He has absolutely no reason to be awake this early on a Saturday.

As he stares blindly into space, the first thing on his mind is you. How you looked so disbelieving when he first caught sight of you in his rear-view mirror when you hit the truck, How you stammered your apologies; how the sun glistened in your eyes as he cleaned the cut on your leg. Your back-and-forth texting last night

He was a bit embarrassed at how nervous he was about reaching out. A million thoughts raced through his mind, one after the other, as he typed your number into his phone.

"Should I call her? No, no, that's a bit forward. I should just text her, but what if she doesn't like texting? I did say I would call, but that was just a figure of speech, right? What if I call her and she doesn't answer? God, Francisco, it's not a big deal; just text her!" He caught himself as he felt the smile pulling the corners of his lips upward at the memory.

Knowing full well sleep would not find him again, he throws the sheets back and climbs out of bed, stretching for the first time that morning. Heading into the bathroom, he stands at the counter and looks at himself in the mirror.

It's not that he doesn't take pride in his appearance, but now that his line of work no longer requires him to be pristine. No more meticulous shaving each morning, and he could allow his hair to grow longer, like he used to wear it before inlisting many moons ago.

His curls had begun brushing against his forehead and the nape of his neck. Sure, he was probably due for a haircut, but he kind of liked it, and it was usually hidden under his cap anyway.

As he watches his reflextion, turning his head from left to right and back again, he can tell he has let things run away from him a little.

His beard—although it had always been a little patchy—was now creeping up ever so slightly over his cheekbones and down his neck, the grey and white hairs becoming ever more present.

Deciding now was as good a time as any to tidy himself up, he lifts the safety razor out of the bathroom cabinet and replaces the blade. Lathering the shaving cream with the brush and placing wide, thick stripes of it across his cheeks and neck.

Frankie carefully drags the blade across his skin, removing the sparse hairs that grew above his beard line; he does the same with his neck, taking extra care not to nick his protruding adams apple.

He debates going the whole hog and shaving it all off but decides against it, afraid he might not like it once it's gone. Or that you won't.

Turning the shower on, Frankie steps into the welcoming stream of hot water, letting it wash over the untidy mop of dark chocolate-caramel curls. As he stands in the steam, his mind replays yesterday's events for the second time this morning.

Except now, he's remembering how innocent you looked when you called him sir. How he could feel your heart racing as he placed his big hands on your waist to boost you onto the tailgate of his truck. How your breathing hitched when he touched the smooth, soft skin of your calf. How good and right it felt to be held in his firm grip.

He feels the familiar tingle up his spine and the throbbing ache in his cock at the thought, and he shakes it from his head as quickly as it enters.

He wants nothing more than to fantasise about you like that, but he won't allow himself to do it until he knows the feelings are mutual.

Doing his best to finish his shower routine without touching himself at the thought of you, he once again finds himself in front of the mirror, a tower wrapped low around his hips.

He admires his handy work with his facial hair, only to find himself concentrating on the empty patches where the hair stubbornly refuses grow. He has never given any thought to that until now.

Frankie realises then that it's because he wants to look his best for you; he hasn't felt like this since he was a teenager, his thoughts all consumed by a woman he met only a day ago.

"Get a hold of yourself, Francisco; why would she be interested anyway?" He scolds himself, but he can't help but hope that he was wrong and that you were feeling the same butterflies in your chest as he was.

Walking back to his bedroom he finds himself standing in front of the dresser. What the hell was he supposed to wear? He's probably going to end up helping Benny with your car, so there's no point in dressing up just to get dirty.

He planned to ask you if you would join him for dinner tonight, so he threw on a pair of tan cargo trousers he uses for work and a grey crew-neck t-shirt.

Frankie throws his nicest pair of jeans and a flannel dress shirt into an overnight bag. If he is lucky enough for you to say yes to dinner, he'll wash up and change at Benny's place.

As he finished getting dressed, he ran his hands through his damp, unruly curls and placed the last missing piece on top of his head—his well-worn 'Standard Heating Oil' baseball cap.

It had been given to him by his mother. It wasn't necessarily a gift; she just saw it and thought he would like it. She always made a point of picking him things up when she saw something he liked, knowing he never usually spends money on himself. Frankie makes a mental note to give her a call later this week and see how she is doing.

The cap was the only thing he had brought with him when he deployed, to remind him of home. He remembers tearing it from his head and holding that very cap to his chest, right over his heart, with a vice grip on several occasions, as if it were a talisman.

When missions hadn't gone according to plan and he thought he might not make it back to his family and friends. In the end, though, he always got out with thankfully minor injuries.

So for that reason, he considers it his good luck charm and refuses to leave the house without it; even if he is going somewhere "formal," which is rare, he always brings it with him in the truck.

Frankies phone rings, pulling him out of his reverie. He picks the phone up off the nightstand, pulling the charging cord from the port, and, glancing at the screen, it's Pope. He answers the call and is greeted by a very cheery Santiago.

"Hola Hermano, how are you?" Pope's voice sounds chirpily from the speaker.

"Hey, I'm alright, what's up?" Frankie asks suspiciously. He had spoken to pope less than twelve hours ago, and it wasn't like him to call this early in the morning.

"Nothing's up. Can't I just call to catch up with my mejor amiga?" He responds innocently.

"I would usually agree, but considering I dropped you off not twelve hours ago, I'm assuming something is up?" Frankie shoots back with a chuckle.

"Okay, that's fair enough. I was going to call into your place to hear more about this pretty lady you're helping out this afternoon." Frankie can hear the shit-eating grin on Santiago's face through the phone line.

"I knew you were digging; feel free to come over, but theres nothing to tell," he deadpans.

"Alright, alright, I'll see you in five." Pope laughs and hangs up the phone.

The last thing Frankie wants is Pope grilling him about you when there is really nothing to tell. As much as he felt a connection to you, he was certain that he was letting his imagination run away from him and that in reality you were just being polite.

Right on cue, Santi is walking through the front door of Frankie's house. Taking in his surroundings and appreciating the fact that nothing had changed in this place; everything still lived where it had the last time he visited.

"Morning, you want coffee?" Frankie greets Pope as he strolls into the kitchen.

"Please! So what happened yesterday? You were pretty tight-lipped with the details around the guys last night," he asks, arching a thick brow and leaning against the kitchen island.

"Same thing I told you yesterday—nothing really happened; she rear-ended my truck and fell on her way to give me her insurance information. I patched up her leg, and that was that." Frankie retells the same shortened version of events as he had the day before.

"Frank Who are you trying to kid here? I can see right through you; you've been on cloud nine since you picked me up yesterday. This girl clearly has something to do with it." Pope insisted; he was observant; Frankie had to give it to him, but really, what was there to say?

"Fine, everything I told you is pretty much what happened, but… I told her not to worry about the insurance and that I would get Benny to fix her car, and I asked her to dinner." That's all. Frankie admits sheepishly, his large veined hand rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck.

"Ahhhh, you see, I knew there was more to this story than you were letting on last night!" Pope wagged his finger in Frankie's direction, obviously pleased with himself.

"Oh, of course you did; I forgot you were omniscient." Frankie snarks back with a roll of his eyes.

"Not omniscient, I just know you too well, Hermano! So what's this girl like? Did she say yes? She's clearly done a number on you if you asked her to dinner," Pope asks, eyes gleaming at the prospect of new information.

"That's true; she said yes to dinner; she actually gave me this note."

Frankie chuckles, sliding the note, which is now very worn from his constant folding and unfolding, across the counter to his friend before continuing.

"She said yes to dinner. I just feel like I read more into it than I should have known. I don't know if she's interested in me or just being polite." He lets out a long sigh and looks back at Pope, already waiting for a snarky comment, as he watches his friend read over your neat handwriting. but what he receives is understanding.

"Yeah, I get it, bud, but from that note, from what you've told me about meeting her yesterday and my infanite wisdom with the ladies," he pauses to give Frankie an exaggerated wink before continuing. "I think she is definitely interested! And if I'm wrong, then so what! What have you got to lose?" Pope grinned, glad his friend was finally taking a chance on someone.

"Just my pride, so, you know, nothing major," Frankie huffed out a laugh.

"Listen, on a serious note, I just wanted to come over and make sure you were okay after yesterday. I know things like that can bring up some shit." Pope said, his tone suddenly sombre.

He stood from his seat on the island and walked around to clasp a firm grip on Frankie's shoulder. reassuring him that he could be honest and tell his friend if he was going through something.

Frankie smiled genuinely, appreciating how much Pope looks out for him, even if he is gone the majority of the time.

"No, I'm good, Pope; meeting Y/N was honestly like a breath of fresh air; no nightmares or anything last night." He beamed, realising that for the first time in what felt like years, he had actually had a full night's sleep; he felt well rested, and his anxiety was at bay, aside from the nerves about seeing you again, which he tried desperatly to squash down.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Frankie; it's about time you got some well-deserved rest. Ah, so her name is Y/N then? There is more to learn yet," Pope says, playfully jabbing Frankie in the ribs.

Frankie has never really believed in soulmates or in "fate" bringing people together, but he had to admit that meeting you yesterday felt different; it felt special in a way he had never experienced before. It was like he was supposed to be at that stop light at just the right time.

He's never been more grateful for Pope; after all, if he wasn't on his way to pick him up, he would never have met you. Though Frankie keeps this thought to himself, Pope's head is big enough already; he doesn't need this information to inflate it more.

"Right, I have to shoot. Im meeting Will at the diner for breakfast. You joining us?" asked Pope as he shrugged out of his light jacket, picking up his keys from the countertop.

"Nah, I'm good. Im going to run some errands and then head over to Benny's; I'll catch up with you guys tomorrow though." Frankie assures him.

"You better, I want to hear more about this lovely lady!" Pope gives him a quick hug and a pat on the back before heading out of the kitchen. Leaving Frankie alone with his thoughts.

He needed to find something to occupy his mind as he waited for it to be an acceptable time to head to Benny's. He did a once-over of the house with the vacuum. Frankie has always liked his place to be clean and tidy, as he finds it helps with his anxiety.

Once that was finished, he grabbed his keys and headed into town. Frankie wants to do everything right by you and wants to give you everything you deserve and more. He knows he doesn't know anything about you yet, but he decides to pick you up some flowers.

As Frankie hits the town centre, he mumbles a low "Yes!" as he swings the truck into a curbside parking space just a few doors down from the florist shop. Once the truck is in park, a thought occurs to him and stops him in his tracks.

"Shit, I don't even know what kind of flowers she likes."

While he is debating what to do, he stays in the quiet cab of the truck until he swings the door open and heads in the direction of the florist.

"I'll just take a gamble, see what they have, and pick something nice." He thinks as he pulls open the door. The aroma of fresh flowers and foliage greets him, and it reminds him of you, the floral scent of your perfume still lingering in his mind.

"Good Morning. Can I help you with anything?" An older woman asks from behind a rather large bouquet of what looked like fresias, but he honestly wasn't sure.

"Morning, ma'am, I'm just looking for a bouquet, but I don't really know what I'm looking for; I'm a little lost," he admits sheepishly, his hand returning to the nape of his neck, rubbing at the curls sticking out from under the cap.

"Okay, I can help you with that, no problem! Is it for a special occasion? Or a particular person?" She asks while making her way around the counter and coming to stand in the centre of the shop floor.

Frankie follows, and as he looks around, he can see they are now surrounded by what looks like a hundred different varieties of flowers, some of which he is familiar with from seeing them around his mother's house and others he has never seen before.

"It's, uh, a first date, or at least I hope it will be." He laughs and smiles politely at the woman. She returns it with a warm smile, understanding settling in her features.

"Okay, what about some pink roses? Or even some daisies if you want something less traditional?" The woman gestures around at the different options available. Frankies eyes follow her hand and dart around the room until he sees them.

They were the brightest sunflowers he had ever seen, with their massive yellow petals shining in the sunlight of the shop window. He knew they were the ones the second his eyes landed on them.

"What about sunflowers?" He asked the florist with the same warm smile she had given him a few seconds ago.

"We can certainly do that; are there any other flowers you would like along with them?" She asks as she lifts the bucket and brings it over to the large, heavy-looking workbench on the south side of the store.

"Just whatever you think would look best," he nodded.

"Sure, no problem. Could you give me about twenty minutes to make this up?" Asked the florist.

"Of course, take your time; there's no rush." He offers another smile and heads for the door.

He finishes the last of his errands over the next fifteen minutes. Frankie pulls out his phone to check the time and notices it's almost one in the afternoon. He opens his contacts and hits 'dial' on Benny's name. He answers in two rings.

"Hey Ben, are we still good for this afternoon, yeah?" Frankie asks, hoping Benny can't hear the nerves in his voice.

"Yeah, man, all good. What time is your, eh, friend going to be here?" Benny chuckled down the line.

"I asked Y/N to meet me at your place at 2pm so I'm going to head over to you in five if that's alright?" He asked as he made his way back up Main Street to the florist's shop.

Yeah, brother, no worries! I'll see you soon. Benny replied brightly, and Frankie hung up the phone.

Just as he was about to enter the flower shop, his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. Digging roughly in his pocket to fetch the device, Frankie looks at the screen, and his breath leaves him. He is standing with his hand on the door handle, staring at your name on his phone like an idiot.

He finally answers and greets you with a voice like melting honey: "Hola Hermosa, how are you today?" The smile growing on his face felt like it could split him down the middle.

"Hey Frankie, I'm doing a lot better now that I'm talking to you good-looking. How are you doing?" a light, breathy laugh sounding down the phone at him.

He swore that was the prettiest sound he had ever heard. In that moment, he was sure he could listen to it on repeat for the rest of his life. The thought of that scared the shit out of him. How has he been so enraptured by someone he barely knows?

Well, I'm awfully glad to hear that. Are we still on for this afternoon?" He almost crooned back at you, hoping the eagerness in his voice wasn't too obvious.

"I am indeed; that is, if you still want to." He could hear the nerves in her sweet voice, and it made him relax a little. He was glad he wasn't the only one who was anxious about this afternoon. 

"Of course I do, I'm looking forward to seeing you again, Y/N," Frankie admits before continuing, "Benny thinks he has all the parts he needs to fix your car, so it shouldn't take us long." He debates asking you to dinner then and there but decides to wait so he can give you the flowers.

"You are?" you ask, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Of course I am hermosa; Benny is also looking forward to meeting the woman daring enough to take on the truck." Frankie huffs out a laugh, trying to cover his chagrin.

"That makes me really happy… that you're looking forward to it; meeting Benny on the other hand is sending my nerves into overdrive if I'm being honest," you let out another soft laugh.

"Don't be nervous; he's the human equivalent of a golden retriever." He laughs heartily.

Okay, I'll make sure to bring some tennis balls." You deadpan, and it sends Frankie into an uncontrollable fit of belly laughter. His sides are aching by the time he gets a hold of himself as he commits your tinkling laughter to memory.

"I like that sound," she murmurs into the receiver. Frankie isn't even sure if he was meant to hear it, but it spreads its way through his chest and squeezes around his heart.

"I could say the same thing to you," he whispers, his voice thick and rough with emotion.

"I will see you soon then?" You confirm with him that you don't care if you sound desperate or overeager.

"Tan pronto, Cariño" he promises, both of you stay quietly on the line, not wanting to be the ones to end the phone call.

"Adiós Frankie," you all but purr, and he feels his knees get weak.

As he stands by the shop window, Frankie tightly grips his phone while leaning his back against the glass. With his free hand, he removes the baseball cap from his head, running his fingers through the soft and thick curls at the back of his neck.

Chuckling to himself, he shakes his head again before proceeding towards the entrance of the shop.

He gazes at the breathtaking arrangement crafted by the florist, momentarily taken aback by its intricate beauty. The arrangement is adorned with bright yellow sunflowers and delicate blue cornflowers scattered throughout.

Grateful for the artistry of the florist, he manages to stammer out his thanks. She tries to hand him his change, but he insists that she keep it as a token for her hard work. Frankie wishes her a good day before turning on his heel and leaving the store.

As he walks towards his car, he realises that he's humming a tune under his breath. It's a song that he hasn't thought about in years, but now it seems like the most fitting song in the world. He chuckles to himself, feeling like a teenager again.

Climbing into the truck, he gingerly sets the flowers on the backseat. He unlocks his phone and flicks his thumb across the screen, opening the Spotify app, selecting the 'This is Eagles" playlist, and hitting play on the song he had just been humming.

Frankie let his head fall back against the headrest, eyes closed and a faint smile on his lips. He's lost in the music, swaying his head back and forth as he sings along to the smooth, melodic voice of Don Henley.

"Cause I get a peaceful easy feeling, And I know you won't let me down, 'Cause I'm already standing, Im already standing, Yes, I'm already standing, On the ground,"

He taps his foot to the beat, his fingers drumming out the rhythm on the worn-out steering wheel. Everything around him fades away, and he's lost in the moment, his deep, gravelly voice rising in volume.

As the song draws to a close, he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes once more and letting the final notes linger in the air. A moment of silence passes before he opens his eyes and exhales, a sense of calm and contentment spreading through him.

The next song starts to play through the speakers, and the familiar beginning guitar riffs of "Life in the Fast Lane" fill the cab, and Frankie is once again brought back to the memory of opening your driver's side door yesterday and being greeted with the very same song.

Putting the truck in drive and pulling out into the flow of lunchtime traffic, he continues to tap along to the music as he makes his way to Benny's house. As he makes his way to you.

"Ahh, Francisco, you're in trouble." He chuckles to himself and turns the radio up, unable to stop the grin that seems to be taking up permanent residence on his face.

[fueledbysano]

𝟎𝟎𝟏 | she had the world

summary: in order to understand the end, you must go back to the beginning; ....quite literally.

content/warnings: this story contains major Tokyo Revengers manga spoilers, canon divergence setting, tenjiku arc setting, detailed writing of violence, weapons, blood, death, and strong language.

wc: 2.2k

series masterlist | prologue | next

A month prior the fight, February 2006.

In a deserted road under the busy highways of Tokyo, the front wheel of a red Dodge Challenger pulls slowly behind the checkered line mark; the plate reading “も12-23”

Play is pressed on an mp3 player and a rock track starts up, concealing the blaring cheer and screams of the audience on the pavement.

Young, beautiful [skin color]. [ hairstyle ] hair. Dresses flamboyant. Although sundown, cheap thrift store shades covered her orbs. [ Y / N ] was about to compete in the biggest street racing event of the year for the first time.

The track kicks in just as an opponent pulls into view on her right. Her eyes can’t be seen, but they expressed slight fear upon seeing the striped Dodge Charger’s owner. He is the number two of an opposing race gang, Roadkill.

He offered her a friendly nod in which [ Y / N ] politely returned, letting the frame of her shades fall to get a better view of his vehicle.

“All racers are in!” A guy announced through a crappy megaphone, stepping in front of the lined cars. “Before we start, I wanna hear who you all are rooting for!” Of course, the conventional audience cheers before the game. [ Y / N ] sure hoped she wouldn't disappoint everyone who bet on her team.

“Roadkill's Naoki?” “Pressure’s Fred?” He continued to go on for each gang's representative.

Nodding her head, swaying in her seat, mouthing the vocals. A prisoner to the rhythm. She doesn’t miss a beat, almost ignoring the world outside the two doors of her car.

“Lastly, Road Reaper's [ Y / N ]?!”

[ Y / N ] gave a small wave for the crowd, one hand remained still on the wheel.

“That’s everyone in the race for tonight! But let’s not forget our beautiful Eli here!” An alluring woman in skimpy checkered two piece comes in view, standing on the starting line which matched her clothing.

“The drivers will follow the track which goes around the area leading back here, approximately 25 kilometers in total. Bumper guards are prohibited. No speed limit is set. And lastly, the starting signal is indicated by the fire of a gun!” The race instructions were the only part [ Y / N ] bothered to pay close attention to.

“Drive safe, contestants!.... or not. Heh!” The host concluded the introduction, now heading back to the pavement along with the thrilled audience hooting for their betting team.

“3..2..1, Now!” POW!

[ Y / N ] revs in time with the chorus dropping as Eli fires the gun into the air. She pops the car into sports mode, then stomps on the gas hard.

The car screams back through the tight spaces between racing opponents, making a sharp swerve to overtake. [ Y / N ] drops into drive upon surpassing two cars, sailing into the flimsy, old road. The pop punk track blasting on the car stereo built in speed and energy, so did [ Y / N ].

Despite the velocity of the getaway, [ Y / N ] is calm behind the wheel, weaving through traffic like an android. The other racers had their chins up, desperate to surpass [ Y / N ]; sending her intense, striking looks.

One black & white cruiser overtakes her, zooming past plenty of meters away before making a full 180 right in front of her lane, leaving [ Y / N ] almost no time to react.

A solid trail of black imprinted on the ground and loud screeching of tires came from the Audi upon swerving hard, giving [ Y / N ] the opportunity to keep her spot on the race and just enough time to throw a middle finger up to the cruiser’s driver who had a bitter look.

Then she instinctively looked in the rear view, five cars were now racing behind. There were only three to focus on now.

Over distorted guitar riff playing, [ Y / N ] watched through the windshield, seeing the cars go head on head with each other. There was no window to overtake.

[ Y / N ] nears a hundred and ten mph, the track building with cracking snares. The lone Black and White cruiser managed to catch up and still dogs behind.

[ Y / N ] nears a hundred and ten mph, then a hundred twenty. Finally stilling at a hundred and forty, before slipping in the narrow gap between the two cars before her.

She hears a piercing noise from the rear end of her car, indicating it made contact with one of the vehicles. “Tsk.” She shook her head at the thought of having to deal with that scratch later on. The coating of this car is expensive! Well, she better win this race.

With one big step, [ Y / N ] accelerated the speed into a hundred fifty within a second, now surpassing the two cars on her tail just as they reached the sharp turn on the track.

“Whew, fuck!” She exhaled a sigh of relief, after genuinely thinking that she’d never make it past those two.

Now, focusing on the Charger before her.

145 BHP @ 4000 RPM. It’s going to be a close race, considering how similar their cars are.

The remaining cars are left behind and [ Y / N ] was past the twenty kilometer mark.

She weaved from lane to lane before disappearing under a tunnel, now going head to head with the remaining opponent.

“Hey.” He spoke, taking his eyes off the road for a brief moment. “I know you!” [ Y / N ] responded.

“I know you. We’ve competed before.” He answered.

“Really?” [ Y / N ] took her eyes off-track for a moment.

“Well, supposed to... Remember The Circuit?” He asks. The mention of the place itself was enough for [ Y / N ] to remember the event clearly as day.

The memory unfolded right before her eyes like a new book, every detail and aftermath recalling quickly.

She felt drawn deeper and deeper into a pit of enormous darkness as the light at the end of the tunnel seemed to shift further and further.

After all, who likes getting flashbacks from things they don’t want to remember?

“Right, your sis–” “Don’t.”

They continued to speed in silence, letting the roars of the engines of their cars echo through the dim tunnel. [ Y / N ] didn’t realize the pressure on the gas pedal started to come loose upon staring into the vast dimness.

While he was now slightly ahead of her, [ Y / N ] immediately notices, keeping up the speed and stilling at a hundred ten.

“Too soon, huh?” He spoke. “I said shut up, man.” She spat.

“I see she passed the car down to you, too” He pointed out. “Beat me in first place a year back.”

“Oh, yeah? It’s about to beat you for the second time then.” She jeered.

“Heh.”

“Watch out, they put a ramp!” [ Y / N ] quickly spoke. “What—?” And with her remark, the guy fell for her warning as he swerved aimlessly into the wall.

“Hm.” [ Y / N ] flared her nostrils upon the short chuckle, now reaching the light at the end of the tunnel. The outro of the rock track approached, closing her eyes in elation from greeting the cold air of the night, hearing the crowd’s cheer once again upon emerging from the tunnel.

And like that, [ Y / N ] was the first to finish the track, wheels surpassing the checkered line for the second time before slowly coming to a stop.

“And Congratulations to [ Y / N ] of Road Reapers for winning this year’s race!” She felt a numbing sensation spread across her skin like wildfire, goosebumps rising along her [ s / c ] skin upon letting her head fall onto the steering wheel.

Every breath she took began to grow into desperate gasps for air as her heart threatened to thump out of her chest, she’d won. And she carried the race so easily.

“I did it…” Her voice came out breathy, attempting to steady her breath from the intensity of the match. “I won, holy shit!” With her arms over the steering wheel and her head lifted gently, the starlight kept its familiar pattern. The constellations, who'd witnessed centuries and millennia, watched over her glorious moment of victory.

“Oh, yeah, coming in second is Roadkill’s Naoki!, and goes on to third place is Drift—” Shortly, her opponents arrived in speed, eventually urging her to step out of the car.

“Oh yeah! Road Reaper's [ Y / N ], everyone!” The host spoke, welcoming her to the roadside. Her teammates cheered in triumph upon [ Y / N ]’s entrance, sending a joyous wave to their way. Of course, there’s the audience who had sour faces on, bitter of her victory; mainly because they’d just lost their money from the bets.

Upon snapping a couple of photos, [ Y / N ] jogged off road, tossing the key of her car to her personal valet before carefully taking off the winning medal from her neck.

“There she is.” Draken’s notable gruff voice urged [ Y / N ] to look up from the pavement, excitement doubling at the sight of her friends.

“[ Y / N ] you did amazing!” Chifuyu cheered, as the guys behind him followed shortly.

“Hey, you made it…” [ Y / N ]’s eyes lit up upon seeing them. She wasn’t expecting them to show up at all tonight, recalling they had an important agenda with Toman that conflicted with the race's schedule.

“Of course, we can’t miss your big race.” Mikey spoke up, hands deep in his pockets and smiling from ear to ear. “Hi, Mikey.” She replied with a polite wave.

“Your car looks amazing, new paint?” Mitsuya remarked. “You noticed! Yeah, I got both of them done last night.” She answered.

“That guy from the start did you so wrong.” Draken remarked, handing her a chilled can of sparkling water, “I know, it's an ass move, I really have to work on my reaction time— I almost fell for that.” She replied before mumbling a quick ‘Thank You’ to the guy for getting her her favorite post-race drink.

“and I tricked this moron in the tunnel, talking shit about— dude crashed into the wall!” As she recounted the event to them, one of the race’s organizers excused himself in the middle of their conversation.

“Congrats, [ L / N ].” The dude looked a few years older than them, cigarette in between his lips, and hair styled by a poor bleaching job.

“Excuse me.” [ Y / N ] excused herself from the guys as she headed to the corner of the lot with the guy, only to be handed a single ten thousand yen.

“Get out before the cops come.” The man continued to count a stack of cash, letting the smoke disperse into the air.

“Ten thousand? The ads said a hundred thousand, y’all have been yapping about it too.” She was confused. “Look, that’s inclusive of the tax, the organizers’ cut, and the bets. You’re lucky to have that.” Tax?! I'm pretty sure what we're doing here is illegal...

“Hey, thanks!” The racer who came in third passed by, fanning the cash over his face as he waved the man goodbye.

“Then why is he getting the full prize of the third place?” [ Y / N ] pointed out. “Look, take it or leave it! You won first place, aren’t you happy with that?!”

“No, cause y’all totally profited off of my prize, but not theirs.” She bitterly chuckled.

“I said take it or get nothing at all! Just shut it you ungrateful brat!” He finally snapped, voice raising as did his heavy hands, going in to grip on [ Y / N ]'s wrist.

“What the fuck is your problem?” But she was quick to react, now blocking his attempt of harm.

“Tsk!” He huffed in pain, attempting to resist [ Y / N ]'s hold.

“[Y / N], is this guy bothering you?” Mikey calmly approached the scene, the rest of the guys followed behind in concern.

“Hey, bro. What’s your problem?” Draken spoke up, now walking ahead everyone else.

“Let go of him, [Y / N]. He’s in our hands now.” Mikey added.

“What do you think you’re doing, damn brat?!” The guy spat, causing Mikey to gesture his best friend to hold the older guy in place as [ Y / N ] stepped aside.

“What does it feel like to be the lowest of the scums?” Mikey stepped closer at him who attempted to resist Draken.

“And harming women? Tsk…” Mikey shook his head in disappointment. “That just makes you useless..” The thought of his disgusting behavior was the last straw before throwing a punch; almost personal.

“You’re crazy!” The guy spat.

“Give her the full reward or you’ll see crazier.” Mikey replied.

“Who do you think you are to just march in here?!”

“Hey. You heard him.” Mitsuya chimed in. “Right, [ Y / N ] won fair and square.” It was now Chifuyu's turn to step in. “Give the cash, man.” The lilac-haired boy added.

“Alright, alright!” The three guys circled the older dude, watching him like hawks as he counted the bills in his hands.

[ Y / N ] could only think about how they have gone above and beyond to defend her behalf. Things could've definitely made a bad turn if they weren't here tonight.

“Sorry about that, b.” She was taken out of her trance upon hearing Manjiro's now calmer voice.

He carefully rested an arm over her shoulders, turning her gaze away from the scene as they stepped away.

“Mikey, I got that.”

“You have us.” He assured.

Having grown up in a world where she only had herself, independence became [ Y / N ]'s strength. But, as cheesy at it sounds; upon meeting the gang, it's like finding the comfort she never had. Protecting herself from harm wasn't an issue she had to face anymore.

Before she knew it, the guy was now in front of her, handing her the full cash prize, and trembling in fear. “Sweet! Thanks, man.” She perked up, making sure to give him a pat on the back. “Ow!”

“Scram.” Draken demanded, watching the poor guy run for his life.

“Did you guys take your rides?” [ Y / N ] asked, now securing the money in her pockets.

“No, we figured you’d take us out after the race.” Chifuyu answered

“You read my mind then.”

“What are we feeling? Hot pot? Barbecue? Dinner’s on me…” [ Y / N ] rambled as they headed towards her second car.

“Shotgun!” Mikey sprinted before everyone else, heading for the front passenger seat. “No one’s racing with you.” Draken remarked.

“Mikey, you have to stop leaving stuffed toys in my car, they’re all gonna get in the way soon.” [ Y / N ] got on her seat as she let the guys squish in on the backseat, glancing at the various stuffed Sanrio characters seating at the back.

“Sorry.” Once settled, Mikey finally made himself comfortable on the passenger side.

“Yo, I burned new songs into our car tunes, put this on!” Mitsuya took out a CD case from his vest. “I got you.”

“As much as I’d love to listen to those, we’re getting off soon. The mall is like, three minutes away.” The car now headed off the parking space, making a turn to the highway.

Upon entering the player, the CD started playing a fresh track, accompanying them through the short ride.

“Sugar, we're going down swingin'! ” [ Y / N ] and Manjiro danced along the tune, as they had the most spacious seats.

“[Y / N], hands on the wheels!” Draken reminded, uncomfortably squished in between Chifuyu and Mitsuya.

“Sorry, Kenchin!” They apologized in unison.

“Anyone got spare change for parking?” [ Y / N ] asks as the mall building came in sight. “On it.” Mitsuya answered.

“Whew, that’s some good food.” Chifuyu sighed in content, as everyone else in their booths. Finished dishes mountained on their table as they finished up eating.

“He’s still going.” [ Y / N ] remarked, and everyone’s eyes were now on Mikey who quietly sipped on a large cup of soda with his back comfortably slouching.

“I’m done.” He perked, practically jumping out of the booth. “Come on.”

“Give us a moment, jeez.” Draken sighed.

“Oh, yeah, they have claw machines back there. Does anyone have coins?” He got a view of the party room where claw machines and games were held.

Everyone started to dig deep into their pockets, as Chifuyu was the first to slam a few coins onto the table. “Sick!” Manjiro mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ before sprinting off.

“I think we’re the only customers here, the waiters are giving us death stares.” Mitsuya noted, shifting on his seat.

“Seems like it...” Draken remarked.

“[ Y / N ].” “Yo?”

“I need to trim my hair, can you do it like… how you did last time?” Mitsuya requested. “Yeah, sure. After this?”

“If it’s alright…”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” She agreed, now preparing to leave. “Can someone take the bill?” Everyone shot each other silent glances, waiting for someone to speak up until Draken volunteers with a sigh. “Ma’am?” The waiter almost immediately marched to their table with the bill before stepping aside.

Chifuyu got a glance of their total bills, mouth slightly parting at how expensive their orders turned out to be. “Oh, wow.” “Damn. Should we pay Mikey and leave?” Draken remarked upon seeing the price himself.

“I told you guys, it’s my treat.” [ Y / N ] chuckled, stuffing the payment into the bill holder. “Alright, come on.” Everyone slid off of their booths and prepared to leave.

“I got a plushie ornament!” Mikey came rushing from the party place with a stuffed Keroppi frog keychain spinning on his finger.

“Dope. Come on.”

“Thanks for the treat again, [ Y / N ].” Draken privately spoke to her as the rest of the guys step off [ Y / N ]'s car.

“Thanks for having my back in there.” She replied.

“Anytime, B.” Mikey jogged up towards the two, resting a palm over his tall best friend's shoulder.

“We’ll be off now.” Chifuyu bid his goodbye.

“Have fun playing salon.” Manjiro gave [ Y / N ] one last smile before turning to the street .

“Will do, Manjiro. Bye.”

“Bye bye!” His enthused voice paint a smile on her lips. [ Y / N ] quietly leaned into the bricked gates of Mitsuya's house, observing Mikey get on Draken's back for a piggyback. The smile never left her lips as they disappeared down the road.

“Come in, [ Y / N ]. You’ll catch a cold out there.” Mitsuya called, now having unlocked the front door. “Coming…”

“Thank god my sisters are knocked out.” He remarked upon checking on their room, while [ Y / N ] prepared a seat in front of the mirror.

“Sit down.”

“You know what to do.” [ Y / N ] slung a cover over the boy as he settled on the seat. “Mhm.” She hum in agreement, plugging the clipper on.

She started on the area above his nape, carefully clipping off the grown out hair into a buzz cut.

“By the way, I’m gonna be out Saturday. Mom is taking me to visit some relatives.” Mitsuya spoke.

“Y’all taking the two?”

“That’s the problem, no. They’ll get impatient during the trip. Plus, they have school work. So we got a helper.” He explained.

“Oh, good.” [ Y / N ] continued to clip, gazing at the mirror from time to time. She now moved upwards,

“This reminds me of when me, you, and Kenchin would cut each other’s hair when I still lived in my car…” She laughed.

“Except— we didn’t have a good mirror.” She added.

“And a sharp trimmer. Plus, it doesn’t smell like car freshener here.” Mitsuya chimed, earning a giggle from his friend.

“True. Thank God I’m way past that.” She snort from laughing too hard from the memories.

“Hey, watch my ear!” He warned.

“Dude, trust me or I’ll shave it all off.”

“You won’t do that.”

[ Y / N ] shrugged, now continuing her work on his head.

“Wait, I thought you guys had business with Toman tonight?” She asks.

“Mikey canceled last-minute then said we’re watching the race instead...” He replied.

[ Y / N ] smiled at the thought, they did come to watch her indeed... “Awe.”

“Mhm.” Mitsuya watched her sheepishly smile through the mirror.

“Don’t nod!” She warns. “Sorry.”

[ Y / N ] went on with the remaining of his hair, throwing each other with random conversations as she evened out his buzz cut.

“Alright, you’re all done, man.” With one last clip, [ Y / N ] spun the seat around for Mitsuya to see his reflection.

“Dope, thanks!” He admired his fresh haircut through the mirror, while [ Y / N ] smiled from his satisfaction.

“Won’t you have anything done with your hair?” He asks, now dusting off the clipped hair off of his shoulders and face.

“Yeah, I’m all good. Plus, it’s getting late. I gotta head home.” [ Y / N ] finished up sweeping the cut strands of lilac hair from the floor. “Alright, alright.”

The boy made sure to walk [ Y / N ] to the door, “I’m on my way then, Goodnight.” She held her hand up for their own made up handshake. “Drive safe, goodnight.” He replied, watching her safely get in the car before locking up the doors.

[ Y / N ] quietly got on her car, careful not to wake the neighboring residents. She carefully placed her belongings on the passenger seat before securing her seatbelt, now going up to adjust the rear mirror.

“Oh, lord.” For a moment, she was frightened by the hanging Keroppi frog plushie.

Mikey's claw machine prize.

She chuckled to herself for a moment before sighing in relief, now pushing the keys into the ignition. Well, a new addition to the car.

She smiled at the little sentiment, giving the plush toy a small graze before pulling out of the driveway.

The best days of your life may vary from earning a big achievement; to simply just aimlessly spending the days with your friends.

But, whatever you do in this life, it’s not extraordinary unless your friends are there to see it.

And you're beyond grateful that today, you’re lucky enough to have both.

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[winterscaptain]

a kindness.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: it is loving megan kane hours!! i’ve been working on this one for a while and i am so excited to share it with you!! we have ajf!pleasure is my business at last! as always, tell me what you think!! i adore your feedback. also, if you’re thinking ‘what the hell, tali! why am i missing from the tag list?????’ it’s because i redid it! the link to the form is below.

words: 4.8k warnings: language, canon-typical death, canon-typical discussion of sex work

summary: “i believe that sex is one of the most beautiful, natural, wholesome things that money can buy.” ― steve martin. au!february 2009

a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

You rap twice on the office door before pushing it open with your fingertips, peering inside while ready to retreat at a moment’s notice.

There’s no need. Aaron’s alone. 

“You’re here early,” he says, his eyes still on his paperwork. 

You snort. “So are you.” 

He looks at you over his nose. “Can I help you with something?”

Sitting down opposite him at his desk, you prop your chin on your hands and grin at him. “You stole my line.” 

“Get out of my office.” 

Your smile stays plastered on your face as you stand and cross the room, closing the door behind you. On your way out, you catch the ghost of his smile. 

+++

You watch Hotch leave the bullpen, his go-bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Where you headed?” You ask, looking up. You’re still the only one in the bullpen, taking a few consults off your teammates’ hands by typing up quick briefs they can review without going through every single comma in the file. 

He sighs. “Dallas.”

Yikes. 

“By yourself?”

He sighs. “Standby - not sure what’s going on yet. Can you -” He gestures to the hallway behind you.  

You nod and stand. “Yeah. Fly safe.” 

After you watch him leave, you turn and make a beeline for JJ’s office. She’s here early, too - pushing away the separation anxiety by diving into work. 

“Jayje?” 

She looks away from her computer, looking exhausted. “Yeah?” 

“Hotch just left for Dallas - we might have a case there, but it didn’t sound like something that would come across your desk.” 

She squints. “Why d’you say that?” 

“He had that look on his face like he was going into a room full of lawyers.” 

+++

You lean forward, jamming yourself into the circle around the table with the rest of your team. Hotch, on the other end of the line, sounds oddly well-rested. 

Spencer, as usual, gives you the history and textbook briefing before you get to the actual case. “Female serial killers are a fascinating field. We don't have much information on them, but what we do know involves throwing the rules completely out the window. Signature, for instance. They don't torture or take trophies.” 

“Because there’s no sexual gratification when a woman kills,” Derek adds. 

Looks like we’re all getting in on the pre-brief today. 

“Exactly. Murder is the goal. They don't have to do anything extra.” 

That makes you laugh a little. “So, basically, women are more efficient at killing?” 

Spencer shrugs. “Historically, they’ve had body counts in the hundreds.” 

Hotch, of course, is the one to get you all back on track. “So, assuming that the job is the stressor, what are some of the reasons prostitutes kill their customers?”

Derek, of course, is the first to follow. “Money, drugs, post-traumatic stress disorder…”

The team bounces for a moment, covering previous cases of serial killers with a history of sex work. Emily brings up Allison Wuornos, but Aaron shuts it down. He thinks this killer is organized, not so much driven by trauma or need but the mission itself. 

Spencer looks at the medical examiner’s reports again, comparing notes between the victims. “She’s using tetra-methylene-disulfotetramine.” 

You don’t look up from the same report. “Bless you.” 

Emily snorts. 

Spencer continues, unperturbed. “It’s a popular rat poison in China - easily soluble in alcohol.” 

“Poison is the perfect M.O.,” Dave notes. “Quiet, quick, and the victims never see it coming because they think they’re getting lucky.” He turns back toward the phone. “Does that mean something to you?” 

“Well, at $10,000 a night, these men are paying for discretion as well as sex.” 

Fair point.

“She has a history with them. They see her repeatedly.” 

You look over at Dave, trying to find the thread that connects Aaron’s thought to his.

Before you can really get to it yourself, Aaron spells it out for you. “She didn't decide to kill them in the moment. She walks in with the intent to kill them and she's doing it before she sleeps with them.” 

There we go. 

“So she's not just organized,” you add. “She's also methodical. Could she be parsing out which clients are worth killing and which aren’t?” 

“Maybe the victims all share the same fetish?” Emily offers. 

Derek shrugs, his eyebrows raised in thoughtful agreement. “Both victims were in their fifties, highly visible. Careful about their image. I mean, if they were kinky in the same way, they'd go to great lengths to hide it.” 

“And we're facing a corporate culture that'll do everything it can to keep us out.”

There’s the exhaustion I’m used to from Hotch. 

He sounds weird without it. 

“Actually,” JJ says, “I had some luck there. Hoyt Ashford's wife isn't too happy with how he died. But because every silver lining has a dark cloud, the hedge fund released a statement.” 

JJ pulls the statement from her file and reads aloud: “Ashford died peacefully in his home, according to lawyer David Madison.” She puts it down again. “They're already trying to close ranks.” 

Spencer frowns. “Does that language sound familiar to anyone else?” 

“What do you mean?” You ask. 

“The press release from the first victim.” He recalls, not needing the paper itself. “‘According to company lawyer, Stanton died peacefully in his home.’” 

Hotch begins to make assignments, directing Emily and Derek to the wife of the second victim. JJ’s tasked with the lawyers and you’re tasked with setup at the precinct with Spencer and Dave. When he’s done, you pick your phone up from the table, taking him off speaker. 

“What are you gonna do?” You ask.

Hotch snorts. “I’m gonna see which of the lawyers calls us back and in the meantime, see what I can get out of anyone else.” 

“Good luck.” 

+++

You’re up in your hotel room, getting a little bit settled and unpacked when you get a call to your cell. 

“Hey, Hotch.” 

There’s a sigh. “We got another body.” 

“I’ll meet you downstairs in five.” 

+++

You hop out of the car, following Aaron through the service entrance and up the back hallways to the lobby. Between your travel from your room and Aaron’s wrap-up in his, Derek and Dave beat you to the scene. 

Hotch is wearing that coat - your favorite, the one he’s apparently had for years - with the red lining and the soft wool exterior. It so rarely sees the field anymore you were afraid he’d done away with it, but every time you remember it exists and worry about its whereabouts, he brings it out again. 

Derek hands you a notebook when you reach him. You settle near Dave for the rest of the info. He, of course, delivers. 

“Victim was Joseph Fielding. He was the CFO here.” 

You frown. “Poisoned? Like the others?” 

“And staged,” Derek says. “She killed him in his office and then rolled him out here to be found.” 

“The lipstick's new,” you muse, circling the body in the elevator. “Done postmortem, it looks like.” You find Derek’s eyes with a little frown. “Reid said female serial killers don't leave a signature. I think she did that just for us. She's already exposed him at his most vulnerable.”

He hums. “Now she wants to be noticed.”

There’s some kind of scuffle at the police line - another man in a suit who thinks he’s more important than God. 

Hopefully he’s looking for Hotch. 

“Which one of you is Aaron Hotchner?” 

Ugh. Good. 

You step back and point at Aaron, getting out of his way as he shoves past the crime scene techs. 

Aaron turns. “I'm Hotchner.” 

“Larry Bartlett.” The man holds out his hand, but Aaron doesn’t take it. He retracts his hand with an unperturbed tilt of his head. “I represent Mr. Fielding in Webster Industries. 

Hotch, as usual, has no time for his bullshit. “This is a closed crime scene, Mr. Bartlett.” 

My lawyer could kick your lawyer’s ass. 

That’s a good bumper sticker. 

You shake off your thought and return to the victim, directing one of the younger crime scene techs. After a moment, you return to Derek’s side. 

“Yes. I spoke to Ellen Daniels.” This clown still sounds far too confident for his own good. “She said you're a very... reasonable man.” 

“Escort him out, please.”

You stifle a laugh. 

“No, wait. Please.” The lawyer - Mr. Bartlett - shrugs off the security team and chases after Hotch on his way to your side.  

Aaron stops, but looks inconvenienced in the extreme. 

“The press is outside and they can smell blood. Any way we can handle this discreetly?” 

“We're not about to lie for you.” Derek’s even less amused than Aaron, if that’s even possible. 

Aaron squints at the other lawyer, and you find it nearly impossible to tear your gaze from the little pinch at the corners of his brown eyes. 

You can only imagine him behind a prosecutor’s bench, laying into witnesses with the same deadpan amusement - like a bored cat with a half-dead mouse. Hoping to back him up a little bit, you get a little closer, looking skeptically at the lawyer from over Aaron’s shoulder. 

“You don't have to lie,” Mr. Bartlett insists, his eyes flickering to you. “Just don't comment.” 

“Excuse us.” He takes you by the shoulder and leads the three of you into a huddle. 

“Is there any reason to go public yet?” Aaron asks. 

Dave wavers. “Validating her is exactly what she wants.”

“If we hold back, she's more likely to make a mistake,” Derek says. 

You raise your eyebrows, looking over your shoulder for a moment. “He doesn't need to know that.” 

Hotch’s mouth twitches, and you know it’s almost a smile. He turns over his shoulder, back in game mode as he approaches Bartlett again. “We need everything you have on Fielding. Bank accounts, tax records, emails, everything.” 

+++

“Eighteen cars, six houses, and three boats.” Spencer rattles off the numbers with only the barest hint of shock in his voice. 

Your brow pinches and you look up. “Can you even boat in Dallas?” 

“You know, when you're talking about that much money, ten grand for a call girl is like deciding where to go for dinner.” 

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Em,” you laugh. 

She rolls her eyes, still pinning photos to the board. “Yeah, right. My mom had a pretty cushy gig with her postings, but we were never that well-off. But...” She looks over her shoulder, “I’m sure Rossi would know a little something about that.”  

Before you can all get too out of control, Hotch reaches over you to connect to Garcia on the speakerphone. “Are you there, Garcia?” 

“Affirmative.” 

JJ flags him down. “I have half a million over here for something called the Bat Cave...” 

It really takes everything in you not to laugh. 

“...and here's a picture of him as fetish Batman. That is… wrong.” 

Emily pulls a face. 

“Is there anything this guy didn't like to spend money on?” Spencer asks.  

“Yeah,” Aaron replies. “His ex-wives. Fielding was married four times. He didn't have prenups for the first two, but he did everything he could to cut them off anyway.” 

You lean forward, trying to see the paper in his hands. “Are there children involved?” 

“Yes, with three of the wives.” He hands it over to you and looks at Emily. “Hoyt Ashford was married a few times, too, wasn't he?” 

She nods in the affirmative. 

“You know, considering that when Kevin takes me to dinner and a movie, he defaults on his student loans, this amount of money is sick.” 

Tell me about it, Pen. 

Emily sounds resigned. “What did you find?” 

Garcia outlines a series of bitter court battles about child support, alimony, custody, etc. “And even when the court ruled in the wife’s favor - which was almost always - these three charmers just, you know, decided not to pay.” 

Hotch asks for a cross-checked list of high-profile Dallas CEOs holding out on their ex-wives, and you figure it’s not a short one. 

“One loaded losers list, Dallas edition, comin' at ya. Penelope out.” 

The line goes dead and Aaron turns off the speaker.  

“So,” Aaron leans heavily on the table. “Why would a prominent businessman who could easily pay child support refuse to?” 

Spencer obliges. “For this type of overachieving personality, paying money after the marriage ends probably offends him.” 

“They're spending tens of thousands on an escort, but they won't drop a dime on their wife and kids? That's cold.” JJ shakes her head and looks over at Hotch, seeking an answer. 

“Narcissistic, self-absorbed, a pathological avoidance of paternal responsibilities.” 

There’s an odd kind of look that passes over Aaron’s face as he speaks, and you pin it for later. You can already tell he’s falling into a headspace that’s fraught with comparison and self-loathing. 

They bounce around for a moment while you keep your eyes on Aaron. 

“Well,” JJ brings you back. “Should I assemble the police for a profile?” 

Your mouth twists. “I just don't think it's gonna help.”

“She lives in a completely different world than they do,” Aaron adds. 

“And,” Emily pipes up, “the CEOs who sleep with her won't admit to it.” 

JJ snorts. “Like I couldn't even get past the team of lawyers protecting them.” 

“What if we give the profile to the corporate lawyers?” Aaron stands straight, his hands resting on his hips. “They've cleaned up after her, even if they don't realize that they've seen this woman.” 

“Why would they go for that?” You ask. 

“Because she's putting them at risk, too.”

Your phone rings and you answer as you always do, chirping your last name into the receiver without really looking too closely at the caller ID. 

“Hey, it’s me.”

You nod once to your team as you step out of earshot. “Hey, Haley.”

“I can’t get a hold of Aaron. Is everything alright?” She’s beyond surprise or concern at this point. You’re sure you could tell her Aaron’s been shot in the head and she’d probably just hum at you. 

“Yeah,” you say with a sigh. “Things are crazy and there are lawyers all wrapped up in this. Are you alright?”

“Jack’s got a fever - I just wanted to let Aaron know I’m taking him in to get checked out. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll let him know. Give Jack a big kiss from me and I’ll do my best to get us all home quickly and in one piece.” 

She laughs a little into the phone. “Thanks. Will do. Talk soon.” 

You hang up and return to the table, shooting Hotch a significant look. He nods and pulls you aside. 

“What’s up?” 

“Jack has a fever - Haley just wanted me to let you know she’s taking him to the pediatrician to get him all checked out, just in case. I told her we’d all do our best to get home soon.” 

Aaron sighs and flips his phone in his hand. “I’ll call her now…”

“No need. She knows this is a tough one and you’re getting your money’s worth out of your JD this week.” 

When he starts to walk away, you call his name again. He turns. 

“You know - um.” You wet your lips and swallow. “You’re not like these guys. You know that, right? You’re a great dad.” 

His face lifts in surprise for a fraction of a second before he recovers. 

“Thank you,” He says. “Really.”

You offer him a crooked smile. “Anytime.”

+++

Hotch stops you all before you enter the conference room, full to the brim with suits and pantsuits. “Let me lead on this one. I’ve handled corporate lawyers like this before and they can smell blood.” He snorts. “This time, it’s their own.” 

You and Derek raise your hands in simultaneous and identical postures of surrender. 

“Have at it,” you say, falling into line behind Aaron. “Corporate lawyers scare the fuck out of me.” 

+++

“Hey, Prentiss. Got a whip?” Derek holds the leather outfit to Emily’s shoulders and she laughs. 

“Yeah, right.” 

You fondly roll your eyes at them and continue following off Aaron’s right shoulder. The two of you reach the bookshelf - an impressive glass case that runs from the floor to the ceiling. 

 Aaron’s gloved finger opens the case and runs over some of the spines. “Antique first editions on the bookshelves.” 

Rossi quips something about porn in the DVD player while Spencer espouses about the merits of a disposable, adaptable lifestyle in this line of work. 

“Well, these aren't just for show,” Aaron says. “The spines are cracked. Somebody's read these.” 

You peer over his shoulder. “Who reads Voltaire in French?” 

“Someone with good taste. Probably well-educated…”

You pick up where he trails off. “We profiled that she learned to fake privilege. What if she's not faking it?” 

“You're saying maybe she came from money the whole time?” 

You shrug. “It’s a possibility, at least.” 

Just then, the apartment phone rings. 

“Prentiss should answer,” Aaron says. “If it's a customer, she'll get more information out of them.” 

You hum, hedging your bets a little. ‘Unless she's calling in for her messages.” 

Too late. Derek’s already on the phone with Penelope. “Yeah, Baby Girl, we're getting a call to this line. Can you work some magic?” 

“I don't have a trap-and-trace in place yet. Give me a few. I'm gonna stay on the line.” 

Aaron gives her the go-ahead. “Prentiss, get ready to vamp.” 

The voicemail picks it up before Emily can so much as reach for the phone. 

“Hi, it's me. You know what to do.” Beep. 

“...Aaron.” 

You turn your head so fast you throw your neck out. You raise a hand to the crick and work it with your fingers. Aaron’s too busy frowning at the phone to notice. 

“I know you're up there. Pick up… Aaron Hotchner... Hello?” She drags out her words, almost flirting with everyone listening. 

With a sigh, Aaron pushes past the rest of you, silently counts to three, and picks up the phone while Emily clicks the speakerphone button. 

“I'm at a disadvantage. You seem to know my name, But I don't know yours. Can we start there?” 

Nice start. 

The game has begun. 

“I thought I could trust you, Aaron.”

What? 

The pinch between his brows deepens. “Who says you can't?” 

“I want to. I even looked you up online. Is that strange?”

Yes.  

“No.” Aaron wets his lips and begins to pace, the gears whirring in his head. “It's flattering to be noticed by a woman like you.” 

The woman continues as if he hasn’t said anything at all. “And I thought you were so... upstanding. I watched the presentation you gave on school shootings. I found it posted on YouTube...” 

She has good taste. That’s an excellent presentation. 

“...And for a moment, I actually thought there were still good people in the world.” 

“But I've disappointed you, haven't I?” He asks. “Just like all the other men in your life Who've walked out on their families, Who deserve to be punished.” 

“Did you walk out on your family?” 

His eyes flicker to you and you nod, nearly imperceptibly, reminding him he’s not alone. “No. My wife left me.” 

“Do you have kids?” 

“I have a son.” 

A sweet, thoughtful, perfect son. 

You smile a little, thinking of Jack, but it disappears when you remember that he’s home sick with Haley, probably having a miserable time. 

“How often do you see him?” She asks. 

 “I try to see him every week.” 

“Do you see him every week?” The question is mocking, smothered in dark amusement that could almost be called sarcasm save for its bitterness.  

“No,” Aaron’s eyes fall to the floor. “No, I don't get there as often as I want.” 

“I believe you.” Her response is softer, and you think she might make a decent profiler if she wasn’t on the other side. 

She is a profiler. 

In some ways, you suppose it’s true. She has to read and respond to everything her clients do, say, how they behave. It makes her good at her job and you good at yours. 

Same skillset, very different application. 

“But don't compare yourself to the men I see,” she continues. “You are nothing like them. You're just another whore.” 

Never in my life did I ever think I’d hear someone call Aaron Hotchner a whore. Unironically. 

That catches everyone’s attention, even Derek’s, still on hold with Penelope. 

“How am I a whore?” He asks. 

“You come when called. You do their bidding. In hotels you take the side elevator to avoid crowds, while the men who pay your salary walk across the ivory marble foyer into their cars.” 

Derek, behind you, presses. “Garcia.” 

You can hear her, faintly. “I'm in on the landline. Triangulating the cell. Give me like sixty seconds.” 

You gesture to Aaron when he looks. Keep going. 

He nods. “But I'm just frustrating you, aren't I?” 

She sighs, sounding a little impatient for the first time. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, you want to show the world all these bad men and my investigation's just getting in your way.” 

“No, Aaron.” You almost startle, her tone escalating to a deeply frustrated shout. “You're not doing your job! You don't want to arrest me, you don't want me in custody because you're in their pocket.” 

She’s crying now, actively. “You just want me to disappear, just like they do.” 

“Truthfully, I'm only interested in finding you.” 

Now that’s a tone you recognize - you’ve heard it when he talks to Haley. Most recently, when he couldn’t make it to some appointment or another. It’s one that’s disarming in the extreme, soft, but not condescending. 

“You've been betrayed so many times, You don't know who to trust, And that's why that first murder felt so good. But each one since has been less and less satisfying. You know that's going to continue.” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “Am I right?” 

Just like Haley always does, the woman loses steam, sniffling once before answering. “Yeah.”

“Come to me and turn yourself in. I will make sure that you get the help you need. I won't let you disappear.” 

“If we met under different circumstances... I could believe that. I won't let you cover this up.” 

A gunshot rings through the line and you flinch, turning to Derek just as the line goes dead. You know Penelope will have something for you soon. 

She never fails, directing you to an address only moments after the elevator doors close in front of the team. 

+++

Once you found Megan Kane, it was easy enough to find her father. 

You could empathize with her mission well enough after meeting him. He’s shrouded by his lawyers - detached and seemingly indifferent to anything Aaron had to say. 

Aaron starts the car and you settle back into the seat. “So, the wall of lawyers strikes again.” 

A shadow of a smile ghosts around the creases at the corners of his eyes. “So it seems.” 

“What’s next?” 

“We tail him - home and office. He’ll meet with her soon enough.” 

Your brow furrows. “Not to protect her, right? It doesn’t seem like he cares that much.” 

Aaron turns, placing his hand on the back of your seat as he pulls out of the parking spot. You’re momentarily distracted as he turns back, spinning the wheel with the heel of his hand and gunning it out of the garage. 

Focus. 

“No,” he says. “Think about it.” 

It comes to you only seconds later. “To protect himself.” 

“There you go.” He turns to you, another little smile threatening. “You’re getting pretty good at this.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’ve been here over a year, Hotch. I’d fucking hope so.” 

You’re rewarded with a real smile, and it’s enough. 

+++

You take Derek’s six through the hotel, clearing the floors and reporting back to the rest of the team. SWAT is in full deployment, clearing the hard-to-reach areas like the stairways and rooftops, just in case. 

Aaron catches up to you, taking the four o’clock position off your left shoulder as Derek breaches the door. 

The gun and chilled champagne sit like ironic centerpieces on the entry table, but they hardly use any of your bandwidth as you clear the room, your vision narrowed by the sight of your service weapon. 

You hold a hand up when you catch the figure on the balcony. “Hotch.” 

He squints, and you move to raise your gun again and make the arrest, but he stops you with a hand over yours. “Easy.” 

There’s a question in your eyes. 

He, of course, answers it. “She knows it’s over.” 

Just then, she places an empty champagne glass on the table where you can see it. 

“I’ll call 911,” Derek says, stepping out and closing the door behind him. 

You turn to leave with Derek, but catch Aaron’s open hand, subtly signaling you from just under his hip.  

Stay here. It says. Stay close. 

So, you stay. You lean on the far wall of the hotel room, watching Aaron hold the hand of this dying, hurting woman. They’re speaking softly, and she smiles at him when she drops something into his hand. His eyes are soft, gentle, not even searching. Just warm. 

You feel for her. 

It’s the best way to go, you think. If there was ever a time you were dying before your time, you’d want Aaron there, holding your hand, telling you he was going to continue the work that killed you, that it was gonna be okay. 

“How could your wife have ever left someone like you?” You hear her ask. 

As much as you love Haley, the same question often floats through your head, and your heart aches for this woman who’s been able to see Aaron so clearly, even if she’s only seeing him for the first time now. 

“You’re the first man I’ve ever met who hasn’t let me down.” 

You creep forward, further into Aaron’s eyeline, and sit on the edge of the couch. She’s close to her last breath and you can feel it - so can Aaron. His eyes flicker to you for a moment before returning to her. 

Megan’s voice is full of tears when she asks, “Will you stay with me?” 

You have a feeling it isn’t the first time she’s asked the question and you find yourself hoping Emily will be particularly rough with the handcuffs when she apprehends Mr. Kane. Hopefully he didn’t make it past the checkpoint and is still on-site.  

“Yes.” Aaron is solemn, so sincere, so genuine it makes your heart ache. 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

You’re not even sure he realizes it, but he’s doing her a great kindness - one that many would not offer. 

It’s because he is good.

A good man. 

The tension drains out of her, and she grips tightly to Aaron’s hand as she fights through her final breaths. His hands are gentle, his attention only on her. He looks more like a father in this moment than any other time you’ve known him. She’s safe. She knows she can die in peace. 

Once more, you hope you have the opportunity to leave this plane of reality in such safety, when your time comes. 

When she’s gone, he places her hand in her lap and takes a moment to brush the hair off of her face, pressing the back of his fingers to her temple as if checking her for fever. 

After a minute or so, he turns to you, and you hope the pride and respect coursing through you is evident in your gaze. You pull an evidence bag out of your pocket, but he shakes his head, pocketing the SIM card. 

You rise as he gets closer, returning the evidence bag to your pocket. He’s clearly affected, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. 

Opening your arms to him, he wilts into you, allowing you to gather him into your shoulder. His arms are loose around your waist, his fingers wrapped around his opposite wrist as an anchor. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability and you’d hate to make him feel anything less than safe. 

You still have a minute or so before they all come stomping through the door to collect Megan’s body. 

“I’m sorry, Hotch.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know why this one hurts.”

Your arms tighten around him. “It’s okay. I feel it, too.” 

A deep, shaky breath rolls through him. 

“She’s right, you know.” You almost regret your words, afraid you’re giving yourself away. 

“What?”

“You didn’t let her down. You’re a good man.” 

His jaw tightens, and you can feel it against your neck where his head falls into your shoulder. 

“Oh, stop. You’ve never let me down.” Your hand reaches up, stroking the back of his head, carding your fingers through the hair. “She died knowing you kept your promise.” 

+++

You look up to Aaron’s office when news of the leak breaks, finding his silhouette haunting the window, staring at the television. 

A ghost of a smile crosses his face, and he turns back to his desk, settling back down to work. 

+++

tagging:  @aaronhotchnerr @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me

[moldisgoodforyou]

lost time (chapter one)

pairing: rafe cameron x oc

a/n: while this features rafe, he is almost completely non-canon in this series! also welcome to my new series - I hope you enjoy 😌

warnings: drinking, cursing, mentions of sex

wordcount: 1.5k

MASTERLIST

______________

“You’re not seriously taking that.” 

Sophie Flint stopped dead in her tracks at the low, slightly amused voice that echoed down the hall. She had the Delta Tau Delta fraternity composite tucked precariously under her arm, which was definitely not fair game, but she had a mission to complete. 

She wasn’t exactly sure why it was a thing for sorority girls to steal things from frat houses. T-shirts, baseball caps, a fraternity composite if you were feeling particularly bold. But in a fun competition her friends on her dorm floor had concocted at the beginning of freshman year, she and her friends had made it their personal mission to collect at least one item from every fraternity, all 27 at Ohio State University. It was the start of her junior year and she hadn’t taken anything but a couple shack shirts so far (and was immediately told that was cheating), but a little pressure from her friends, a Delt party and a handful of White Claws made it the optimal time to act. Go big or go home, right?  

She turned, slowly and put on her flirtiest smile - and dropped the look the second she saw who it was. “Cameron.” Sophie acknowledged him with a mere nod, then started walking straight past him. 

Rafe snagged the edge of the composite immediately, tugging her backward. “Flint. Did you not hear me?” 

She rolled her eyes, keeping a firm grip on the composite. “Heard you loud and clear. Just not listening. I need this.” 

“What could you possibly need a fraternity composite for?” He questioned with raised eyebrows. 

“That’s for me to know and you to not find out.” She told him with a smug expression, curling her fingers tighter around the heavy frame. 

Rafe debated his options. He could let the girl go with a definitely stolen composite that would be kind of a hassle to replace, and let one of the pledges manning the door deal with it. Or he could argue more and watch the way her eyes grew bright and hear her little huff when she disagreed and - nah, it wasn’t worth it. 

He dropped his hand from the frame and lifted it in surrender, his other hand gripped loosely around a red solo cup. “I’m too drunk for this.” (He wasn’t.) “As long as you promise you won’t steal anything else.” 

She smirked. “I don’t make promises.” With that, she was on her way with the prearranged route - down the fire escape by the back hallway on the third floor, where her roommates waited not-so-patiently in the parking lot. 

___________

Rafe and Sophie had known each other since high school back in the Outer Banks, and they had never - ever - gotten along. He had gone to St. Andrew’s all-boys private school while she went to the sister school at Greenville Academy. Both grades were relatively small and students went to each other’s sporting events, combined for the yearly school play, and most importantly - threw parties together, often. The parties were always extravagant, alcohol flowing at some rich kid’s house with an excess of unsupervised teenagers milling around. 

If you asked either one of them where the mutual contempt started, they wouldn’t be able to pinpoint a specific moment. Sophie liked arguing (and instigating) just for fun while Rafe liked proving his arrogance. It was almost a guarantee at every high school party that at a certain point in the night, you could find them at each other’s throats, arguing over the dumbest thing possible. There was a point that it had evolved from coincidental arguments to seeking each other out to start a debate - no one else could go head to head with them quite like each other could - but they’d never willingly admit that.

___________

It had only taken them two weeks for their first argument in college. She strolled up to the makeshift bar in the sticky, dimly lit basement of Delta Tau Delta, way too confident for a freshman, and tapped on the pledge’s shoulder by the jungle juice to request a drink. Rafe Cameron turned around, wearing his backward baseball cap and signature smirk, and his face quickly morphed into shock. 

“Sophie? What the fuck are you doing here?” 

She crossed her arms, somehow already pissed off. They stuck to last names only, he knew that. That was their one unspoken rule they kept when talking - or rather, fighting - back home. “Please tell me you’re visiting a friend here, Cameron.” 

He grinned and spread his arms wide. “Welcome to my home.” 

“Dear god.” She elbowed him aside, serving herself a drink from the Gatorade cooler. “Of course you had to follow me here.” 

He gaped, mouth hanging open in shock. “Follow - follow you?! You’re high if you think I would willingly follow you anywhere, Flint.” 

“I applied to Ohio State, early decision, forever ago. You had to have known. It was my top school and top scholarship.” She shot back, trying her best to hide a grimace as she took a long sip from the sugary-sweet drink, laced with an ungodly amount of alcohol. 

He didn’t miss the subtle brag. “I don’t keep tabs on you. Why didn’t you go to Clemson or something nearby? You know, like everyone else?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Because, dumbass, I look horrific in orange and purple.” She proclaimed like it was an obvious statement. “And I wanted to get the fuck out of the Carolinas.” 

He grinned, completely unfazed by her insult,and lifted his cup to tap hers. “Cheers to that.” 

“Whatever. I don’t want to see you on campus again.” She turned sharply on her heel, leaving with the last word - or so she thought. 

“See you around, Soph!” He called out after her, way too smug for her liking. Typically, he would follow her and antagonize her some more, but as a pledge he was assigned to man the jungle juice for the night. He stayed put, only out of obligation - making a silent promise to himself to check up on her another time. 

___________

She ran into Rafe again one week after the composite incident. Literally. 

In her defense, it was pouring rain. She was just trying to be a good friend and drop her roommate Allie off for class, now that Sophie finally had her own car in junior year, but she was running late as always and in a rush. Sophie swerved around the corner of the business school parking lot just as a big black Range Rover was backing up, and gasped when she heard the tell-tale crunch of metal on metal. Allie winced, clutching her backpack in her lap. “Um…” 

“Just go.” Sophie sighed, knowing she had only two minutes to make it to class on time. Allie muttered a quick apology and dashed out of the car as Sophie dropped her head to the steering wheel with a loud “fuck!” She reached over and grabbed her insurance card from the glove box, then got out of the car, ready to grovel. 

Rafe slammed his door as he got out to inspect the damage. It wasn’t much, more like a quick bump and a paint scratch than anything, but he was already in a mood and this didn’t help. 

“Oh, fuck no.” Sophie cursed lowly to herself as she saw Rafe hunched over by their bumpers. “Great driving, Cameron.” She called out, arms crossed. 

He straightened up, walking over to her with an incredulous look. “Uh uh. This is your fucking fault, Flint. Just give me your insurance card and we’ll call it good.” 

She rolled her eyes and pushed a now-wet strand of hair out of her face. “Except you crashed into me. Ever look in the parking lot before backing up?” 

He scoffed, gesturing her over to look at the cars and waited til she reluctantly followed. “There’s an indent of your front plate in my rear bumper. And there’s about twenty students that probably saw it, want to call in a character witness?” 

“I’m not a bad driver.” She huffed. “That’s clearly your fault.” She was lying, of course - anyone with two working eyes could see she had rammed into him. And with anyone else, she’d be extremely apologetic, even patient. But Rafe Cameron irked her to no end. 

“Yeah, the time you merged your brother’s car into someone else on the highway our sophomore year of high school shows you’re an excellent driver.” He retorted, then started toward her car, opening the door. “Where’s your card?” 

“Hey!” Sophie grabbed his arm, pulling him back. She fished the insurance card out of her pocket and begrudgingly handed it over. “Chill out, it’s right here.” He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the front and the back, then handed it back. He then paused, eyeing her over. She shifted under his intense gaze. “What, Rafe, it’s raining. Hurry up so we can both leave.” 

“I thought you weren’t in the business school. Why are you even here?” 

“I’m not. I’m dropping off a friend.” 

He reached out and swiped a thumb under her eye, and she silently cursed herself for the way she fucking shuddered, like she was desperate or something. He smirked. “Your mascara’s running. Probably ought to fix it.” 

With that, he turned back to his car - enjoying her rare moment of silence. 

[soap-stains]

An assortment of fun facts about Stampy's Lovely World;

Stampy is the only one who can speak. I guess that seems obvious, but only Squid(and maybe Sqaishey?) have had voiced roles, and they weren't even themselves. HTT had to steal Stampy's voice in order to speak in the overworld, in the Lunar Aliens are from the moon

A version of Hell exists in the Nether, where people go to when they die, and they can be brought back, apparently? Also the only place HTT can speak by himself

Santa exists and Stampy doesn't know how to spell his name

Stampy(a large cat) owns several dogs and a cat, one of the dogs and the cat being in a relationship

The Kraken canonically exists in the world, and it's iBallisticSquid

A rocket made of wool took Stampy to the moon and the moon was made of cheese. Also the Lunar Aliens exist up there

He's also ridden a submarine, hot air balloon, pirate ship, helicopter(?) and Santa's sleigh

Polly was one of Santa's reindeer and also the most competent one out of his current helpers(well, that last part's my opinion, but. At least she can do Redstone.)

Stampy's gone back in time to the dinosaurs and created a time loop. He got back to his current time by freezing himself.

He's also cloned himself

Ghosts also exist. HTT appeared as a ghost after his death for several episodes.

There's a pole in the club room. I wonder what it's for.

He, Lee, Amy, and Sqaishey attended school for a day and taught each other stuff

Does anybody know who Polly, Fizzy, and William's stand-ins are??? I wouldn't be surprised if Sqaishey tended to be a stand-in, but I haven't seen anybody be credited as actors

The Easter Bunny also exists. Tooth Fairy might, too, but I can't remember

Stampy had trust issues for a whole of like five minutes after Viva Dash's betrayal

Pigs robbed his bank

Fizzy was put on trial. For what.... I can't remember. But that happened.

Mittens became...human??? A furry??? I'm actually not sure what she became...for an episode

Lee used the Wishing Well to wish for a girlfriend

Stampy had a puppy named Chicken who died mere episodes after his Christmas debut

There was a machine that changed the look of the world into the Plastic Texturepack. There were also episodes with the Halloween & City Texturepacks

Off-topic but Squid's basement room thing got destroyed and even though he hasn't been in the Lovely World in years, I'm still salty

I'm pretty sure that soon, if not already, we'll have had more episodes without Lee in them than the ones he was in (Bye Bear was ep. 339, he wasn't in the first few episodes, and we're currently on 662)

A little off-topic again but I actually already have a theory of how we might see HTT next, but it's too early to tell. I only have conjecture based off one episode. But we'll be on ep. 666 soon, so... wonder if anything will happen then :)

Edit: Since claiming that I had a theory I have realized I was more than likely wrong

Stampy had a swear chest he put gold/diamonds into but then he ran low on materials and had to take some from said swear chest

Stampy never lost the Sheep Shearing game

He refers to himself as Joe towards the end of All Play and No Work

Honorable mentions of things he's built in the past because I miss them:

Recycle Michael

Pretty Kitty

Bury Berry + Bury Berry 2.0

Flower Power

It's a Lovely World

That two story water attraction with the racing on bottom and bumper boats on top that got messed up with an update :(

Whale of a Time

Cat and Mouse

Rubix Cube

The attraction with the fish bowl

THE HAUNTED HOUSE

Secret Base

Pick a Pet

Toy Town

Dolphin Dives or whatever that game was called

Piggy Bank

The Theatre

And this is just the weird-ass stuff I can think of off the top of my head(with the addition of having been watching random videos the past couple hours)

[lionheartkrbkzine]

Lionheart’s Interactive KiriBaku Twitter Thread

Pro Heroes, Bed-Sharing, Fake Dating, Quirk Accident

Rating: T (for swearing & canon-typical violence)

At the end of each Twitter update was an overnight poll where our followers got to decide the direction of the plot or details about story elements!

Feel free to reply with your thoughts, predictions, or desires, and Head Mod ET and Social Media Mod Belle will do our best to incorporate your ideas! This is a thank you and a way for us all to collaborate together until application responses are sent out on April 5th.

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

Three buildings were on fire, and it wasn’t Bakugou’s fault.

Blackened smokestacks billowed above the Tokyo cityscape as he and Kirishima raced toward the scene. Bakugou took to the skies while his partner swerved between sedans and work trucks parked bumper-to-bumper on the roadway. Bakugou’s boots skid on the rough gravel of rooftops as he blasted from one to the next, his scorching propellant warping the air behind him, leaving trails of Schlieren lines in his wake.

He crouched on the edge of a four-story building above the battle, glimpses of a hero battle raging beneath the haze of ash and concrete dust. Heroes with water-based quirks tried and failed to mitigate the damage of six gangly beams of red-hot light.

“Riot, you got eyes?” he asked into his earpiece.

“Not directly on the prize, but I’m getting intel now! Are you seeing how the beams flicker in and out?”

“Yeah. Probably low level of quirk control or erratic mentality. Or both.”

“The team leader on the ground says the villain’s in a donut hole of concrete. Rubble’s piled up on all sides, so no one can get to him.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Amateurs.” The villain probably got himself cornered in a pit of fallen debris and figured he could wait it out or cause enough damage to try to make a run for it. “Shock Diamond, then.”

“Now?! Finally?! Hell yeah, let's go!"

Bakugou felt the heat of the lasers as one shaved the side of his building. He sneered at the heroes doing a piss-poor job of containment and checked behind him for the extent of the damage. A singed line gouged into the wall of a parking garage, but it stopped with a blunted tip before it speared the next building. The lasers didn’t seem to work like Aoyama’s — they could only extend so far.

Not made out of light, then. Kiri will be fine.

Not that he was worried about his partner. Kirishima could handle himself.

Even if Bakugou did pack the idiot a lunch every day and nudge him to go to bed when he fell asleep on the couch. And bought him cold medicine when he stayed out late walking Mirko’s seventy-eight-year-old receptionist home on dark, rainy nights. And bleached and dyed his roots when they started growing out.

But he wasn’t worried. The fact that the beams must be a form of slow-moving energy just gave them a tactical advantage. It had nothing to do with the fact that Kirishima’s hardening was more sensitive to concentrated light attacks yet the hero would bulldoze his way in front of them anyway.

The idiot’s voice rang through Bakugou’s earpiece. “Greenlight, Dynamight!”

“No matter how many times you say it, the rhyme doesn’t get any catchier.” Like a swimmer, he gripped the edge of the roof, rose halfway from his crouch, and dove into the pool of ash and smoke head-first. 

Catching the current mid-air, he soared closer to where Kirishima was probably charging into the fray. Bakugou used the familiar shock of red hair as his signal and dropped feet-first, sending down a counterblast to stick the landing. 

As Dynamight set himself up directly behind Red Riot, they charged the villain in a single-file line. 

Without missing a beat, Kirishima extended his arms behind him at the same time Bakugou pushed his chest into the other man’s back. Kirishima’s arms locked onto Bakugou’s sides.

Bakugou tucked his chin, extended his hands behind him, and sent out a blinding explosion.

They rocketed forward — an unbreakable wall and a ballistic force. The perfect offense and defense. Explosion and Hardening. 

Dynamight and Red Riot: Shock Diamond.

As they smashed through the rubble, the devastating strength of Red Riot’s quirk wracked through Bakugou’s body, but Kirishima held him tightly against his back. The shock waves cleared from Bakugou’s spine, and he jumped into the rapidly-clearing fog of smoke and dust.

His eyes widened. He whipped his head from side to side. He stopped, listened.

The pit was empty.

Meeting his partner’s eyes, Bakugou could only think of one thing to say. “What the fuck?!”

But Red Riot was similarly dumbfounded, his brows furrowed and jaw hanging slack, glancing around the center of the crater.

Bakugou kicked at a fallen pebble, its mere presence offensive in the heat of his frustration. 

“Dynamight! Red Riot!” An aged hero with a sky blue costume ran toward them, waving his arms in ridiculous circles and spraying arcs of water through the air. “Good work out there!”

“We didn’t do shit! We just busted through a wall!”

"What Bakugou means to say is 'thank you', sir!”

“Well, the guy’s a problem for tomorrow’s heroes now. I’ve sent a team to scout the perimeter, and the police have his mugshot and quirk info. Another group is putting out the last of the fires. We’re lucky it’s a weekend — no one in those office buildings meant no casualties.” The older hero jiggled and sloshed as he rested his hands on his service belt, the edges of his existence just barely see-through as his costume molded to his mutation quirk. “For now, we need you two to handle some of the media coverage while we start to get a section of road opened back up.”

“No problem! Leave it to us!”

Flubber strode off, his boots leaving wet footprints on the asphalt.

Bakugou turned to his partner. “No.”

"Hey— where are you going?! You can't just leave the press to me all the time!"

Huffing, Bakugou slipped through an unblocked alleyway, brushing concrete crumbs off his shoulders as he took deep breaths. Normally he would feel some semblance of guilt about leaving a crime scene or abandoning Kirishima to fend off the harpies on his own, but the villain did escape. Bakugou might as well join the search of the perimeter.

A sharp scream had his feet slapping the pavement before his brain caught up.

Rounding the corner of an office park, the street opened up to allow for a municipal park one block long and one wide. Amidst swing sets and jungle gyms stood a proud maple tree. In one of its branches clung a girl no more than six years old.

Below her, a group of parents huddled in a crescent moon around the trunk, some gawking, some enjoying the entertainment, and others consoling one woman in the center of it all. Bakugou made a beeline for her.

She jumped at the hulking form of a grenade-adorned hero. He never tried very hard to work on his public image.

“Oh, Dynamight.” The whites of the woman’s eyes gaped in surprise, and she looked back and forth between the imposing hero and the girl high up in the tree. “She just— She feels more secure when she’s up high, and she got scared by all the noise and the lights, so she climbed into the tree, but now she can’t get back down and she’s too high for me to reach her, and I can’t climb up—”

“Stop.” The woman snapped her teeth closed with a click. “I’ll get her down.”

She didn’t look especially reassured. Shit. What would Kirishima do? Probably flash a smile and bang his fists together or some other cute-ass Kirishima-ism. Bakugou gave her a closed-mouth smile and a stiff pat on the shoulder instead. That’ll do.

Grasping a branch with one hand and placing the flat of his boot on the trunk, he hoisted himself into the tree. He climbed higher and higher, wary of the thinning branches. When he couldn’t fit on the remaining limbs, he lifted his arms out for the girl.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to your mom.” His voice was soft, low, and practiced. The girl eyed him warily, but after catching a glimpse of her mom below, shuffled into Bakugou’s hold. “Good job. Just hold on to me like you did to the branch, okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he began his climb back down.

“What’s your name?”

“Matatabi,” she mumbled.

“What were you doin’ that high up?”

“Wanted to catch it.”

He frowned, wondering what it was, but they had reached the bottom and he had reached his patience quota for the day. Especially when the girl threw a fit in his arms, hissing and wiggling, and pushing and scratching at him. “Oi!” He dropped her, and she scurried to her mom, leaving him with whiplash and three welts on his bicep.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” The mother looked like she was about to confess to murder. Great. “Did she scratch you?”

No shit. “Yes, but it’s completely understandable.”

“Ah, awe, thank you—” at least he got a smile out of that one “—but, um, there may be a bit of an issue?” Of course there is. “She seems to activate her quirk when she scratches or bites.” She grimaced, floundering for her next words.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. “It’s fine. What should I expect with the effects?”

“Um. Cat?”

He blinked. “Cat?”

She nodded. “Cat.”

“Dynamight!”

They both looked up then to Red Riot’s jogging figure, dust and cement billowing behind his ass cape. 

“Everything alri-oh.” Kirishima was staring somewhere above Bakugou’s forehead, his mouth formed in the perfect ‘O’ shape.

“What are you looking at?!”

“Ears.”

Bakugou’s stomach fell into his butt. “What?”

“Bro… ears. You have… ears.”

“No.”

“Dude they look so soft.” Slow hands lifted higher and higher, above Bakugou’s face up to the top of his head. “Can I just—”

Bakugou slapped his hands away. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Kirishima chortled— chortled! — and turned to the mother of the tree climbing, cat nabbing daughter.

Bakugou watched the exchange with clenched fists.

“I’m so sorry!” She bowed low, almost tipping her kid onto the ground. “Is she in trouble?”

“No, no!” Kirishima smiled at them. They seeped into it like a warm blanket on a cold day. “We’ll just get your contact information in case we have any further questions about the quirk—”

A sharp pain stung both of Bakugou’s palms. He hissed and checked his hands, tuning out the rest of Kirishima’s mediation.

Claws. He had ears and claws.

Well, at least he had another weapon now — that was pretty cool, actually. As soon as the thought passed through his head, the claws retracted into his nail beds, leaving behind his normal, blunt nails.

He felt his ears droop to the side of his head.

“So… do you want to head back to the agency?”

He looked up at his partner, giving him his best baleful glare with the ears and all. Kirishima just snorted. “There’s no way in Hell I’m going back there like this.”

“Awe, but you could be our new office mascot.” He reached forward to pet Bakugou’s ear again. He was unsuccessful. “Alright, alright,” he laughed, pulling out his phone, “let’s call Mirko and get our next orders, then.” The ringer blasted loud and clear, Kirishima holding his phone in selfie-mode.

“You little shit! She doesn’t need to see!”

They played a game of impromptu tag until their boss picked up. She, of course, immediately burst into guffaws of laughter. 

Bakugou was so ready for today to be over.

“Hey, boss! What, uh— What do you suggest we do here with uh, Cat...kugou?”

“I’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“Hell if I know, I’ve never needed flea prevention.” Bakugou balked. “Take him to the vet, I guess!”

“Yessir!” Kirishima hung up before Bakugou could even process the words that just came out of his boss’s mouth.

“I am not—” he huffed “—going—” huff “—to the fucking VET!”

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

If All Might himself had told Bakugou that hero life would involve sitting on a metal exam table in a veterinarian’s office, he wouldn’t believe a word of it. Not because it was impossible. Just because Bakugou would never get himself into that kind of situation.

He craned his neck back, glaring at his reflection in the operating mirror hanging from the ceiling. Two ash blond ears twitched back at him.

He sighed, crossing his arms and adjusting his seat on the hard metal. If I grow a tail, I’m gonna scream.

After what felt like hours of waiting, twitching, and reading pamphlets about “What to do if you have a fat cat,” the vet finally strode through the door, Kirishima hot on her heels.

She turned, frowning. “Oh, I’m so sorry — I know you’re hero partners, but technically the exam room is family only."

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Kirishima. His partner met his desperate glare head-on.

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

Hey Sarah, I'm writing my first long fic and it's Hunter!Cas but I'm having trouble with the characterization. I was wondering if you had any Hunter!Cas fics you could recommend? -JEvans (p.s. I love the new chapter of Starstruck)

Hey there *waves excitedly*

First of all, thank you so much, I’m glad you had fun with the newest chapter 😘

And now I’m really intrigued 👀 I’m always down for some good old-fashioned hunter!cas here to kick some monster ass!!

And of course, I’ve got a bunch of fic recs up my sleeve ;) Coming right up!

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Canon!Verse/ Canon Divergence:

Heroes for Ghosts by @pantheonofdiscord

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out. [...]

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the cost of a thing by @wanderingcas

16 months ago, Cas became human.

12 months ago, Cas left the bunker and a broken-hearted Dean behind.

Now they must work a case together, where married couples are dying mysterious deaths and the only way to earn the neighbors' trust is by pretending to be married. Slowly, Dean finds that he loves being in a relationship with Cas, fake or not, and Cas finds his loneliness retreating, despite the harsh reality looming right around the corner. As Dean and Cas navigate this fake, but all too real, relationship, can they find the monster that is on a mysteriously motivated killing spree before it’s too late?

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The Tunnel of Love by @xylodemon

"We might," Cas starts slowly, pausing like he's choosing his words. "We might have to kiss."

Dean just stares at him.

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Hurry Up And Wait by @mittensmorgul

Cas has given up his grace to hunt with the Winchesters, but that's not the only thing that's been a long time in the making. A strange potential case perks Dean's interest, if for no other reason than it pushes every geeky button he's got. An impossible murder committed with a sword from a special collection of weapons straight out of the Lord of the Rings leads them to discover another treasure they've waited far too long to find again.

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Philotimo by anastiel

When one of his first hunts after becoming human again ends in injury, Castiel is faced with the helplessness of his mortality. Through it all Dean is a constant presence at his side, ever the attentive caregiver, which only serves to increase the tension growing between them.

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Bumper Cars by mansikka

Two teenagers are missing from an abandoned carnival, and there’s enough to raise suspicion that their disappearance involves a ghost. Dean, Sam, and Cas arrive in town to investigate, though what they find leads them away from those teenagers, and on the trail of a ghost story that churns up things from their past. [...]

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Okay, Let's Go by Nejinee

Sometimes a hunt goes awry and turns into something bordering on the insane. Sometimes, shit just gets weird. [...]

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The Choices We Make by BriMac0518

Castiel, now human, faces the decision of whether or not to step up and fight along side the Winchesters. He knows the life of a hunter is far from easy, yet Castiel's existence has been anything but easy, after all. In time, they will find out whether the former angel's choice was the right one or doomed to end in failure.

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Though The Course May Change by imogenbynight 

After a couple who went missing several years ago from an Oregon couples retreat are mysteriously returned on the same night that another disappears, Dean and Charlie plan to go undercover to find the cause--until Dean's foot meets his mouth, and he finds himself fake-engaged to Castiel instead.

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Alternate Universe:

My Roots Take Flight by KismetJeska 

After forty years in Hell, Dean’s more than willing to accept the offer: become a guardian angel and earn his freedom. But his new ward seems destined to hunt alongside Sam, and there are secrets in Heaven that the angels don’t want found out. Dean’s going to have to choose between his duty and the people he loves- and to work out just where Castiel fits in.

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Rockfall by aileenrose 

Dean Winchester's dealt with enough lately--averting a would-be Apocalypse, losing his brother to law school all over again, the dying job market for hunters. But getting paired with a grumpy, know-it-all asshole named Castiel Novak for his next hunt? Day one-- Dean's already sure one of them's not gonna get out of this alive.

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So, all very different with different approaches, but I hope there is something that might help you with your characterization :D

Happy reading and of course also happy writing!

[heysoup]

Fluffy February Day 3 - Adopting an Animal

Day three of @fluffyfebruary ! This time the prompt was adopting an animal. A small warning here for some canon-typical violence. It’s not too graphic, but there’s raiders involved. Anyone who’s found Dogmeat in Fallout 3 knows how it goes.

Chapter 3: Man’s Best Friend

Pairing: Butch DeLoria/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: While trying to find somewhere to rest during the hottest part of the day, Jamie and Butch find themselves caught in the middle of a fight. It leads to them finding their new best friend, Dogmeat, and Butch later thinks it was fate as he recalls the pup being the best thing that’s happened to them in a long while.

Ao3 Link

What a piece of shit day.

It’s all Jamie can think while he and Butch trudge along the worn, cracked road back to Megaton. Their packs are heavy with loot – landmines, to be exact, that clang around disconcertingly in their bags with every step.

“Fucking Moira,” Jamie mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow. The red bandana tied around his forehead only does so much, and in the midsummer heat during a particularly humid day it’s already soaked through. He’s aching for the vault’s air conditioning right about now.

“Ain’t you the one who signed us up for this?” Butch snaps, his voice laced with irritation. He turns his head and looks at Jamie from his position at point, huffing with impatience. “And catch up, will ya? The faster we move the faster we’ll get back so you can tell ‘er off or whatever you plan on doin’.”

Jamie screws his face up at Butch, almost wanting to walk even slower out of spite – until he realizes that’d just waste his time too. He hikes his heavy pack further up on his back and jogs to catch up to Butch.

As he gets closer, he can see the other man doesn’t look much better – his baby hairs are stuck against his sweat slicked skin and the beginning of a sunburn is blossoming on his already flushed face.

From the sun beating mercilessly down on them, Jamie surmises its just about midday. They’re making decent enough time despite having to take a slight detour south out of Minefield to avoid the clan of muties hunkered down in Germantown. Even taking a small break to wait out the hottest part of the day will still let them reach Megaton before dinner.

He motions for Butch to stop. The other man gives in and leans against a nearby rock with a huff.

“What’re we stoppin’ for, Nosebleed?” he asks, just a hint of exasperation present in his tone. Jamie drops his pack beside him and hops up onto the large boulder he’s leaned against. He pulls himself up with a grunt and hisses when he scrapes his knees, but he manages to make it to the top and stays low as his eyes scan the horizon.

“We’re taking a break,” he says and kicks some pebbles down at Butch when he hears the other man beginning to argue. “We have more than enough time! We’ll just find somewhere cooler and wait out the heat for a few hours – then we keep going, no problem.”

He pulls his binoculars off of his belt and wipes the dusty lenses on the hem of his t-shirt before looking through them to scout out the structure a few miles down the hill from them. It looks like a scrapyard of some type – not the most sheltered place, but there are enough piles of ruined cars and metal scrap that they can probably find some shade. There’s even a decent-sized wall flanking one end and a rickety, but intact, chain-link fence around the perimeter – not too bad for some quick shelter in case of danger or a dust storm.

“See anything worthwhile in that dump?” Jamie jumps and almost drops his binoculars off the edge of the rock and down the cliff when he hears Butch’s voice in his ear right next to him. He didn’t even notice the other man had climbed up to lay beside him.

“It’s not that bad,” he says with a click of his tongue, passing the binoculars to Butch and bringing up the maps on his Pip-Boy to calculate a rough distance between them and their destination.

Butch hums, “looks like a dump to me.” Jamie just rolls his eyes and snatches the binoculars away, ignoring Butch’s offended ‘hey!’ as he secures them on his belt and slides back down the rock to their bags.

“One man’s dump is another man’s treasure,” Jamie jokes and grabs his pack, sliding his sunglasses on and beginning their descent to the scrapyard. Butch just scoffs and follows Jamie’s path down their perch with a lot less grace and gathers his things.

“S’not even how the saying goes.”

---

Less than an hour later they’re approaching the fence to the scrapyard. It’s taller than it looked from up on the cliffs. The top of the fence is reinforced with barbed wire and every few feet there are old, rusted signs attached to the metal poles that read,

PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING

.

It’s unlikely that anyone would have access to power this far from any settlement or old city’s grid and Jamie can’t hear any buzzing, but he tosses a stone at the fence anyway just to ease his own paranoia. It bounces off without so much as a spark and Butch snorts.

“Did you really think it’d be electric? Scaredy cat!” he taunts with a grin, going up to rattle the fence. It creaks loudly under his hands and sways and Butch jumps back with a yelp, thinking it’s going to come crashing down. It stays standing, but Jamie laughs at him, nonetheless.

They continue to walk the perimeter until they reach the gate which, to their luck, is unchained and they push further in with their weapons drawn. Not too far inside the fence there’s a decent-sized shack that looks like it would make good shelter, but it’s locked so tight that even Butch can’t pick his way in. Jamie tries to pretend that doesn’t creep him out.

It’s dead silent as they make their way to the north end of the scrapyard and hit the towering wall that runs along the edge of the ruins. They have some reprieve from the overbearing heat of the sun here as the wall casts a long shadow along their path. They’re ready to rest here for a bit when a sudden shout rips through the silence and they almost shit their pants. They both dive for cover behind the husk of an old pickup truck nearby, eyes wild and chests heaving.

“I know you’re out here!” the voice shouts again, and Butch grips Jamie’s arm, tugging him closer.

“What the fuck did you do?” he whispers through gritted teeth, leaning up ever so slightly to look in the cracked driver’s mirror. It’s angled almost perfectly, and he can just make out the fragmented silhouette of someone walking along the top of the wall behind them.

“I didn’t do shit!” Jamie whispers back. The last time he had people on his tail was when Burke put that bounty on his head after he defused Megaton’s bomb and they’d solved that problem forever ago! Why did it always have to be his fault when someone was after them?

“He’s over here!” another voice calls, much closer to their position. Jamie freezes when he hears footsteps thundering their way. There’s no way that guy could have spotted them so soon, so what-?

“Jamie!” Butch hisses and interrupts his thoughts, pulling his bag off and shoving it under the truck. “Get down!” Jamie follows suit, shoving his bag and his rifle under the truck and army crawling after Butch. It’s a tight squeeze, but they fit, shoulder to shoulder long ways under the vehicle with their bags stowed under their arms.

“They aren’t after us,” Jamie breathes out in relief, tucking his sunglasses into his shirt as Butch nods and does the same.

They hold their breaths when the sound of a scuffle breaks out, then more footsteps. From their position under the truck they can just make out a group of raiders walking by, dragging their victim behind them by his arms. He’s struggling and kicking up dust, spitting curses at his attackers and they shy away from the front of the truck, lest they be seen.

They drag him behind a rusted train car a few feet away. Butch’s heart is in his throat, one hand clutching his shotgun and the other gripping the back of Jamie’s neck. The other man is practically bristling beside him.

“We have to help him!” Jamie hisses, smacking the top of his head off the bottom of the truck as he struggles to get up. Butch pulls him closer, wrapping his arm around his waist and using his weight to hold him down. Jamie and his fucking bleeding heart.

“Are you kidding me?!” Butch growls low, wincing as the sounds of the fight continue. “We’re outnumbered by fuck knows how many – at least five!” He takes Jamie’s face in his hands, who is now trembling in anger, and strokes his cheeks with his thumbs.

Jamie knows he’s right; they don’t have the firepower. They’re already low on ammo and stimpaks from dealing with that crazy old man up at Minefield and their bags full of landmines would be more harm than anything when surrounded by explosive cars. All they can do is wait.

They hold each other, hands covering their ears as they try to keep their breathing even. Eventually, it falls quiet again. After a few minutes of silence, Jamie scoots forward enough that he can peek out from under the car, his rifle in his hands. He barely takes a look around when he sees a large, grey dog charging past them, its ears flat against its head and its lips pulled back in a snarl. He yells without thinking and attracts the attention of the raider on the wall, who takes a shot at him and thankfully misses, the bullet throwing up dirt a few inches from his where his head is poking out from under the car’s bumper.

Butch grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him out from under the car with him and they press against the opposite side of the vehicle, ducking away from the barrage of bullets that begin to ricochet off the ruined metal around them.

“There’s a fucking… a-a wolf or something!” Jamie blurts out, resisting the urge to look when another ruckus starts up from the direction of the train car. The dog is nowhere to be seen but given the growling and the raider’s confused shouts he guesses it made a beeline for them.

“Cool, alright.” Butch says sarcastically, counting out his ammo. “This place is so fucked.” Jamie glances in the driver’s mirror again and, seeing that the raider sniper is distracted trying to help fend the dog off his buddies, gets into position and aims his rifle. He places a well-timed shot through his scope, taking the raider down, before ducking back behind the truck. Well, there’s one taken care of.

They flinch when more gunfire rings out and they hear footsteps coming close. Butch cocks his shotgun and Jamie shoulders his rifle, his fingers twitching for the machete at his side instead.

Suddenly another raider turns the corner, face splattered with blood and eyes fogged with fear. He hasn’t even registered them yet when Jamie lunges forward and tries to cut him down with his machete. His swing is hard, but his aim is slightly off, and the raider falls back onto the ground with a screech, terrified but relatively unharmed. He aims his pistol at Jamie.

Before Butch has the time to react, the huge dog leaps over the hood of the pickup they’re sheltered behind. It doesn’t even spare a glance at them before leaping onto the downed raider with a snarl, finishing him off before he can fire a shot.

They stare at it as it turns toward them, stunned as the world goes quiet once again. Jamie notices, as it licks the blood off it’s chops, that it just begins to wag its tail and sits before them, friendly as ever.

“H-Hey, boy.” Jamie says in amazement and reaches his hand out, offering to let the dog sniff it. The dog does so happily, his tail thumping even harder against the dusty ground. He notices then that the dog’s eyes are two different colors – one a bright blue and the other a brownish green, and that he has much thicker fur than most dogs they’re used to seeing in this part of the Capital.

The dog sits up suddenly and takes off, stopping only briefly to look back at them as if it wants them to follow. Jamie and Butch glance at each other before shrugging and grabbing their packs. Stranger things have happened, they think as they follow the dog back behind the train car.

It’s a gruesome sight, so Jamie tries to ignore it, focusing instead on stepping around the dog’s mess and following it to the body of the raiders’ victim. He and Butch watch sadly as the dog nudges the trader’s body with a whine and gently pulls something out of his hands before walking back over to them. The dog drops it at their feet and Butch leans down to pick it up and inspect it closely.

“Jamie,” Butch says, holding the item out to him. His face is grim. Jamie takes it and studies it – it’s a red collar with a gold dog tag on it. Engraved carefully into the metal is the name ‘Dogmeat.’ His heart falls and he closes his fist around the collar, leaning down to pet the dog that was staring expectantly up at them.

“Well, shit.”

---

A few weeks later, Butch is walking back up the stairs to their little place in Megaton. It’s getting dark, the sun just now setting behind the hulking walls of the metal city. He’s returning from the outer gate where he was doing some trading with and catching up with Crow before the end of the day.

He shrugs his jacket off as he enters their house and slips off his boots. “I’m home!” he calls. He can’t hear Wadsworth’s usual whirring – Jamie must’ve already sent him to his pod for the night to charge. Besides the warm breeze whistling quietly through the holes in the shack walls and the quiet chirping of the crickets outside, all is quiet.

He grabs a Nuka Cola from the fridge and walks upstairs. Their bedroom door is cracked open and dim lamplight filters out into the hallway. He pushes the door open gently and peeks inside. Jamie is passed out in bed, one of his corny romance novels held loose in one hand. Curled up under his arm is Dogmeat, who’s snoring like a tugboat.

The sight of them brings a warm feeling of love to his chest so strong he almost can’t handle it. Setting his Nuka Cola down on Jamie’s desk among his many trinkets and mementos, he pulls the novel from Jamie’s hand and carefully dog-ears the page, laying it aside as well. He pulls off his shirt and flicks off the lamp before crawling into bed behind Jamie. Dogmeat wakes and opens one eye, checking on him before letting out a long sigh and going back to sleep. Butch just chuckles and places a kiss to Jamie’s temple, shuffling one arm under his pillow and wrapping the other lazily around the other man’s waist.

Finding that dog was the best thing that’s happened to them out here, Butch thinks, closing his eyes and snuggling closer to his boyfriend. He runs his fingers through the thick hair around Dogmeat’s neck as he presses small kisses to Jamie’s shoulder. They both knew a thing or two about losing people close to them, and so did Dogmeat. He supposes the three of them are meant for each other. Maybe fate does exist after all, in its own funny way.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

You caught my attension with the "Bad end Wizard Wally" Au, what else goes down in there?

A lot of things anon, a lot of things:

-Instead of even so much as humoring the thought of telling Conner, Wally straight up quits and gets a job elsewhere.

-A few years later both Wally and Henry get letters asking them to come to the old studio; one from Joey asking Henry to ‘come visit the old workshop’, the other from Thomas begging Wally to destroy the machine because he can’t do it himself.

-Henry and Wally show up to the inked studio.

-Curiosity leads the pair to activate the ink machine. (Wally thought that Thomas was referring to the other ink machine, not the one suspended by chains.)

-The Ink Demon breaks down the boards and chases them through the studio before the floor breaks beneath them.

-Post-machine activation: the studio fucks with Wally’s magical powers, often having spells backfire on himself. (i.e. if he tries to make something levitate, it automatically flings itself into his face.)

-Due to the fact that Joey found out how to successfully make living cartoons out of people early on, there are no searchers in the studio.

-The Lost ones are still here but they’re much rarer, they flee from sight whenever you see them, and they aren’t made by the machine like canon implied, instead they’re human beings who drank the ink.  

-The two unwilling heroes try to escape via the music department’s flooded stairwell, but they get stopped by Sammy and dragged deeper into ink hell.

-Sammy doesn’t worship the Ink Demon in this AU. In fact, his mind and body are not affected by the ink at all.

-Instead, his mental decline is brought on by his own psychic abilities which he became aware of due to Joey’s meddling. He can’t even think about the past and present anymore, only the future.

-Thus, the man’s new role is not of a desperate madman clinging onto a false savior, but instead a cold and calculating wildcard of an oracle who constantly stalks the two heroes from the shadows and throws wrenches in their escape plans, but also keeps them safe from the wrath of the ink demon whenever he can.

-Boris is still a friend, but he’s a little less chipper and much more on edge than canon.

-Either Wally or Henry can find a tape recorder buried in Boris’s stuff that was made by a gofer who’s talking about the fact that while the living cartoons came out of the machine looking exactly like their animated counterparts, they often try to change how they look, behave coldly and are hostile towards everybody, and are especially hostile towards Joey Drew.

-“The Cameraman is probably the worst out of all of them, it’s almost like he’s trying to make everybody quit their jobs!”

-You know how dogs sigh like they had the roughest time in the world? The only noise Boris makes is that sigh and he only makes it when that tape recording is played.

-Who attacks our heroes if searchers aren’t in the enemy roster? Simple: a hoard of deformed toons.

-We’ve got our classic Butchered gang members, Sliced-Split-n-Stitched Back up SSSB members, and Woolly troubled trios.

-But these appear in the music dep, Bendyland, the village, and the administration offices. Instead of being regular deformed, the enemies in the Heavenly toys department have seemingly been forcefully fused together.

-This makes them slower and weaker, but they also have three times as much health now.

-Susie is referred to as “Twisted Alice” in the studio. This is because she doesn’t look like a more human-proportioned Alice Angel with a deformed face, but instead a mashup of Alice Angel and Miss Twisted.

-Looks like misery loves company.

-Instead of seeking ‘perfection’ Twisted Alice sends Wally and Henry to do tasks for her because she’s trying to make herself be one or the other, she doesn’t care which one she’ll end up as anymore but trying to be two (technically three) different people at once is really messing with her.

-The tasks she gives are still the same, instead of the swollen searcher task, that’s instead replaced with “Gather thick ink from the flooded level”.

-You know how the Projectionist is already scary?

-Imagine him with the ability to raise the dead.

-Like, Henry and Wally are in level 14 gathering severed hearts...

-And then an ear-splitting scream echoes through the area.

-And.

-Then.

-The.

-Fucking.

-Corpses.

-Of.

-The.

-Dead.

-Toons.

-Start.

-Rising.

-And.

-Attacking.

-Norman’s ‘I sees everythang’ tape is slightly altered to include more corpse puns.

-When all the chores are done, Twisted Alice does keep her word and lets Henry and Wally up.

-When they’re *this* close to seeing daylight again, *BAM!*

-The Elevator drops like a hot coal.

-Was it sabotaged? Was it just old and dangerous? Was this just bad luck? That’s up for interpretation depending on who you believe first.

-Boris is kidnapped by a much more Miss Twisted-looking Twisted Alice while the old men are out.

-Intentional murder to commit dog theft, or Miss Twisted being opportunistic?

-Giant cavern? Lame carnival minigames? Air vent maze? Nah, screw that, instead Bendyland gets some more rides.

-Fight off foes in the ferris wheel!

-Avoid killer bumper cars with running chainsaws attached to them while trying to get the haunted house’s power back on!

-Can’t forget Bertrum! In the fight, if he puts down all four of his arms and pushes down hard enough, he can actually walk around the room.

-Kinda like a giant mechanical spider with only four legs.

-This makes it harder to hit his weak points and makes it easy for him to fucking stampede over “Joey”, which is why he does it. But it takes a lot out of him, so he can’t do it for very long.

-And he can’t do it anymore if two or more of his arms are ripped off.

-The Projectionist’s section is the same but with more toon corpses around.

-And if you didn’t get caught in his light or touch the hearts, when Wally and Henry pile into the miracle station and The Projectionist is *just* about to open the door until getting interrupted, instead of screaming at the ink demon and getting into a fight, the Projectionist opens the door and fucking squeezes himself in there.

-Not very comfortable, but better than the alternative.

-Congrats to Henry and Wally, who graduated from ‘trespassing thieves’ to ‘weird but sorta okay flesh things who didn’t take my hearts again and let me in their safe territory in spite of me trying to kill them’.

-Boris actually can be saved.

-Did you give the dog a bone back at the safe house?

-Good, now give him three more.

-The Janitor and the Animator have no fucking clue why throwing bones at this deformed, beefed-up version of Boris managed to melt off the excess ink and junk, or why he can speak now, but they’re not going to look a gift wolf in the mouth.

-Did somebody say back-to-back boss battle?

-I did!

-Sadly, it’s kind of a short fight as it can range from ‘three on one and one of them is a fucking wizard (just because recoil is hell doesn’t mean it’ll stop Wally in dire situations)’ to ‘four on one and one of those four can bring back the dead by screaming’.

-Allison and Tom wrangle the team up and stick ‘em in the “guest room”.

-Tom chews Wally out for re-activating the ink machine, Wally can’t take him seriously when he’s that fucking small and sounds like a mechanical snob.

-It’s even funnier when the Projectionist has been befriended.

-Let him have his tiny camera-headed son back, Allison.

-The river boat chase is longer and there seems to be more than just one hand coming out of the ink.

-Wally swears he sees a bunch of teeth in the river while the hands are down.

-In the village, the group are immediately attacked by a swarm of deformed toons when they approach the boarded up hovel.

-They shout things like “STAY AWAY FROM THE PROPHET!” and stuff like that in their garbled voices.

-When all of them are gone, peering through the boards in the hovel the team approached in the first place reveals that Sammy is indeed in there, just staring off into space and muttering about something the team can’t quite make out.

-Breaking down the said boards might seem logical, but it triggers a brutal boss fight against him. That musical bastard is fast and hits like a freight train. Also psychic powers, you have to be the luckiest person in the world to win a fight against a man who sees your every move before you can even think of it.

-Just... leave him be... and focus on getting outta here.

-The administration maze is as annoying as ever thanks to not having any weapons and the maze itself being magically disabling.

-Beast Bendy gets some bigger legs to go with his giant torso and head.

-Now he’s even faster and more annoying!

-but can’t do shit against the team.

-Good Ending: getting the biggest team you can in game, breaking the machine and punching Joey in the face for doing ...that. It sucks that everything got this bad but at least you helped the others make it outta there.

-Neutral ending: “Come by the old workshop, there’s something I need to show you”

-Bad Ending of the ‘Bad end Wizard Wally Au’  (Worst possible ending): Henry and Wally have fully succumbed to the ink through a path of violence, evading death by the toons, and have fully lost themselves, they do not remember their lives and families before the ink anymore. And Joey couldn’t be more tickled pink! It’s a shame that making perfect demon toons is such a complicated process compared to making an object-headed toon, a ‘human’ toon, or an animalistic toon, but all the trouble was worth it as a trip through the machine later, Joey finally has the last two he needs: A Perfect Papa Pluto and a Perfect Bendy.

[glycerineclown]

chapter one of while the iron’s hot is coming out tuesday!

the author’s note is 767 words, so i’m posting it here ahead of time to make sure people will read it. thanks!

NOTES ON THE ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

Frank finished his last tour with the USMC at the age of 29, and it’s been 13 years since then when this story begins, so Frank is 42 years old. Cerberus never happened, and while Curtis and Bill are also veterans, the three of them did not serve together (only because I wouldn’t believe that they’re all kinky and in the same unit). I’ve aged Bill up to his early 40s as well, to make his in-story history more plausible. To ease any minds up-front, he’s “Billy the Beaut” in this fic, not a villain. I have aged Amy (“Rachel”) up to 22. Karen’s childhood from Daredevil S3 is the same, and now she’s a journalist, but I’m ignoring everything else (the stuff with Union Allied never happened, so she never met Nelson & Murdock, et cetera). Karen has not been aged up. No superpowers!

I’ve tried to make the above information obvious in the text, but some of it may be blink-and-you’ll-miss-it. There are of course other changes besides these, but I don’t want to spoil it.

(Me? Do an actual full AU that’s not constrained to the bounds of canon? Good heavens!)

I’m also going to discuss Kilgrave (“The Purple Man”) from Jessica Jones—in this fic he’s still an absolutely vile and abusive rapist scumbag, but has no actual mind control abilities. Any relationships described will be in the past and will not include Karen.

NOTES ON THE BDSM

I have done a decent amount of research, and have tried to offer a pretty accurate description of the way things work in the real life BDSM community if you live in a big city. When it comes to Frank and Karen, though, this is a fantasy built for the characters.

In this fic, Frank (as a more seasoned member of the community) takes Karen (newbie sub) under his wing as a mentor. They partake in some regularly-scheduled, non-sexual BDSM play, and Karen has a crush on him, which is a lie by omission on her part. Their relationship becomes way too intense and involved to be a platonic, healthy mentor-pupil relationship. A mentor is supposed to be someone that the pupil does not play with and isn’t attracted to, in order to limit the amount of influence the mentor has over someone who is still learning. I do think this is a good rule, and this fic probably illustrates a lot of the reasons why it’s a good rule, especially because not everyone will have the same rigid principles that Frank does.

Regardless, this is just a fanfic, and following that rule would not have made a good fanfic. I don’t expect that anybody who’s here to read this anyway will actually have a problem with the way the story plays out, but your mileage may vary and I wanted to acknowledge it.

At the end of the day, I trust Frank and that’s why I’m writing this fic. You trust Frank and that’s why you’re reading it.

Also, BDSM is in no way a stand-in for therapy. Frank should go to therapy, Karen should go to therapy, everyone should go to therapy. And I think it’s a harmful stereotype that people who are into BDSM have mental health issues or serious trauma, but like, there’s no getting around that with this fandom.

NOTES ON THE CURRENT STATE OF THE WORLD

I started writing this fic in early April 2020 during the coronavirus lockdown. And we all know what's happening now, in June 2020. There are protests happening around the globe to demand justice for black people who have been murdered by police in the United States.

I would like to acknowledge that the optics of The Punisher are not great at the moment. I don't love promoting a fanfic about a character that, at least in the comic books, "means so much to the law enforcement community," as Jon has reminded us at literally every opportunity. As far as I'm concerned, that really just means that Frank has long been a power fantasy for white supremacist cops who want to kill black people with impunity. And then there's the whole Karen thing...

So even though this fic is not about police or even about the military, I feel obligated to say this here: DEFUND AND DEMILITARIZE THE POLICE. INVEST IN COMMUNITIES OF COLOR. BLACK LIVES MATTER! And fuck every pickup truck I see on the highway with a Punisher bumper sticker. I will send you a dirty look from the safety of my car.

I considered postponing the release of this first chapter, but I want to add something nice to your newsfeed.

Here’s how I’ve been getting through lockdown—here’s hoping it’ll help you. To all my lonely, touch-starved, horny readers out there, who just want me to shut up and get on with the story already, this one’s for you.

[perhapsitmaybedragons]

Gorilla’s Day Off

Did I wait until the last minute to do my White Elephant? Yes. But I’ve been busy and at least I got it done. It is still 2020 in my time zone.

To read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470540

Side note: I always use Grigori Bobrov for the Gorilla’s name cause it feels rude to keep calling him Gorilla. I’ll update if they ever give us a canon name.

Or continue reading below:

Grigori Bobrov tapped his foot impatiently outside Gabriel Agreste's door. He wouldn't dare to do it in front of the man, but right now with no witnesses a little impertinence could be allowed. He rapped at the door and waited to be granted entrance. It was rare for him to be summoned directly to Gabriel's office, but here he was.

“Ah. You're here,” Nathalie was the one who had opened the door but it was Gabriel who was speaking. “It has come to my attention that you haven't used up any of your vacation days.”

Grigori said nothing. He rarely ever did.

“Nathalie is concerned,” Gabriel's eyes shifted away the way they so often did when he lied. It was so subtle that Grigori wondered if he was the only one who noticed it. Gabriel often did this, indicating to Grigori that he was a shifty man who couldn't be trusted. He realized he'd been zoning out and tuned himself in to the next words out of Gabriel's mouth, hoping the preceding ones hadn't been too important. “At any rate, at least take the rest of today off.”

Grigori fumbled for his cell phone to check Adrien's schedule.

“I already told you,” Gabriel snapped, “Adrien's schedule is clear today. He has nothing to do except practice piano later this afternoon. And,” now his attention was on Nathalie, “He will be closely monitored to make certain he is not sneaking out instead of playing.”

Grigori shrugged, accepting his fate. In truth if he hurried he could make it to the new toy release down town. Ideally he would have been in line hours ago. He was probably too late for the door prizes, but if he could snatch one of the last statuettes of Chat Noir and Ladybug he would call it a good day. He was also hoping to add Carapace to his collection – he had a few Rena Rouges already.

“Well, what are you just standing there for?” Gabriel once again snapped Grigori from his thoughts. “Go do whatever it is you want for today. I expect you back by tomorrow morning.”

Grigori nodded and set off, wondering if current traffic would make it better to drive or go on foot. It wasn't a long walk and for December the weather wasn't too bad. He wouldn't need more than a thin jacket and a scarf. After checking his phone and determining that walking would only take about twenty minutes longer he went to his room and got his jacket, scarf and decided to grab his mittens at the last minute. It could always end up colder than he was expecting, after all.

Now fully dressed he set off from the Agreste mansion, but nearly tripped as he stepped out of the gate.

“Not now, I -oh! Just who I wanted to see!” The young woman he'd nearly fallen over was clearly a superhero. But he wasn't familiar with her. She dressed in a similar manner to Ladybug and Chat Noir, but instead of a bug or cat theme she seemed to have a bunny thing going on. She cocked her head to the side and one of the rabbit ears on her head drooped down.

Grigori blinked at her.

“No time to explain – well, guess that's not technically true. I have all the time, but you don't. C'mon, into the portal.” She pulled a stop watch out of her pocket and clicked it. A portal opened up in front of Grigori. He was about to ask what it was and why he should trust her when she pushed him through. She was surprisingly strong for someone so small.

“Bunnyx, by the way. You'll know me later, probably. Except you know me now. So maybe that's changed? Time travel gets a little tricky, sorry. I'm used to it and I can handle it but it's harder to explain to someone.”

His only response was to pull out his wallet and show her the Dr Who emblem on the side.

“Ah. Well, yes, they get pretty close to explaining it, I suppose.” They had come to a room filled with multiple other portals. He instinctively closed his eyes and covered them with his hands. “Ah, you know it's best not to see the other paths. Knew I picked right! Okay, so then...ah, this one!”

He felt himself pushed again and stumbled forward, landing on his knees. He finally opened his eyes and pushed himself up, glancing around to see where or when Bunnyx had taken him. It was still Paris.

“That's who you went to grab?” Came an incredulous but familiar sounding voice. Chat Noir dropped down from a nearby lamppost.

“Just trust me,” Bunnyx insisted, grabbing Grigori by the sleeve and rushing him along after her. They came to a car parked in the middle of the street. It was parked on top of Ladybug – she didn't seem too put out considering her current situation. She mostly just seemed angry. “So, rundown – current villain of the week calls themselves Power Taker – stupid name, I know, but don't worry about that right now. Anyway, whatever they touch we can't touch without draining our powers. He touched the car, now Ladybug's strength doesn't work. She's already got her Lucky Charm, though. If we touch the car our powers stop working, and according to Ladybug if Chat Noir tries Cataclysm it's just going to drain that ability. All of us together aren't strong enough to lift the car without our powers.”

Well. That explained it, Grigori figured. Called out to help super heroes and it was just to move a car. This was like college all over again, when his friends only called him to help them move things. He rubbed his hands together, grabbed the bumper and started lifting the edge of the car. Ladybug scooted out from under it and Chat Noir appeared at her side almost immediately.

“Are you okay, my lady?”

“I'll be better when we beat this creep. Thank you, Gorill-...uh. Um.”

Figures even Ladybug called him by the Gorilla nickname. Grigori smiled, holding back a laugh. Her face was almost as red as her suit, just because she didn't know his name. He didn't mind the Gorilla nickname. And he was too busy chuckling to give her his real name.

“Grigori, his name's Grigori. Thank you,” Chat Noir explained. Grigori grunted at him, studying him. Chat Noir was taller now, and it was even more obvious to him than previously. How anyone didn't realize Adrien was Chat Noir was beyond Grigori's comprehension. He just patted Adri-Chat Noir on the shoulder and followed Bunnyx back through her time burrow.

“Thanks for your help!” Ladybug repeated. Grigori waved at her in acknowledgment before the burrow closed behind him. He once again found himself back on the streets of Paris in his own time, but now he seemed to be right outside of Cour de Récré, one of the biggest toy stores in the city. He frowned at Bunnyx, realizing since there was no line he must have missed out on the new sale. She shook her head at him.

“I checked and pulling these strings won't cause any problems. Check your phone.” He did as she asked. It was the morning. Early morning, three hours before Gabriel gave him the day off. He tried not to worry about that part, but since he knew Adrien was safe it was easier to let go of. He was lined up before anyone else. He grunted at her in a way he hoped appropriately conveyed his thanks. When his emotions got the better of him he often found it hard to speak.

She must have understood because she saluted him and said “You're welcome” before taking off in another time burrow.

Grigori stood there playing games on his phone as others started filing into place behind him. He turned his head when he caught sight of blond hair in the corner of his eye. Sure enough the person behind him was Adrien – in a very bad disguise. A trench coat, sunglasses and a red beret that Adrien had stuffed most of his hair into. But it seemed to be fooling most of the public, even if it wasn't working on Grigori.

“You here for Ladybug or for Chat Noir?” Totally Not Adrien asked him. In response, Grigori held up two fingers.

Totally Not Adrien nodded. “Yeah, me too. ...can you tell it's... uh...” he trailed off. Grigori nodded. “Thought so. You knew it was me the whole time, huh? Do you think anyone else can tell?” Grigori shook his head no, and Adrien let out a sigh of relief. “Wanna spend the day hanging out? I mean, after this, but before piano? We could watch...” Adrien studied him for a moment. “The Princess Bride.”

Grigori gave him a bright smile. It was one of his favorites. It always surprised him how perceptive Adrien could be about others, given how self-involved his father was. Grigori gave him a thumbs up.

“Great. You know... this is really embarrassing, but I don't think I've ever learned your real name...”

[subakuryu]

In honor of the canonical birthday for Yark's main villain for Team Prototype - Ezskar (Dec 24), I had drawn the traditional sketch yesterday of my character Nido being briefed on a future project of Ezskar's. And I also felt compelled to write a lil something to accompany the picture, which turned out to go way, WAY further than I had intended. So enjoy this currently untitled brainspew.

Oh... And the digital sketch came way before the pencil sketch that was originally an attempt to work on a grumpy expression... which then became a full body sketch that required full made up context for the annoyed expression. And now it's sorta woven into this crack story that I finished some minutes ago before the 24th ends.

Again... Enjoy the madness below!

____(Start)_____

*Phew-!*

A needlix exhales in relief as he pulls himself up off the floor from beneath a block of pipes, gears and wires galore. Now on his feet, his arms sit akimbo as he assesses his handiwork - a cantankerous engine had landed itself in his corner of the station two days ago, and rightly so with the mileage on Techkanis-9 it had tallied up for well over a decade. Satisfied, he steps up on the front bumper and grabs the hood to lock it down in place.

"Well... I think that's about as much as ya need from me this mornin, eh clunker?" he grins, punctuating with a couple knocks on the hood. "S'bout time you retired, but your owners... Well they're bout as stubborn as I am" he chuckles.

Taking a moment to straighten a slouch and undoing stiffness in his neck with a crunch that'd make a chiropractor blush, he stares up at the clock above his workbench. 11:17.

"Ah... Good timin'" he mused aloud.

Lunchtime! Scanning his workspace, he stoops down to pick up the rest of his tools and proceeds to wipe them down with a towel and put them in their place one by one. He was buffing a wrench when a familiar rhythm came through the garage door.

*Tok Tok t-Tok tok*

His eyebrows sunk, while his pupils came up to meet them in a bonafide scowl. If the wall he was staring at had wallpaper, it'd peel.

"Ah... Good timin'" he repeats coated with equal parts annoyance and resignation.

A nostril whistles as he takes a deep breath and a louder knock returns to fill in that gap of silence.

"Yeah I'll be right there. Gimme a moment," he announces plainly exercising restraint on his grumpiness as he tosses a dirtied rag onto the bench and makes his way to the garage door panel.

A magnetic key hangs attached to the controls as he thumbs the button to raise the sliding door and up it rises with a hum.

Slowly the brighter light of the hall begins to flood in from beneath the metal curtain, and a shadow starts to print onto the workshop floor. Just as the door clears 3 feet, a bulbous, spiky silhouette streaks in from underneath and launches at the needlix - maw open and *hungry*!

"Wha-!" the needlix barely gets out through clenched teeth before his arms reach out to grapple the chitinous assailant as his weight rocked back onto his tail - his legs losing purchase of the floor. His left shoulder and head checked against the wall, his spiny headset dislodged askew.

Eyes wide in shock at all that had transpired in a blink of an eye, the needlix's mind sprinted to catch up with the situation after a few ragged breaths. Familiar gurgling noises arose from the form wriggling in his stranglehold.

"...h-hey, Chompski..." he manages to sputter as he frees one arm to realign his headset.

"rrrRrRRRrRghh~"

"Yeah? Can y'not though?" he pleads with nervous laughter while patting the overgrown mutant clam.

The semi-sentient appendage seems to click apologetically as it begins to withdraw in a rising motion allowing the needlix's boots to reunite with the floor.

With Chompski clearing his line of sight, it unveils a grinning silhouette half-ducked underneath the partially open entry, the emerald green glow of a synthetic swirl-eyed lense making for an easy focal point of attention. Unnervingly so.

"Ezskar," the needlix flatly addressed the imp of an employer.

"As expected of a pro muck warfare player! Impeccable reflexes, Nido!" the shadow sung through his smile as he gave a polite golf clap. "I'd apologize about the 'forced entry' but IT decided to wake up as I got close. I'd blame the fact that it positively reeks of productivity in here. And by productivity, I mean stale coffee" he snickers, gesturing with a hand as if he was whiffing a fine fragrance.

"RrrRrwryyyeargh!" vocalized Chompski as it wriggled in seeming agreement, before all of a sudden it froze in place - its eyeless gaze staring at Nido's right side.

Both Ezskar and Nido pause in anxious silence and in unison traced the line to Nido's right hand, still clutching a newly buffed wrench despite the short altercation.

Marveling at that detail, Nido absentmindedly brings the wrench in front of him to stare at it in disbelief, which Chompski follows with uncanny, locked-on precision. Nido now noticing this, starts slowly waving the wrench around. Still entranced.

Nido blinks, and looks to Ezskar who returns the gaze with a furrowed brow. Nido's tail tip begins to sway, a wicked grin steadily twists onto his cheeks showing rows of sharp crooked teeth, as his eyebrows near float up to the ceiling with diabolical delight.

"N-Ni... Don't you dare," Ezskar's composure flounders. "If you like your pay, you better stay as smart as you usually are" he threatens all the while tugging on his prodigal tether to wrestle it back under his control.

Nido takes another deep breath through what was probably the smuggest his face ever contorted in his lifetime as the metaphorical devil horns receded back into his skull.

"Hahhhh... I guess I do like my pay," he smirks as he tucks his right hand behind his back. "Well? What can I do for ya, Ezskar?"

Ezskar let's go of his tail as he straightens his attire and sweeps back his hair. "Ehem... The new project. The one I left a voicemail about this morning?"

"This morning?" Nido scratches his head as he gazes up at the ceiling for his memories. He ruminates for a moment before realizing he could just check his cell logs. Pulling the unit from his vest, he finds a call from Ezskar... At 3:49AM.

"...Ah. This morning," Nido mutters as he vaguely remembers being interrupted during his morning ritual of downing multiple pots of coffee to function for the rest of the day.

"I missed it. Sorry bout that."

"I'll let it slide,"  Ezskar dismisses with a wave of his arm producing a tablet in hand which he begins fanning himself with. He strolls up to the inner garage door control panel and restarts opening the door.

"I'm here with a lot more details about it all since I left the message anyway..."

Ezskar turns on the makeshift fan, and takes a moment to peruse the screen, before tossing it at Nido.

"Alleyoop!"

Nido catches it with his left hand and begins taking a look.

Ezskar chuckles as he starts heading out the now gaping garage entrance. "There's a lot to discuss, so let's walk n talk to the mess hall, hmm? It is lunchtime afterall."

Nido doesn't answer but absentmindedly follows Ezskar out. Pulling his inner garage panel key out with his teeth and deftly dropping it into an open vest pocket, he lumbers out into the hall hunched over the plans, his eyes already taking in and considering the logistics of a new large scale multi-layered containment field with lots of bells and whistles. His body on autopilot, he fumbles with his wrench toting right hand to get the garage door closed while he's already planning on how to approach and lead this new project.

"And you want this done... In a month? I may 'reek of productivity,' Ezskar, but I think you've whiffed those fumes too deeply," Nido states with skepticism plastered on his grizzly mug - his lower jaw waggling as if he was discreetly cleaning his teeth.

"I'm willing to haggle, Nido. I got big plans. BIIIG plans! And you're going to help me. That I can assure you..." Ezskar smirked tossing quick glance back before facing forward again. "And...! I'll be sure to pay you very, very well!" Ezskar rubs his fingers together signing the many dollar signs of to be expected.

Nido's chin waggles again for a few moments before he speaks again.

"So you're gonna pay me very well for this new containment project, huh? How much are we talkin?" he says in a very probing manner.

"Hmmmm... I think maybe even triple your current pay? ...yes, triple. If you do as good a job I expect you to do," Ezskar muses aloud.

Nido snorts a bit. "Triple my pay you say?" he inquires louder.

At this point, the two are just now reaching the entrance to the mess hall as Ezskar turns around to address Nido.

"Triple guaranteed! So long as you make this project run on schedule" Ezskar states as he holds a suction-cupped hand out. "Deal?"

Nido locks eyes with Ezskar for a moment as he hands over the tablet into the open palm, but not letting go of the unit.

"Deal," Nido says with an overly warm, beaming smile.

An inexplicable chill runs down Ezskar's spine about that answer. "Wonderful," he utters cautiously. "You can let go of the tablet now, Nido."

"Oh! I will, but before I do..."

Ezskar's brow furrows as he reiterates what was said, "Before you do...?"

Nido's grin grows wider - reminiscent of a grin Ezskar saw back at the workshop. Nido leans closer to Ezskar's height looking past Ezskar's right shoulder.

Ezskar for a moment is about to push the question stepping back to look at Nido's face when his eyes catch a gleam past Nido's leaning right shoulder.

Behind his back... a wrench waves threateningly and Ezskar's eyes widen in sheer terror.

"N-no. NO. NIDO DON'T Y--"

"Chompskiii!" Nido calls as he let's go of the tablet and winds up for a pitch...

Chompski at full attention locks-on already yanking Ezskar around at the wild flailing motions...

"NIDO. NIDO STOP. I WILL F..."

"FETCH!!!" Nido bellows with a wild look in his eye

And in a blur, Nido's right hand is empty while a flash of pink streaks into the mess hall as a commotion erupts.

For a moment, Nido takes in the chaos that has begun past the swinging doors, before giving a satisfied huff as he starts strolling back to his workshop, blueprints and schematics in mind.

"Down payment received! The month starts now!"

---(END)----

Now... Barring the smiling betrayal at the mess hall which all started because the wrench and Chompski wanted to stay relevant for story continuity sake, I feel like I'm satisfied with the characterization I've got goin for Nido. I'm also wondering if this version of Ezskar that my brain produced feels on brand with him being a proper villain.

Bless his mutant, quasisentient tail!

[nazariolahela]

Something Domestic: Chapter 4

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a new TRR AU I’ve been working on. This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts @msjr0119

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Riley and Hana celebrate their new jobs and meet some new friends.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Hana’s voice rings throughout the apartment. I spring from my bed, dropping the book I was reading, and rush out of my room to find her standing in our living room, holding a thick white priority mail envelope.

“What’s going on?” I ask her.

Her eyes travel from the envelope to mine. “It’s a letter from Valtoria High School.” She flips the envelope over in her hand and slides her finger under the flap. Her eyebrows pinch together as she slides the letter from the envelope and begins reading. Suddenly, her eyes widen.

“Oh my god, it’s my acceptance letter!” she shouts. “I am officially the next music teacher at Valtoria High School!”

I leap across the room and scoop her up in a crushing hug. “Hana! That is so amazing! Congratulations!” We both start jumping up and down squealing as the envelope slips from her hands and falls to the ground with a light thud. She stops jumping and looks down to where the envelope landed, giggling as she picks it up.

“What else is in there?” I ask.

She pulls out the remaining contents of the envelope and spreads them out on the coffee table. I glance over her shoulder to see a brochure, two pamphlets, some documents, a map of the school’s campus, a bumper sticker, a pencil, and a notebook with the school’s logo on the cover. I walk over to the couch and take a seat, picking up the brochure. I open it up to a random page and scan the content until something catches my eye.

“Is that what I think it is?” I ask, re-reading the list of donors for the school. Hana leans over and shrugs. “Oh yeah. His company is a major donor. I think they sponsor a bunch of the school’s extracurricular events. Gotta love those tax write-offs.”

My eyes glance back at the page, and it’s like the words are slapping me in the face.

GOLD LEVEL SPONSOR: Cordonia Enterprises

Fucking hells. Of course, he gives a shitload of money to the local schools. He’s one of the richest men in the city and he obviously gives a shit about someone other than himself. The woman who ends up with him is a lucky bitch. Fingers crossed it will be me.

“I wonder if he’s willing to donate to the “Riley Brooks is a Broke-Ass Bitch and needs money to pay off her student loans Foundation,’” I say.

Hana giggles. “He is. It’s called your paycheck.”

I narrow my eyes at her and chuck a throw pillow in her direction, narrowly missing. She ducks out of the way and sticks her tongue out at me in triumph. “Okay, enough fantasizing about your new boss’s bank account. I’m officially employed, so this calls for a celebration,” she declares.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I grin suggestively.

“Put on your best drinking dress. We’re going to the Double Tappe.”

***

We arrive 45 minutes later to see a line outside, which is weird because this place is rarely busy. It’s one of the reasons why we like coming here. I scan the line of people. The crowd doesn’t look like our usual mix of college students and barflies. We make our way up to the front where the bouncer, Spike, stands with a permanent scowl and a clipboard in his hand.

“Hey, Spike. What’s going on here?” Hana asks.

Spike turns his head and sees us, and his demeanor instantly changes. “Hey! My two favorite patrons. What are you guys doing here on a Saturday?” he asks. Hana and I haven’t gone out on a Saturday since we were in college. The type of people who barhop in this city on a Saturday night aren’t really the type of people we usually associate with.

I sling an arm around Hana’s shoulder. “We’re celebrating mine and Hana’s new jobs.”

He grins wide. “That’s awesome! Congrats, you two.” He cocks his head toward the line. ”Unfortunately, we’re having a private party tonight. Some big wig and his older brother are having this company get-together. Invite-only.”

My pulse quickens. Could it be? I ponder name-dropping him to gain us entrance. I mean, what good is working for a billionaire if you can’t throw his name around to gain perks in this city? I try to sneak a peek over Spike’s shoulder at the guest list.

“Any chance there’s someone on that list we could pose as to get in?”

Spike shakes his head. “No can do, girls.”

Hana frowns. “Come on, Spike. We’re regulars. One drink. We’ll be in and out before anyone notices.” she pleads.

He looks between us sympathetically, then down at his clipboard. “Tell you what. Sneak around to the back and knock twice. I’ll text Chuck to let you in. If anyone catches you, say you work for the catering company and get the hells out of there. Got it?”

We both side-hug Spike before sneaking down the alley towards the back. We maneuver around the dumpster, reaching the back door marked “Deliveries.” Hana lightly taps twice on the door, and a couple of minutes later, a large man with a red beard pokes his head out the door.

“You Hana and Riley?” he gruffs.

“That’s us,” I reply. He nods and steps aside, allowing us to enter. We weave our way through the kitchen until we reach the bar. The lights are dim, and the walls are covered in kitschy decor. A five-foot mahogany bar runs along the back wall, where bottles of various liquors adorn the shelves. Not surprisingly, the whiskey takes up two shelves.

Two pool tables take up one side of the bar. A single dartboard hangs on the wall near the back. On the other side: one of those state-of-the-art jukeboxes where you can select songs from an app on your phone, and a 10x10 dance floor. This place is the definition of a dive bar.

I’m shocked at the size of the crowd. There has to be at least 100 people here. I don’t think the Double Tappe has seen this many people at once. Pretty sure this place is overcapacity. I hope the fire marshal doesn't show up.

The owner Drake is standing behind the bar — a dish towel draped over his shoulder — talking to two men, one younger, one older. The younger man’s hands gesture wildly as he speaks. He then says something to the older man and elbows him. The older man looks over at him for a split second, before scowling into his tumbler of scotch.

I grab Hana’s hand and pull her to the bar. “Hey, Drake. Two whiskey sours, please,” I say, holding up two fingers. He looks over to us, and his eyes light up.

“Hey girls. Fancy seeing you here,” he replies. “It’s about time someone orders a normal drink.” As he gets to work mixing our drinks, the younger man to my right turns to me.

“He wouldn’t know a real drink if it slapped him across the back of the head.”

I turn to get a better look at him. He has olive skin and dark brown coiffed hair, He’s wearing a silk black dress shirt with gold leaf details and dark washed jeans. The older man sitting next to him is wearing a maroon blazer and navy turtleneck with charcoal-colored slacks. The two of them couldn’t be more night and day if you tried.

“Come on now, whiskey sours aren’t so bad. In fact, they’re my favorite drink.” I reply.

He smirks. “You clearly haven’t tried anything with Viniq. I think you’d like it. You seem like the type of girl who enjoys a shimmery cocktail.”

Drake looks up from what he’s doing, shooting the man a death glare. “We don’t serve that garbage here, Maxwell.”

He laughs. “Dude! Do you realize how much more money you could rake in every night if you stocked it?”

“Glitter doesn’t belong in drinks. That’s a hill I’m willing to die on,” Drake growls as he sets our drinks on the bar in front of us.

Hana and I giggle and take them. I scan the crowd once more as Maxwell and Drake continue to bicker over alcohol. The patrons are all dressed to the nines, sipping colorful cocktails. Some of them are wearing the latest pieces from Fashion Week. I’m pretty sure that woman by the jukebox is wearing a tiger print jumper. These people definitely aren’t your typical Double Tappe customers.

Maxwell turns back to us. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your names. Are you some of Bertrand’s new hires?”

Hana and I pause, glancing at each other. She busies herself with the straw in her drink, leaving me to explain our presence.

Shit, Riley. Think. What was it that Spike told us to say if we got caught? “We… we’re with the...uh…  the catering company,” I stumble. He cocks one eyebrow at me before turning to the older man on his right.

“I thought all the caterers left, Bertrand. Didn’t you send them home after dinner?”

The older man turns to his left, looking me up and down skeptically. “Yes. They were dismissed an hour ago,” He scowls. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead woman right now. “You do realize this event was by invitation only, correct?”

Our cover is blown. “Uh…” Abort! Abort! I grab Hana’s arm and start to slip off my barstool when a warm hand settles on my shoulder and squeezes firmly. “She’s with me.”

Hana’s eyes widen. My heart stops. That voice. I turn around and sure enough, there's Liam. He smiles down at me and I'm pretty sure my soul just left my body.

”What are you doing here?” I ask him, confused yet relieved.

“I’m on the guest list.”

Of course, he is. His best friend owns the bar. He probably just walked in — like an episode of Cheers — and everyone knew his name.

”You know these two?” Maxwell asks.

”Well, I don't think I've been introduced to this lovely woman here, ” Liam says, gesturing towards Hana, ”but Riley works for me.”

”Ah, another office drone, huh?”

Liam chuckles. ”She’s the kids’ new nanny.”

Maxwell smiles knowingly. ”Ah. So this is her. This guy’s been talking a lot about you.” He winks and cocks his thumb towards Liam “Well, it was nice to meet you, Riley. Riley’s friend. Have a good night.” He slides off his barstool and drags Bertrand towards one of the pool tables.

Liam extends his hand and introduces himself to Hana. He then takes the empty barstool next to me. He’s dressed down, wearing a black sport coat over a tight-fitting grey t-shirt and dark wash jeans. How does this man look so good in everything he wears? He motions to Drake, and a few minutes later, two fresh drinks appear in front of Hana and me.

”So, you’ve been telling people about me, huh?” It’s dim in this bar, but I can definitely make out a blush. “Why am I not surprised you’d be here tonight?” I say as I sip my drink.

He smirks and the butterflies in my stomach flutter. You’d need a chainsaw to cut the sexual tension in this room. His eyes look to Hana, then back to me. “Can I make a confession? I was hoping I’d run into you here tonight. I knew you hung out here a lot, and even though this was a private event, part of me was hoping you’d show up anyway.”

“We actually weren’t planning on coming out tonight, but Hana got a new job too, so we decided to celebrate.”

“Congratulations,” he says to Hana. She lifts her glass to his and nods before downing it. Liam eyes my drink. “Next round is on me.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I say. “We’re the ones who crashed your friend’s party. We were only supposed to stay for one drink.”

He shakes his head and waves Drake over. “I insist.”

I nod as Drake approaches us. “Hey, Li. Another scotch on the rocks?”

“Actually, three shots of the finest tequila.”

Drake nods and reaches up to the top shelf and grabs a bottle of San Matías Rey Sol Extra Anejo Tequila. He places three glasses in front of him and pours the shots, before handing them to us.

Hana picks up her glass and observes it. ”Wow! I've only ever read about this tequila. They say it has notes of vanilla, caramel, and spice.” She brings the glass to her nose, inhaling deeply like some sort of tequila sommelier.

”Wait a minute. This tequila is $400 a bottle! We can't accept this,” I say, pushing the glass away from me.

Liam frowns. ”Why not? I offered to pay. I'm not expecting anything from you for it. You work for me now and I want to thank you for taking on the task of caring for my children.”

Isn't that what my paychecks are for? I stare at the shot for a few beats, contemplating what the gesture means. He said he wasn't expecting anything. Maybe he means it. Stop overthinking it and take the damn shot, Riley. When are you ever going to get the opportunity to try something this extravagant?

I shrug and pick up the glass. ”To new opportunities,”

”To new opportunities,” Hana and Liam say in unison as we clink our glasses together. We each take the shots, garnering different reactions. Liam nods in approval. Clearly, he drinks this stuff on the regular. Hana’s eyes light up and she swishes the tequila around in her mouth, enjoying the different flavors. My face puckers and I struggle to swallow, the shot burning as it goes down. Obviously, I don't drink tequila that often.

”That was incredible. I hope I can one day afford to buy a bottle of this for myself, ” Hana says, licking the remnants of the tequila from her lips.

“It’s perfectly okay to treat yourself once in a while,” he replies. He looks down at his watch and frowns. “Well ladies, fatherhood calls. Thanks for having a drink with me.” He motions to Drake for his bill and I sneak a peek as he pays the tab. That’s a lot of zeros! “Have a great rest of your evening.” He leans over to shake Hana’s hand then rises from his barstool and leans down towards me. His hot breath tickles my ear and my face warms. Obviously from the tequila, right? “You two have fun tonight,” he whispers. “Don’t drink too much. I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”

He smirks as I sit there trying to catch my breath, and just before he turns to walk away, he winks at me. Then, he’s gone.