#(Y) means thumbs up but i realize that is far out of vogue

[liamgallaghermpreg]

happy wincest wednesday! i would love to hear your thoughts on monster sam and/or dean and how their dynamic would be the different (or, the same!)

i have been turning this over in my mind for the last 12 hours anon, thank you for the interesting ask and happy ww! there are so many ways this could go – depending on the monster, WHO'S the monster, and how did they BECOME the monster. here's a few scenarios, in which the answer largely comes around to...they stay just as codependent, it just manifests in different ways.

sam AND dean monsters: same dynamic, just with more guro (Y) there was this star wars fic i read a bajillion years ago where obi-wan and anakin get captured and brainwashed by palpatine into being these killing machines who are only able to function with each other, everybody calls them 'the twins' and is scared of them... it's that vibe, yk.

sam monster (from childhood): let's say the azazel blood manifests in a different way. the child starts showing demonic traits and powers as they grow up. john, despite everything, really does love the boys, and i DON'T think he'd be willing to give sam up despite this, especially as a child. i do think he might work sam even harder to become a weapon against azazel. maybe isolating him further and forbidding him to go to school? at which point dean declares he isn't going, etc. etc. so i think it draws the family into more social isolation and codependence. dean would be even more protective, yet used to his brother's demonic tendencies. and willing to indulge him. ALTHOUGH, i think sam would try his best to suppress them. all in all, same same but different.

dean monster (turned): let's say he gets turned on a hunt. i think dean turns tail and runs. self-hating. stays alive to kill his own kind. i love thinking about him as a vampire because of live free or twi-hard. dean would lurk in the shadows and spy on sam but stay away "for sam's safety" despite knowing something is deeply wrong with his brother. work with crowley to fix him from the shadows. when sam gets his soul back, dean hides. if sam catches up to him, he begs to be turned, because if dean is a monster then they both are.

[andilovetowrite]

Of Everything You Could've Said (Part 1)

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You didn’t think going for a movie night with your best friend could turn into you icing him out. And the worst part? You weren’t even sure why you were mad at him….

Warnings: Angst to fluff. I think this could be a two-part story, but let’s see if I can finish it in one go. Mixed feelings are running through, and Peter is perplexed…A few tears, but nothing too wrong.

Using the prompts:

“I have an extra ticket… Would you like to go with me?”

“YOU SAID, TO BE HONEST, STOP HITTING ME!”

“Why the hell is there glitter everywhere?”

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

Based on a request, you can find it here!

Prompt list, if you have some ideas.

Here is my Masterlist in case you want to find more of my work :)

You didn’t expect it. Let’s just put it that way. It came out of nowhere; what were you supposed to do? Or say?

Sadly, instead of handling it like an adult, you did the 2nd dumbest thing you could ever do. You shouted at him.

And now you are sitting here in your bed at 9 am on a Saturday, eating your third pint of ice cream. If anyone were to walk into your room, they would see you huddled up under 4 layers of blankets, with yesterday’s mascara running over your face. But you were quite comfortable staying right where you were. Under the cover. Out of the public eye. Out of Peter’s eye.

You groaned, not knowing what you were going to do when you eventually got up out of your ridiculously comfortable bed. Want to know what went wrong? Why you were basically a spineless bag of tears and ice cream, who doesn’t have a best friend?

Here’s how it went.

23 hours ago

“Heyo”, Peter said, his head popping into your window. His brown hair was hanging over his eyes, and you could make out the red and blue suit that was sticking out from underneath his shirt.

“Hey Pete, ready to go?” You asked, shrugging your jacket on. He nodded, which looked a bit comical due to him being upside down. You chuckled, moving closer to him. “Really? What about this little piece of fabric?” you asked, pulling his suit out a bit.

“Oh yeah… you mind me changing here?” Peter asked, jumping into your room with ease. You shook your head, smiling at what you were about to say, knowing it was going to rile Peter up.

“Please! Your naked in my room most nights anyway”, you said cheekily, turning to see Peter’s face go red.

“I don’t-wha-um that’s because-spiderman-uh”, Peter stuttered out, a vast blush lighting up his body. You laughed out loud, peering at Peter from under your eyelashes.

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Go change”, you said, turning away from Peter. But you couldn’t help feeling glad that you had turned around so that Peter couldn’t see a similar smile that lit up your face when you heard him grunting softly while taking off his suit. After a minute or two, he called out, telling you that he was ready.

“Where are we going again?”, he asked from behind you.

“Oh uh, my dad got 4 tickets to a movie, so he and Pepper used two of them. They gave me the other two, so I got an extra ticket. You wanna go with me?”

You kept quiet, knowing Peter was probably nodding his head enthusiastically before he remembers that you can’t see him. “Yeah, yeah I can come with you. All I have to do is Physics homework, and prepare for the Plank Test.” You turned around to see him flexing his muscles. “At least one of them is going to be a piece of cake.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, lightly punching his arm. “Okay, Mr Muscle. Let me just get my stuff”

His spiderman suit was lying on your bed, which you picked up, chucking it into the laundry vent like you did most of the time. “Alright, let’s go”, you said, but then you realized you were still wearing sweats.

Calling out to Peter, who was now talking to your dad, you asked. “Hey Pete, skirt of jeans?”

“Um, probably jeans”, your dad called out, when Peter quickly said at the same time.

“Skirts are good!”

You looked between Peter and your dad. “Uh, thanks dad, but I think I’ll just wear a skirt. It is pretty hot today.”

Your dad rolled his eyes. “When did my own daughter stop taking fashion advice from me? I’m Iron Man for god’s sakes. I was on Vogue last month! And, what if someone tries anything bad with you. Skirts are easy to access, you know?”

“Ugh, thanks, dad. But you are probably forgetting your daughter is a superhero. And so is Peter. Oh and also, it was Pepper who was on the cover. You flew in from behind to be in the shot” You said, walking back into your room and picking out a skirt. It was either the brown one, which you loved, and was comfortable… or the red one, which Peter loved. Or so you assumed. He always had a hard time forming sentences when you wore them. The choice was clear. So you picked the red one. Don’t judge! It’s not because of Peter. You just thought it would match your top, plus...you liked red.

Walking back into the hall, you saw Peter standing there, fiddling with his thumbs as your dad spoke to him, listing off some instructions.

“So always open the door, oh also, she loves reading this one series and-”

“Hey dad. Do you think we could go to the movies? Or are you gonna hog my best friend?”, you asked, smirking at the two of them. Peter looked at your dad, giving him a nervous smile for some reason.

“Bye Mr Stark”

“Bye dad”

“Bye kids. Be back by eleven.”, your dad said, before winking at Peter. “Good luck Pete”

Smiling at him, you both walked out, excited for whatever you were gonna watch. But more importantly, just spending time with Peter. Because of superhero duties, as well as just normal student duties, hanging out with him was becoming few and far between, making you cherish this time.

“So what was my dad saying? Good luck for what?”

“Oh um, nothing. Nothing at all. Something for the test, uh plank”, Peter rambled, trying to mask something. You almost sighed out loud. As part of your “job”, you did most of the questioning and interrogation. Seeing through lies was easy enough. And it probably wasn’t something you had to bother about, so you just let it slide.

“Okay then”, you said, but you still saw that Peter was looking away, biting his lip. “Hey, did he tell you anything about the movie? I have no idea what we are watching”

Again, Peter shook his head too quickly. “N-no, I don’t know.” Taking a deep breath, you were confused, glancing at Peter. Sensing your discomfort, he gestured his his hand out to the street. “We’re here, let’s go in”

Looking around, all you saw was a dark road, and a metal door. “Where-where are we? Oh my god, are you plotting on killing me?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “C’mon, Mr Stark said this was the place. Private theatre or something”

Pulling me in, he pushed the door open and led me in. Inside was dark, with shimmers of purple coming from the walls. Throwing your hands around Peter, you held onto him with one arm, and the other tried to feel where you were walking.

“Uh Pete, why the hell is there glitter everywhere?”

“You’ll see”, Peter said, his voice excited but nervous.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll also see that”

After taking about three more steps, dim orange light started showing up, and we emerged into a small room. And it took my breath away. In the middle, was a table for two, with a sweet candle in the middle. A glittering chandelier hung above the ceiling, showing small sparkles around the room, and the smell of Delmar’s sandwiches walfed through the air.

“Wha-what is this Pete?!”

“Uh, well, it’s a dinner. I, um aren’t the best at this, so Mr Stark helped me out a bit with it”

And suddenly, it clicked. Tony didn’t even go to a movie this week, and Pepper didn’t even mention anything about it. And when he gave you those two tickets, it didn’t have any title or venue. Not only that, but he also asked you if you would like to invite Peter, which is probably why Peter came all dressed up. And it would also explain the quiet talking behind your back.

Walking over to the table, you saw a familiar sandwich on the plate, but that was the furthest thing from your mind. “Wh-why would yo-you do-?”

“Oh, well, it seems pretty formal, and you love Delmar’s food, so I thought it would be a good ide-” Peter said, misunderstanding your question as he came up behind you.

“No NO! I mean, why all of this?”, you asked, knowing fully well why.

“Well, I uh, really like you. More than a friend. I’m pretty sure I love you Y/N-”

Peter said this, his face glowing with adoration and I could see the love in his eyes. His eyes were shining from the light, and I could see a smile forming on his face a he picked up a rose from his chair and held it out to me. And for the first time, you were speechless in front of Peter. Your Peter. Your best friend Peter.

You wanted to say the right thing, you really did. But what came out of your mouth wasn’t even remotely right.

“No Peter! I can’t- why would you-ugh”, you said in a rush, tears forming in your eyes. Not knowing what to do, you went and hit Peter. “Why would you- this isn’t for friends Pete! Honestly, why would yo-”

“I know! I want to be with you, like a cou-couple. YOU SAID, TO BE HONEST, STOP HITTING ME!”

Shaking your head, you could see Peter’s face drop at your expression, the meaning of your words settling in. You could see tears coming down his face, and his mouth started to open, but you couldn’t face him. Not with how fast your tears were streaming down your face. And definitely not with how fast your heart was going.

“Y/N I-I’m sorry, damn it please don’t go-”

But you didn’t hear the rest of it, running out into the street and going as fast as your legs could carry you back home. And when you got back, you didn’t even bother doing anything, tears clouding your eyes, as you fell into your bed, letting your pillow soak up the mixed feelings and confusing thoughts as you fell asleep to the memory of Peter’s heartbroken face…

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

Wow, I love angst. This is only the first part, since I think I’m going to work on a second part of this soon. I hope I did the request justice, and I loved writing it. Thanks!

Taglist: @a–1–1–3 @idkatee @eternalscribblesforthesoul @loudbluepancake @poisondevotion @scram1326 @t-hollanderr @305weasley @starknik22 @marvelfansworld @lou-la-lou @lomlparker @marvelfansworld @wowitsel @vanteguccir @fullcheesecakeengineer @ifyouknewhowmiserylovedme @ladykxxx08 @allegras-sunflower

[cutie1365]

A Kid from Queens Part 13

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Info: CA: Civil War Era. Tony Stark enlists his daughter to find the web slinging spider in Queens.

Word count: 2921

Warnings: PG-13. Please tell me if I need to add anything.

A/N:  Wow it’s been a while. Please let me know what you think! Comments and words of encouragement make me want to write and post so much more!

Masterlist linked in my bio. Taglist in the reblog. Remember to like, and comment or reblog to stay on my taglist!

             - - - - - 🕷 - - - - - 

Your breath caught in your throat as you jolted upright with a gasp. Your eyes scanned the room as realized you were awake and it was just a dream. A nightmare. Inhaling a few deep breaths, you attempted to control your breathing. Dropping your head into your hands and rubbing your eyes, as if to try and erase the images you saw.

You felt the bed shift beside you, and a quiet sweet voice rang through the silence.

“Y/N,” Two gentle hands found your body, wrapping comfortingly around you, “Are you ok?”

You simply nodded in response. You hadn’t looked at him yet. You were terrified that if you did you would just see flashes of what had woken you up only moments ago. It looked so real, it felt so real. But it wasn’t true, Peter was here, he was ok.

“Nightmare?” He asked quietly. A nod was all you could muster. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You raised your head finally, your eyes finding his in the dark. Reaching a hand out to cup his face and stroke his cheek, a sad smile donned your face that was meant to reassure Peter.

“Not really.” You whispered back with a shake of your head.

“That’s ok. Come here.” He beckoned you back into his arms.

You laid in silence with your head on his chest, listening to the smooth, melodic beating of his heart. Something was weighing heavily on your mind, Peter knew that much.

You propped your head up against his chest so that your eyes met.

“It’s just so unfair, for the universe to bring into my life the perfect guy at the most imperfect time.” You spoke suddenly.

“Maybe life’s not so cut and dry like that. Maybe there will never be a perfect time. Maybe we just have to make due with the time that we’re given.” Peter suggested.

You didn’t answer, you were lost in your own mind. Replaying the events of the last few weeks.

“What are you thinking about?” Peter asked, moving his fingers into your hair, finding your weakness.

“How none of this would have happened if it weren’t for that article.” You spoke with a guilty tone.

“You can’t know that, and now we can’t change that.” Peter tried to comfort you, since when did he get so mature?

“But I don’t want to-“ Your voice broke as tears began to well up in your eyes.

“Don’t want to what?” Peter asked, scanning your face in concern.

“Say goodbye to you. I just want to stay right here in this bed like this forever.” A stray tear slipped through the barricade and slid down your face.

“But you can’t. You can’t stop living just because of one slip up.” Peter tried to reassure you, swiping his thumb across your cheek to catch the tear.

“I just want to be with you, I wish it could just be as simple as that.” More tears began to spill now.

“Our lives will never be simple. I shoot webs and fight bad guys. You make technology that literally kills aliens. This isn’t simple, but it also doesn’t have to be. We can be perfectly complicated.” Peter smiled, trying to cheer you up, trying to give you hope.

“What if perfectly complicated means we have to wait for this press frenzy to blow over before we can be perfectly complicated together again?” You asked with a frown.

“If you think that’s what’s best, you know I’d wait however long for you.” Peter smiled a sweet, naive, hopeful smile. You sighed in response.

“That’s what I’m worried about! I don’t want you to press pause on your life for me. And what if it happens again? One picture, that’s all it takes, and we have to start this all over again.” You argued.

“So what do you want?” He asked quietly, pushing himself up slightly.

“It’s not what I want, but maybe what we need.” You answered quietly.

“And what’s that?” Peter asked, his tone and demeanor changed, as if he was preparing himself for your answer. As if he’d lost hope that this would go in his favor.

“Maybe we need time. Like a month or so, long enough for this to blow over. A month where we both get to live our separate lives. And at the end if we decide that it’s something worth fighting for— we give it a shot. Press or no press.” You suggested.

“I assume we wouldn’t be able to see each other during this month.” Peter asked, disappointed but understanding.

“Not unless absolutely necessary. Like emergencies or something.” You shook your head.

“And business? About the suit or something?” He asked once more.

“Happy’s still your point guy, you should probably just go through him.” You replied.

Peter sat quiet for a minute. Each growing second of silence made you more and more nervous waiting for his reply.

“Alright.” He nodded, and you smiled. He was giving this a chance, you were both giving this a chance, a fair fight, “Now would you get up here so I can kiss you? If this is my last night with you we’ve got to make it one to remember.” Your cheeks flushed at his forward ness.

“Bold of you to assume I could ever forget you Peter Parker.” You smiled sweetly, before your lips reunited.

              - - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

At 5 am F.R.I.D.A.Y. raised the electronic sunshades in your bedroom, letting in the early morning glow. You groaned as her voice filled the room, informing you of the time.

“It should be a crime to wake up this early.” Peter whined in a groggy voice.

“I agree,” You mumbled as you nuzzled into him, your head on his chest, tracing shapes with your anxious fingers. An unspoken heaviness hung around the room. You were both trying to make these last few moments last. One of you have to break the growing silence.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way, trust me.” You looked up into his eyes.

“But it does.” He replied in understanding and you nodded.

You kissed him once more, like a prisoner on death row indulging in their last meal.

“Your guests will be arriving shortly Ms. Stark,” F.R.I.D.A.Y reminded you.

The two of you quickly and quietly got ready before walking Peter to the door.

“You’re really something Ms. Stark.” He smiled, standing in your doorway. You both agreed that it would be a good idea if he left through the lobby as Peter Parker, not as Spider-Man through a window.

“That’s Dr. Stark to you.” You smirked, cherishing what might be your last few tastes of witty banter with him.

“Oh my apologies doctor.” He mirrored your smirk and turned to leave.

“Hey Peter, “ You grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, wrapping your arms around him, “I really am sorry. I wish things were different.”

Peter tilted your chin up to him and kissed you one last time.

With an optimistic smile, he said, “Who knows, maybe one day they will be.”

             - - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

You welcomed Linda into your apartment not too long after. The first thing she did was squint and examine you, and you just knew a comment was coming.

“You look tired.” She raised a brow, the nerve of this woman.

“It’s 5:30 in the morning.” You retorted.

“Hm.” She scanned you up and down once more, “Well hair and makeup are on their way up, nothing some concealer and a hairbrush can’t fix.”

You sat in silence for the next hour, nearly nodding off every five minutes while your hair was pulled and your face covered.

Once the magic had been done Linda fiddled with your hair to make sure it was just the way she wanted it. A knock on your door pulled her from her trance, and the look on her face shifted: showtime.

As she pulled the door open with a smile that was far too bright for 6:30 am, you recognized the infamous Executive Editor immediately. You were surprised to see him, considering this wasn’t the site of a swanky new club opening or new age gallery party.

“Taylor Antrim, Vogue. It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. Stark,” He spoke with a smirk as he stuck out his hand for you to shake. He exuded confidence, and you didn’t know whether to be intimidated or impressed.

“Y/N, please.” You smiled, taking his hand in yours. Two could play this game, you smirked back mirroring his cocky demeanor.

“Just wait until you hear his idea, it’s amazing!” Linda raved as we all took our place in your perfectly staged living room. She already knew? Of course she already knew, you thought, it was probably her idea in the first place.

“We want you to wear the dress.” The Editor spoke with an excited smile.

“The dress?” You asked carefully, fearing you already knew the answer.

“Your gala dress.” He answered, as if it was obvious. Your eyes grew wide. They took your silence as an opportunity to try and sell you on it, “As a show of strength, you’re fighting back. You’re rising above. A phoenix from the ashes. Regaining power over your trauma and not letting it rule your life. Just like you said- not letting them win.”

“But-” You tried but were cut off.

“It’s shocking, it’s new, it’s perfect.” Taylor spoke with expressive hand gestures.

“It’s torn and bloody.” You shot back, “Don’t you think that will be a little too... gory?”

“No no no. Picture it- Your hair and makeup is going to be fierce, edgy. You’ve got the dress, with the ripped slit up the thigh. It’s sexy, its powerful. Then pointed directly at the camera, you’ve got the Iron Man hand. You’re taking control; of your life, of your destiny, over the people who did this.” He laid it out for you, mimicking the movements and the pose.

You looked over to Linda and knew... you didn’t have a choice.

            - - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

“Hey Youtube, today we’re here with Y/N Stark in her new stunning 5th Avenue apartment. Why don’t you start the tour.” Your interviewer motioned to you with a cheerful smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad, you thought.

“Right this way!” You welcoming them inside with a sultry smile, “So now, obviously, we’re in the living room. Over here we’ve got the kitchen. But we’ve got two options. Down this hallway, we've got a gym, an office, and a little lab where I’m working on a few new projects. Or we could go this way towards the bedroom, closet and terrace. Up to you.”

“We hear your closet is to die for! Why don’t we start there?” She spoke, tugging the camera man in that direction. Typical. No one cares about the tech you develop in the lab. They care about how many shoes you have.

“Let’s do it.” You laughed, doing your best to hide your annoyance and play your part.

           - - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

After a mind numbing few hours of getting footage of your entire apartment, you were finally free... somewhat. You had one of your planned outings with Thomas soon that you weren’t entirely dreading, though that’s mainly because who had a plan of your own.

Phase one: Dinner at a fancy restaurant known to be a spot rife with paparazzi.

Phase two: A stroll around 5th and into the park, arm in arm with some tipped off paparazzi following you around.

Phase three: Thomas inevitably invites you back up to his place after. Here’s where you’d usually decline and make up an excuse, but you needed to fast track a few things and knew this was the perfect opportunity. So you surprise him, and accept.

As Thomas ushers you into his house with a hand on your lower back that drops once the door was shut, you knew this was the best time to act. While his back is turned locking the door, you slip a bug onto the side of the entry table so you can easily snatch it on your way out. That will work on hacking into the wifi and any accounts affiliated with the network. You estimate it will take about 25 minutes to collect all the data for you to comb through once you return home. Now you just have to wait.

Thomas turned back to you, suspecting nothing, and offered you a drink. You declined as the two of you entered into the main sitting room. He was about to speak and fill the silence when his phone rang.

“What channel?” He spoke into the phone, picking up the TV remote and switching it to whatever channel someone, probably a publicist, was telling him to.

The volume began to blare as he adjusted it, and the sound of your name caused you to whip around and face the screen.

“Y/N Stark said herself that Thomas was over at the time of this Spider sighting. Is it possible that the answer is as simple as that? Thomas De Blasio is Spider-Man?” One reporter spoke, sounding very convinced at this frankly absurd conspiracy.

“They were both at the gala!” The co-host joined in, fueling the fire.

You stared at the screen in disbelief. As if things couldn’t get any worse, someone started a rumor that Thomas is Spider-Man. How could people even believe this? How could he possibly swing into the gala from the outside if he was already inside, cowering behind you might you add. But you also know that now a days, people don’t care about facts, they care about entertainment.

Surely his father, the mayor, wouldn’t want to be associated with a vigilante, these rumors have to be put to bed.

“Thomas, this isn’t good.” You turned back to him with a stern look.

“It would actually be kind of cool, all the attention I would get if I came out-” He tried to continue put you cut off his attention whore daydream.

“No. You have to deny this. Spider-Man is a...  vigilante. You can’t have that connected to you and your father's campaign. They’d put you in jail, they’d make you sign the Accords... I don’t know, but none of this is worth it when it’s not even true.” You started to ramble but had to catch yourself before you let on more than you’d like.

“Uh fine, you’re right. But who’s to say they’d even believe me if I denied it.” He raised an eyebrow with a smirk, obviously loving this public attention right now.

“I’m not your publicist, I don’t know.” You shot back and turned back towards the screen to see if they’ve changed the subject yet.

“Whoever he is, you’re really trying to protect him, aren't you?” Thomas spoke, and your jaw dropped slightly. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as you thought.

“What are you talking about?” You whipped back to face him, speaking with an angry tone, attempting to deny his correct accusation.

“Spider-Man.” He stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world

“I don’t even know him.” You shook your head, and tried to make your tone sound as annoyed and convincing as possible.

“Sure you don’t. You can keep your secrets, whatever.” He rolled his eyes. Now you were really set off.

“I’m the one with secrets?!?” You yelled, motioning towards him with your finger,  “You’re the one who used me- for years! You told me you loved me. Was any of that real?”

“Ok fine. You want the truth?” He yelled back, but the more he spoke the less angry his tone got and the more genuine it sounded, “The truth is that it started as a set up, yes. But along the way... yeah I started to fall for you. You’re more than just a pretty face, you’re smart and good. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. Turning your back on him once more.

“You know I was really worried about you after the gala. I saw you get hit and I didn’t think you were going to get back up.” He approached you, laying a hand on your shoulder.

“Well you were a big help cowering behind me while I stood up and fought.” You smacked his hand off as you turned around to retort.

“Well thank god Spider-Man showed up.” He spoke, not without insinuation.

“Why would someone even attack a campaign fundraiser?” You asked, looking for a shift in his eyes, to see if he knew something... but you saw nothing. You attempted to compose yourself, you couldn’t let your emotions get in the way and accidently expose your true motives here.

“People are crazy, this is New York baby. Come on, let’s have a drink, stay a while.” He motioned towards the bar, clearly wanting to get off this subject.

You heard F.R.I.D.A.Y. speak into your earpiece, “data retrieval complete”. Perfect timing.

“Can’t, I’ve got a million applications to read for the Internship Program.” You spoke, not dropping your slightly annoyed tone as you made your way towards the door, slipping your bug into your pocket, and Thomas didn’t suspect a thing. That’s what happens when you’re taught sleight of hand by Natasha Romanov.

As long as people continue to underestimate you, this was going to be a breeze. They’d never see you coming.

           - - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

PLEASE let  me know what you think! Feedback  is soooo important and gives   me so much more motivation to write.

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[catamight]

Viktor wanted to insist, to everyone after the fact, that it was absolutely his idea. 100% his plan, all along, yes. It hadn’t been some kind of freak accidental miscommunication, nor had he begged or pleaded Yuuri to agree to the offer presented. No, Yuuri had been far more interested and calm about it than he’d been, really.

Really.

(At first.)

In the wake of the Grand Prix in Barcelona there had been wave after wave of announcement-cum-celebrations. Whether Yuuri fully appreciated it or not, he was – officially (even though Viktor had now insisted many times that earning 6th in the world during Sochi was nothing to sneeze at Yuuri why are you like this) – one of the topmost figure skaters known to man. And Viktor had announced a return to the ice, and with his legacy, and their relationship…it was a tad chaotic, for a while.

Offers for interviews or other publicity stunts came from just about everywhere. Many of them were turned away, mostly because both men wanted five minutes of breathing room, which in their world meant about a week.

When it came time to decide what to do, and whose invitations they were going to accept, they poured over the many emails and voicemails together.

“This is a photo shoot offer,” Viktor remembered he was the one who had said it aloud, partly excited but mostly curious. “For both of us!”

“From who?” There wasn’t a drop of reluctance in the Japanese man’s voice. The surprise must have shown on Viktor’s face, because Yuuri smiled, kind and eager. “I’m not unfamiliar with photo shoots, I’ve done a few before.” It wasn’t wry at all, Viktor realized, but amused.

“I know, I’ve picked up a magazine or two with your face on it.” Viktor was casual and teasing simultaneously, enjoying the face Yuuri made as he realized Viktor never exaggerated – because he himself was pure exaggeration. Those magazines were aggressively on display in his apartment, and it was natural law that Viktor had exactly two ounces of shame.

“Y-you know what I mean. It’s pretty easy, you know? I’m not intimidated by a camera. And, I don’t have to talk to anyone.” Yuuri was only a little defensive, but otherwise seemed genuinely secure. “Best part about it, really.”

In Viktor’s mind, he was already drawing comparisons. The few shoots Yuuri had done were all sports, or sports equipment related. Most promotional material had to be taken from when he was on the ice; his expressions were pure and unfiltered there, and frankly (as in Viktor would fight people to the death in defense of Yuuri) beautiful. He was fairly sure Celestino had shot down anything that was outside the realm of their shared profession.

Viktor, on the other hand, had given Yakov at least two ulcer’s with his various decisions to model for clothing lines and other far less…related endeavors.

“This is for Vogue magazine. You know who they are, yes?”

“I do,” Yuuri insisted, still looking confident about the idea. “I don’t mind.”

--

As it turned out, Yuuri did mind. He minded a lot.

Viktor, endlessly amused, surmised that Yuuri had deeply misunderstood something. Whatever had gotten lost in translation, the deduction had somehow been made that Vogue wasn’t interested in dressing Yuuri in haute couture. The opposite, of course, was true.

“It’s fine, Yuuri,” Viktor assured, allowing people to fuss over the length of the outer jacket he was now wearing. It might not have been designed specifically for him, but he wore it like he’d been born to. Deep magenta and gold, with swathes of silk and cream linen underneath. A deep v-neck cut was the highlight of the whole outfit, really. Someone, Viktor thought, had been paying attention to his exhibition skate. “You look wonderful,” he decided to add, since the panicked expression on his love’s face hadn’t yet ebbed.

“I – I didn’t think they’d – I mean, I’ve done one fashion thing in my life, and it was because a single cashmere sweater was involved (and I got to keep it). But this is all too nice!” Viktor often wondered how Yuuri could be quiet in one moment and explosively emotive in the next. It was like he bottled it all up and leaked those big expressive feelings when his heart got too full. “I can’t wear this – I look like one of those monkey-wearing-a-suit photographs you see on greeting cards. I feel like a peacock!”

“Please.” Viktor’s voice came out in a purr he hadn’t really meant to use, but oh well he got Yuuri’s face to go from white to red in record time and that was worth it. “You’ve worn far more … risqué outfits before.”

Yuuri’s misery was subdued by his reaction to Viktor’s soothing confidence, but it still marred his countenance. His very attractive, very lovely countenance. Which should never look this horrified, Viktor thought. “That’s different. That’s – that’s for skating. This is just embarrassing.”

“Why on earth is this any different?” Viktor skirted around asking why, why, Yuuri considered himself so average, because frankly that was a conversation for a different time (and Viktor was not ready to be stabbed in the heart by Yuuri’s answer; plus, he would insist on cuddling for years afterward and they had people waiting on them). “This is a performance too, you know. That’s what I’ve always told myself.”

“I never thought of it as a performance. Not skating. Not really,” came the surprising answer.

Viktor blinked. “…What did you consider it then?”

Yuuri barely raised his head. “An escape?”

And there went Viktor’s soul; time of death, ten o’clock in the morning, Eastern Standard Time. A hand clutched at the collar of his shirt, and his eyes scrunched, as if his lungs had been pinched. “Oh. I – didn’t actually consider….” Apparently his voice had decided to give out as well.

Dark hair, slicked back for the time being, kept Yuuri’s eyes free of his usual fringe. He lifted them to reach Viktor’s own, and they seemed a bit less daunted. “I thought you would have guessed; I can’t perform for anything. Phichit tried to get me into drama club once and it was a nightmare.”

The unspoken understanding was that the truth of Yuuri lay somewhere between the ice and those bursts of emotion he couldn’t help himself to show. Viktor absorbed this into the Yuuri Katsuki Lexicon he kept near his heart, more affirmation than it was proof.

He coughed, getting air back into his chest. “Well then…if you can’t escape here,” Viktor took Yuuri’s hands, rubbing his thumbs over knuckles, soothing. “Then know I will be with you in every shot. And that the people who run this show are very, very good at making anyone look ravishing. Not that you need much help with that.”

“Viktor –”

“It’s their reputation on the line, not yours, if they somehow – somehow­ – make you look terrible. Which is frankly impossible, so I don’t even know what you’re worried about.”

Yuuri finally edged back from the cliff of his mind, dark eyes on Viktor with eyebrows raised up toward the ceiling. “It’s so incredible you can tell me that with a straight face,” he said, eyelids dropping to half-mast, his smile both shy and overwhelmingly hopeful. And just a tiny bit teasing.

I plan on telling you that for the rest of my life, until it sinks in. And then I’ll tell you a million more times for good measure. “I promise, it’s not as hard as you think.”

“What isn’t as hard as I think?” This statement was accompanied by approximately negative centimeters between them as Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor’s waist, peering upwards through dark lashes. He didn’t sound half as seductive as he looked, but that seemed to be Yuuri’s style more than anything else; always half unsure, half powerhouse of desire – as if he’d just been waiting for Viktor his whole life.

To hear tell, that might not have been too far off.

He’s going to kill me one of these days. “…You’re going to kill me one of these days.”

“I hope not; I just got you!”

Hngh.

--

The final outfit Yuuri wore was not at all good for Viktor’s heart. Well. It was. But it wasn’t.

“You can pull that down past your shoulder, this is a loose garment – yes! Perfect, thank you Yuuri! And feel free to move a bit closer…. There we are.” The click and whirr of professional cameras were extremely audible in Viktor’s ears, as was his heartbeat. “Keep your eyes on each other!”

As if either of them needed reminding.

Both outfits were less gendered than they first appeared. The small shirt Yuuri wore, with its off-shoulder sleeves and short length, immediately became recognizable as something that should have been a crop top but looked classier, somehow, the fabric tapering at the bottom into a point, covered in intricate beadwork. A bright blue shawl draped over his arms, weaving around his person, now no longer covering his shoulders but tucked into the crook of his elbows.

And those pants, high-waisted and adorned with silver buttons, were not loose. The phrasing of this description was very specific: if Viktor even dared to think the word ‘tight’ in regards to the man more or less in his lap, he was going to spontaneously combust and die.

“Am I doing alright?” Yuuri managed to ask this in spite of the blush on his face.

Viktor has enough willpower to smile back, warm and obvious without words, that Yuuri returns the expression wholeheartedly, relieved.

What happened after the shoot in the dressing room shall remain undisclosed. If it wasn’t obvious that natural law dictated Viktor put his mouth on Yuuri’s mouth (and other places) while he was still decked out in such delectable attire, then there was no hope for the world.

--

The resulting images are incredibly flattering (or the photographers in question would have never forgiven themselves, to be honest – it was hard to deny Yuuri ‘Doe-Eyed Except For When He’s Searing Your Undergarments Off’ Katsuki).

“This one caught both of our rings, see?” Yuuri points out, still red-faced regardless of everything because he is still himself. He did have a good time, or so he promised Viktor, despite his lingering amazement that anyone wanted him on the cover of anything. “It looks nice.”

Viktor’s inherent vocabulary insisted that ‘nice’ was an understatement. “…I need the original image file. I need it.” “You’re not planning on hanging it anywhere, are you?”

Wounded, Viktor affected a wounded expression. “It’s like you don’t even know me!”

--

For years after, it was the first thing people saw when visiting their flat in St. Petersburg. When Yuri Plisetsky laid eyes on it, he made an ungodly, unflattering noise that warmed the cockles of Viktor’s heart.

Yuuri lamented ever letting Viktor make a copy of it that size, but he never seemed interested in taking it down.