#I am supposed to be doing real world things today I am incredibly lucky I don't start working until later

[hungergameshyperfixation]

Sunrise on the Reaping

We are getting a new Hunger Games novel, taking place on the morning of the reaping of the Fiftieth Hunger Games, THE second quarter quell. AND a film adaptation for it.

March 18th, 2025: Sunrise on the Reaping book release

November 20th, 2026: Sunrise on the Reaping Film in theaters

[secretlywritingstories]

I am turning 30 today, which is the first "big" birthday since I turned 18 more than a decade ago.

Objectively, there's nothing special about this birthday compared to the one I had last year or the one I'll have next year. But it turns into something special because we assign meaning to it, and honestly, I can't really be mad about that.

I like that we as humans make all sorts of intricate rituals throughout our lives, like choosing to celebrate birthdays and even making some of them more of a big deal because you're entering a new decade. It's fun if you make it fun.

As a child, I thought someone who was 30 would officially be a Proper Adult. Looking at my own parents as examples, it was the year that they got married after a decade together and they would be having their first child (me!) about a year later. Very adult stuff.

It was supported by the view of society too, where you are meant to find a partner, settle down, get a job and a house, and start trying to have children. Especially that last one if you were born as a girl, since obviously the biological clock starts ticking real loud when you hit the big 3.0.

Thankfully, I don't feel that way anymore. I guess it isn't that surprising when you look at how my life is at the moment. I have never had a long-term partner, and while I wouldn't mind having someone next to me in my life, I also can do okay on my own. I've got the steady job, but I rent my apartment. And children are not really something I can image committing to, and as such I am freed from that particular "universal" stressor.

Oh, and I'm queer both in terms of sexuality and gender. I think that's part of the veering off from the hetero-normative constraints that are thought to be imposed on me by reaching this age. It has been confusing at times, but I am so thankful to know this about myself now.

And I have so much good in my life, even if it doesn't necessarily look how I would have thought it was "supposed" to look like when I reached this age. I have a wonderful family, absolutely incredible friends (a lot for more than a decade and also from all over the world! how lucky can I be?), my horse Moneypenny and the family dogs. I like my job and my colleagues that I have to spend so many hours with. I'm financially stable and able to take care of myself well.

I have written and shared so, so many stories, and coming out at about 4 million words total across them all. And I have so many more stories to tell, even if I don't know what they'll be yet. That's the exciting part!

I don't have a 5 or a 10 year plan. I never really did, so I don't think I'll start now. Who cares anyway? Time will pass no matter what I plan, and life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. So many of the good things in my life has been a string of coincidences that have placed me on this path and I am quite liking the view.

Still, I'll take this chance to celebrate life, on this supposed big birthday. Being happy that I now have three decades on me and know the bulk still lies ahead of me. I'll surround myself with loved ones, have an excuse to connect with people who reach out with birthday wishes, and just spend the day well.

And frankly, I think the 30s are only going to get better than my 20s.

[dsandrvk]

Monday, September 23 - Vulaga, Fiji

Today was a much better day in Fiji than our day in Lautoka, as we visited a wonderful limestone atoll with lots of small islands and "mushroom" rocks, in addition to a small village. We were lucky to have the sun come out and turn the water the most incredible shades of blue, turquoise and aquamarine. It reminded us of the karst formations in Raja Ampat, many weeks ago.

We had signed up for kayaking, since although Seabourn had never been to this particular spot, it had looked very promising on Google Earth. We started early, at 7:30, and as soon as we were in the boats we started threading our way through undercut rocks and over barely submerged sand bars. We came upon a small feeding frenzy by Black-naped Terns, and looked for rays in the shallow waters, but couldn't find any of the latter.

The rocks here are quite porous and "moth-eaten", and are stained red in some places by iron deposits. Some are so undercut as to defy gravity - far moreso than Raja Ampat, and there were also lots of sea arches - many that looked like they wouldn't last longer than another year.

We had a nice long paddle because our guides were also exploring and mapping for the future, and also because this was the only kayak trip of the day. We were only supposed to be here half a day, and there was also a village visit and performance scheduled, and possibly also a separate beach swim and snorkel, so we wanted to make the best of the time available.

After the kayak outing ended on a beach, we took a Zodiac to another shore where we could hike 3/4 mile up and over to the village. If we had hurried, we could have made it in time for the performance, but we opted to take our time and bird along the way. By the time we reached the village, we looked around briefly, said "bula" (hello) to a few locals and walked back to take a Zodiac to another small island in the atoll where there was a beach and potential snorkeling locations.

We had been told not to expect much in the way of snorkeling, but we actually found lots of fish, and since we have had several talks on other critters to look for in the underwater world, I found and watched a goby and his "excavating shrimp" show off their symbiotic relationship. I also saw several Picasso Parrotfish of differing sizes, which certainly live up to their name. Every time I get into the water, it seems I see something new.

We still had a little time to walk around our very small island before getting back into the Zodiacs and heading back to the ship for a late lunch. The tide was coming in, and since a lot of it comes through the small channel in the atoll, the waves coming out were at least two meter swells, and we got drenched by the waves. Good thing we were already quite wet!

We were shortly underway, and will now have four sea days ahead of us, since because of the date line, we get to do Tuesday, September 24 twice. Tomorrow morning we will stop briefly in Tonga to offload our local guides from Fiji, but that will be around 5:30 AM, so we'll see how many folks get up for it. Our next real stop will be Papeete on September 27, so I may do an update before then, if something interesting happens.

[ultranos]

Gender politics of East Asian cultures is not my lane but it's my understanding that a strong preference for boys over girls was A Thing, historically speaking. To what extent do you imagine this is true of the Fire Nation, and how would that impact the dynamic between Zuko (capable but not prodigious, yet oldest and a boy) and Azula (actual prodigy but younger and a girl)?

This is the cultural nuances being signposted by the aesthetics of the Fire Nation, by the bits of culture chosen to be borrowed. So let's bring that to Zuko, the firstborn son, and Azula, prodigy and girl. so incredibly difficult on some levels to see Zuko as sympathetic in that line as he's supposed to be once you realize this context.

s1 of AtLA aired when China still had the One Child policy in effect. This was a policy that lasted from 1979-2015 to control the population size. The modifications in the late 1980s allowed a second child if the first child was a daughter. After a son or two children were born, birth limits were enforced with use of contraception, abortion, and sterilization. This is now seen in the population statistics, where China has somewhere between 32-36 million more men than women due to the policy (despite the fact that sex-selective abortions are illegal in China, there is a very strong preference for a son over a daughter).

The utter tone-deafness of that line lies in the fact that based on actual, real world polices at the time, based on the cultures the show was drawing on? Azula would never have been born. Based on the actual reality of life at the time for a lot of people, she is the one who is lucky to be born at all.

And that's just China. In Japan, while there was no restrictions on birth, there was a major issue facing the Imperial family and Diet, because the Japanese Constitution states that only males in the direct line of succession can inherit. And at the time, neither of Emperor Akihito's sons had a son, meaning that there was a brewing crisis and fierce debate on if a woman could inherit. As it is now, Prince Hisahito was born in 2006, which means he'll inherit while his elder sisters (11 and 15 years his senior) will, by law, lose their titles when they marry.

Yes, that is not historical. That is the actual state of affairs. Today. In 2021.

But that's the real world. Thing is, the cultural preference for sons is not new and it is extremely deeply rooted. The entire theory of government in Dynastic China, which influenced the rest of East Asia, was based on the relationships between fathers and sons (Confucianism).

This is the cultural nuances being signposted by the aethetics of the Fire Nation, by the bits of culture chosen to be borrowed. So let's bring that to Zuko, the firstborn son, and Azula, prodigy and girl.

Do you know what Zuko's rant says to me, as a girl who grew up keeping her head down, letting her male cousin swagger around and talk down to her so as not to "cause problems", because the second it turned out that I performed better than him (that I had dared inadvertently challenge for "grandfather's pride"), my aunt and uncle literally forgot my name?

His rant says to me "I am the one people, that my father, should be looking at, because it's my right. I am the son. I am the firstborn son. How dare my younger sister be so much better that she takes any of his attention, because that attention is rightfully mine. How dare my younger sister make me work."

Zuko isn't supposed to be saying that. Zuko isn't supposed to be drowning in a sense of entitlement deeper than the Marianas Trench. We're supposed to hear that and understand that Zuko is scrappy and never gives up and was ignored because he couldn't meet an impossible standard.

But the fucking framework around it, the cultural clues that scream in the background, doesn't let that message happen. The framework makes Zuko sound like an entitled idiot at best and a complete hypocritical asshole at worst.

Because Zuko is the firstborn son. He's lucky to be born into a position of absolute privilege, the child that society favors and smooths the way for. Azula was born lucky, because she needed to be born a literal prodigy to compete with Zuko at all.

[peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology]

ahh im obsessed with the summer prompts. Can I request Lifeguard Tom with prompt 36 please? preferably fluffy ending but its all up to you thanks!

This became very long sorry bestie. I hope you still enjoy it tho! Love you so much, thank you for the request love!

Reminder to everyone else that the Summer of Love is still going on and I'll be accepting requests for it until September 22nd! You can find the prompt list here!

Let’s Give It a Shot

36 - It’s the last day of summer, and your last day together

Pairing: Lifeguard! Tom x Reader

Summary: Tom shows you exactly why you love him so much

Warnings: angst, crying, fighting

Masterlist

Summer of Love

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Tom peaked at the bed as he pulled his shirt over his head, a smile came over his face at the sight.

“Good morning angel,” he cooed, “Like what you see?”

“I liked it better when you had your shirt off,” she teased, her voice still raspy and tired, “Remind me why we agreed to work today?”

“It’s only till noon,” he reminded as he bent to kiss her. He laughed as she attempted to pull him into bed, “I’ve got to get going, swim class starts at 7.”

She rolled onto her back and groaned, “Who the fuck takes their kids to swim class at 7?”

“Their toddlers angel, most of them have been up since 5,” he pecked her lips one final time before standing up, “I’ll see you at 8?”

She hummed, nodding once before she closed her eyes again, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” he watched her settle back into bed before leaving, closing the bedroom door as quietly as he could behind him.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Bye bye,” Tom waved to the kids as they padded through the lobby.

“We’ll see you all Thursday,” Harrison added.

“Well I really appreciate it,” Tom smiled in response, falling into the spinning chair that she usually sat in, “Seriously, I owe you.”

The kids filed out, being ushered away by their parents while the boys hung around the front desk.

“I can’t believe I agreed to take you shift,” Harrison yawned, stretching his arms above his head, “You’re such a dick.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the best,” he glanced towards the door, just in time to spot (y/n), “Oh shit, fun’s over Tom, time to get back to work.”

“Ha ha,” she rolled her eyes, “What are you two doing at my desk huh?”

“You’re desk?” Tom smirked, “This is my desk today angel.”

“Oh and I suppose you want me to save the drowning children?”

“No,” he stood and grabbed her by the waist, “Haz is going to watch the pool today and I’m going to help you up front.”

She raised a brow and turned to Harrison, “Really?”

He nodded, “Course sweetheart, happy to give you a little extra time together.”

“Aw, thank you Haz,” she cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You’re welcome,” he gave her a squeeze before dropping her, “Alright, I’ve got to go clean up, you two just make sure everything is done. I don’t want to get in trouble because you two were making out instead of working.”

“We will, don’t worry,” she laughed, “Thank you guys, I couldn’t have dreamed up a better last day.”

“You’re welcome,” Tom hummed, pressing his lips to hers as she tried to reach for the computer behind him, “We could do this everyday if you stayed, I could switch to the front.”

“Tom you know I can’t,” she sighed, “I don’t think we should be having this discussion at work either, it’s just gonna make us both emotional.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow morning so I’m gonna be emotional no matter what,” he sighed, “You never want to talk about this.”

“Because I don’t like thinking about leaving. I don’t like the idea of being far away anymore than you do.”

“Then don’t leave,” he grabbed her hands, preventing her from getting to her job, “Just stay here. You can move in with us, Haz adores you, he won’t mind.”

“Tom I can’t. I have to go back to school, and right now I have to open, so can we please save this for later?”

He sighed and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, we can talk about it later.”

“Thank you,” she kissed his cheek before pushing across the floor.

He laughed as the chair spun away from her, “I don’t know how you expect me to help from all the way over here.”

“I expect you to go make sure the bathrooms are stocked,” she flashed him a cheeky smile while she popped open the register, “And I’m gonna count the cash.”

He sighed and dragged his feet towards the closet, “Fine, fine, I wouldn’t do it for anyone else though.”

The day continued as normal, despite Tom’s best attempts to distract (y/n) from work. Tom had surprised her by doing most of the work throughout the day, insisting she simply sit and handle the register. It was a nice change, normally when Tom hung out in the front it was just to steal drinks and tease. Tom busted through all of her tasks, seeming impossibly determined to get them home as soon as possible. He’d managed to do it too, Harry arrived at exactly noon and he’d rushed (y/n) right out the door.

“Hurry,” Tom shook her shoulders while she gathered her things.

“I am, I am, sheesh,” she shoved her phone into her purse and stood, “What’s the big rush?”

“I’ve just got a lot planned for today,” he beamed at her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, “Now come on, our first stop is this way.”

“Our first stop?” she knit her brow as he led her towards the pool, “Wait why are we going to the pool?”

“Because it’s our first stop,” he repeated, stopping just outside the doors, “See that?” he pointed to one of the lifeguard’s chairs.

She nodded, trying to imagine where he might be taking the conversation, “I do see the chair Tom.”

“It’s the most important chair in the world,” he kissed the top of her head with a smile, “Because I was sitting in that chair the first time I saw you.”

She flushed, biting her cheek to try and fight off her smile, “Stop.”

“I remember it exactly. You walked out of there and I just couldn’t take my eyes off you, you wouldn’t believe how disappointed I was when they said you were gonna be up front.”

“I thought you were pretty cute too.”

He laughed, “Thank God you did.”

“Did you bring me out here just for that?” she raised a brow, “You’re not trying to throw me into the pool?”

He shook his head, “No, just wanted to be a little sappy. Now I’m gonna take you on that date and be even sappier.”

“Lucky me,” she chuckled, “So, where are you taking me now?”

“Minx,” he smirked, “Alright darling, just get ready for the best date of your life.”

“Back home, I can’t parade around the town dressed like this,” he motioned to his swim trunks with a smile, “As much as you might like that.”

“I’d rather save that for tonight,” she teased back, “When I’ve got you all to myself.”

Tom took her home, refusing to reveal even the tiniest detail about their date as they both got ready. He claimed it would be long, that’d they’d be out until that night, but refused to give her any more details. He even went as far as to try and blindfold her when they got in the car, but he quickly dropped it when she refused. She expected he’d be taking her somewhere new or out of town because of this, she was completely in shock when he just drove her to a sandwich shop just up the street from the pool.

“Seriously? We eat here like everyday,” she rolled her eyes, “This cannot be it Tom.”

“It’s not,” he laughed, “Obviously I’ve got something more than this planned. I just thought we could stop here.”

“Why?”

“Because, if you remember,” he began to explain, a smile overtaking his features, “You stayed late to help me clean the pool and I took you to lunch as thanks. It was like our first half date.”

“Half date?” she laughed, “That is not a thing Tom.”

“Yes it is, it was the first time we hung out outside of work together, and it’s when I asked you out, it’s a half date.”

“Those are very specific circumstances that define a half date,” she pursed her lips, fighting her urge to smile.

“Whatever, the point is, this place is special because it reminds me of you,” he leaned over the middle console to press a kiss to her cheek, “And I just wanted to tell you that before we got to the real date.”

“Aw,” she cooed at him, “Don’t tell me it’s going to get even sappier than this.”

“Oh angel, just you wait, it’s only getting worse and worse from here.”

She watched out the windows as Tom drove her across town to another restaurant, though this time she knew exactly why he’d brought her there.

“Tom,” she bit her lip as she spoke, “This is incredibly cute.”

“Ah not here angel,” he grabbed her hands as she tried to open the door, “Just being sappy again. Remember what happened here?”

“Our first date, how could I ever forget that?” she smiled as she reminisced on the happy memories, “We got all dressed up and you brought me flowers. Then we talked until they closed, and we still couldn’t get enough of each other so you drove me up to that cliff side and talked all night.”

“No, no, it was nothing like that,” he rolled his eyes, “I picked you up and you looked so fucking gouregous I could barely speak. Then I took you to this restaurant and I tried so desperately and to seem interesting enough to keep your attention. For some reason you put up with me, and we talked and talked and talked. I thought you’d want to go home at the end of the night but you still weren’t sick of me so we drove up to that little lookout point and I fell madly and deeply in love with you while we talked the night away.”

“You did not fall in love with you on our first date,” she rolled her eyes, “You’re just trying to make me emotional.”

“I fell in love with you the first time I laid my eyes on you, it just took me a little while to realize it.”

She sighed, letting her head fall onto his shoulder, “I fell in love with you the first time we kissed. I’ve never felt like that with anyone else.”

“Mine was cuter,” Tom hummed as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Oh whatever,” she rolled her eyes, “Alright, are we going to the real date now?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see,” he shushed her, driving just a few parking lots over to the local bowling alley, “Remember here?”

“Another one?” she sighed, “Alright, you took me here to introduce me to your brothers. I found out that I majorly suck at bowling that night.”

“Yeah you do,” he laughed, “But my brothers adore you, they treat you like a sister and it totally melts my heart.”

“Yeah, I think they’re cool too,” she chuckled, “So, is there an actual date or are you just taking me on a victory lap of the city?”

“There is a date, at the end of the victory lap,” he admitted, “There’s just a couple more things I want you to see first.”

“You’ll see, just give it a second,” he hummed.

Tom drove her all over the city, stopping anywhere with even the tiniest amount of significance. He took her to the club where they’d spent Harrison’s birthday, the fairgrounds where they spent way too much money on rigged games, even the local park, where her and Harry had gotten way too competitive with a game of frisbee golf. He took her to more sentimental spots too, like where they’d had their first kiss, the hill where they’d fallen asleep watching a meteor shower, the place where they’d first said I love you, where they’d had their first time. It was like a montage of their greatest hits, that had her falling in love with Tom, and the city, all over again. She was almost in tears when Tom finally declared that the tour was over, and it was really time for their date.

“Okay, where are we really going then?” she pressed, her eyes glued to the window for any clues, “I mean we’ve pretty much been everywhere already…”

“Looks like we’re heading to your place, or work,” she knit her brow.

“Does it?”

“Does it?” she mocked, “We have to get out of this car soon or I’m gonna pee myself.”

“Well,” he flicked his blinker on and turned into the pool parking lot, “Good thing we’re here.”

“Tom I swear to god I-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughed, “But you can run inside real quick and use the restroom before we go.”

“They’re closed.”

“I have my keys,” he flicked off the car, grinning as he waved for her to follow, “Hurry up angel.”

She followed him inside, suspicious that he had some kind of ulterior motive, “We are not fooling around in there Tom.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he hummed as he opened the front door, “Go on, take care of your business.”

“Thanks,” she scampered off to the bathroom, only to find Tom was missing when she returned, “Tom?” she peaked around the lobby but found nothing. She got no response when she knocked on the men's locker room door, and the employee lobby was empty. “Tom?” she called again, peeking at her phone for any hints, “Come on,” she sighed and headed for the pool.

“Surprise!”

Out jumped everyone she’d spent the summer with, Tom, Harrison, his brothers, everyone they’d worked with at the pool, all the friends she’s made across town. The pool was all lit up, lined with tables full of food and drinks. (y/n) was in shock, her jaw hung open as she took it all in.

“So,” Tom’s arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, “What do you think?”

“This is amazing,” she squeezed his hands, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” he kissed her cheek again before stepping away, “We all wanted to make your last night really special.”

“It’s perfect,” she confirmed, “Seriously, I couldn’t imagine anything better than this.”

“Glad to hear it love,” Harrison wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug, “Come on though, you’ve got lots of people to say goodbye too.”

She was led around to say hi to everyone, progressively becoming more and more emotional as the night went on. Tom stuck right to her side, doing his best to comfort her as the night went on. It was nice, she appreciated the gesture and everyone being there, but the realization that this was her goodbye just kept creeping back up. Tom could tell she was drained by the end of the night, obviously ready to just curl up in bed.

“Angel, are you ready to go home?” he hummed.

“No, no, I’m okay,” she insisted, “We should stay and help clean up.”

“You can’t clean up your own party,” Harry rolled his eyes, “We’ll stay back and clean it up. If you’re ready to go you and Tom can head out.”

“Are you guys sure?” she wrung her hands nervously, “We can stay and help.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, it’s not very much anyway, we’ve got this.”

“Thanks guys,” Tom squeezed her side, “Let’s get you home then yeah?”

She nodded, “Thanks guys.”

She moved to give each of them a hug, mumbling a quick goodbye, hoping to escape to the car as quickly as possible. Harry seemed to have other ideas in mind though.

“I love you,” he squeezed her tight.

“Aw, I love you too,” she chuckled.

“I’m gonna miss you so much sis,” he patted her back as she pulled away.

She forced a smile as she stepped away, waving to them while her and Tom slipped away.

“Are you alright?” Tom squeezed her waist.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she insisted as she climbed into the passenger seat, “I just wanna go home.”

“Alright, we’ll go.”

“He called me sis.”

“What?”

“Harry called me sis.”

Tom chuckled, “Well yeah, I told you earlier, they think of you like a sister.”

“But it’s different when he says it,” she sniffled, her facade finally crumbling, “I don’t wanna go Tom.”

He moved to her side as quick as he could and pulled her into him, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to angel. If you want to stay you can, Haz and I would be more than happy to have you.”

“But I can’t! I can’t just ditch everything for a summer fling! I have to go back to school and my family and I have to go home! But I don’t want to go back there! I want this to be home, I don’t want to leave!”

Tom took a deep breath and kissed the top of her head before scooting back to his seat, “I know we went a lot of places today angel, but I’ve got one more thing to show you alright?”

“No I don’t wanna go fucking see anything else Tom! I just want to go home…”

“We will, I just want to show you one thing angel, it’ll make you feel better,” he promised, slipping a hand over hers, “It’ll be quick.”

“Okay…”

She was quiet the rest of the short drive, he’d taken her to a small cafe, they’d only been there once before.

“Come on angel,” he waved for her to follow him.

“Why would you bring me here?” she scoffed.

“Just come on,” he insisted, smiling as she slammed the door behind her, “Come sit with me,” he patted his lap.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms before falling into his lap, “Why are we here?”

“Do you remember what happened here?” he hummed.

She nodded, “Yeah, we had our first fight here, and it seems like you’re trying to have our second too.”

“No, I’m making a point,” he corrected with a smile, “We had our first fight here, and then we never came back here again. But that is not why I brought you here, I brought you here because that fight made me think about us, and the fact that you had to leave at the end of summer. I kept trying to think of ways around it or ways for us to minimize our time apart, but you know what thought never crossed my mind?”

“What?” she sank into her chair.

“That when summer came to an end we would break up, because we aren’t a summer fling. We never were, not even for a second, and the sacrifices we make are not for a summer fling, they’re for a real relationship that both of us treasure. If you really, really don’t want to go then you can stay, and I mean we’ve got a Uni nearby and you’ve always got somewhere to stay here. But if I’m the only reason you don’t want to go then you need to go, and we’ll suffer through the long distance until my lease with Haz is up and then I’ll move to you.”

She shook her head, “It’s not just you, I love this town, and the friends I’ve made here, it’s everything about this place. I just feel like I belong here, and I’ve never felt like that back home.”

“Obviously I’m biased here,” he chuckled, “But you could always just give it a semester out here, transfer back if you hate it, or vice versa. Just remember this long distance thing is going to be temporary no matter what, and even then we’re only a couple hours apart.”

She was silent as she tried to sort out her thoughts, “Yeah, school’s a little cheaper out here too, that’d be nice. A-And I haven't paid for anything yet this year so I’m not really obligated to go…”

“You don’t have to justify anything to me angel, obviously I want you to stay” he kissed her shoulder with a frown, “If you wanna give it a shot then I think you should, but if you don’t, we’re still gonna make this work, because I love you.”

“I love you too,” she sniffled while he wiped her eyes, “Thanks Tommy.”

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Taglist:

@niallberry @namoreno @spideyssunshine @thevery-firstpage @outshineallthestars @roseke @zspideyy @tomsirishgirlx @emistrash @andreagf956 @peachyafshawn @spideyspeaches

[littlemisslipbalm]

“I am not going to join your band”

Summary: You’re longtime best friends with Mitch Rowland and you’re in love with him. When he starts working with Harry you tag along and watch as Mitch falls in love with Sarah. But Harry watches them too and you realize you have each other. 

A/N: Why is this lowkey a Mitch fanfic at the beginning OMG - i didn’t mean for it to be like that but it kind of reads that way. I will definitely be doing a part 2 I just wanted to kind of set the stage for what is to come (likely another three part kind of thing). NOT (really) PROOFREAD AND FEEDBACK MUCH APPRECIATED (I love hearing from you)

Word Count: 2.6k 

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, otherwise this is just HS1 Studio FLUFF

Part 2

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All your life had been exceptionally boring. And you had no complaints. You were from a family with two parents, two siblings, and a pet. You went to public school and performed well, but never excelled in anything because you didn’t care to. You chose to go to college just an hour away from your hometown, a small liberal arts school. Your life was, by all accounts, average. You weren’t super popular and you weren’t bullied excessively around town. You just existed there.

The only thing, or person, rather, in your life that you really thought made it exceptional was Mitch. Mitch grew up next door to you when you were kids, he was a few years older but he didn’t mind hanging with you. You eventually became best friends and did everything together. Sneaking in through his window to play with his pet lizard when you were seven. Sneaking out with him to drive around in his car and drink stolen alcohol when you were sixteen. You did everything with Mitch. You thought he was your soulmate. While he was quiet with others and that sometimes freaked them out, you either enjoyed the silence or got to see his truly imaginative and beautiful personality.

Mitch was a musician all his life and you sat with him when he learned to play on his thrifted first ever guitar and attended every one of his high school rock band’s shows, even if that meant sneaking into a bar at fourteen.  

Staying close to home wasn’t hard because that’s where Mitch was. Even if nothing ever had even remotely happened between you and Mitch, you held out hope. He had thought about it just once, if neither of you found anyone else it might be nice to have a family together, but he had dismissed it quickly. Mitch saw you as a little sister and loved having you as his best friend who he could tell anything to, but it was never going to be anything more for him.

So there you and Mitch were, living your little lives in Middle America, nothing to your names, but some average education, affordable apartments, and going-nowhere jobs. That is, until one day Mitch’s roommate called him up to ask if he could come play guitar for some musician’s album he was working on. The musician’s guitarist had called in sick and Mitch’s roommate had volunteered Mitch for the job. That’s when Mitch’s life changed, but what about yours?

It was heading into the second week of Mitch working on the musician’s album, who you had found out to be the famous Harry Styles. Mitch had come home after the first day and called you to come over. When you arrived, he told you how Harry and him had gotten along so well and Harry had invited him to keep coming back and playing on the album. You had never seen Mitch so excited and you were happy for him. You couldn’t help the twinge in your heart though when he kept bringing up someone named ‘Sarah’. She was apparently the drummer and had been very nice to Mitch, as well.

Now Mitch had this whole other life and you were sat there like what the hell am I supposed to do now? Then on that Saturday evening, after a long day in the studio for Mitch, he had come over to watch a movie and unwind with you, he asked if you wanted to tag along to the studio with him on Monday and see how it’s going. He was always telling you how cool everything was and you were quick to jump at the chance to both hang out with Mitch and see him doing what he loved.

On Monday, Mitch picked you up and drove you to the studio. When you got inside the building you were already amazed. The place was small, but so incredibly cool to you. You had never been to a real recording studio before and one of the things you and Mitch loved to do together was music - listening to it, playing it, buying it, so this was an unforgettable experience. Mitch walked through one of the bigger studios doors and the two of you entered the part of the studio that was where all the soundboards and tech was.

Harry, the man who had practically fallen in love with Mitch as well, was inside the room already. He turned to Mitch and beamed his large smile, his teeth a shiny white. You could tell why everyone in the world was in love with Harry just from that smile, it was truly an ‘award-winning smile’. “Mitch!” he exclaimed and gave him a tight hug. Mitch only smiled softly. When Harry pulled back his eyes flitted over to your figure standing just slightly behind Mitch. “You’ve brought a friend ‘round, that is so lovely!” he first said to Mitch and then turned back to you, “What is your name, love?” You extended your hand and said your name, Harry only glanced at your hand and then pulled you into a hug as well, a slightly less exuberant hug, but a hug nonetheless. You loved Mitch, but you didn’t understand how this bright and bubbly man had warmed up so quickly to Mitch’s quiet and solemn exterior.

Harry looked at Mitch with something in his eye you couldn’t quite place after the three of you chatted for awhile. “Well, you’re very lucky to have this man in your life, Y/N, he’s one of the best guitarists I’ve ever met, like, holy fuck, he is good.” You smiled at his praise for Mitch, and glanced adoringly at Mitch. Mitch only ducked his head at Harry’s enthusiastic praise. Whatever reasons Harry had for adoring Mitch, you were pretty sure it meant Mitch’s chance to get out of his old life, including you.  

Then, it was time for them to get to work. Harry and Mitch had already written one song together, or at least Mitch had helped Harry to finish it. Today, Harry wanted the band to play it for the first time all together. Harry had told you to make yourself comfortable on the couch in the soundboard room. You watched as the band set up all of their equipment and you felt your ears burn when you saw Mitch talk to the woman you identified as Sarah. You didn’t want to be jealous, you hated feeling possessive over a man that you weren’t even with, but you just felt like you were watching Mitch slip from your life more and more as every moment passed.

The band started playing the opening chords of what Harry had called Woman when he said into his microphone, “Take 1...of many for Woman.” You smiled as you watched Mitch get into his guitar playing for the song, he sounded amazing. But as much as you liked to watch Mitch play, you couldn’t help but stare at Harry when he began to sing. He was talented, beyond talented, his voice sounded angelic to you. He grooved a bit to the instruments as he sang the lyrics. It was a beautiful song, you thought, wishing you could have someone write a song like that about you.  

As the song reached over half way through, Mitch breaks into a rad guitar solo and for the first time since Harry began singing you looked back over to Mitch. That was kind of where the song ended, there was just a final time when Harry proclaims “Woman!” and it ends. You weren’t sure if it was normal to stand and applaud after a studio recording session, but you did anyway. You jumped up and down a little and clapped. The entire band smiled back at you and Harry leaned into the microphone, “Y/N, why don’t you come in here and join us?” You happily agreed and went into the adjoined room.

Harry told everyone to take a breather for about five, so the band was drinking water and chatting. When you got there you immediately belinned to Mitch and began to gush over how much you loved his solo and his playing throughout. Mitch talked in hushed tones back to you, saying where he thought he might speed up or slow down at parts. You didn’t notice Harry had walked up behind you and you jumped a bit at his voice. “Didn’t mean to give you a fright, love. How’d you think it sounded?” Harry inquired. You tilted your head to look up at him, while Mitch was perched on an amp, Harry stood tall beside you. “It was lovely, the lyrics were epic and I loved the beat of it. I was just telling Mitch how amazing his guitar solo was…” your cheeks brightening when you mentioned Mitch. Harry had some knowing smile again.

“You’ll have to thank Sarah for delivering that beat, however, Mitch and I wrote those lyrics,” Harry continued the conversation with you. You couldn’t believe how normal he was for being a world famous singer and boy band member - just a year ago. One Direction was a huge deal, yet here Harry was asking you how you’d liked the song  and talking to you like you knew a thing or two about music. You and Harry talked about the song for a bit more, Mitch staying silent for almost the entirety of the conversation, you noticed his eyes wandered over to Sarah who was talking to Adam, the bassist. Then, it was time for Harry to listen to the song when the tech crew came back. When he did, he made notes for both the band and the tech crew and everyone got back to work. On the third go around of the song, you decided you were done giving them a round of applause.

They worked on Woman for half the day. When lunch time rolled around, Harry decided he was happy with how the song sounded, ‘good for now’ was all he said, obviously still not satisfied with how it sounded. During lunch you sat beside Mitch and across from Harry. The more you got to know Harry, the more you liked him. He was very playful and free spirited, but also took his passion very seriously and was endlessly grateful for the opportunities he had been given. As you warmed up to Harry, you noticed Mitch being a bit more animated. Had he been keeping his guard up because he wasn’t sure if you and Harry would get along?

There was still sometime before the break ended, but everyone had finished eating. You excused yourself to the bathroom, but when you came back, you saw Mitch occupied with Sarah. You looked helplessly on as he smiled and laughed with her. You felt left out as you really didn’t know anyone else but Mitch there. Sure you had gotten to know Harry a bit, but he was a rockstar and a guy you barely knew, you couldn’t just go up to him and ask to become your new best friend. Harry noticed you standing alone and walked up behind you, this time knowing to tap your shoulder to make you aware of his presence. You turned around at the touch you felt on your right shoulder, you were greeted with Harry’s bright eyes and soft smile. “Do you play any instruments?” Harry asked you. That’s random. “Eh, I can play some piano and guitar. I love piano, but I don’t keep up with it as much as I should.” “Well, you should keep coming here with Mitch. You could get some practice in, we’ve got a piano here somewhere,” Harry said as he raised his head and started to look dramatically around the room. “‘S right behind you,” you smiled at the man who had given Mitch a chance and now seemed to be giving you a chance, too. Harry whipped his head around, “Ahh…Well I’ll make sure it’s tuned for you for tomorrow.” You thanked him and the two of you began chatting about Harry’s visions for the album.

Three Weeks Later

“I am not joining your band, Harry, I’m not even that good of a piano player!” You threw your hands up. “Will you hush? You’re amazing, quit denying it,” Harry grinned as he pinned your arms down to your sides and flipped you around, “Now play exactly what you showed me earlier.” He marched you to the piano and plopped you into the accompanying stool. You huffed a sigh and placed your fingers on the keys. “You don’t even have piano on all-” “Ap, bahp, bahp! Plaayyy…” Harry cut you off and then added, “Please?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Such a baby.

You had been coming with Mitch to the studio for almost a month now. After your first day, Harry had retuned the idle piano for you and you had messed around with it when they weren’t recording. You and Harry had become closer over the time, he realized you were almost the female version of Mitch, but slightly less shy and slightly more opinionated. And you had realized that Harry was the kindest man you knew, only after Mitch. Mitch and Sarah had also become closer in the past three weeks. As much as it pained you to watch, you could never look away. The band and you started to go out every night and every night Mitch and Sarah always ended up sitting apart from everyone else wrapped in their own world. It hurt your heart so much, but you pushed through, happy to be around all the amazing people you had gotten to know. As well, whenever you were left alone, Harry always seemed to pop up, chatting about what was next for the album and what you had been doing on the piano earlier in the day.

Today, you had sought out Harry, wanting to show him something you’d been playing with since yesterday. When he heard what you played he brought up something he had mentioned a couple weeks ago, that you had thought was a joke, he wanted you to join the band - to play keys. You laughed it off, but Harry persisted. Now he was having you play the little random piece you had made up for everyone: the band and the crew. Your stomach was doing flips and your heart was in your throat. This was one of the main reasons you didn’t think you could be in Harry’s band, anxiety. It was minor, but you definitely had some - if your nerves in your physical body and your thoughts in your brain were any indication.

Finally, you began to play. It was the tune of what would become Sweet Creature. When you finished the early sound of it, there was silence. Sarah was the first to clap and then everyone followed quickly after. You ducked your head down and then looked up again with a smile on your face. It widened when you looked over at Harry and Mitch right by your side. You had never had people saying something of yours was great. Harry and Mitch stayed in the studio room with you, excited at the new prospect of a song. The album had reached a roadblock a couple days ago. Harry wasn’t liking any of the songs they were making and he was struggling to write any new ones. This, your art, was a breakthrough. After you had played, Mitch picked up one of the acoustic guitars laying around and began to play the same tune on the strings. Harry began to hum along. They twiddled with your tune a bit, but eventually they had to let it go for the time being. Lunch had ended and they still had to keep working on the other unfinished songs.

-

[crypticpaw]

Table For Four - chapter 1

Entrapta X Hordak fic! (with Netossa and Spinerrella’s participation)

Author’s note: Guess who’s back with more puppy/kitty fics nobody asked for?! That’s right, it’s me! Really wanted to make a double date involving our beloved mad scientists, and with fanart this time! I really hope you guys enjoy this one and tell me what you think! I love hearing you guy’s criticism!

Read it on Ao3!

-Pink-ish, or purple-ish? Pink-ish... Or purple-ish...? Hummm...

Entrapta compared both bow ties, one in each paw, trying to decide which one best matched with her new tuxedo. In other cases, she would ask Double Trouble, who by far had a better knowledge of clothes and "style" than her. But they were busy today. And in other, other cases, she would ask Hordak, who was also busy at the moment, putting on his own dress. -Entrapta? Is something wrong? -Hordak asked from behind the fitting room's door. -No, nothing's wrong, I just don't know which bow tie would look good with my tux! -She said, frustrated. -Could you help me? -In a moment, dear! Entrapta growled. She didn't have a moment! Emily, noticing her frustration, looked up at her from beneath the large bed and beeped worryingly. -Oh! Emily! -The princess jumped down from her comber. -Which one? The dog raised the bow ties for the robot to see. She looked between both for a moment before settling on the one at her left paw. -Purple-ish it is! -Entrapta declared, tossing the pink-ish bow tie over her shoulder. She hummed a tune while going back to her comber's mirror to tie it to her tuxedo. Her ears raised as she heard rustling behind her and steps. Probably just Hordak getting out of the dressing room. -Did you need something? -He asked. -Uh, no, I solved that problem, but now I have another one! -She said. -Can help me tie my- Uuuhhh...! He was absolutely dashing. His dress wrapped perfectly around his hips and loosened around his legs, leaving them in clear sight. A long cape on his back dragging on the ground with his tail. He had black lipstick and nailpolish on, and a rogue lock of fur fell on his eyes in a curl. What a lucky dog she was! She whistled at him in a teasing tone as he walked up to her. -Oh, stop it! You've seen me in this dress a thousand times before! -I've seen the sunset a thousand times before, doesn't make it less beautiful! -She said, her tail wagging. A low purr escaped him as he helped her with her bow tie and adjusted the plastic flower on her pocket. The last time she tried with a real flower, she wouldn't stop sneezing. Emily beeped at them sadly as she handed Entrapta her very small top hat. Hordak pat her in a gesture of comfort. -Oh, I'm sorry, Emily. I know you wanted to come. But this is a date! Meaning "only couples allowed"! -The Princess said. -But Kadroh will stay with you! And you can watch movies with Imp! Emily beeped excitedly again, rolling around the room, knocking things off shelves and tables. Entrapta laughed at her companion, and Hordak raised a paw for Emily to stop when she approached them again. -If Double Trouble shows up unnannounced again -He told her. -Shoot at will! The robot beeped an understanding sound, ready to follow his orders. She ran out off the room when Entrapta opened the door into the corredor. -Are you ready for our first "fancy date", lab partner? -I am. -He said, his tail held high. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -I'll show you a thing or two about romance! -Netossa said in an awfully confident voice. Spinnerella rooled her eyes and chuckled. She loved her wife's overconfidence on herself, and this date had been her idea after all. She rested her tail on Netossa's hip and they kissed. Her wife's gaze changing from confident to love-struck, and she couldn't help but smile. -Good afternoon, my ladies! -The receptionist exclaimed. He, just as the rest of the staff, wore a tux and had his fur straightened with gel. -Good afternoon! We have a booking under the name "Netossa"! -Hmmm... I'm sorry, my lady, but I don't believe we have a booking under that name. -What?! Oh, no, did I call the wrong restaurant?! -Real smooth, "Juliet"! -Spinnerella laughed. -D-do you have any tables for two available? The receptionist checked on a list in his table. -Not at the moment, I'm afraid, but the waiting time is 20 minutes, if my ladies don't mind waiting. -He said, apologetic. -Of course it is... -She sighed, her ears dropped in defeat. -I'm sorry, Nella. Do you wanna go somewhere else? Spinnerella smiled wide, her tail wagging, as she hugged her wife in comfort. -I don't mind waiting! We did want to try a new place! Netossa smiled a little, her tail wagging as well. -We'll wait! -I'm glad! Just wait in the reception, please! I will call you when the table is available! They sat on a little red bench with large cushions, others sat with them, waiting for their tables as well, talking. A large window on the opposite wall gave a beautiful view of the outside, a large garden and the sun setting behind it, giving place for the stars. -I have a good feeling about this! -Spinnerella held her wife's paw on her own. Netossa raised their paws and kissed Spinnerella's. -I have too! They stare into each other's eyes, stuck in their own little world, until they hear a very familiar shrill laugh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- -So fancy! -Entrapta exclaimed. She raised her paws to look at the large red carpet underneath them. Her tail wagged madly with excitement, making her whole backside wiggle, and while Hordak found it most endearing, it earned some strange stares. Either that, or his own presence. He couldn't tell. Hordak knew better then to judge others for their appearance, but he couldn't help but make assumptions. Some in the line behind them whispered and pointed, some in the front tried looking at them without being noticed. Entrapta was distracted, touching everything she could. It was all very velvety and she enjoyed the feel of it. Hordak had to nudge her gently to get her attention back when their turn came. -Hello! -She approached the receptionist. -Oh! Princess Entrapta! What an honour! What brings you here toda-AAaayyy... -The receptionist's expression fell from welcoming to absolutely terrified for his life when he saw Hordak. -Do you have a table for two? -Entrapta asked. -Oh! W-well... We have a waiting list of about 20 minutes, if you don't have any bookings, my lady... -He said, trying to recompose himself. -Which, of course, I completely understand if you don't want to wait that long! Hehe... M-maybe choose another restaurant... -No, we can wait! Right, Hordikins? -She turned to Hordak. -You don't mind waiting? -I don't mind at all. In fact, waiting may be better. It'll help my appetite. Hordak tried to keep his voice calm, but he couldn't help but pin his ears back. He had his eyes fixated on the receptionist, and opened his mouth to lick his lips, purposefully showing as much of his sharp fangs as he could. The receptionist's ears dropped and his face was turning pale. -R-right... Just wait at the reception, I'll call you when there's a table available... Entrapta smiled as she walked past him, Hordak followed after her, but shot the receptionist the nastiest side-eye he could manage. The princess chose a nice little red bench to sit on, right underneath a large window. The sun had just set and the night sky was filled with stars. Entrapta rested her paws on the window stop to admire them, her tail still going. Hordak smiled and sat beside her, her ear wrapping around his tail. -I'm still not used to them! They're so beautiful...! -They are. A moment of silence, and Hordaks smile fell. His worries starting to aggravate him, and feeling other's stare wasn't helping at all. Entrapta noticed his anxiety and took his paw in hers for him to look at her. -Hordikins? Is something wrong? -I'm not sure... -He sighed. -I suppose... I'm just not very confident. We are incredibly out of our element, and I don't know what to do with myself... -I understand. It wasn't easy for me when I first starting hanging out with the other princesses too. -She wrapped her ear around him and pulled them closer together. -But you don't gotta do anything! We're here for us! We'll have a nice dinner and it'll be super fun! You'll see! -Correct, as always, my dear. -He smiled at her and nuzzled her cheek, purring. He wrapped his tail around her as they held each other and Hordak felt his anxiety start to calm. -Entrapta?! Their ears raised and they turned to look at the awfully familiar voice calling the princesses' name. -Hi! -Entrapta wagged her tail. Hordak recognized the dogs sitting behind them, though they were wearing much more expensive clothing. They were princesses, married to each other. He had seen them before in previous Princess Meetings, but he couldn't remember their names. But Entrapta seemed to recognize them, and they seemed to recognize Entrapta. -What are you guys doing here? -What are YOU guys doing here?! -The taller dog asked. -We're out on a fancy date! -Entrapta said, proudly, pulling Hordak closer as to show him off. -Really? -The smaller said. -We didn't know you liked this kind of place! I mean... We know you have trouble with food sometimes... -Yeah, I do! But I really, really wanted to try a fancy date! And Double Trouble said this place was good! -Entrapta turned to the cat. -You guys remember Hordak? -How could we ever forget...? -Netossa! -What?! -Hordikins, do you remember Netossa and Spinnerella? -I do. -Ah. So that was their names. -Pfft! "Hordikins"? -The one they called Netossa laughed. -Only Entrapta calls me that! -He growled. They stared at each other aggressively. -Netossa! Quit it! -Spinnerella barked at her wife. -S-so, you came here on a date, right? What a coincidence! We're here on a date, too! -Are you?! That's awesome! -Entrapta gasped, an idea forming on her head. -You know what we should do?! We should do a DOUBLE fancy date! -Oh, yes! -What?! -Hordak and Netossa asked at the same time. -It's been so long since we've had a double date, Net! -Spinnerella said. -And we for sure never spent enough time with Entrapta! Or Hordak! -Uhhh... You sure about this, honey...? -I have to agree with... Netossa, beloved. I don't believe this to be a wise idea. -Hordak hesitated, the princess' name unfamiliar to him. In a strange place, with strangers, in such an intimate occasion. Hordak knew it wasn't as serious as he was making it, but the fear of something going completely wrong clawed at him. Entrapta raised herself to his eye level and put a paw on his shoulder. -Don't worry, it's gonna be fun! I promise! -Entrapta reassured him. Spinnerella left Netossa's side only to approach the receptionist once again. -Excuse me, could we maybe move to wait for a table for four? We found our friends here, and we would like to sit together! -She asked him politely. -Oh, of course, my lady! -He looked over her shoulder at Hordak, and the cat glared at him again. The receptionist gulped. -W-well, if you choose to move to a table for four, we have one available right now. If you still wish to dine here, o-of course! But I'm sure you don't- -Oh, yes, please! That would be wonderful! -Ah. Follow me... Defeated, the receptionist guided them through the tables to a nice sofa at the end of one of the corners. He tried to ignore Hordak for the most part, though he could feel the cat's gaze burning on the back of his neck. Though it was somewhat far from the other tables, Netossa couldn't help but feel others' gaze on them. It wasn't unusual. They always earned a few stares when they went out, after all, they were princesses, everyone knew who they were, but she noticed an awful lot more of stares than usual. -Here are your menus. -The receptionist said hastly. -I'll have a waiter come and take your orders in a moment! Before Spinnerella had the chance to thank him, he ran to the kitchens followed by two other waiters. Confused, she turned to the others. -So, what are we eating tonight? -There's no pictures on this menu! And all the names sound weird! -Entrapta said. -But I'll eat anything if it's tiny! How about you, Hordak? -Red meat. -He answered, still looking at the menu. -I really want some pasta! -Spinerrella said, sharing her menu with Netossa. -Darling, do you mind sharing it with me? -As long as it got a bunch of cheese, I'm good with it! -Netossa licked her lips. -Are we ready to order, then? Before anyone would answer, Netossa had already called a waitress who was passing nearby. She approached them with a smile, but her expression fell when she noticed the large red-eyed cat. She gulped. -Good afternoon, my ladies! What would you like to eat today? -she asked with a notepad on her paws. -Do you have any pasta? -With cheese? -Yes, we do have our "Gnocchi Alla Bava", it's our special for today! -the waitress pointed at the name on the menu. -Then one of those for us both, please! -Netossa held Spinnerella's paw. -How about you guys? -Do you have anything tiny? -Entrapta asked the waitress. -Well... We have the "Mozzarelline Fritte"... But tha- -Great! I want one of those! -Entrapta interrupted. -Alright... And what for the main course, my lady? Entrapta didn't respond until Hordak whispered in her ear the waitress was still talking to her. -Huh? What main course? -"Mozzarelline Fritte" are appetizers, my lady. You are suppose to order an actual dish for dinner after the appetizers... -Oh. Uhhh... What else is tiny other than that? -Entrapta read the menu again. -Nothing, my lady... -Then I'm just gonna want that! -You sure, Traps? -Netossa asked. -What if you're still hungry afterwards? -Then I can order more! Netossa and Spinerrella exchanged looks. -Well, alright... -the waitress said, turning away from the table. -I'll take your orders to the chef, if that is all- -That is not all! -Hordak growled. -You haven't taken my order! The waitress gulped and turned back. Instead of asking she just gestured for Hordak to speak and refused to look him in the eyes. -Do you have red meat? -he asked. -"Brasato al Barolo". -the waitress answered coldly. -I'll have that. Well done. She turned to the kitchens without another word. Which they all found quite rude. Entrapta on the other hand, had her tail wagging madly and clung to Hordak's paw like her life depended on it. -This is so exciting! I've never been to a fancy restaurant before! -Never before? Never, ever? -Netossa asked. -You don't know what you're missing, Traps! We love coming to "fancy restaurants"! -Oh, yes! The food is good, the waiters are very polite- -To you, maybe. -Hordak growled. Netossa shot him a side-eye and wrapped her tail around Spinerrella's hips, bringing her wife closer to her. Spinerrella, noticing her wife's worries, rested a paw on her shoulder as to calm her down. -Maybe she was just in a rush! -Entrapta told him. -Maybe she didn't want to look at your fa- OW! Netossa had whispered to herself, but Spinerrella had over-heard her and given her a pinch to stay quiet. Hordak pretended he didn't her the dog's almost offense and turned to Entrapta, who fidgeted with her paws while looking around. She noticed a table full of older dogs, also wearing expensive dresses and jewelry. They looked over their shoulder, pointed and whispered. Entrapta smiled and waved at them, thinking they were trying to start a conversation, but they turned back around when they realized they were noticed. Hordak pinned his ears back. Intimidating the waitress had taken his attention from the rest of his surroundings, full of whispering and strange looks. He told himself it was because of him, but a voice inside his head made him question if it wasn't because of Entrapta. For all they knew, she was secluded, had an unstable political relationship with the other Princesses, and worked for the Horde. For him. With him. And she made it very known and clear to all that she enjoyed every second of it. The thought disgusted him, but as he looked at her again, she noticed his eyes on her and gave him a smile. The cat couldn't help but smile back. In a small moment of relief, he bent down and kissed her cheek. So let them stare. -So... you both! -Spinerrella said awkwardly. -How are things for the two of you? Back in Dryl, I mean? -It's great! - Entrapta exclaimed. -The Brothers are having an easier time adjusting and I finally got Hordak to take an actual bath! -Entrapta! -he hissed. -That is personal information! -I understand it completely! -Spinerrella pointed at Netossa. -This one still has a fit over eating her veggies! -Veggies are disgusting! How very dare you! -Netossa barked. Entrapta cackled at the other couple's squabble. Hordak was still suspicious. Of what or who, he wasn't sure, but he wasn't as at ease as his lab partner. -You both are Princesses, are you not? -he implied to them. -But I do not seem to remember your kingdom from any map. I heard it's quite small... -And what if it is?! -Netossa growled. -Netossa! Shut! Your! Mouth! -Spinerrella turned to Hordak. -Yes, it is! It actually wasn't recognized as a kingdom of it's own until very recently, with Netossa's grandmother! -Really? How come? -Entrapta tilted her head, confused. -It basically works like a fief! -Netossa puffed out her chest. -There are rulers who the subjects give their services to, and in return, the rulers let the subjects stay and live on their land! Nana was pissed at Bright Moon at the time because they refused to count us as a kingdom or part of the Princess Alliance, even if our fief was enormous and we were the main source of sugar, cattle and wheat! They wanted us to keep paying taxes! -Fuck taxes! -Entrapta interrupted in an unfamiliar angry tone. -That's right, Traps! Fuck taxes! -Netossa cheered, her tail waging, while Spinerrella shook her head. -Nana stopped exporting resources and Bright Moon had to swallow their pride and let her in the Princess Alliance, or else they would have starved! -That's clever! I'm just glad Glimmer gave up on trying to make me pay my taxes! -Entrapta said. -I hated doing them! -I am glad too! -Hordak said, wrapping his tail around her. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- -So we're not going to do nothing about it?! -the waitress whispered, indignant. -What are we supposed to do? -the receptionist whispered back. -It's Hordak! Those claws cut through flesh like a hot knife cuts through butter! We can't just tell him to leave! -You're both right! -the chef said through the kitchen window. -Nobody wants him here, but if we tell him to go home, he'll rip our tails off and shove them down our throats! -He's bothering the other customers! I've had multiple complaints about him! -He's just sitting there! As long as he doesn't do anything, let's not turn his attention to us! -Hi! They all jumped. Expecting a claw to his face, the receptionist raised his paws to shield himself, only to realize it was not Hordak, just Princess Entrapta. -O-oh! My lady! Apologies, are you in need of something? -he recomposed himself quickly. -Yeah, where's the bathroom? I really gotta go! -she said. The receptionist pointed at a small corridor next to a bookshelf, near the kitchen. Entrapta turned from them. -Thanks! By the way, when is our food coming? We're really hungry! -In a few more minutes, my lady! -the chef said. -Apologies for the wait, but we have a full house tonight! -Oh, okay! Thanks anyways! -and she ran off. They all sighed in relief after the Princess was gone. -She doesn't look hurt, does she? -the chef asked, worried. -Even if she doesn't, I wouldn't be surprised if he hits her! -the waitress said. -We're getting too ahead of ourselves here! -the receptionist barked! -Just act normally and DON'T do anything stupid! The waitress huffed. -Watch me!

That’s it for this chapter! I’m nit sure how long this will be, but I will try my best to update it soon! Reblog if you liked it and I wish you the happiest pride month!

[pascalscenarios]

THE ONE (Frankie Morales x Reader)

THE ONE

Frankie Morales x Reader  

Summary: Today’s your big day, your wedding day.

Warning: None

Words: 2746

Authors Note: Buckle up!!! This one… I cry. I hope you are all doing well! Please take care of yourself and stay hydrated. I’m finally on spring break thank god lol. If you are in school and have midterms I wish you luck! The school will be ending shortly, We’re almost there! Keep pushing! 

We have one more chapter left! :( Enjoy!

- K

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 5.5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 |

Chapter 9

Today was your wedding day. You had a sleepless night, tossing and turning. You were kept up thinking about what Santiago had said to you. You laid in your bed on your side. All your bridesmaids were up already, gathering everything they needed to start getting ready. You were getting married in a beautiful garden there was across the street.

“Let’s go! Today’s the big day!” One of them said happily as they pulled the covers off of you.

“Come on, I have to start doing your hair!” one of them shouted from the bathroom.

You groan, setting up in bed. You yawn, shaking and running your fingers through your hair.

“Gosh, you look tired! The bags under your eyes!”

“Don’t worry I’ll cover it up!” one shouted from the bathroom

“Gee thanks…” You rolled your eyes and rubbed your face. “I couldn’t sleep…” You say.

“It's probably just nerves, but it’s fine! Today is going to be one of the happiest days of your life! Now come on out of bed, we only have a few hours!”

“Can’t we eat first?” you groan.

Your maid of honor shoves a Donut in your face. You huff taking it from her, taking a bite. She drags you out of the bed, leading you to the bathroom, plopping you down in the chair in front of the vanity.

“Alright let's crackin '!”

All your bridesmaids were ready, their hair and makeup had been done. Yours was done as well. You were in the bathroom changing in your outfit.

As you slipped on your outfit. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You felt different compared to the first day you had but it was in the bridal shop. You were beaming, happy and so excited. You felt amazing. Looking at yourself now, you felt none of that. A scared and unhappy person stared back at you. That excited person was long gone.

You couldn’t call off the wedding now. You were getting married soon. You couldn’t do that to everyone, to Alex.

“You alright in there?” Your maid of honor asked through the door

“Yeah, I’m coming out.” You quickly pulled yourself together, putting on a fake smile. You walk out and all the bridesmaids gushed.

“Oh my god, you look amazing!” They helped you fit your outfit and zip up the back.

You walked over to the full body mirror continuing to stare at yourself.

There was a knock on the door, the bridesmaid opened the door. “People are arriving! It’s almost time! We’re heading down to the lobby” One of the groomsmen said peaking in the room.

“You guys go, I’ll meet you down in the lobby.”

“What? No! We have to-”

“Just go! I’ll meet you down there! I just need to do something real quick.”

“O-okay” The girls were confused but listened to you. They left the door open for you as you left.

You stared at yourself in the mirror trying to pull yourself together. You were freaking out, hyperventilating. You walk over to the window, pulling back the sheer curtain. Across the street, you could see the garden, the white tents set up for the wedding. You could see your and Alex’s friends and family walking and wait around.

“Oh god,” you signed. You shake your hands trying to get the nerves out, you walk back over to the mirror, staring at yourself.

You heard a knock on the door. You groaned, “Seriously, I want a few minutes alone is that too much to-”

“Wow” you hear a stunning voice call out behind you, you look in the mirror you were standing in front of noticing Frankie standing in the doorway. “You look beautiful Smiles…”

“Frankie” you breathed, quickly turning around to face him. “What are you doing here?”Although you invited him to a wedding a while ago, and after everything you two had been through, you thought he wasn’t going to show.

“I told you I wouldn’t this day for the world.”

Your heart began to race, your chest began to heave. “Y- you're not supposed to be in here, you're not supposed to see me, you do not suppose to be up here-”

“Pff that’s the groom.” He chuckled. You weren’t laughing. You just stared at him with wide eyes.

“Look I know I shouldn’t be in here, but I needed to see you.” He walks up to you, grabbing ahold of your hands.

“I just wanted to tell you, I’m happy for you. You deserve to be happy, and I know Alex will give you that, give you all the things you ever wanted in life. Alex is so incredibly lucky to have you.”

You continued to breathe heavily as I stared deeply into his eyes. You didn’t want to cry, but you were on the verge of tears. Your lip begins to quiver. “Frankie-” you croaked.

“Woah, hey it's okay.”

You began to sob. He places his hands against your cheek, his thumb rubbing just below your eyes, wiping the tear that fell.

“I-I can’t do this- I gotta leave-I can’t go out there-” you said quickly between sobs. He spins you around, walking you back to the bed so you can sit down.

He crouches down in front of you, still holding your hands, his thumps running on the top of them trying to help soothe you.

“It’s okay to be nervous, Smiles. You’re gonna walk out there a-and you’re gonna marry Alex. Everythings gonna be great, you’re gonna be fine-”

“Things aren’t fine Frankie…” you wailed.

“Please don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry…What’s wrong? Talk to me…”

You stared down at him. He looked up at you with worried eyes.

Listen to your heart. “...Frankie, I-”

“Come on we gotta-” Your maid of honor walked in catching you and Frankie.

Frankie drops your hands from his and quickly stands up. You stand up too, quickly whipping your eyes to cover that you’d been crying but your eyes were puffy.

Your maid of honor stands there awkwardly, not knowing what you say.

Frankie turns to you. “It’s gonna be okay. I wish you the best. I love you, Smiles.” he whispers, leaning in planting a kiss on your cheek. He quickly walks out of the room.

“Frankie!” You called after him. Your hand touches the spot on your cheek where he had kissed you.

“What was that all about? Was that him? Was that guy your ex-” She gives you a look.

“Can we not talk about it please…” You say walking to the bathroom quickly fixing your makeup.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Nothing happened” you walked out of the bathroom. “Come on let’s just go.”

…

You made it down to the lobby, the rest of the bridesmaids and Santiago stood waiting around.

Santiago could tell that something was wrong with you.

“Alright ladies, just start walking over I got, Smiles” Santiago announces. All the girls headed out the sliding glass doors of the hotel.

Once they are all gone, he turns to you.

“I saw Frankie come down. Was he up there with you? He just ran out of here so fast, he didn’t even stop to talk to me.”

“Let’s go.”

“But-”

“Santiago, please just drop it.”

“Okay,” he says, putting his hands up in defense. He bends his arm, signaling for you to take it. You look your arm around him walking out of the hotel and across the street to the garden.

“Alright Smiles is here, lets go!” One by one your bridesmaids walked down the aisle.

You felt numb as you and Santiago walked down the aisle. You spotted Frankie august the crow of family and friends. All eyes were on you, but you only seemed to notice those brown eyes you adored. You both couldn't take your eyes off each other. Your gaze was supposed to be in front of you at Alex, but Frankie was your main focus.

Alex stared at you, wondering why you weren’t looking forward to him. He looks in the direction you were looking in, noticing Frankie in the crowd of family and friends. He noticed Frankie was looking at you as well.

Frankie was looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world, his mouth gaped open. Frankie quickly closed his mouth, swallowing hard. He needed to leave. He thought he could sit through the ceremony and watch you get married, but he couldn’t.

As you make it to the front, you take Alex’s hand, smiling up at him, but he gives you a frown, his eyes sad.

Frankie moved through the row, excusing himself as he walked by people. When he got to the end, he started to stealthily make his way to leave.

As you stood in front of everyone, noticing Frankie leaving the garden. Watching him walk away, you knew you needed to go after him. You loved him. You loved Frankie. You could deny your feelings any longer. Frankie was the one you wanted to be with. You didn’t care about anything else. All you knew is that you loved him and you desperately need to run after and tell him before it's too late.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today-”

“Stop” you announce to the officiant of the wedding as they stare deeply at you. Everyone in the crowd gasped and whispered, confused as to what was going on.

“Go,” they say.

“W-what?”

“Go after him” he motions down the aisle. “I know your heart isn’t in this. It’s not with us.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry, but I can’t marry you...”

“I know...I saw the way you two were looking at each other when you were walking down the aisle. You love him and he loves you. Yeah, not gonna lie, this hurts, but I’m letting you go. Your heart was never mine, to begin with, because it’s his. It’s always been him.”

“Alex I’m so sorry for everything, I truly am...I’m sorry for stringing you along like this, I’m sorry I couldn’t amid what I truly felt earlier...Deep down I’ve always known that I was still in love with him, but I tried to deny it because of us. Part of me wanted to be with him, but I was scared of getting hurt again, but you... You’re such a great person and are so kind. I- thought I could make it work, but this isn't what I want. I’m so sorry for everything Alex and know that I do love you and you’re going to find someone who loves you so much more than I ever could.”

Alex smiles sadly.

“I just want you to be happy. I hope things work out for you and Frankie.” He kisses your forehead.

“Now go get him!”

“Thank you, Alex” You smile. A commotion started in the crowd as they watched you run down the rain down the aisle. You heard some people yelling angrily, cheering you on, or confused.

You ran out to the garden, stopping as you made it to the sidewalk right outside the entrance. You look around to see if you find Frankie around. He shouldn’t have gone far.

“Frankie!” You shouted as you turned, desperate trying to figure out what direction he had gone in.

“Smiles!’ Santiago says quickly running up behind you.

“Santi!” You grab his arms.

“I gotta find him! I gotta find Frankie! I gotta tell him I love him!” You say quickly.

“Come on, I park my car in the parking structure at the hotel!”

You quickly slip off your shoes, the two of you dash to the hotel parking structure across the street. You both hopped in the car, Santiago, swerved on out of there. “Here take my phone, try to get in touch with Frankie!” He placed his phone in your lap and she drove like a maniac.

You quickly pick up his phone dialing Frankies number.

It rang and rang, and rang. No answer.

“Ugh, come on Frankie!” You groan in frustration.

You tried calling several more times, but they all went to voicemail.

“Voicemail again”

“Try calling Lilah!”

You look for the Lilah number under contacts and dial her number.

“Hello?”

“Lilah!” thank god she answered.

“Smiles?”

“Do you know where your dad is? Is the home? I’m trying to get a hold of him!”

“No...I’m over at my friend Rehma’s- oh my god, are you going after him?” Lilah gasped. You hear her friend gasp as well.

“Yeah, I am.” You could help but smile.

Shrieking and hollering of the girls came from the other end of your phone, you pulled the phone away from your ear, you and Santiago laughed listening to them scream.

“Oh my god, I’m so happy right now-Um I'm gonna go home and see, if he does come home I’ll let you know

“Thank you!”

“Yes, of course, good luck!” The girls shout happily.

You hang up the phone.

“He’s not home, but she’ll call back if he comes back,” you tell Santiago.

You sat there thinking. Where would he have gone?

Then you remember. The lake.

“Santi, the lake. He might be there. I remember when he took me, told me he likes to go there to think.”

“We’re driving in the wrong direction then,” he quickly turns the car, making an illegal U-turn.

…

By the time you got to the lake, the sun was setting. Slight orange remained in the sky. Santiago parked right next to Frankie’s pickup truck. He was here but you didn’t know where. You get out of the car, Santiago comes to your side, learning again his car.

“I’m gonna stay here...Go get him.” He smiled.

You smiled at him and walked a few yards towards the dock on the lake. You look trying to see if Frankie was somewhere out on the lake.

Off in the distance, you notice a fire near the campsite area. You quickly walk towards the light source. As you make it closer, You see Frankie sitting on a log, in his tuxedo, roasting a marshmallow.

Frankie saw someone walking towards him. He looks up, seeing you making your way towards him.

He stood up from the log, staring at you. His face was in shock. You were supposed to be getting married. He had to be dreaming. You were quickly walking towards him.

“Smiles? What are you-”

Before he could finish the sentence, you rushed up to him, tightly gripping his loose tie, yanking him in for a kiss. He was taken by surprise, dropping the marshmallow he was roasting onto the ground, his hands grabbing your hips, pushing you closer to him. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pushing your body closer to him as well.

You pull away. “Francisco Morales, I love you.” you begin to cry.

He’s waited years to hear you say those words again. This time he pulls you into a kiss.

“Please tell me this is real..please tell me I’m not dreaming” He rests his head against yours

“It’s real…this is real.” you sobbed. He pulled you tightly into a hug.

“Say it again..”

“This is re-”

“No, that you love me...I need to hear you say it again…please say it again” he desperately moans.

You giggle through your sobs “I love you, Frankie. You and only you. It’s always been you. I’ve tried so hard to deny and ignore my feelings for you since you came back into my life, but I can't keep pushing it away. I’m crazy about you. I want to be with you, spend the rest of my life with you... I’m yours, I’ve always and forever been yours, you have my heart.”

He sighed in relief, laughing. You giggled as well, as you rested your head in the crook of his neck.  

“I’m sorry for everything, smiles. I really screwed us over all those years ago..”

“I know you are,” You say running your hands through the back of his hair.

“ and I forgive you, Frankie. The past is the past. We’re focusing on the present, right now, this very moment, we love each other, that's all that matters.”

“I love you so much, Smiles”

“And I love you”

“...So...You want a s'more?” He says as he continues to hold you in his arms.

You laugh looking up at him.

“Yes, I would love one.” You say planting a kiss him.

tags // @icanbeyourjedi @im-an-adult-ish​ @sara-alonso​ @lydiascottage​ @eternalkara​ @back0nmybullshit​ @wifeofdindjarin 

[trillian-anders]

the assistant

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 6.8k

description: part 1 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now, the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale.

You wanted to smack that dumb smirk off his stupid dumb face. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale. The bane of your fucking existence. Standing there with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, he fucking loved this. Watching as you cleaned up his mess. A crying girl on his doorstep and you, his assistant (aka babysitter), trying to calm her down enough to get her to leave his house. This dumb contemporary floor to ceiling windowed, minimalist, empty souled house. The girl had been picked up at a bar last night. Charmed by his handsome face, the money he was careless to spend, the way he spoke to you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

It was a fucking joke. A trick. You’ve seen it a million times and you’d be willing you bet that you’d see it a million more. 

The door blocked her view of him, your clear view of him from the side, sipping on a mug of coffee in his hands and fucking smirking. 

“He won't even see me?” You hated when they cried. Like each of them had this idea that they’d go home with Ransom Drysdale and fuck him so good that he’d tie them to his bed and never let them leave or something. 

You sighed heavily before replying, “Mr. Drysdale has business to attend to, he’s unavailable at the moment, but I can leave him a message if you’d like?” You did this maybe five or six times a week. In the early morning hours, after his sexual escapade and some rest, Ransom would wake early and leave for the gym. In that time you were supposed to ‘take out the trash’ as he described it. This morning, the girl left dazed and confused in the fog taking an uber back to her home, but returning an hour later trying to plead her case. It was giving you a migraine. 

The girl stepped back from the porch, shoes crunching against the gravel as she searched the windows for his face. “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” She shouted, flipping the bird into the air. The man hiding to your right, choked on his coffee in laughter as you watched the girl get back into her car and disappear from sight. 

“What's on the agenda today Ransom,” You shut the door quietly, turning to face him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” He scoffed in indignation. 

“You’re not gonna quit,” He drained the rest of his mug, “You can’t even leave the house long as you got that.” He gestured towards your leg. Sitting firmly on your right ankle was a house arrest bracelet. One meant for him, but carefully bribed into being put on your own leg. The stupid son of a bitch got away with murder, after the death of his late Grandfather’s housekeeper by his own hand and the attempted murder of the girl that got the entire Thrombey fortune, he stayed the lucky son of a bitch he had been his entire life. 

Evidence was mishandled, not enough proof. That whole, ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ thing. The rich asshole got fucking house arrest and court mandated therapy. Even after there were three fucking witnesses to him attempting to murder Marta Cabrera. 

Money oiled the gears of the justice system, letting the trust fund baby slip through without consequence. That’s where you come in. 

You worked for the Thrombey’s before. As a tutor to Meg when she began to fail her english class. For whatever reason, Lynda and Richard Drysdale liked you, assigned you a new task. Their sweet baby boy Hugh, called Ransom by everyone but the Help. You’ve worked for Ransom for three years now. The first year before the death of his Grandfather and Thrombey patriarch, and now two years after his death and wouldn’t you know it. Hugh Ransom Drysdale wrote a fucking bestseller. 

Everyone wanted an insight into this family. Harlan Thrombey always said there was so much of him in Ransom. He wasn’t lying. 

Ransom wrote the first of what you knew would be many new Thrombey family murder mystery novels. And he was reaping in the cash. He was two months away from his next big release. Something you’re sure would fly off the shelves just as quickly as the first. 

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” His coffee mug abandoned by the front door for you to clean up, he left you to officially start your day. He retreated into the study he created for himself to crank out the last four chapters he needed for his book, maybe. 

Due to circumstances beyond your control, you were the one placed on house arrest. As long as no one was notified that Ransom left the perimeter of the house you were being paid well, and you being paid well meant your younger sister gets taken care of. You were able to send her money every month to help with the fact that she was staying with an estranged aunt. It hadn’t been easy once your mother died, but the Thrombey’s lighten the load so to say. 

That’s why you were washing Ransom’s sheets that reeked of sex, picking up and disposing of torn panties and tossing used condoms the fucking dick couldn’t be bothered enough to toss two more feet into the trash can in his on-suite. You’d invested in rubber gloves. 

On days that Ransom had to meet with his probation officer he would wear a dummy bracelet. It got him by and soon the fucker would be over and done with house arrest all together. You’d be able to move back home then. Hopefully. 

“Ransom, you ever gonna eat today?” You knocked on the open door of his study, bringing his attention from his computer to you, who held a bowl of pasta in your one hand. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. There were multicolored post-its surrounding his computer. Your mind made the connection with how similar it was to his Grandfather’s own workspace. You gently placed the bowl on his desk, turning to pour him a tumbler of whiskey from the small bar in the corner of the room. 

“I don’t know how the old bastard ever cranked out two books a year,” His neck cracked. “How is that even possible?” He took a large bite of the pasta, squinting at the screen. His eyes quickly shifted to yours, watching you set down the glass of whiskey in front of him. He grabbed your wrist. “Stay.” It was an order. “Sit.” You took your place in a chair across from him. 

“Harlan wrote every day,” You told him, “You write whenever you’re not off sticking your dick into anything that breathes.” He laughed at that. 

“Not everything that breathes,” He typed a few more words into the word document, “I haven’t fucked you yet.” Your core pulsed, he said yet. 

Audibly you scoffed, “I would never willingly fuck you Ransom.” You pulled your legs up onto the chair to make yourself comfortable. He smirked at that, eyes not leaving the computer screen. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” That stupid smirk. You hated that fucking smirk. So condescending. 

When you first met Ransom you were probably very much like the girls that you now pry out of his bed at 8 am. You had been tutoring Meg at the family home, sitting at the kitchen table going over Othello when he sauntered in, digging through the cabinets for snacks. You could feel Meg tense up next to you and that’s when he turned. He was so fucking pretty. Blue eyes, well kept hair, cashmere sweater, those broad fucking shoulders, and on his face, stretching that full bottom lip you wanted to tug between your teeth, was a smirk. 

That pulsing throb between your thighs soon was quickly forgotten as he opened his mouth and began to speak, “How’s it going Meg, trouble reading? Or do they not teach you how to read when you’re a liberal? Lord knows you guys never fucking understand anything anyway.” Meg snapped back at him, but you were stunned. You could tell he said that on purpose, knowing it would make her go off on the tangent he was now, finding a sick pleasure in it. That was the first time you’d seen the smirk. You’d lost count of how many times you’ve seen it since then. 

“I really hate you Ransom.” You sighed, sinking further into your chair. He had almost finished off the bowl of pasta by now, whiskey long since emptied. He thinks it’s funny, you hating him because he responds looking you in your eyes, maintaining his smirk, 

“I know you do baby.” He liked to do that. Call you pet names. Once he had even pretended you were his wife when you accidentally walked in on him and a girl he had been balls deep in, bent over the back of the couch. He fucking LOVED that one. The girl had cried, embarrassed, apologizing as she picked her bra up from the floor and slunk out the front door behind you. That was a while ago. Pre-Murder. You should have seen it then. How insane he actually was. 

Ransom was incredibly smart and was a quick thinker. It was part of the reason that he had gotten away with murder in the first place. You knew that. It showed in his novel. He would have you read chapters, give him your opinion, before writing and rewriting. Showing you again. He’d ask you if you could figure out who was the murderer, a sinister glint in his eyes, arms crossed, standing above you waiting. He could only be satisfied if you didn’t have a clue. 

It was a gift, you supposed, the ease in which he wrote to make every character a possible suspect in completely new and incredible scenarios. He had three books in various states of completion that he was chipping away at, the one he was currently working on seemingly better than the previous published. 

His Mother, the one who gave him the silver spoon and cursed him for having it his whole life, was suddenly proud of him. His Father, now divorced from his Mother, would come by weekly asking for money. Ransom loved that too. His Dad got nothing due to the prenup, leaving him penniless. The cushy job he had at Lynda’s real estate empire was gone, and now Dad was working at local agency scraping by on low commission. Last week his Father came to the door while Ransom was writing and muscled his way not too kindly past you into the house. 

“Ransom!” He called, finding his way into his son’s study. You quietly shut the door, returning to folding laundry. The door shut tightly behind him and sounds had been muffled. It’s only when their voices went from calm to a screaming match did the door wretch open and Ransom followed his Dad out, both red faced. 

“We’ve given you everything in your fucking life and you can’t even give one iota back.” Ransom opened the front door, gesturing to the porch. 

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.” His voice stern and commanding.

“Fuck you Ransom.” With that he was gone. The silence that had settled over the house was thick, Ransom’s hand still resting against the closed door before he took a breath and, without taking a glance in your direction, returned to his study. Closing the door. 

The echo of that argument sat in the house for the rest of the day, Ransom leaving soon after to find a body to lose himself in. If the murder trial did anything, it made Ransom into a bad boy and girls fucking loved it. He wasn’t, technically, guilty after all. 

You attempted to clear the bowl in front of him, but was stopped by his hand. His eyes never left the screen as he brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss in your palm, before dragging your arm to his other shoulder, hugging himself with it awkwardly until you gave in and wrapped your other arm around him, holding him tightly for a moment. 

He was soft sometimes. His Mom never held him when he was a kid. He was left alone a lot while she was building her empire. Babysitters never stayed long, nannies came and went. Sometimes you truly felt bad for him, other times you remember that he was a dick and that he loved to play tricks and torment anyone and everyone that was supposed to take care of him, including you. The only difference was you weren’t able to leave. 

He let you go soon after that, letting you clean up the mess from dinner and stoke the fire place warming the house that always seemed too cold. As you stood by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself you could feel him behind you, coming to wrap his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder as you stared into the flames. There was a moment or two of silence as you both stood there. 

If this were any other situation, if Ransom loved you, if this was someone who loved you, if this someone cared enough to care about the things you care about, this would be kind of romantic. But it’s Ransom, and he didn’t care about anyone but himself, he definitely didn’t care about you, and he one hundred percent didn’t care about anything you care about. “I’m going out.” 

His arms left your waist and his chest left your back leaving you cold. “For fucks sake Ransom, I don’t feel like throwing out a girl tomorrow morning.” You turned to watch him throwing his coat on. He smirked. He fucking smirked. 

“I’ll give you a break and throw her out myself then.” And he was gone. 

Hours later you’re woken by the sound of Ransom coming home, sure enough he wasn’t alone. Soft giggles and a bang, he’s shoved her against the wall beside your room. There were muffled groans as you assumed she found her knees right there in the hallway. He got off on this shit, you knew. Often stopping somewhere outside your door to start his sexual escapades. Knowing you were mere feet away, like some half-assed exhibitionism. It wasn’t long after that the girl squealed and there was more muffled talking before they moved to his bedroom. To which you shared a wall. 

Your bedroom, before you were a live-in, housed a bunch of items you believed graced a teen boy’s bedroom walls at one point. And still, shoved in the corner, were playboy model cardboard cutouts, “They’re vintage, mint condition, and worth a lot.” Sure, Ransom, sure they are. Arcade games, framed patriots jerseys, a lacrosse set from his high school days. You were shoved in the middle of it all, a single bed shoved against the wall surrounded by what once was a room full of teenage boy memorabilia. A shrine to his youth. 

The headboard soon came knocking and hope for sleep was lost. The girl’s moans escalating to shrieks. Either he was as good as he says, or these girls really care about his ego. Either could be true when there’s more than one comma in your bank account. 

The kitchen was much quieter. A steady rocking still came from upstairs, but thankfully it was muffled by the floor. As you made a cup of tea you figured you would see if he had printed off a new chapter ready for you to read. You hope he wouldn’t have gone out without finishing it anyway. 

You were not sure why you cared to be honest. You had this love/hate for Ransom. He was an annoying prick who did something really fucking horrible, but he also made it very clear to everyone involved that you had nothing to do with it. There was a scary moment there, after his arrest, when you were brought to the station for interrogation. You hadn’t known he had even gotten up to any of these crimes. He kept you completely in the dark and he was sure to let his arresting officers know that. You hadn’t even seen him since the night Harlan died when he left the party stranding you at the estate. 

Money does crazy things to people. The threat of his steady income leaving was enough to push him to do something crazy. He was lucky enough that the recorded confession magically was erased. He was lucky for dirty cops. He was lucky that even though his mother despised his lifestyle she didn’t want him to go to prison. He was so lucky. Now with his first novel sitting highly on the bestseller list, he seemed even more lucky than he did before. 

His study was on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom, muffling the sounds enough for you to flip through the packet left on top of his keyboard. Three chapters away from completion you were following the detective through paces where things felt more confusing than ever, the clues were unclear and there was not much to go on, but the tension between the eldest son of the victim and his ex-wife were mounting and it was hard to believe that maybe this guy had nothing to do with it despite what was described as an ‘air-tight’ alibi. You read through the chapter twice, scribbling your thoughts in red pen along the margins. 

“What do you think?” You jumped in your chair, looking up to see Ransom in the doorway. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” Your hand still clutching your chest. He had a glass of water in his hand, chest bare, solid navy pajama pants slung low on his hips. His chest hair always got you, just a little bit. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed off the door jam to walk into the room, taking a seat in the chair you occupied hours ago. “It’s good,” you cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.” He chuckled softly. 

“Let me see.” You handed him the packet and his eyes scanned the margins, reading your comments. They were mostly reactions, that’s what he liked. He wanted to know how you reacted to everything he put in front of you, did you like the romance, the tension, the lust he was trying to write between the ex-husband and wife? Or was it too distracting from the plot? Is the detective too unbelievable? He’s a character for sure. Can you figure out whodunnit yet?

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, spinning the chair side to side, waiting for him to put the packet down. 

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” He took another sip from his water. You scoffed, 

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” A smile stretched his lips,

“I like how much it bothers you.” 

“It’s annoying,” you said, “Worst way to start my day.” He laughed. 

“That’s the only reason?” He asked, throwing the packet back on the desk, leaning back in his chair. Smirking. 

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You pushed back from the desk, moving to exit the room. He quickly grabbed your wrist, tugging you over to his side where he looked up at you, 

“If you wanna take their place, just let me know.” Your other hand came up to smack him on his shoulder, causing him to laugh as he released you, letting you take your exit. 

“Dick.” 

You found him the next morning at his desk, looking as though he had very little sleep. “Babe could you get me some coffee?” You yawned in the doorway, 

“Sure.” It didn’t take long before you were setting the cup in front of him. “Your therapist is coming by at one.” He nodded, not looking up from his computer. “I’ll come get you when it’s time for you to get ready.” 

He was focused. You weren’t sure where this focus came from. It was every once in a while that he would find this stroke of inspiration and write for a whole day straight. Hopefully he will be finished his book before schedule and be able to get ahead for the next one. 

Soon he was washed, dressed, and ready for the one person he dreads the most. He hated therapy sessions. There were only ten more he needed to do before the court mandate was over. Ten more weeks until you were able to get this lovely ankle bracelet off when you would hopefully be able to go back to the routine you had with him before. Where you’d sleep in your own shitty apartment and show up to work a 9 to 9 five days a week. 

After sessions he was always moody, quiet, and tended to need his favorite single malt restocked the next day. Not exactly in line with how he should be tending to whatever revelation the therapist has been streamlining him to, but that wasn’t any of your business. You could say though that during the last 42 weeks of sessions this refractory period was shortening to less and less time, maybe tonight you won't be peeling him off the floor of the study and dragging him up to his room drunk off his ass. 

While in the session you were trying not to listen in on, you were sunk heavily on the living room couch, drinking coffee and reading the latest chapter he had slapped into your hands before entering back into his study. The book was so close to being finished, the last two chapters leading you to the big reveal and aftermath. The climax was steady taking hold and you were more sure than ever that the eldest son had something to do with it. You didn’t know what he did, but it was something. 

He looked mad enough to kill as the Doctor left. Slamming the door, barely missing the Doctor’s jacket sleeve as he made his hasty retreat. Ransom stood seething for a moment by the front door, a chill running down your spine. He had murdered someone before, something you try to forget seeing as you are forced to spend so much time with him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. It felt like an hour before he moved. 

“I’m going out.” The words spoken sternly as he stomped his way up the stairs like a petulant child, returning moments later, cleaned up, eyes blank, before grabbing his coat and slamming the door loud enough to make you jump. 

Aside from Ransom’s Mother never being around and aside from his Father’s string of extramarital affairs and aside from his Grandfather’s need to push him in every direction but close, you wish you could say that Ransom had a good childhood. But he didn’t. When he was little the kids picked on him for being rich, and when he was bigger they only became friends with him because he was rich. He was such a bully. At least, that’s what his Mother told you once drunk off chardonnay at his birthday dinner last year. 

Disappointment. 

That was a clear sentiment for the small family get together, and by small family get together you meant the dinner you cooked and Ransom looking like he’d rather be in prison than listen to his parents bicker over his Father’s new (Not so new seeing as he’d been caught kissing her by a PI before Harlan’s death) girlfriend. She was smart enough not to come. 

This night was looking a lot like that one. Ransom, after his parents left and you began to tidy up, began to scream at you. 

“What gave you the fucking right you dumb bitch?” He was spitting, face red as you cleared the dishes. “You’re only here for the money. The fucking money. How much is she paying you huh?” The bottle of expensive whiskey he had been drinking throughout the night was in his hand, swinging it around and taking pulls straight from the bottle. “Not enough obviously because you would have let me fuck you a long time ago.” 

Your face flushed red as your own anger began to rise. He continued, “Never, ever, fucking again will you allow my parents in this house, do you understand me?” His unoccupied hand grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, turning you to face him. His eyes wild and unfocused. “I said do you understand me?” You not so gently wretched your arm from his. 

“Don’t touch me.” He always fucking did this. Blamed you for things you had no control over. Lynda approached you about a dinner for Ransom’s birthday. It was her name in your paystubs. You can’t say no. 

“How dare you-” He began, but was cut short.

“No Ransom. No.” Like scolding a fucking dog who put his paws on the table. You threw the bowl you currently had in your hands into the sink, turning to fully face him. “I am only here for the money and I am only here because your Mother pays me a lot to be here.” His jaw clenched. “But I’m also here because I’m the only fucking person who even remotely cares about your ungrateful prissy spoiled ass and if it wasn’t for me you’d be sitting in this fucking glass house, alone, with only your own self-righteous attitude to keep you company. So don’t you ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?” 

He loudly clunked the bottle onto the kitchen island, stumbling in your direction as you backed yourself into the sink. His trial had just concluded two weeks ago, Fran’s murder fresh on your mind and you wondered if you just made a terrible mistake. Over the course of this rant, the alcohol was sinking into his bloodstream, it turned his anger into a crippling depression. One that resulted in his hands softly grasping your shoulders, and tugging you into his body. His face found your neck and slowly started to grow damp with what you realized were his tears. 

Your heart broke a bit, too much empathy, even for this asshole. Your arms came to wrap around his shoulders, letting him cry it out. 

That was the first and only time you saw Ransom cry over anything. If he hadn’t been as drunk as he was you knew that moment would never have happened. The sweet little moment that made your heart ache was quickly gone the next morning when Ransom made you coffee and thought it would be hilarious that after you thanked him for being so sweet he joked that he poisoned it. You could still recall the cackles of laughter as you spit your coffee into the sink. 

That was the day he began writing his first novel. 

He came home alone tonight which was strange. And far earlier than normal. You usually were in bed, or holed up in his study by the time he arrived him after a night out. Staying out of his way as he drug a bubbly hopeful girl up to his bed to satisfy his own needs for the night. He found you tonight, sitting outside, watching Netflix on your tablet by the firepit you had decided to light, a hot cup of tea sitting on the end table next to you. Cozy and wrapped in a blanket. 

You could feel his eyes on you from the doorway. You tapped the screen, pausing your show and turned to look at him. His hair was slightly mussed, face flushed, and socked toes curling from the chill. He was looking at you strangely. 

“You’re home early.” You placed the tablet down on the end table, turning to face him. He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jam. 

“I just needed a drive.” There was a soft smile on his face, well that’s new. 

“Is everything okay?” He never tells you anything, but the sentiment matters. He looked to his feet, nodding. 

“I’m probably going to try to stay up and finish the book tonight.” He shifted himself back into the house, your voice calling out to him, 

“Come sit out here for a bit. It’s calming, just take a break from thinking for a minute.” He sighed and looked at you again, debating something in his head. 

“I need to be alone.” You tried anyway. He disappeared from sight. And that was that. 

The next day Ransom began acting even more strangely. The book was finished, the last two chapters handed wordlessly to you as he left for the gym on what you’re assuming was no sleep. That wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was when he returned three hours later bearing a box of donuts from your favorite bakery and two lattes, on his face was a smile. 

“What did you do?” You accused, “Did you poison this?” You gestured towards the latte he placed in your hand. 

“No.” He laughed, sliding the box of donuts to you. You stared at him skeptically before taking a sip. Tastes normal. 

“Are you sick?” Your wrist coming to lay across his forehead, temperature feels fine. 

“No.” He laughed again, pulling your wrist from his forehead and kissing your palm before opening the box of donuts, pulling a cinnamon sugar donut to his lips. “You just told me the other day how you missed these and I figured since I passed the shop on the way back it wouldn’t hurt to go pick some up.” It was suspicious. You continued to look at him skeptically. He sighed, placing the donut on the counter, grabbing the latte from your hand he took a large sip of it. “I didn’t fucking poison you Y/N.” 

Okay.

Okay. You examined the box of donuts, pulling out the bear claw that was begging to be eaten. Still warm. You moaned in delight as soon as the warm pastry hit your taste buds. You really had missed these. Opening your eyes, you saw Ransom staring blankly at you before his eyes shifted to the packet by your side. 

“All finished?” You swallowed and nodded, sliding the packet marked with red over to him and as he began to study your notes you tried to think about what could have possibly gotten him in such a good mood. The Doctor’s visit was odd enough. Yes he was angry when the Doctor left, but then just a drive? Not a blackout drunk, bringing two girls home to pleasure himself with and accidentally falling into a line or two of coke night, but a drive? 

Maybe therapy had been working? Maybe he had a breakthrough? He finished the novel. The eldest son had something to do with it, his airtight alibi just that, a cover for the crime having been committed at a different time than the coroner’s estimated time frame due to him freezing the body and allowing it to thaw in the house. 

You had asked Harlan how he came up with such incredible stories once. He said they just popped into his head fully formed, his brain moving faster than his fingers. He kept a little notebook with good ideas and would simmer in them as long as it took for a stroke of inspiration. The rest was just typing. 

He smirked at some of your comments, ‘what a fucking joke’ you wrote next to the eldest son’s monologue about being passed over, his whining, annoying, self centered crying about how life wasn’t fair. 

“What’s the smirk for?” You asked, removing the lid of your latte and dipping part of the bear claw in it. 

“The lack of sympathy for Greg.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“He’s a fucking loser.” Ransom’s eyes met yours, “I bet you see a lot of yourself in him.” That made him laugh. 

“What? You don’t like spoiled rich men?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from the milky sweet latte you didn’t know would feel like your life’s blood right now. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“I think you find me endearing.” Ransom smirked. Your neck flushed. 

“I find you annoying,” You admitted. “I only put up with you because of my paycheck.” He licked his lips.

“Sure,” He closed the packet, pushing it aside to take another bite of the donut, cinnamon sugar dusting his lips. “You put up with me because you’re secretly in love with me, but you know that I would never get with The Help.” This made you laugh. 

“If you want me to be the Help I’ll gladly call you Hugh if it means you leave me alone.” He placed his paper cup on the counter, circling around to you. 

“I like when you call me Hugh.” His hands came to rest on your upper arms, grinning. 

“You’re disgusting.” He laughed at the clear displeasure on your face, spinning your stool around to him, and you leaned back, creating some distance as he came to stand between your legs. 

“You don’t mean that do you baby?” His fingers toying with the ends of your hair. You could feel your nipples harden in excitement, body betraying you. A wet growing between your legs. 

“Ransom what are you doing?” You said in exasperation. You weren’t blind. Ransom was gorgeous. You’d maybe, possibly, gotten off to the thought of him once or twice or maybe more than that in the four years you’ve known him. But he was also a scumbag who fucks and then throws girls out hours later. His moods were hot and cold. He had major Mommy issues and he’s not technically guilty of murder, but he’s a fucking murderer. But also… he’s been going to therapy and after that fight on his birthday last year he’s never laid a hand on you in anger again, there’s been some arguments sure, but he’s mostly nice to you. Caring even. 

“Why don’t you love me Y/N?” His voice almost came out as a whine. He was playing with you. 

“Ransom stop.” You pushed him away gently. He was fucking smirking. 

“Usually there’s a ‘don’t’ in front of that.” Cocky bastard. 

“You’re the worst person I know. And I hate that fucking smirk.” You picked at your now cold bear claw, trying to turn from him. 

“Why don’t you wipe it off my face then?” Your eyes met his and you glared. 

“What’s gotten into you today? Maybe you should go out early. Find some girl to satisfy whatever you’re going through right now.” His hands met your hips, spinning your stool back around to face him. 

“What if I want you to satisfy whatever I’m going through right now.” His groin fit right up against your core and you could feel his throbbing heat between your legs. Fuck. 

“Don’t make this mistake Ransom.” You placed one hand gently on his chest, attempting (but not really) to push him back. His forehead coming to rest against yours. “You don’t want this.”

“This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.” His breath mingled with yours, sweet, cinnamon and coffee. 

“You’re not thinking straight.” His lips brushed against yours, tongue coming out to wet his lips, his eyes locked with yours. Why weren’t you pushing him away? Your breath hitched as his tongue accidentally grazed your bottom lip. 

“The only clarity I’ve ever had in my life has been when I’m with you.”

His lips pressed heavily against yours, pushing you back against your bedroom door as his hand came to tangle in your hair. He was all consuming, body hot and heavy against yours. Your core was thrumming with want, moisture pooling in the crotch of your yoga pants. His hips were rolling into yours and you could feel the hard length of him against your belly. His lips quickly moved across your jaw to your neck and you could hear yourself moaning softly as he licked, sucked, and nibbled on the sensitive skin below your ear. Your hands clenching the soft material of the t-shirt by his hips, dipping your fingers slowly into the waistband of his shorts. 

His lips parted from your neck, hand tilting your head back so he could look into your eyes before taking your mouth once more. His mouth moved down this time to the tops of your breasts, hands leaving to shift the thick wool cardigan off your shoulders and onto the floor before dropping the straps of your camisole and exposing them to the air, nipples already pebbled in excitement. 

You hadn’t dated in a while, unable to because of your paid house arrest and before that the way Ransom had worked you to the bone picking up after him. And the touch from someone else always felt better than your own. His hands felt huge on you, protecting. 

Your head met the door as he enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud on his tongue until he felt the left neglected, and switched, beginning to toy with your right nipple between his finger tips. Moans and heavy breaths were the only sounds in the hallway as Ransom made his way down your body, slipping your yoga pants and panties off your hips as he found his knees before you. 

“Ransom-” 

“Shhhhh,” He pressed his lips against your naval, working his way to your trembling core. His hand lifted your right thigh, draping it over his shoulder as his eyes focused in on your, what you knew must be soaking, wet pussy. His eyes met yours from his knees, your legs trembling with anticipation, eyes locked as his pink tongue came to meet your pussy for the first time, a shuddering breath being released from you urged him on further. 

His thick fingers spread your lips open, exposing your clit to his gentle assault. A building pleasure in your core as his tongue began to skillfully work, pulling moans from your mouth. How was he so good at this? Experimenting with different strokes, different pressure, finding what you like. 

“Just like that, oh my god.” He rolled his tongue against your clit, eyes finding yours once more, keeping pace. You could see the corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk as he began to work you up to climax. “You’re such a fucking asshole, I hate that fucking smirk.” Head hitting back against the door as he used his fingers to tease your opening. “Oh my god.” Your hips bucked against his face, causing him to use the arm currently wrapped around your thigh to splay open on your abdomen, holding your hips still. The wet noises and soft grunts from the man between your thighs only caused you to grow closer to your release. 

“You taste so fucking good baby,” moaned between your thighs. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” You scolded. So close. So fucking close. He obeyed, continuing his assault on your dripping pussy, fingers entering your tight channel to stroke against your sensitive walls. He buried his face further into your pussy, nose coming to rest in the soft curls there as he watched you come undone. Your moans escalating in volume as you felt your body tighten with pleasure, hips begging to buck against his face as he rode you through it. He continued to lick and suck on your clit until your hands found his head, pushing him away, legs shaking as you dropped against the door, knees coming to rest around his body. 

That fucking smirk, “How was that?” He asked, face glistening with your cum. 

“Fuck you Ransom.” And he fucking laughed the bastard. What a fucking dick. He brought his face back to yours, gently claiming your lips. The tang of your pussy ever present as you felt him consume you. Your heart was still racing as he picked you up from the floor, bringing you into his bedroom and ever so gently laying you down on the sheets you had just changed two hours ago. 

His eyes were shifting between yours, a strange expression on his face. 

“You can’t kick me out tomorrow Ransom,” Your breathing was heavy as he began to work at your neck, his hands going to remove his gym shorts. “I can’t leave.” He pressed his lips back to yours as you felt him rub the tip of his dick against your clit, your body shaking with over-stimulation. It felt so intimate. Before, his eyes on yours as he brought you over with his tongue and now as he slowly enters you, stretching your walls with his thick cock, eyes not breaking contact he sighs,

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” 

[inkweaver22-blr]

Phew! This one gave me a bit of trouble to get out! Here we have our second big reveal of the story! Let’s see what happens.

AO3 Link

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Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Five: Timely Assumptions

Tang gets more than he expects at the start of one cycle. This leads to a few startling realizations.

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Tang looked up into the frightened expressions of the much younger Sun Wukong and Macaque as his body continued to disappear.

“I-” Being erased scared him. Would he wake up in a new cycle or simply cease to be?

Tang weakly lifted his hand, desperate to do something, grab something to ground him. Anything. Anyone!

“I don't w-want to go-”

He faded out of existence, not hearing anything else they might have said after. The last thing he saw were their horrified faces.

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The cave. The voices. The light.

----------

Tang woke with a gasp, his heart racing.

He had died before, but accidentally erasing yourself using a time-traveling peanut cactus was a new and terrifying experience.

The scholar took a few deep breaths, grounding himself with the fact that he was still here and hadn’t been deleted entirely. He had never been so relieved to be stuck jumping between timelines before now.

Tang winced as he remembered the anguish on the faces of the two monkeys he had befriended. He hoped his vanishing hadn’t traumatized them too much. If they were lucky they wouldn’t even remember anything now that the version of himself that had gone back in time had never existed in the first place.

God, time travel was confusing.

He glanced around his room and noticed a book on his nightstand. Picking it up, he was slightly disappointed to find it wasn’t the one on constellations he had used to teach the younger Macaque how to read.

With a sigh, Tang got up and prepared for the day. There was no point dwelling too much on what couldn’t be changed. Once dressed he stood in front of the mirror and began his little remembering ritual.

He first checked the date on his phone. It was still a few days before MK would get the staff so nothing of real consequence should be too different yet.

Taking a deep breath the scholar began reciting what he remembered about himself this time.

“I am the immortal monk Tang Sanzang-”

Tang choked as he doubled over in pain.

Hundreds of years of memories flooded through him. He collapsed to the ground and clutched at his head as it pounded in agony from the onslaught of innumerable experiences.

Tang crawled over to his bed and leaned back against it, his eyes shut tight and hands over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the rushing thoughts.

Living humbly as a monk. Being chosen by Guanyin. The journey. Sun Wukong. Bai Long Ma. Zhu Bajie. Sha Wujing. The many, many demons they encountered.

(How had he ever been so naive?)

Completing the journey. Becoming immortal. He, Bajie, and Wujing choosing to live on Earth instead of in Heaven.

(Pigsy was Zhu Bajie and Sandy was Sha Wujing!)

Wukong sealing away the Demon Bull King and vanishing. The three of them searching for him tirelessly. Never finding him. Giving up and living the next five hundred years without him.

(He should have never given up. He should have kept looking until he found his beloved disciple.)

It was all too much to handle. Tang needed time to process everything.

He called in sick to work, which with his short breath and trembling voice wasn’t questioned too closely. After sending a text to Pigsy (Zhu Bajie!) so he wouldn’t wonder about his absence at the shop, Tang pulled himself onto the bed and pressed his face into the pillows.

The headache and whirling memories prevented him from falling asleep, so he tried to focus on one thing at a time.

In this cycle he was the immortal monk Tang Sanzang, sometimes also referred to as Tripitaka.

There was still just so much to unpack in that single thought it made him a bit dizzy.

Tang had never been anyone other than himself in all the timelines he’d been in. His roles may sometimes be a bit different but he had always been Tang. He had theorized once that it had something to do with how every soul was unique so he literally couldn’t be anyone else.

His breath caught as he realized the implication that brought.

Tang’s soul was unique and thus he couldn’t be anyone other than himself in the various timelines.

In this timeline, he was the monk Sanzang.

In order for him to be both himself and the famous monk simultaneously, their souls had to be exactly the same.

That meant he wasn’t the monk in just this timeline, but in all of them, including his original time.

Oh Heavens, he was the reincarnation of Tang Sanzang.

Tang gulped in several breaths of air as his mind blanked out. He needed to focus. One thing at a time.

Pigsy was Zhu Bajie and Sandy was Sha Wujing in this timeline.

After the previous revelation, this one was much less earth-shattering.

He had always known that his group of friends mirrored the original journey’s group closely. Pigsy and Sandy also being reincarnations of their historical counterparts in his own time wasn’t much of a stretch.

Tang’s breath slowed as he began to calm. What was next?

Wukong disappeared and the trio searched for him. They never found him and gave up, assuming the monkey to be dead.

This was upsetting in an entirely different way. Tang knew Wukong was still alive thanks to the events of the original timeline, and that made the guilt of giving up even worse. He’d have to fix that.

Tang sighed in relief as his thoughts finally slowed and the pain ebbed. He still had a lot to work through, but that could wait for later. Going back to sleep sounded heavenly at the moment.

He had just started to doze off when an errant fact suddenly popped into his head.

Wasn’t Tang Sanzang already a reincarnation of one of the Buddha’s original disciples, the Golden Cicada?

With a groan Tang shoved a pillow over his head and attempted to beat back the thoughts from whatever that implied about him.

He didn’t sleep very well.

----------

“So what’s this all about Tang,” Pigsy asked grumpily as he accepted a mug of tea from Sandy. It was late at night, a few days after the release of the Demon Bull King, and the three of them were meeting privately at Sandy’s ship on the scholar’s request.

Tang took a sip from his own mug as he studied the two other immortals. Had it not been for his own memories on the matter, he would have never guessed that they were two of the five companions of the legendary Journey to the West.

Zhu Bajie had been, no pun intended, pigheaded, crass, and ornery. He seemed to be contrarian whenever he felt like it and relished in trying to get one over on Sun Wukong. Tang couldn’t deny the pig demon’s ability to rise to the occasion when the chips were down however. For as much trouble Zhu Bajie seemed to cause, he’d been invaluable a fair number of times as well.

Sha Wujing lived to fight. His rage and battle-lust had definitely caused their own share of problems. Other than that, the large river demon tended to be the quiet one of the group and didn’t open up until the latter half of their journey.

Tang wasn’t blind to his own faults though.

Tripitaka, (after some meditation, Tang had decided to refer to his past self as such to avoid confusion with the name Tang Sanzang), had not been ready for such a perilous adventure. He had been too trusting of strangers, too proud to believe Wukong’s warnings. It was his own incredible naivety and insistence that he knew better that had led to the vast majority of the dangers they had found themselves in.

It was hard to reconcile who the three of them had been with who they were today, but Tang supposed five hundred years would change most people.

Pigsy still had a gruff exterior, but his desire to start trouble had long since faded. His discovery of a love for cooking had unlocked a surprising work ethic within the pig demon as well as a silent form of affection that he treated any he cared for with.

Sandy had sought out a therapist and took anger management classes. His love for battle long since extinguished, the river demon now spent his time taking care of his cats, making tea, and being supportive of his friends.

Tang was certainly not naive to the ways of the world any longer. He still did his best to treat any strangers he met with kindness and respect, but he never fully believed anyone new to be trustworthy until they showed themselves to be. He always listened to the advice of his friends as well, knowing that he didn’t know everything and those around him might have insights he did not.

Tang placed his mug down and steepled his fingers together.

“We need to tell MK, Mei, and Wukong who we really are.”

“What?!” Pigsy's angry reaction hadn’t been unexpected. They had made an agreement some time back to not reveal themselves to anyone. It was less to do with having to deal with annoying fans and more with avoiding the painful memories their identities brought with them.

If it wasn’t for the fact he had been hopping through timelines and saw first hand how hiding things from people hurt them, Tang was certain he wouldn’t have been making this decision.

“I said we-”

“I heard what you said,” Pigsy interrupted. “No way! Nuh-uh! Not happening!”

“Now hold on brother,” Sandy soothed, placing a comforting hand on the chef’s shoulder. “Let’s hear him out first.”

“This better be good,” Pigsy grumbled and slouched back into his chair.

“Which do you think will go over better? Us being honest with them about our pasts, or them discovering the truth on their own?”

“They won’t find out if we’re careful about it,” Pigsy countered.

“They will find out,” Tang stated with absolute certainty. “Whether it’s the kids putting the pieces together themselves or Wukong recognizing us, there is no doubt that this isn’t going to stay a secret for long.”

Sandy seemed thoughtful but the pig demon simply huffed and crossed his arms stubbornly.

Tang stared directly into Pigsy’s defiant eyes. Looks like he’d have to pull out the big guns.

“How do you think MK will react once he finds out that we, that you, have been keeping something this important from him?”

With a sharp intake of air Pigsy froze, his expression changing from defiance to horror. He leaned over, placing his face in his hands and groaned.

“Oh god. He’d- he’d feel like I didn’t trust him. Like I didn’t care about him enough to tell him.” The chef seemed miserable at the thought as he looked up. “Okay, we can tell the kid. Mei too, I guess.”

Tang shared a glance with Sandy. Neither had missed the exclusion of Wukong from Pigsy’s concession.

(When did he stop being the Monkey King to Tang?)

“So, uh, will we tell big brother before or after we tell MK and Mei,” Sandy asked, eyeing the pig demon warily.

Like a switch had been flipped, Pigsy’s anger returned in full force, his face twisting into a hateful scowl.

“We ain’t telling that bastard nothing,” he snarled.

“Pigsy,” Tang scolded, shocked at the amount of venom in his voice.

“No! He doesn't deserve it! Not after letting us think he was dead-” Pigsy’s voice broke slightly as he continued his rant. “Not after avoiding us for five hundred years!”

Tang took a steadying breath and pushed down the irrational emotions and hurt that wanted to agree with Pigsy’s stance. He needed to be calm if he was to convince one of his oldest friends to go through with this.

“Assumptions, my dear friend, are very dangerous things,” Tang said.

“Huh?” Pigsy looked confused at the seeming change in subject. Good, that meant he was paying attention.

“We never found Wukong after he disappeared, so we assumed he was dead. We continued to assume such for five hundred years,” Tang began, speaking clearly and with emphasis to be sure he was understood. “We now know our assumptions were wrong. Now you are falling back into the same mistake.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You are assuming that Wukong knew we were looking for him. You are assuming he hid from us intentionally. You are assuming that he knows we’re still alive.”

“Wait, what,” Sandy exclaimed. He had seemed to be following along with the conversation up until that point and now looked alarmed.

“How do we know Wukong didn’t fall into the same trap we have,” Tang explained. “That he didn’t just assume we were gone, either through death or reincarnation? With that assumption in mind, why would he ever think to go looking for us?”

There was a tense silence as Tang let his point sink in before finishing his argument.

“We can no longer assume things. That only leads to misunderstanding and hurt feelings. If we are to learn the truth we must actively look for it. To do that we must be honest with Wukong.”

Pigsy stared at him for a few moments before sagging and plopping down into his chair.

“I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Tang breathed a sigh of relief as Sandy chided their friend about drowning your feelings in alcohol. That was the first hurdle down.

Now for the hard part.

----------

In the end they decided to tell all three of them at the same time. Just to rip the whole band-aid off in one go so to speak.

It hadn't been too hard to convince MK to get Wukong to invite them to his island. He hadn’t welcomed them into his sanctum however, so they had a picnic on the shore near the waterfall curtain instead.

The food had been quickly forgotten once they began their explanation.

MK was upset at first at having the truth withheld from him, but some heartfelt reassurances and a teary hug from Pigsy had earned them his forgiveness. He bounced back rather quickly and immediately began launching questions excitedly at the trio.

Mei had simply accepted the revelation with great enthusiasm. She had pulled her phone and began live streaming a “Q&A WITH THE JOURNEY TO THE WEST CREW!!!”. So much for anonymity.

Tang gave an amused chuckle as the young adults pestered Pigsy and Sandy as he glanced at the uncharacteristically silent Wukong.

The Monkey King could have been carved from stone with how still he was, his expression frighteningly blank.

“Wukong?” Tang swallowed nervously as his first disciple turned to him with that empty look. “Do you want to say something?”

That had apparently been the wrong thing to ask.

“Do I want to say something? Do I want to say something?!” The empty stillness was immediately replaced with restless agitation as Wukong leapt to his feet and began to pace back and forth angrily. “Oh there are a lot of somethings I want to say to you three!”

“Hey Mei? Stop streaming for a bit,” MK said quietly as he pulled her a little ways away from the group. Tang would have been extremely proud of the emotional maturity the kid was showing, but he currently had a very pissed off monkey taking up most of his attention.

“How could you do this to me?! How could you even think of leaving me to be alone for five hundred years,” Wukong shouted at them, confusion and anger and hurt pouring from every word.

“Big brother, we-” Sandy tried.

“Don’t you ‘Big Brother’ me, Sha Wujing!” The way he spat out the name like a curse made the river demon flinch. “You all abandoned me! I thought I was never going to see any of you again! Yet here you all are!” Wukong clenched his fists as he glared at the three immortals. “WHERE WERE YOU?!”

“Where were we? Where were you,” Pigsy threw the question right back angrily. “We looked for you! For a century we searched! That’s more than what you can say!”

“And then when you got tired of it you gave up! You gave up on me!”

“WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”

“I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE BEEN!”

The anger bled out from the air at that confession and Wukong seemed to crumble into himself. Pigsy looked stunned, Sandy was nervously wringing his hands, and Tang’s stomach was twisting itself into a painful knot.

“I was alone, Bajie. My brothers were gone and I was left by myself,” Wukong trembled as he hugged himself. Tang had never seen the proud warrior look so small before. “For centuries I had nothing but my memories and grief. Sometimes I wanted to be dead. Maybe then I’d see you again.” Wukong fell to his knees as he looked up at them with tears running down his face. “I missed you all so much.”

Tang felt his own tears falling as he rushed over to embrace Wukong who began to openly sob. Sandy and Pigsy soon joined in and the four of them simply held each other as they let their pain free.

“We’re so, so sorry Wukong,” Tang said. “I promise you we would have never hurt you like this intentionally.”

“I- I know,” Wukong hiccuped, clutching to the three of them tightly.

“We won’t ever leave you alone again big brother,” Sandy vowed.

“We’re stuck with each other from now on, no matter how much we may get on each other's nerves.” Pigsy’s joke earned a choked laugh from Wukong.

Two more pairs of arms entered into their group hug as MK and Mei joined them on the ground.

“Please don’t be sad Monkey King,” MK said. “You have Mei and I now too. You aren’t alone anymore.”

Wukong just began to cry a little harder and held on a bit tighter at that.

The six of them stayed like that for some time, holding each other up in silent support and comfort.

As they sat there, Tang was a little overwhelmed by how right it felt to be holding onto the others. Love burned in his chest as he enjoyed the warmth of being this close to his family.

Oh.

Oh.

They were his family, weren’t they?

That wasn’t just another assumption. These five, across any timeline, were family to him, and he would always care for them as such.

Any lingering doubts about being Tripitaka melted away. It didn’t really matter who he was or had been in the past. All that mattered was the real love he felt for these people that were precious to him.

As long as he had that, he could overcome anything else that came his way.

----------

You didn’t think I would write a Tang-centric fic and NOT have him be Tripitaka did you? It was inevitable honestly.

I'm not sure if I characterized Sha Wujing correctly here, but Sandy canonically went to anger management so I made some (hehe) assumptions.

Speaking of! Count how many assumptions are made in this chapter! There might be more than you think~

The story referenced in this chapter is Tang’s Time Adventure by Poddlebud. It’s a fun little romp with a unique ship. It’s a shame we didn’t get to see the conclusion played out here…

Until next time!

[qvid-pro-qvo]

can i request an emily prentiss x female!reader with the prompts “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”, “I was just thinking about you.”, and “Stay over.” in no particular order

emily prentiss x female!reader. using this prompt as a part one to another prompt, because i like to think ahead. 

word count: 1700

rating: e for everyone, with support and surprises coming from the people closest to you (no warnings, just fluff). 

-

“You know, I was just thinking about you,” Emily teases, and you smile. You know what she’s doing. It’s what she always does, when she wants to distract you from your work.

“Is that so,” you state, deadpan, and she hums. You feel her hands come around your neck, feel her fingers start massaging into your neck. At one point, her fingers dig right into the junction of your shoulder, and you can’t help the shiver that leaves you. “Emily…”

“Take a break.” Her voice is next to your ear, which makes you shiver again. “Don’t tell me this doesn’t feel like you should put those books down.”

You chuckle. Reach to drop your pen, and spin in your chair so that you can look at her. She stands tall over you, and you let your eyes scan her from top to bottom and back up again. “And lie to a profiler? I’m not a moron. But. I am someone who has an exam tomorrow that I really need to pass, and it’s only 7:00 PM.”

“Then I’m lucky my girlfriend is a genius.” Her hip is cocked, and she looks stunning. You love her when she’s like this. You love her all the time, but these moments, these are when you remember how much. Because her bangs hang free from her ponytail, and her lips are pouted a little and bitten just that much more. She’s a sweatshirt from your alma mater, and shorts that you had stolen from her and she took back, and when she leans forward, and traps you in your seat, hands encircling your wrists, your breath catches. “Take a break. Stay over. I’ll drive you to the facility tomorrow morning.”

You don’t try to hide the suspicion on your features, raising a brow at the certainty. “At 7:00 AM? Don’t you have work or something?”

“I’ll be up. And I’ll take you.”

You love her.

“I’m not a genius. You should know, you work with one of them,” you retort, and she just laughs. It’s bright, and you’re enraptured by her. And at this point, you know that work is a distant memory, that really, you either know cardiothoracic surgery or you don’t, and maybe it’s the way her fingers release your wrists to trail along your arms, but you’re pretty certain you know Emily Prentiss, too. You know that she’s aware that you’ve given up on any last-minute cramming, you know that she’s got pizza already on the way, and you know that the rest of the night is going to involve hands in your hair and fingers on your pressure points.

You love her.

“The fact that I know a genius makes me pretty qualified to spot another, don’t you think?” She leans forward, kisses you. It’s gentle, and then she reaches for your hands, pulls you to standing. “Come on, smartie. I know for a fact you haven’t eaten either, and there’s a pepperoni pie with your name on it.”

“Because you used my card,” you say, once again deadpan, and she just smiles at you, winking.

“Because I used your card. I’ll pay you back.”

It makes you chuckle, and you do in fact stand, letting her lead you to the couch in her front room, and then past it to her bed. The curtains are open, and you can see the pitter-patter of rain on the glass.

“So what’s the plan?” you ask her. “Seems like you’ve taken control.” Not that you mind. Not at all.

“Pizza. Movie. Bed early,” she tells you. Plainly. And by the time you get into the bed, and the doorbell rings. She grabs the pizza, you snag the blankets, and before long your head is pillowed on the logo of your alma mater, and your fingers are tangled with hers when they’re not reaching for pizza.  

-

Emily gets the call at 3:00 PM the following day. A Saturday where she doesn’t have to go into the office, a Saturday she blocked out.

But you don’t know that. You don’t know that at all. In fact, Emily dressed for work that morning, a part of the ploy to solidify her stance in your mind.

She supposes it’s not really a ploy, considering that she knows that you wouldn’t have stayed over if you didn’t trust her, if you didn’t know her, if you didn’t love her, but Emily Prentiss is nothing if not thorough. She wants to guarantee every angle, and she wants to know that you know that you’re the most important thing in her life. She wants you to know that waking up at before 7:00 AM to drive her girlfriend to her boards is a privilege, and a pleasure, and she’ll do it any day of the week.

And so it starts with that call. A call at 3:00 PM on a Saturday. You sound more than a little exhausted, when she picks up.

“Prentiss.”

You called her work phone. Adorable.

“Hey, Em. I – uh. I’m done.”

“You’re done?” she asks, and she makes her voice silky smooth. “Well, congratulations. How do you feel?”

“Like I could eat another pizza by myself. And like I couldn’t read the numbers on your card to even take it to order it.”

“Well, stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

There’s a pause. She can feel you squirming over the phone, the need to get home battling with the knowledge that your girlfriend could be at work. “Are you sure? I can get a cab or something. I don’t want you to drop the ball with your boss.”

Right. Emily’s boss. The BAU. The complicated dance between telling them and deciding not to.

Emily’s boss. Aaron Hotchner. Who when he found out that Emily was taking a Saturday off, basically gave her the Aaron Hotchner form of “thank God.” (He didn’t know why. He didn’t need to. But she was taking time off, and… that’s what mattered.)

Anyway. That’s part of the reason that Emily feels like she has to really show up. Show out. But, anyways. 

“Em. Emily. Really, I can call a cab, I can walk… someplace. One of the other residents is in there right now, I can wait –”

“Don’t worry about that,” Emily reassures you. “Trust me.”

You stop talking. You’re thinking, loudly, because that’s the way your brain works when you’re tired. You’re surely now starting to fiddle  with your hair, a finger curling in one strand, and you’ve probably, by now, started rocking on your toes. A habit from grade school, you told her once, when you were still one of the shortest girls in the class and needed to peek over the shoulders of others.

And now you stand on the shoulders of some many before you, and you stand tall. You’re a brilliant woman, you were a brilliant resident, an incredible girlfriend, and you’re soon to be an incredible board-certified thoracic surgeon.

And you trust Emily Prentiss, and that – that’s a gift she can’t ever let go.

She loves you.

“So… did the FBI sweatshirt give you luck?” she asks, and she can hear you smiling, just like she can hear you thinking.

“It looks good. And I think knowing that I had the full force of the federal government behind me helped me out a lot.”

“Really?”

“Well, they made me take it off before I went in. But I thought about you a lot. And I… thought about how I can’t wait to get back home to you.”

Emily grins. She knows you can hear it, just like you can hear her get in the car, start the thing, and begin the fifteen-minute drive to pick you up.

“And how did you do? After you took the FBI sweatshirt off?”

“I think I aced my fucking boards, and I put the FBI sweatshirt back on so I could celebrate with you before I called.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know. So no work today, huh?”

And that makes Emily pause. Because she did not tell you for a reason, so she could surprise you. With comfortable clothes, and a warm shower, and a hell of a lot of kisses on the way back to the apartment she spent all day filling with your favorite candles.

“What? How did you –”

“I may not be a profiler, Emily, but let me just say a cake that needs to be refrigerated should be picked up the day of for a real surprise.”

Oh.

Right.

The cake.

“That’s why I ordered pizza,” she admits. “So you wouldn’t look in the fridge.”

“I got munchy after the movie. Checked after I went to the bathroom.”

There’s a moment, where Emily feels her heart sink a little. Feels her hand grip the steering wheel. “Right. Well. I’m sorry. I – I thought it’d be a fun surprise.”

But instead of laughing more, instead of teasing, instead of anything else, you just smile, loudly, brilliantly, kindly. “I love you, you know that?”

Yeah. Emily does.

“I love you, too. A lot. And. You deserve better than me.”

“There’s no better than you, Emily. There’s you, and this FBI sweatshirt. And that’s all I need for the rest of my life, I think.”

It’s that simple. It’s that easy. When Emily picks you up, you’re bounce on your toes and hop into her car, and lean over and kiss her long and hard, keeping her held close with a hand on the back of her neck. You tuck her hair behind her ear, sweep her bangs just as much as you need to keep them out of her eyes, and then you kiss her once more.

“How ‘bout some cake before we have something sweeter?” she laughs, and you just nod, reaching for her hand before collapsing back against the passenger seat.

“How about a nap?”

(And four weeks later, when the results come back, and there’s a newly board-certified thoracic surgeon out in the world after her girlfriend aced her fucking boards, well. Well. There’s another celebration. Another cake. And this time, it’s picked up the day of, and you laugh and tease and say ‘I told you so’ with that loud and incredible smile.)

[051093]

shaking faith | 707

wc: 2958

pairing: saeyoung “707″ choi x reader

genre: canon compliant, angst w/ smidge of fluff, mutual pining, sad fic for sad boy

description: in which he comes to check on you after a fight, only to find you asleep — and he confesses things he shouldn’t have.

my masterlist.

Saeyoung has more work than ever, and he can’t do any of it.

Every time he finds himself close to being productive, his memory betrays him, bringing him back to fated encounter with Saeran a few days ago. His long lost twin brother with hair the color of cream and coral, turquoise irises like black holes. You, your back pressed against Saeran’s chest, your neck lodged in the crook of his arm as he threatened your life. The sentence you cried out, your frightened eyes swimming with tears—

I love you!

“Fuck,” he hisses, nimble hands lifting from the keyboard to knot in his crimson hair.

Try as he might, he can’t forget how your words made him feel: how high his heart leapt, how a tide of fierce happiness seemed to soothe every ache in his body. When the syllables left your lips, everything was okay, and you were just two young adults in love. He wanted so badly to cross the room and sweep you into his arms like he should’ve done on day one, to hold you close and promise you he’d spend the rest of his life shielding you from harm.

But the fantasy only lasted a few meager seconds, and reality returned like a dagger to his stomach: your life was in danger and Saeran was deranged. And both were his fault.

After Saeran had left and the countdown stopped, Saeyoung was left with a horrible clutter of emotions he couldn’t decipher, his head swimming with fear, confusion, hatred, betrayal, and hope all at once. He went into overdrive, like his laptop sometimes did when he had too many programs running, and he ran the last command he could: yelling at you.

“Luciel…” He hated that name but loved the way you said it then, so fondly and kindly that it filled his frozen heart with warmth. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

“No,” he snapped back. “Not only that, but I don’t think you should be in the RFA anymore. Forget about us. Forget about the party. As soon as it’s safe, leave.”

Even without looking at you, he sensed the flash of hurt in your expression. “Why are you deciding my future?”

“Because I know what’s best for you.” He closed his eyes, exasperated. “Look, you’re free to do whatever you want, but my thoughts won’t change.”

“What are your thoughts?”

“This is nothing for a person like you to get involved in.” He swiveled, eyes ablaze. “ I am nothing for a person like you to get involved with. You’ll only get hurt, you understand me?”

“I’d like to decide that for myself,” you responded coolly.

“Then you’re asking for it,” he snarled. “The darkness, the loneliness, the heartbreak, the demons. When you’re engulfed in these things because of me, you’ll remember that you were stupid enough to want it.”

“I want you.” Your response came through louder and clearer than anything Saeyoung could’ve spat through his lying teeth. “I want you. Let me help you fight these demons. Let me guide you out of this darkness.”

“That’s…impossible,” he muttered, averting his gaze. “I need to work. Don’t bother me.”

You stood up from your seat, making long, confident strides across the apartment until you were standing so close that he could smell the lovely scent of your hair.

“Aren’t you being too one-sided?” You breathed. “What am I supposed to do about my feelings for you?”

His heart danced with a maddening flutter, but his face told a different story, contorting with rage. “I said don’t bother me!”

He hated the way you flinched and stepped back into the kitchen counter. He hated how sad you looked. He hated himself.

“I don’t care about your feelings, alright?” He spat. “Get your priorities straight. You’re living with a bomb right now.”

“Luciel—”

“You could’ve died today.” His voice cracked. “It’s not the time to think about your feelings for me. Just worry about staying alive, will you?”

You only blinked back. He wished he could shake some sense into you, he was so frustrated, but he knew he couldn’t—he couldn’t keep himself at a single touch.

“How can you be so naive? So calm?” He sighed deeply. “Please, Y/N, for the first time in your life, put yourself first. If you ever get hurt, I’ll…” He forgot how to speak. “I’ll…”

“I know,” you said, quietly but firmly, “that this is your way of caring about me.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, but his voice lacked resolve and you both knew it. “You’re free to think whatever you want, because we’ll never see each other again once this hacker thing is resolved. Just do yourself a favor in the meantime: stop wasting your emotions on me.”

You looked like you wanted to touch him too, your hand twitching at your side, and he would’ve liked nothing more than for you to cradle his jaw with a caring hand, to smooth away the creases of stress in his face. But he was glad you didn’t.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Like he held all the stars in the sky, like he was the only man in the world. He turned, drawing his jacket closer to his chest. “God, this won’t do. I’m going out to the hallway and I’ll come back when you’re asleep. Sort yourself out in the meantime.”

Unable to look at you another time, he left the apartment, pacing in the hallway and muttering to himself agitatedly. He came back a few hours later to a dimly lit and silent apartment, indicators that you’d indeed fallen asleep. He drew out a chair, opened his laptop, and tried to work, juggling restoring the apartment’s security algorithm and getting Vanderwood and the agency off his ass. But it’s been a vicious cycle of almost focusing, remembering you love him, and losing any sense of concentration all over again, and he’s starting to think he won’t get anything done tonight no matter how much longer he spends staring at his screen.

He closes his laptop, turns off the light, and, without really thinking, makes his way to your room.

Cast in the soft glow of a night light, you’ve been reduced to a lump under the blanket in your unconscious state. Saeyoung slips soundlessly past the door and stands by your pillow, his golden gaze taking in the long lashes splayed against your cheeks, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, the tousled hair that shrouds your face.

For as long as he’s known you, you’ve been headstrong, bold, outspoken; incredibly, unconditionally kind, always standing up for what you think is right. In the last few days, especially, you’ve been hovering over Saeyoung’s shoulder despite him begging you not to, drilling into his head to please use you as a resource; to let you help; to let you into his head and his heart. Between planning the party, communicating with the other R.F.A. members, and nagging at Saeyoung, you haven’t even stopped to take a breath. And his heart aches with contentment, so much that it nearly physically hurts, to see you so peaceful.

He comes to a crouch, and just being so close to you brings a flush of color to his cheeks. You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen no matter what expression you’re wearing, but you look younger now that your face is absent of worry or sadness. He wishes he could capture your innocence right now and store it away in a place where the dangers of the world can never taint it.

He’d do anything to keep you from harm, to keep you so undisturbed, even if it means taking the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Y/N,” he breathes, your name hardly a whisper on his tongue. “You’re asleep.”

You don’t stir. Again, so naturally he barely thinks beforehand, he sweeps your hair from your face with a gentle hand, tucking the stray locks behind your ear.

“You’ve been talking all day, but you’re so quiet when you’re sleeping,” he continues. “You’re so damn weird, you know that? I had to have hurt you by saying all those things, but you still manage to be so bright…”

And thank goodness you’re asleep, because the way he’s looking at you right now and the tenderness in his words contradict everything he shouted at you earlier today.

“You’re so genuine and honest. And I’m just complicated and two-faced.” He takes a deep breath. “The 707 from the chatroom is optimistic, supportive, friendly…but that’s just a mask. This icy person, Saeyoung, is me. My background, my upbringing — everything about me is so dark and pessimistic that I will always be incapable of making you happy, no matter how much I wish I could. I want you to know that.

“You should get angry at me,” he mutters. “I wish you would once in a while. But no, you just have to be so understanding all the time. I can’t believe you’re real sometimes — that one person can be so wonderful, that I got so lucky to meet you.

“God, what am I doing? I — I clearly need to get some sleep. But before I go, I want to tell you this, Y/N, regardless of whether you can hear me or not.

“Don’t trust me.” He fights to keep his voice steady. “Don’t trust me, don’t trust V, and don’t trust anyone in the R.F.A. Please be less nice to me, so it’ll hurt less when I have to disappear. And, when I do, forget about me and be happy. Please. You have to be happy, okay?”

His trembling hand finds yours beneath the blanket and he squeezes gently, an unspoken farewell. He stays that way for a few heartbeats longer, then rises from his crouch and turns around, padding back towards the door.

“Saeyoung?”

His knees nearly give out from beneath him, he’s so shocked to hear your voice.

“Saeyoung,” you say again, and he slowly turns around, his breath batted.

Your beautiful eyes meet his, the blanket falling a little lower as you sit up. You’re wearing a white blouse that leaves your lovely neck and shoulders on full display. You’re so damn beautiful, your skin and hair set aglow by the soft light behind you, an angel sitting barely-clothed in bed with his name dangling from your sweet lips. He’s absolutely gutted. And panicked , because he’s nowhere near ready to have this conversation with you right now.

“How much did you hear?”

You hesitate. “Every word.”

He starts to turn away, face flushing with embarrassment.

“You don’t have to talk,” you say, and he stops in his steps. “I just…want to be with you tonight.”

He swallows around a dry throat. “I don’t think — ”

“Today was really scary,” you say, your voice softening. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep if I don’t have company.”

He stands still for what feels like entire minutes, his lower lip between his teeth, every limb in his body gravitating toward you but his head screaming at him to stay put.

“Please, Saeyoung?”

But his resolve crumbles around him like snow.

He sinks into the mattress beside you, his hands quivering with nervous energy. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments more, his amber eyes locked with yours as if asking what’s next. Then, there’s a rustle of blankets, a soft sigh — and you’ve wound your arms around his neck.

He caves at your slightest touch, and you feel the way the tension leaves his body, his shoulders sagging as you draw him close. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck and breathes in the sweet scent of your skin; relishes in your feather-light hands tracing comforting circles on his back, the warmth from your body and comfort from your care. You hold him tightly enough that he can’t slip away, gently enough that he won’t break, and, maybe for the first time in his whole life, he feels cared for. Protected.

The sound of your pulse nearly drowns out the sound of your voice, you’re speaking so quietly. “Is this okay?”

“This is perfect.” Saeyoung murmurs. He curls an arm around your waist, his hand accidentally riding up the hem of your blouse to brush against the warm, bare skin beneath, and he blushes a deep red that makes his hair look monochrome. “You’re perfect.”

He feels your breath catch in your throat, your heart skip a beat. “You can’t say things like that if you don’t want me to fall for you.”

“I know,” he sighs. “It just slipped out.”

For a while, the two of you lay in silence, wrapped up in each other’s arms with legs entwined beneath the covers, hearts beating in a rapid but perfect unison. Your fingers comb through his silky hair, your touch so soft and affectionate that Saeyoung’s eyelids begin to feel heavy, all of the troubling thoughts in his mind replaced by all that you are. It’s not until he begins to drift off does your voice taint the room’s silence once more.

“It’s not Seven or Luciel that I have feelings for, you know.” A beat. “It’s Saeyoung.”

And he’s wide awake again.

“The boy who came to my rescue recently. The boy who can be cold sometimes, but only because he cares so much that he feels as if he’ll drown in it all. His line of work forbids him from having friends and family, but he does — and he loves them more than anything, and he knows being friends with him will put them in danger.” You swallow. “He knows being in love with him is basically a death sentence.

“But he's worth it. Because danger is nothing compared to everything else that comes with being by his side: care, protection, kindness, laughter, and so much happiness.”

You dust a hand beneath his jaw, tilting his chin up so you can gaze into his eyes, and his heart is hammering so hard he swears you can feel it through the material of his T-shirt.

“I meant what I said earlier. It wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment, impulsive declaration,” you whisper. “I love you.”

His breath hitches in his throat, his blood running cold, but the way his heart sings is unmistakable. He feels the same way and he knows it, no matter how hard he’ll try denying the truth.

“And I understand if you can’t feel the same way, but I only ask that, if this really is as temporary as you say, that you remember me.” Your voice trembles. “To remember, years from now, how my heart and my soul once belonged to you. How you once made me feel like I could fly. Like I was safe.”

Saeyoung hears your words echo long after you’ve finished talking. Everything about this has him approaching sensory overload — your confession, your fingers brushing his hair out of his face, your dilated pupils and breathy tone, the feeling of your skin beneath his hands and the tip of your nose just brushing his. In his stomach, a fire ignites where there’s only ever been small flames, and he does the only thing he can think of doing, the only thing he wants to do so badly that he no longer can control himself.

He closes the distance between you and kisses you, his hands tense on your hips and his face burning. For a horrible second, he wonders if he’s overstepped his boundary, if you’re ready — but then you begin to kiss him back, and the fire grows like it never has. Your lips part and he loses all consciousness aside from the taste of your mouth, the wonderful pressure that has him reeling. Your hands navigate his skin until they flutter to the sides of his neck, your thumbs grazing his jaw and coaxing him into a blissful stupor. His entire world reduces down to you and you only, your lips so incredibly soft and sweet, and he kisses you slowly but deeply, melting into your touch.

The curious way kisses do, this one comes to its natural end in time. He leans his forehead against yours and the two of you stay there in a comfortable but sad silence, his fingers lacing through yours reassuringly.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he murmurs, his amber gaze so soft and loving that you have no trouble believing him at all. “You already knew that, I think, but I really do, so much that it scares me. And I’m sorry that this has to be so complicated. I hope you understand that I have to be cautious, as much for your sake as my own.

“But I’m done pushing you away,” he promises. “Because now that I know you feel the same way, I can’t lose you like I’ve lost everyone else. I’ve learned that the world doesn’t seem quite so bleak with you around. You make me happier and give me strength more than anyone I’ve ever known.” He cradles your hair, looking at you with all the sincerity and affection in the world. “It will be difficult, and there are so many things we need to figure out first, but we’ll get there. I’m sure of it.” He leans his forehead against yours. “There’s nothing I can’t do with you beside me.”

You lean in and seal his promise with one last lingering kiss. The two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms that night, basked in a loving, safe warmth that you’ll find out all too soon is only fleeting.

[strangertheory]

I hope you’re doing well :)

I'm doing okay. Life has its ups and downs.

I haven't been as active on this blog as I used to be, and I'd like to share with you all a little bit of context and what's going on in my life.

(This is a long post in which I'll overshare a bit and dump some of my feelings into paragraph form, so if anyone doesn't feel up to reading a multi-paragraph post about my depression and anxieties don't feel obligated.)

I have been a freelancer for the last three-ish years. I didn't like the way my former employer treated me or other workers, so I quit and I tried running my own business. It was really great at the beginning. Things felt promising. I had (and still have) customers who I love working with and who value my work. It enabled me and my sweetheart to travel and go backpacking and work remotely and see so many places we'd never been and meet so many new people. But no matter what I did, I couldn't figure out how to make my freelance work grow beyond a certain amount of projects at any given time and I was probably not charging enough for my services for a long while. The pandemic hurt a lot of my work too, and many of my customers disappeared while they tried to figure out what they needed to do for themselves too.

I've been incredibly lucky and in spite of things not working out, I had a wonderful few years running my own remote business while traveling and having experiences I never would have otherwise had. But right now I'm searching for new employment and hoping to find an opportunity in a larger company again while also still working for a few customers who still need me and have continued to hire me for projects, and the job search combined with my freelance work and the pandemic and various other personal life events has made life more complicated and more emotionally stressful.

The job search is a discouraging process. The pandemic has been emotionally draining and stressful, but I am very fortunate and I have been fully vaccinated. But the job search is weighing on me a lot emotionally. I swing between feeling confident in myself and my network and my opportunities, and feeling as though there must be something wrong with me and my skill-set and my resume and that I must be going about things all wrong and fearing that after three years of not making enough to pay the bills while freelancing and after draining all of my savings trying to make my own company work that things aren't going to turn around any time soon.

I've also been feeling a deep emotional wound around my relationship with my family. They care about me on a certain level very, very much... but they don't truly love and accept me as who I am, and they're very prejudiced and set in their ways. This has been weighing on me more lately since I'm recognizing that my parents are getting older but I haven't figured out a way to reconcile with them on issues that mean a lot to me. I just want them to love me as I am and accept me for who I am because I love them so much but I'm struggling to figure out if there's anything I can do to change their mindsets or if I'm even ready to try doing more than what I've already done in my efforts to do that, since it would involve even more emotional energy and vulnerability that might not even make a difference or could even make things worse between us. I think I've already tried and done a lot in my effort to encourage them to change their hearts about things, and I probably need to spend more time seeking therapy and making peace with my lack of control over their ideologies and opinions and to make peace with the way they choose to love me even if they're not accepting of every part of who I am. But it's hard.

And I suppose I also have plenty of anxieties around certain aspects of the online Stranger Things fandom itself these days too. That's certainly also a factor in my absence.

I have really enjoyed sharing my ideas and theories with you all, but I don't want my thoughts and feelings and convictions and ideas that I choose to share to provoke any conflict that I don't have the emotional l energy to process in a healthy way.

I might escape this funk at some point and happily return to writing long posts and analyses about ideas that I have. I don't know how long I'm going to feel the need to take a break. When I have so much in my life that I'm already worried about, I am trying to spend my free time in ways that make me feel happy and I suppose right now I'm feeling emotionally vulnerable and unwilling to share my feelings about a story and characters that I'm overly emotionally invested in. I use fiction to escape from my real-world troubles and to find catharsis, but at times (like right now) I slip into being too emotionally invested to the point of connecting too strongly with fictional scenarios and being concerned with the opinions of other fans in ways that impact my wellbeing in a negative way. I need to sometimes step back a bit until I've recentered myself emotionally.

I value the friendships that I have made in this corner of the internet so, so much. Your interest in my ideas and our sharing of our different theories and our mutual fondness for this wonderful series and its characters has brought me a lot of joy and helped me feel less alone in many ways. But when I'm feeling like my family doesn't understand and respect me and I'm feeling alone, I do need to be wary of looking for finding understanding online when there's a certain culture of misunderstanding and drama if I accidentally wade into the wrong online circles that aren't seeking to understand me or seeking to share their thoughts with me in a mutually respectful way but are seeking to feast on social media drama or people who are seeking out someone to be angry at who they don't know and who they can turn into the scapegoat for their own worries. Strangers online aren't always kind and they aren't always willing to remember I'm just another fan and human being.

So with my depression and my increasing anxiety around my relationships and communities both online and offline I've been quieter here lately. I've been trying to spend less time in fandom spaces and trying to get more time outside in the fresh air, get more sleep, spend time with people who I know love me and allow me to feel heard and understood and respected, and figure out what I need for my health and happiness that I'm struggling to find.

I want to reassure you all that I'm very lucky, that I'm very safe, and that I have no worries about food or a place to live or anything like that and that I have a good network of people in my life who will make sure I'm okay. But depression and anxiety and other undiagnosed mental health struggles and unemployment and family issues can weigh on a person.

I'm still here. Thank you for spending time with me in this corner of the internet even if I've been really quiet lately. I still love Stranger Things. I still appreciate the friends I've made here. And maybe I'll return to blogging more regularly and with enthusiasm and joy when we have new content or when season 4 is released. I don't know where I'll be at emotionally later today, tomorrow, or next week. I'm taking things one day at a time. Sometimes I might write about my ideas and reply to Asks, and sometimes I might not. Sometimes I might reblog posts by others that I appreciate, and sometimes I might not post anything at all for a while. Thanks for understanding. ♥️

[anika-ann]

The Best Mistake of My Life - Pt.1

Type: One-shot/ch1 of a series

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 4100

Summary: A soulmate AU. They say having a soulmate is a blessing. Who wouldn’t love the idea of star-crossed lovers, right?

Neither Steve Rogers nor you consider yourself lucky though. It probably has something to do with the lines written on your skin. Because if the words are anything to go by, you’re not sure you want to meet each other.

Warnings: swearing, light angst, FLUFF 

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Steve Rogers was born a sickly baby.

Born a sickly boy to a single mother in the time of great depression, money thin, his health even thinner and having a pathetic number of friends; though that never really bothered him. What his friendships lacked in quantity was hundred times compensated by quality. Bucky Barnes’ loyalty was everything Steve could ask for.

And what Steven Grant Rogers himself lacked in height and strength of body was made up for by the strength of will, amount of determination and a great compassionate heart, ready to welcome anyone sans bullies there.

Perhaps God had seen that Steven would grow into a man carrying his heart on his sleeve and decided that this man should be blessed with a love so magnificent they would tell stories about it; people always had. People were always telling tales about soulmates.

Having a soulmate wasn’t necessarily rare, but not everyone was bound to have one. Being one of the lucky ones was an amazing gift; a promise of a connection as unbreakable as the thread of fate, a promise of an unconditional love.

To know person had found the one, their soulmate, those who were blessed with one wore a brand on their skin, a clue to allow them to recognize their destined partner; a set of words.

It was the set of words what was troubling Steve Rogers the most. Despite Bucky’s reassurance, despite his mother’s last words, despite Steve willingness to fight everything else the world would kick into his way, he found moments in his life he cursed the words written on his skin, reminding him how weak he would always seem to people.

Above the visible line of his collarbone, sticking out on his rather skeletal frame, there sat the words of doom:

‘Oh no, there must be a mistake.’

The very first time his soulmate would spoke to him… they would be disappointed and silently praying that whatever force was behind bounding souls together made one hell of a misstep. A mistake.

That was what Steve was going to be to his soulmate; a mistake. A failure. A disappointment.

And why wouldn’t he be? Ninety pounds of rattling bones, list of illnesses longer than his birth certificate…. Every girl Bucky had ever tried to set him up with out of pity (which Bucky would deny until his last breath) had been disappointed.

“Maybe she’ll be more into brunettes. Maybe she won’t believe her soulmate is blond at first,” his friend would say, “or she’ll be from Queens and wouldn’t get over the fact you’re not, but once you’ll show her the true Brooklyn charm, she’ll fall to your feet.”

Then he would always pat Steve’s shoulder, pulling him into a one-arm hug and tried to get him a date once more.

Steve didn’t believe him. He never did, but recognizing his friend felt better if Steve played along, he would smile and poke his ribs in return.

“Whatever you say. Jerk.”

…

Much later, when he said to Peggy Carter that he was waiting for the right partner to dance with, he was starting to admit to himself that he wasn’t thinking about his so-called soulmate as the one. After all, he went against all odds, against rules, against destiny itself when he had been accepted to the army regardless of his fragile body. Maybe, just maybe it meant that not ending up with his soulmate was what would happen one day.

When he crushed the Valkyrie to the ocean, not even having taken a chance on Peggy Carter despite her obvious interest, he must admit he had been lying to himself.

His last realization concerned his soulmate; despite wanting to fight against the whole world, he couldn’t make himself to take a chance on Peggy Carter, a brilliant woman who was not carrying the right set of words.

His last regret was that he would never meet his true love.

His last thought was that maybe, his soulmate never had a set of words spoken by him on her skin – her first words to him might as well be the ones spoken when reading his obituary, somehow knowing he was supposed to belong with her.

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The moment you were old enough to understand the meaning of the word ‘soulmate’, you were intrigued by the concept; it probably had everything to do with the fact that you too were supposed to have a person meant to be your other half.

Every parent was bound to be delighted when their child was born with that kind of blessing, but the older you were getting, the more you understood what kind of a shock might occur when a kid had rather strange line supposedly spoken to them by their universe-chosen partner for life.

There were people who had words like ‘shit’ on them; literally. Not very delightful. Sometimes there were general lines like ‘Hello, how are you?”. Good luck hunting down the right person. In contrary, some people had a name on them; ‘Hi, I’m Peter Cameron.’ Lucky bastards.

And then… then there were people like you, whose words were just… weird.  

“But I really am 95,” you mumbled under your breath, tracing the handwriting right under your collarbone subconsciously, the first thing you did in the morning if you remembered – which wasn’t every day, not by a long shot.

“This is the stupidest thing ever…”

You shook your head and started to get ready for your day at the office.

Your opinion on your soulmark had been changing during the years. You had had a period of fascination, simply being proud of carrying it. Then you had understood the meaning of your words, and you had been horrified and desperate at the idea of meeting your soulmate at such age or worse, having one that old while you would be thirty or something when encountering them.

Then had come the phase of how could I avoid having a grandpa as my soulmate. Maybe the number meant something different – your soulmate’s weight (you really wouldn’t care for that, you reasoned), his temperature (he might be hypothermic at the moment, no?), his hotel room number, the number of a seat in a theatre perhaps… there were so many possibilities, right?

Now, you just tried not to think about it too hard. You had had boyfriends, never lasting longer than few months sans the one exception of George, who had turned out to be the biggest asshole in the world despite your belief he had might have been the one; until you had caught him in bed with another girl.

Maybe it was that deep inside you had never believed in the relationships you had, because the guy never said the right first words. Or maybe you were full of shit and you couldn’t keep a guy interested, god only knew – hence not thinking about it too hard, going on with your life and taking it as it was.

You might meet him, you might not. It wouldn’t be the first case of never encountering a soulmate. Life was funny that way.

Best not to let it ruin your day. A rather nice day it was, today. If you only didn’t have to spend it in the crowded office with people demanding their licences and taking out their frustrations on you. Well. You were a grown-up; you had to be okay with things not always being okay. Which sucked. But that was life.

…

You had a chance to have a shortest coffee break to exchange ‘hello’s with Ryan – your actual favourite person in the world, your platonic ‘soulmate’ (not in the ominous sense of the word), your boss who never really acted like a boss – and that was it. Apparently, half of Manhattan had gotten their licence this very date years back, so the office was ridiculously crowded. Thank god for the glass between you and the jungle; it shielded you at least partly.

You grabbed the file of request no. 57 that day – you were like a machine, okay, you couldn’t remember the office ever managing to deal with so many in only three hours – pulling out the documents and the licence to make another driver happy.

Your hands were acting on autopilot and you didn’t even glance up when an ID was pushed to you through the small space between the glass and the counter, checking the renewed licence first.

Your first thought was ‘oh wow’. That guy on the photo was gorgeous. You couldn’t help but snap your head up, checking out the real-life thing.

OH WOW.

Scratch the ‘gorgeous’. Replace it with ‘unreal’.

You were tempted to ask if he was made by an ancient sculptor and then brought to life, because his body was as incredible as his face; the broadness of his shoulders begged for a touch. His muscular arms were not so hidden in the sleeves of his dark green shirt. The shoulder-waist ratio was clearly a God’s mistake, a one you were thankful for.

Forget ancient sculptures. His face must have been sculptures by angels and they left him with a halo of blond hair as a reminder. And his eyes. Oh god, such pretty eyes…

He gave you an unsure smile, opening his mouth to probably accuse you of staring and you quickly dropped your gaze, returning to check the licence before you would give it to him.  

Your hand froze hovering above the date of birth. You hesitantly looked up again, biting your lip guiltily despite not being the one who had messed up. You felt kinda sorry for him waiting the line for nothing.

“Oh no, there must be a mistake…” you half apologized, half said only to yourself, meeting his suddenly alarmed gaze.

You put on your most apologetic face, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad. How had someone messed it up again? The birth dates were with typos all the time. How?! There were only numbers for God’s sake! It wasn’t like the person inserting the data to the computer had to spell Buchwald or Mxyzptlk or something like that!

Damn you, Sheryl or Kira or you whoever have done this!

The man – Steven Grant Rogers, as you had learned from his sadly valueless driving licence – was staring at you, speechless. You were honestly getting worried, though you weren’t sure if you were more scared for him or for yourself in case of his reaction escalating.

So you went to explain.

“Uhm… I’m really sorry, mister-“ You quickly eyed the name ID he had given you, checking if the office got the name right at least. “-Rogers, but there seems to be a typo in… in your birth date. I apologize for the mistake our institution made, even though I wasn’t the one to-- you don’t need to know that, it doesn’t matter-- I’m so sorry you have to come here again, but I can’t really let you walk around or rather drive around with a licence claiming you were born in 1918, so…”

You had become so flustered, your cheeks burning, talking and talking without being able to stop, not making any sense even, until-

“But I really am 95,” he admitted sheepishly and you wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, when something in your brain clicked.

The click was about as loud as an atomic bomb falling on Hiroshima. You were sure everyone had to hear it.

It shut you up immediately. Your whole body froze, your mind buzzing uselessly, not a single thought staying long enough for you to actually understand it. Until two words got stuck, shining in red letters like a neon sign in your brain.

Holy. Shit.

“Excuse me,” you squeaked, grabbing his useless licence and mechanically rising from your seat, walking away.

The moment no one could see you as you got into a hallway, you broke into a run. You acted on instinct. You ran and you ended up in front of Ryan’s office, stumbling in without knocking and without an atom of oxygen left in your lungs.

Ryan’s neatly combed hair swayed as he snapped his head to the door, his eyes strict until they took the newcomer – hint: you – in, widening instantly.

He quickly jumped to his feet, pacing to you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice filled with worries.

You weren’t able to answer, because—holy shit. Your eyes frantically scanned the room, unable to meet your friend’s gaze. “I-- I-“

A hand landed on your shoulder, your eyes immediately falling on it on instinct. Shit, you couldn’t breathe. Could you?

Ryan’s free hand found you chin, tilting your head so you faced him. “Hey, baby, look at me! What happened? Was someone too much of an asshole to you?”

“I’m not-- he’s-“

Ryan’s face screamed concern, but he had fixed it in a second, soothing smile on his lips. He led you to his sofa, the calming blue cushions enveloping you.

“Sit down on your ass and gimme that,” he maneuverer the document off the steely grip of your fingers, sitting next to you as he looked it over. “Huh, quite a looker this guy. So what did he do?“

“I—the- the licence says he was born in---in 1918,” you stammered, finally able to breathe in properly and speak.

Ryan squinted at the date and then rolled his eyes.

“Oh jeez, again? Why is it so hard to just get it right? I swear I’m gonna have to fire Sheryl, she’s a disaster. What’s wrong with her? It’s not like they would be making a licence for someone that old! There’s a photo goddammit!”

“Ry-Ry… he said he was 95.”

Another eye-roll was his answer. “Yeah, I can count. He would have been if he was born in 1918 instead of 1981.”

“No, you don’t-“ you licked your lips and swallowed against the lump that grew in your throat. Your voice was as shake as your hands. “He just told me that. That he really was 95.”

Your friend observed you silently for a beat, not following. And then realization hit him like a train.

“Oh. OH. No shit?!”

It was your turn to stare silently, your mind loud enough to make noise and fill the space of Ryan office.

“Damn, does he really look like that? Lucky bitch!”

“Ryan!” you yelped in surprise when his fist bumped your shoulder, almost knocking you off balance.

It worked though. It grounded you and threw you back to reality. You tried your best to calm your breathing, but damn. This guy… he was your soulmate. You just met your soulmate. And he wasn’t a grandpa. He didn’t weight 95 pounds either. You weren’t in a hotel, neither in a theatre.

No. The number was only about one tiny mistake— oh, ohhh shit, what was the first thing you had said to him? Oh fuck. Way to go, girl!

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked rubbing the spot he had punched.

“No!” you shot back immediately, your mind racing.

“You know what I mean. You look better now. Though I gotta say, so is he. His face really is quite easy on the eyes. How about the rest of him?”

Ry-Ry, your bi-side is showing.

You chuckled at the easy talk, the tension from your shoulders falling a bit.

“Well… yeah, he’s like a model. So out of my league…” you muttered, remembering your ogling. This guy was your soulmate? Wasn’t it a mistake?

Ryan was suspiciously quiet; normally you would expect him to scold you for selling yourself short. Instead, he was staring at the licence, his lips parted in silent shock.

What now?

“What?” you demanded, following his line of gaze.

Ryan just chuckled, the incredulous sound ringing, echoing in the quiet space. “Girl, I hate to break it to you, but I might not fire Sheryl just yet.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Remember that one time aliens were falling from the sky?”

You blinked in surprise at that question, not following his train of thoughts. “Uhm… yeah? Pretty hard to forget that…?”

You were lucky you hadn’t been smashed under a building that day. Many people in Manhattan were, some sadly not. So yeah, you remembered.

“You remember the waitress from the café talking after the incident?”

“Oh my god, Ry-Ry, just spill it! I’m not following!”

Your friend huffed in exasperation, shoving the licence in your face, his finger on the name.

Steven Grant Rogers. Yeah, you could read too.

“That name should ring a bell, you dumbass! Would you say that this guy is handsome enough to be Captain America?” he hissed, making your heart stop.

Oh. Oh shit.

OH SHIT.

Your brain short-circuited.

“Oh my god. He really is 95,” you breathed out, your brain somehow choosing the least logical reaction to this whole revelation.

Ryan laughed. “Ding-ding, we have a winner! Holy crap, baby, I think you just got yourself a superhero soulmate!”

And just like that, you started panicking again. You gulped, watching the driving licence as if it could blow up.

“Shit, Ry-Ry! What do I do?” you whispered, desperation soaking through. What were you supposed to do upon that revelation? Captain America was your freaking soulmate!

Ryan smiled at you reassuringly, patting your cheek. “Not coming back to your spot behind the counter today, that’s for sure.”

“But-“

“I’m going in. I think this place won’t blow up if I fill in for once. I sure hope I remember the process, though I’m probably not gonna be as efficient as you are.”

You didn’t know what to say. Hell, you didn’t know what to do! But yeah, not coming back to the jungle sounded good, especially given your frantic escape.

“You really would do that?” you asked hesitantly and Ryan just rolled his eyes. “But… Ryan, what the hell do I do?!”

Your bestie gave you a lopsided smile and a wink, patting your cheek patronizingly once more before heading to take over your workplace.

“Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”

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While you were having your own freak-out, Steve was standing at the counter, dumb-struck.

He couldn’t believe it. You had actually said those words. And judging by your reaction to his own, he must have said yours. Which… yeah, congratulation, Rogers, you had given your Universe-chosen dame an amazing note on her skin. To be fair, so had she.

Incredible.

Impossible.

His soulmate was in this century. In this millennia. That was what he got for ever thinking he could escape fate; a slap right in his face.

Because while for several cherished moments, he basked in the light on his soulmate not considering the pairing with him the infamous mistake the words on his skin claimed… he soon learned that it didn’t mean no heartbreak for him.

You had taken an abrupt leave to the back of the office and never came back.

Few minutes later, a man emerged from the door you had disappeared into, taking your seat and without a second look on Steve’s ID, he explained that Steve would have to come here again.

Steve didn’t care for the process of getting his driving licence renewed in the slightest, barely listening. His gaze was at the door to the hall, opened ajar, the door you didn’t return from after learning he was meant to be your partner.

When he had seen you behind the desk, he had considered you a beautiful dame, certain his heart had skipped a beat when your eyes met his. The sight of you was burned into his brain, now forever as a painful memory.

Clearly, you didn’t want him. Not because he was sickly, 95 pounds or 5’7’’ or all bones. Not because your words to him were about a mistake. Not because he was from Brooklyn. No. Honestly, Steve didn’t know why, what could scare you off so soon. He just knew you had escaped at the mere sight of him.

With his mind fuzzy, he walked out of the building into the bright nearly midday sun, blaming the sharp rays for the sting in his eyes. He sighed, running his hand down his face, suddenly bone tired.

“Mr. Rogers?” a shy female voice addressed him, instantly making him turn around to its source.

His lips parted in awe. There you stood, your airy floral dress reaching your knees, played with by the softest breeze. Hesitant smile on your lips. A tiniest spark in your eyes as he subconsciously took two steps to you, just to prove you would still be there if he came closer. You didn’t disappear.

“Y-yes?” he stuttered, actually feeling like the small man he had used to be before the serum.

You quietly introduced yourself, meeting his eyes once more, effectively stopping his heart again. You offered your hand for him to shake and he, feeling like he was dreaming, something else possessing his body, kissed your knuckles as he would have done if meeting you seventy years ago.

The most adorable heat warmed your cheeks at the gesture and you casted your gaze down; but Steve did catch a glimpse of the earlier spark shining brighter before you hid yourself from him

“I… I believe we have a lot to talk about,” you whispered and he instinctively gave your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and shifting a half step closer to you. The corners of his lips unwittingly turned up, something warm building up in his chest as you returned the smile with hesitance.

“Yes, I think we do.”

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Nicolas J. Fury was sitting in his office, waiting for the door to finally open. There was something bugging him – and that something was about 5’7’’ tall, had red hair and was doing whatever it wanted, messing with his business. On top of that, she left him waiting; he had requested her ten minutes ago and she still hadn’t arrived.

He couldn’t help but let his sarcasm show when she came eventually.

“Agent Romanoff. Thank you for coming. Now, care to explain me why did you insist on Rogers getting his driving license renewed in person when we have done it for him already?” he demanded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk.

The agent just shrugged. “He needs to meet people.”

“Don’t give me this shit, Natasha! What are you not telling me?”

Slow smirk spread Natasha’s lips, perhaps a bit smug, but she didn’t say a word.

“Romanoff-“

“Alright! Jeez, Nick, you have to work on your patience when it comes to Rogers, I swear…” she teased him. However, at least she started talking. “I might have run his… words through the system Stark provided us.”

Realization dawned to Fury. There was only one system she could be talking about. The soulmate matching one. Insert the words of a person and it would search the database for a possible match; everyone’s words were being put into the database at their birth. It made SHIELD’s work easier in case criminals happened to have a soulmate; the connection was so unique it usually offered a weak spot even for the rotten people.

Nicolas Fury raised his eyebrow expectantly, while Natasha just watched him, amused as she had the upper hand. The man rolled his functioning eye and sighed exasperatedly. Why was he keeping her around again? Oh right, she was his best agent.

“Fine. Did you find a match?”

Natasha snorted. “I didn’t even have to look for a match. There aren’t many women with ‘But I really am 95’ written on their skin,” she explained dryly and Fury just wanted to growl, cursing mentally.

How had no one thought about using the database in the first place?! It had cost them a lot of money, okay? They had it for a reason!

“She clean?” he inquired instead or swearing out loud and Natasha scoffed.

“Like a whistle, not even a speed ticket, which is rather ironic. She’s boring, really – she’ll be perfect for him. Can I go now? I have an ass to kick.”

“…Rogers’?”

“Barton’s, actually. Have a good day, Director,” Natasha spun on her heels and headed to the exit gracefully.

“Hey, I want her file!” Fury complained, already knowing he wasn’t going to receive it from her.

“Find it yourself!” she threw over her shoulder cockily, her red hair swirling with the sudden movement of her head.

The director of SHIELD tried to keep his amusement in check, controlled by the irritation, but he lost. The corners of his lips twitched as the door clicked behind his best spy.

Why did he keep her around again?

He started the search for the words Natasha had said, sinking into his chair comfortably.

Alright, no doubt future Mrs. Rogers. Let’s see how boring you really are.

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Part 2 (originally this was only meant a one-shot)

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Tags: @cxptain @mermaidxatxheart @smilexcaptainx​

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If you wish to be tagged/untagged, let me know - either via an ask or a message :)

Thank you for reading!!

[snacc-noir]

Unseal and Reveal pt2

Ao3

Part 1

Adapted from this post

Summary:

Adrien asks Marinette to fake date him after his father finds a pink ‘love note’ containing just her name on it

— but it was really the emergency note Ladybug gave him in case he needed to know her identity

Adrien has screwed up. 

But before anything begins, he’d like to make it very clear that he’s only ever had good intentions, believable smiles, and incredible lying ability – no matter what his friends say (“You once told Alya you had a great dentist so Marinette wouldn’t be suspicious”), because he’s kept the fact he’s Chat Noir under wraps and no one has been the wiser. 

Then again, Chat Noir is stylish, handsome, incredibly dressed, insanely hilarious, im(pecc)ably ripped, totally— 

Yeah, so Adrien just can’t live up to that (If it came down to it, he’d totally fall in love with himself if circumstances allowed.), and thus his identity is pretty secure , unlike his self-esteem on a good day. 

Specifically, today. 

Because he has screwed up.  

So yes, he’s somehow the best and worst liar ever, which probably likens to how it isn’t his secret identity that he Accidentally (three underlines for ‘accidentally’) reveals, but, uh, someone else’s. 

Ladybug’s. 

He knows Ladybug’s identity.  

But hey! Hey— remember, her idea. It was never him who suggested the ‘let’s write our names on letters in case we need to know in an emergency’, as that was definitely her. 

He’s screwed everything up, but it was definitely her. 

“Did you know? ” 

“Duh,” his kwami’s gravel voice says, “I know everything.” 

Adrien’s hands are rousing his hair so much at this point he might expose himself as Chat Noir if anyone went by his lean windows. “You knew this whole time!? That Ladybug is– That she’s– That—”  

All air escapes him in a corrupt elongated syllable. He flops on his Extra King size bed with silk sheets and fluffed pillows, almost knocking his model agency’s branded hydro-flask onto the desk adjacent with three exorbitant monitor screens. Oh, how difficult his life is.  

“You’re so pathetic.” 

He is.  

“This is hilarious.” 

It is not.  

‘“What am I supposed to do, Plagg?! Call her? ‘Hey love of my life, it’s me Adrien, but you also know me as Chat Noir. I accidentally found out your identity and long story short, my household thinks we’re dating and wants you over for dinner. Are you up for fake-dating and not killing me, please?” 

His kwami skulls a camembert roll. “I’m down for that idea.” 

Adrien pegs a sock. 

“How are you so calm?” 

“I shrugged in the face of dinosaur extinction. Your damsel in distress crisis – you’re the damsel, by the way – and ‘oohhh no, I’m so in love’ hullabaloo is nothing.” 

Adrien’s frown deepens. “I don’t sound like that.” 

“You do. Your voice goes like eee .” 

“What? No it doesn’t” 

“You’re right, it’s more like ahhh . ” 

The heat in Adrien’s acid eyes smarten. He crosses his arms, huffing in a way he hasn’t since early childhood, and glares at his ceiling. “I’m done talking to you.” 

He isn’t, of course, as there’s only one person in his life he can complain to about his array of #RelatableTeenBoy issues, like ditching your favourite topic of Physics one class to cater to a Giant Baby akuma (again) and being late due to lack of places to change into your skin-tight cat suit (you know; just those little things). And by Hawk Moth’s insufferable menacing he isn’t letting that outlet fall from under him. He needs to clear his thoughts, because believe him, there is a lot to sift, and it doesn’t help when part of this whole catastrophe has left him with the knowledge that— 

“Marinette is Ladybug!” 

Plagg has moved to Adrien’s three-panelled computer desk and is clicking through something. “I’m so glad you’ve caught up.” 

“And if she’s Ladybug, that means,” he goes on, white overshirt sleeves now uneven as he animates his words with a pillow, “she was just saying to me – to Chat – she was in love with him to save her identity! And there’s another boy she’s in love with! And–! And I might know who it is!” 

“Who?” Plagg asks, the volume juxtaposing his welder’s. 

“I said 'might’.” 

The keys click louder. “You mean because you know Ladybug in real life you could have met him before? Or you actually know him?” 

“I don’t know! I just know that Marinette’s… She’s in love with another guy.” The earlier exhilaration drains and his chest feels hollow and soul-sucking. “Wait– I can’t ask her to be my fake-girlfriend!” 

The destructive god scrolls through the itemised shopping cart to double-check his fromage orders without any fear of his owner noticing. Well you obviously don’t have a choice. Your dad wants her over for dinner. Besides, it’s Ladybug, remember? She’ll do anything to help a friend out.” 

Ladybug. 

Marinette. 

Of course.  

There are still many things that don’t add up (Multimouse: just how?) but of course. 

He can’t risk his own identity and hers to his father. He must keep the façade up. And if that mean s falling on his knees in front of who unarguably should be the most glorified woman in the world, crying to her to please just be his fake – very much, but unfortunately fake – girlfriend.  

He will. 

He’ll do it right now. 

- 

“I can’t believe you chickened out.” 

Walks to school, even with the cost of waking up earlier, are always more refreshing than drives in cold silence. The freedom here is less pale, and he can hiss at Plagg all he wants with only the dignity loss of onlookers noticing him crankily talking to himself. 

“Oh wait, yes I can. Because you’re a coward~. ” 

“I did not ‘chicken out’,” Adrien snaps. “And I’m no coward. I just— I need to speak to her in person instead. This way, she didn’t have to receive an unwanted call so late.” 

 “You mean six?” 

He huffs. “Marinette needs all the sleep she can get.” He pokes the creature back into his overshirt. “She’s always so busy. Even you’ve seen her collapse in class. Wait—!” 

The only one that waits is himself, columned with the line of trees ahead, locked in the interval of his soap opera as his audience darts for a shiny rock near a fire hydrant. 

“Because she’s Ladybug too! Of course! Of course! This makes so much sense! She’s so tired and overworked! It’s no wonder she’s all over the place – in the best of ways, I mean, she’s literally adorable when she’s frantic. Wait, have I always thought that? Have I always seen Marinette as the cutest thing ever? Her spluttering is so endearing. And if she’s already so tired, I can’t make her fake date me, too! She’s already so stressed! I’d literally be the scum of the earth if I even dare—” 

Plagg is staring at him with flat interest. Humbly aware of his judgement, Adrien swallows, letting the air untense and clams his hands – eager to narrate his animated allegory – in his pockets in strife to get a grip.  

He sighs. 

“What if I mess it up, Plagg?” 

He inventories his new rock in Adrien’s satchel. A hymn of silence roots in the place of what should be a snide remark. But there is no fed-up comment, just a kwami wriggling under his overshirt out of sight and a solemn voice that issues from it,  

“Kid, you’re partners. You work together. You forgive each other. You trust each other. And if Ladybug trusts you,” he sticks his head out a little more, “find it in you to trust yourself. You won’t mess this up if you put her and her identity’s safety first, which I know you will, because you love her and you’re a great hero.” 

Adrenaline dampening, Adrien smiles.  

“Thanks, Plagg.” 

- 

Marinette has never believed in bad luck until she met Chat Noir (fifty Mr Pigeon akumatisations this year with a feather allergy? The next lucky charm is going to be an Epi-pen) and for a while, she didn’t believe in good luck, even with being Ladybug. 

But that was then. Back then, meaning like, ten minutes ago before she was invited to stay back after PE by Adrien. 

Right now, though? Right now, she’s decided she’s going to hand-sew a bedazzled shirt embossed with, “Goddess of Luck” to wear while Ladybug on patrol (and on the back, a quote she woke up to on Instagram this morning: ‘“can also kick ass” – Adrien Agreste’ (she took ten screenshots when he posted that)), because Marinette has good luck.   

“You’ll be doing me a huge favour,” the ass-kicking quoter says on an afternoon she has not planned to receive the most exciting request of her life. 

And you know what she says? 

You know what the stuttering girl who may as well trademark the word ‘GAH’ she falls that much, says? 

You’ll never guess. 

No really, you won’t. 

Because turns out, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is more than just accomplished. 

So what if she thrones the winning title of a Gabriel fashion comp? What even matters of being class president and an all-around likable person? Who takes notice of another fashion mogul inviting you to live in New York because of your talent? ––An invitation you had to decline because, you know, being Paris’ zero-pay superheroine has a sprinkle more of importance. And oh, did she mention she’s Ladybug? Because she’s Ladybug. A superhero.  

But none of that matters right now. 

“I’d be happy to help.” 

Because she’s said yes.  

She—Marinette McStutter Dupain-Cheng—has said yes with her mouth (not vague hand animations over blubbering nonsense) to Adrien, and although her muscles are locked with their key over the Eiffel tower (and the tiny detail that her thoughts are screaming so much she can’t hear a thing of his relief and numerous ‘thank you’s), she’s still said yes!  

Screw every other accomplishment. She’s said yes to being Adrien’s fake girlfriend. 

Ladybug? Nah, that’s Mrs. Fake Agreste to you.  

Good luck is real.  

Okay but sure, ‘Fake girlfriend’ doesn’t exactly live up to ‘Very real girlfriend’, but being a fake isn’t that bad! She’s seen Lila do it every day for months – oh, hang on, no actually the term ‘fake’ has very negative and huge implications, then. However, in Marinette’s heavenly-blessed case, ‘fake’ means she’s doing a very big favour for a friend and is going to get more time with Adrien – just to name a few positives.  

“Seriously Marinette, you have no idea how much this means to me. I can’t believe I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.” 

‘Oh honey, I’m the lucky one. ’ 

“It’s– It’s no problem! Yeah! Really, I’ll come to dinner, no problem! It can’t be too hard. I can be your girlfriend! Eugh– Pretend girlfriend. It’s not hard being in love with you! I mean– Ugh!” 

The monstrosity that is the never-shutting-up hole in her face is blocked off by frantic hands, stifling the last of her eloquent groan. But peering up, she realises she really has underestimated how much this means to Adrien, because he looks like he’s poised on a cliff of ecstasy ready to fall – eyes verdant, big, and lushed over with a hue of moisture that twinkles, and a smile so bright and toothy the sunlight hollowing out the remaining shade of the PE stadium glints off it.  

In fact, her mess of a speech is such a compliment to Adrien that her locked-limbed body is suddenly engulfed by his. Startled in delightful senses of the word, she squeaks, and he quickly pulls away, face a few rose tones darker than before as his hands twitch at his side unsurely. 

“Uhh, I guess we have to get planning.” 

She watches in transfixed attraction as Adrien picks both their schoolbags up, finally blurting (without any squeak, she may add), 

“Y–Yes. We do.” 

(she didn’t say any stutter, so shut up.) 

“Would your father let you come over right now since school’s almost finished?” 

He casts a look to the exit thoughtfully. His flawless side-profile in high resolution before her, she sees the corner of his mouth quirk up in an unsettling familiar way, as if his whole charisma shifts to someone else’s.  

They do need to plan; to run away together, where only they share this odd secret - a place alone together where they'll look each other eye-to-eye and practice their sonnets of love to construct a believable facade for his father-

“It’s more fun sneaking to my girlfriend’s house, isn’t it?” 

That time, she squeaks.

And comes to the daunting realisation:

Marinette is screwed. 

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

Its Too Hot in this Five Star Hell Hole (Javier Peña x OC)

hey all, back again! This time with a Javi fic, and the first smut i’ve written in weeeell over a decade lol. hope you all like it, lemme know what you think!

Pairing: Javier  Peña x OC Warnings: thigh riding (i am shameless), sex in a car (v. uncomfortable, i have stories), daddy kink, fingering, abuse of Oreos Rating: damn, i guess mild M? Word Count: 6046 Summary: There’s a generational gap when it comes to work attire, and Oreo cookies, and she is determined to not find the asshole sitting next to her attractive. She fails miserably.

“Murphy was right you know,” Peña remarked, legs stretched out before him, one arm hanging out of the window of his Jeep, the other draped over his lap. His fingers kept drumming rhythmically on the inside of his thigh and the action had drawn the attention of his companion for the past hour and a half. She was frustrated and wished he would stop.

“What was he right about?” she asked, deliberately looking away from the hand that had again moved closer to his crotch. She looked down at the canvas bag on the floor at her feet and shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position for what felt like the hundredth time since this stakeout had started. She saw her partner’s head turn languidly to face her out of the corner of her eye, his eyes still hidden behind those aviators that he thought were just so cool. She would never tell him that she secretly agreed. His ego was large enough already.

“You look like a college coed on spring break right now.” Peña remarked, mustache twitching up in a tiny smirk. She scowled at her beat up Converse. “I hope we don’t have to actually arrest anyone today- they’ll never believe for a second that you’re DEA.”

“Yeah, well,” she bent down to open her bag and dig around in it. “This is what happens when you call me in to an ‘emergency meeting’ on my day off.” With a quiet noise of triumph she pulled out her prize and shoved her bag further into the foot-well, before kicking her feet (with their beat up black high tops) onto the dash. Peña, still looking at his partner, was torn between staring at her mostly bare legs, now on display before him like some sort of divine offering, or staring at the package she was picking up again.

“Those are incredibly short shorts, Vic,” he finally settled on, eyes bouncing back and forth between legs that had only recently lost their northern, fish belly white color and her lap where she was eagerly tearing open familiar blue foil. “Gotta say, I’m a little surprised- now wait a minute. I have to ask. Did you seriously manage to bring a package of Oreos to this stakeout but not your work clothes?” Vic looked up at him with a grin, hand in the package of chocolate cookies and shrugged.

“Number one: I was already dressed for the day when you and Murphy called me in. This is how I dress normally. This is me. On my days off. It’s literally five thousand degrees here, you’re lucky I even put on shorts THIS long. And I managed to grab a shirt so quit your whining. Jeez, never figured you, of all people, for a prude.” Peña was about to protest multiple things that had just been tossed in his direction when she held up a hand and continued, “And number two: I had just grabbed my mail when you called, so I already had these in my bag. I didn’t make a separate stop.”

Peña blinked at her, digesting this as she pulled out a cookie.

“You got cookies in the mail?”

Vic stared intently at the Oreo in her hand as she slowly, painstakingly, twisted the two chocolate wafers in opposite directions, pulling them apart gently as she did so. Peña watched as the cookies started to come apart before the bottom one shattered and crumbled into four pieces in Vic’s hand. She swore quietly and shoved the mess she had made of it into her mouth and pulled out another one. She examined it closely, twisting and turning it, looking for any cracks or blemishes in the wafer as she chewed quickly. Swallowing, she replied,

“You can sometimes, and I mean rarely, find Oreos down here. They’re normally stale and broken and they generally cost about as much as Escobar makes in a day.” She held a cookie in the palm of her hand and turned to face her partner, offering it to him. He raised an eyebrow at it and took it slowly. She grabbed another from the package and repeated her examination as she continued, “But you can NEVER find the double stuffed ones. So my brother ships them to me. These are mana from heaven, better than any coke, better than any sex you’ve ever had. Honestly, if given the choice between most cocks in the world and a couple double stuffed Oreos, I would take the Oreos no question.” Peña snorted and both eyebrows shot up this time.

“Oh really?”

She smiled at the cookie in her hand, having found no weaknesses that might hinder her mission.

“A dick can be replaced by quite a few things. A real life, fresh, Oreo cookie is one of a kind.” Peña shook his head at her, cookie still in between his fingers.

“Clearly you haven’t met the right cocks.” Vic attempted to pull apart the cookie the same way she had before, with the same results. With an annoyed huff she ate it whole again.

“Wha,” she mumbled around the cookie in her mouth, searching the package for a likely candidate. “You offawin’?” He smiled, twirling his cookie around.

“Maybe after you swallow that thing.” Vic flipped him off. “And that’s my shirt, just to be fair, not yours.” He gestured with the Oreo at the overly large blue button down Vic wore, tails tied at her waist, sleeves rolled up, to hide how comically big it was on her. She looked away from the cookies and down at herself, plucking at the front of it.

“The shirt I have under it is mine.”

“And also especially inappropriate for a meeting with the American ambassador to Columbia.”

Vic rolled her eyes and returned to her mission.

“Whatever. Again, it’s a million degrees here, and the humidity is twelve thousand percent, I’m ripping the sleeves off of every tee shirt I own, Springsteen or no.” Peña was about to take a bite out of the cookie he had taken from her when she gasped, horrified, and yanked his hand away from his mouth. He startled, looking around at the street they were supposed to be watching. He didn’t see anything and was about to tell her so when he turned and saw her glaring at him, holding the cookie up and shaking it at his face accusingly.

“You don’t take a bite out of an Oreo! Don’t you know how to eat a fucking cookie?!” He stared at her, blinking slowly.

“What.” Vic rolled her eyes before quickly yanking the two halves of the Oreo apart and holding up the half that had retained most of the cream, pointing at it with her pinky.

“Cream first! Then cookie! God, how old are you.”

She proceeded to demonstrate and Peña felt his mouth go dry and a bead of sweat slip slowly down his back. With one long steady lick, followed by a few quick hard ones, Vic cleaned the cream off of one wafer before moving to its counterpart and repeating the process. She finished with a smile and a loud smack of her lips, twisting her head to clean off the side of her hand where some of it had smeared. She was about to lean back in her seat before her eyes caught on his hand and she grabbed it, yanking it closer to her mouth.

Peña saw clearly what was about to happen and really did try to protest, but before he could get more than a grunt out, Vic had the end of his index finger in her mouth and he felt her tongue wrap around it, sucking gently. He watched, his breath caught in his throat, as she drew back with a quiet popping noise and released his hand, now clean of any evidence of Oreos. He cleared his throat, still staring, as she stuck the two halves back together and popped the whole thing in her mouth.

“Wike tha,” she said, mouth full, hands reaching again for the package on her lap. She offered it to him with a little shake and smiled when he took one. She turned back to the street before them as he continued to watch her, the new cookie held absently on his lap.

Well that was an unfortunate reaction, he thought to himself, a little surprised at how much he had enjoyed watching the younger woman demonstrate how to eat a cookie like a toddler. That was just obscene- he reached down and tried to stretch out the denim over his crotch. No, not obscene, Peña, you’re just a dirty old man who needs to calm down and get back to work. He shook his head and ate the whole cookie before she could take it from him and do that again.

Next to him Victoria Eugenia Flanagan was panicking quietly, staring determinedly out the window, pretending that she had not just done what she had, in fact, just done. We fucking talked about this, Victoria, she berated herself silently, not seeing anything in front of her. He is your partner, and he’s a slut, you can’t ruin that relationship and you don’t want the clap. Vic sighed heavily and bent down to stow the Oreos back in her bag. Hands to yourself. That was the deal you fucking moron.

They sat in silence for a couple minutes, silence that wasn’t exactly awkward, but definitely not in the realm of completely comfortable either. Peña reached behind his seat and pulled an olive green canteen into his lap, unscrewing the top and smacking her arm with it gently. She shot him a brief smile as she took it, grimacing at the warm metal taste of the water and handing it back. She heard him drinking but dug her nails into her own palm to remind herself that turning around to watch his Adam’s Apple bob slowly as he swallowed was counterproductive to her new goal of forgetting that she had ever deeply and passionately desired to ride Javier Peña hard and put him away still dripping. Not as tall as Murphy, smokes too much, drinks too much, flirts too much, breaks too many rules, wears stupid boots, sleeps with too many hookers, Vic tried listing out everything that should be a barrier to her actually leaning over and sticking her hand down her partner’s pants, but the silence was beginning to become oppressive and it was just so hot in this car and this was supposed to be her day off and she hadn’t had any company but her own hands since she came to Columbia five months ago and-

“What do you miss most about the states?” The question was out of her mouth before she even realized it, and she still wasn’t looking at him. “I miss The Golden Girls. Damn that’s a funny show.” She was going to take her gun out of the holster under her arm and shoot herself in the foot when she eventually got back to her apartment. That would be less humiliating then what she just allowed to come spilling out of her dumb mouth.

“Excuse me?” Peña asked after a few moments of silence as Vic contemplated how long it would take her to physically run the distance back to New York City and never have to look him in the eyes ever again.

“You know,” Oh god she was still talking. There were more words coming out of her mouth right this second and she could not seem to make them stop. “The Golden Girls. The TV show?”

“Was that the one with Beatrice Arthur?”

“Yes! That one! With the old ladies and being retired in Miami and stuff?” Vic couldn’t help it anymore. She had to. She couldn’t just sit here and not for however many more hours they were stuck here. She turned back around in her seat, legs twisting on the dash and faced her partner with a smile. Peña made no attempt to hide the fact that his eyes raked over her, from bare legs, all the way up her body to where both her tee shirt and his dress shirt had ridden up with her twisting about, exposing a not insignificant section of soft skin that hadn’t yet lost its paleness. Vic knew where his eyes had gone, his sunglasses were not that opaque, and she knew that the professional, responsible thing to do would be to yank her shirt down and cover her stomach back up. But the sun felt nice on her skin for now, until it started burning, and she liked that he was staring. She liked that he noticed that she was a woman. That just because she shot a gun and swore and drank beer with him and Murphy didn’t mean she wasn’t subject to the same whims and urges as other women. And apparently the deep seated desire to destroy her fucking career over an emotionally unavailable asshole with a great ass. If that isn’t the height of femininity I don’t know what the fuck is. But this is fine. This is still flirting. Kind of. Mostly.

“I uh-“ Peña cleared his throat, eyes roving slowly from exposed stomach, across breasts and up to her face. He smiled that crooked smile that sent the secretaries a-twitter and leaned further back into his seat, fingers scratching at the steering wheel in front of him. “I’ve only caught a few episodes of that. It wasn’t on for very long before I shipped down here from Texas.”

“You’re definitely a Dorothy,” Vic declared, grin widening as one of his eyebrows appeared over his glasses. “Oh you so are. You’re sarcastic, you’re smart, and you so heroically bear the burden of tolerating Steve and I. Even though most of the time you want to strangle your two gringo partners.” Peña made a thoughtful noise, hand that wasn’t at the wheel coming up to scratch at his mustache.

“Alright fine, who’s Murphy then?” Vic drummed her fingers on her stomach, unintentionally drawing his attention this time. This was better, if she had something to occupy her brain and her mouth she was less likely to offer to suck her partner’s cock and ruin her life.

“Rose. Blonde, a little simple, big hearted, and incapable of keeping his mouth shut,” she replied with a grin, and then laughed as she imagined what Steve Murphy would look like if she ever said that to his face. Peña smiled with her.

Vic thought that that might be the end of that and was a little relieved that nothing too terrible had happened as a result of her inability to just sit still and ignore her unfortunate attraction to the asshole next to her. She had kept her hands to herself this time. She hadn’t said anything ridiculous, she hadn’t thrown herself at him, this was fine.

“So does that make you Blanche by default?” Peña asked quietly, smile shifting into an expression she had seen him use to get forms stamped and women of all walks of life to remove their panties faster.

Turns out it was not fine.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she tried to hedge, sliding her legs off the dash. “I wouldn’t really call myself a Blanche.”

“I would,” Peña countered.

“You calling me a slut, pal? Because I live directly above you, and I’m not sure I can count high enough to put a number to your bed partners this month,” she tried to tease, hoping to get him off the subject of her and on to the subject of whatever local prostitutes he’d managed to lure in with promises of American visas in exchange for information.

“You jealous, Vic? Cause I can always make room for a friend.” Vic snapped her mouth shut, hard, on the nearly instant assent that wanted to come out. She took a few seconds to breathe before countering,

“You couldn’t afford me, Peña. I expect at least breakfast the next morning; some money from Uncle Sam just wouldn’t cut it.” The grin he favored her with was nearly savage in its intensity and she just knew that this game was going to end  with her on her back if she didn’t regain a little more control over this situation. She was starting to ask herself why she bothered to try and stop such an inevitability. They were adults, weren’t they? This didn’t necessarily have to be bad. Right?

He shifted closer, leaning over the gear shift and she heard him draw a breath to say something.

“Fucking hell, look,” he ordered, all business again. Vic turned her head and looked out the window, not seeing anything other than a few mothers with strollers, an old man shuffling in front of an apartment building, and a group of kids playing soccer in the street.

“I don’t…” she shook her head and looked over her shoulder at him, shrugging.

“Right there, behind those kids. The other kids.” Peña pointed over her shoulder and huffed angrily when she shook her head again. He continued to point as he leaned even further into her space.

This was very much not fine.

He smelled like sweat and cigarettes and cologne and that man smell that she was pretty sure was just him. The smell that used to get under her skin and itch and irritate- a sliver of a smell, she could get used to it if she held perfectly still and thought really hard about something else but the second she lost her concentration and jostled it pain and the knowledge that it was still burrowed under her nail went shooting up her spinal cord and into her brain. She hated that smell. She hated what that smell did to her. She hated that she sometimes caught whifs of individual components of that smell on other people, on the wind, in a room and her eyes started searching for him. She hated that after a shootout that smell smothered her twitching nerves and calmed her down. She hated that after seeing another informant turn up dead, body mangled, that smell soothed her long enough for her to get herself under control again. She hated the smile that smell brought to her lips. She hated the heat that smell sent to her insides, the tingling between her legs, the fluttering of her walls.

She hated that she couldn’t even lie to herself. She loved every single one of those things.

This heat had betrayed her for the very last time. This was the last straw, as soon as they caught Escobar she was requesting a transfer to anywhere where it snowed all year round. They had drugs in Canada, right? She spoke French. Canada would be fine.

She had thrown her long hair into a bun this morning to keep it off her neck and to keep it from suffocating her and she had never regretted any decision she had ever made in her life quite as much as she did that one. If she was being honest with herself, and damn this was becoming a habit that she hoped she never indulged in ever again after today, the only reason she hadn’t melted into a puddle of whimpering, overstimulated DEA agent in front of him as soon as his large, rough hand came into contact with the back of her neck, squeezing almost as hard as she wanted it too, was because his other hand was holding her head up by her chin, tilting her face in the direction he wanted her to look. She had no reservations in her mind that she was in control of most of her body and her body’s reactions any longer. Vic was now completely just along for whatever ride her lady parts decided to take with him pressed up entirely too close behind her. Close enough that every time she breathed her shoulder brushed his chest. Every time he breathed she felt it disturb the strands of hair that had begun to escape the confines of her hair tie.

One of those breaths sent a shiver through her entire body and Vic’s eyes rolled a little back into her head. One fist clenched her knee and the other dug into the grey seat underneath her. Every single one of those reactions was noticed and cataloged behind bronze aviators by two dark brown eyes. And Peña tightened the hold he had on the back of her neck.

“Those kids are watching the street and using that radio to let Escobar know which cops are patrolling where. Just like Murphy said they were,” he said quietly, still not relinquishing his hold on her. Even though they had gotten what they had come here for. They could go back to the embassy and tell Murphy he was right. They could plan how to either get around this new roadblock or work with it.

He still was not letting go. And Vic still was not asking him to.

Fuck. Everything.

He squeezed again, gently, rubbing his fingers over the soft skin at the sides of her neck and Vic gasped, hands spasming from their positions of relative safety.

“Tell me to stop, Victoria,” Peña ordered quietly, voice rumbling through her and flowing over her ears from where his mouth was too close to the side of her head. “Tell me to stop right now and we can pretend this never happened and go back to where we were before.” His other hand left her chin and caressed down the front of her neck to her chest, slipping beneath the buttons of her button down and palming her breast through her tee shirt.

She should say stop. She knew this was a terrible idea, if anyone found out she would lose any respect she may have managed to earn for herself from her male colleagues. He would, too. He would stop and he wouldn’t make a big thing of it, they could leave and she could go home and take care of the problem that was staring to soak her panties by herself, as usual, no harm done.

He managed to find a nipple through both tee shirt and bra and pinched gently and that was that.

“I swear to god, Javier Peña, if you stop right now I will murder you in your sleep.”

He tugged her back into him by the grip he still had on the back of her neck and she looked up at him as he pulled his sunglasses off, tossed them on the dashboard, and leant down to kiss her.

His lips were soft. That surprised her, considering everything about the man screamed hard-ass. His mustache tickled her bottom lip as she continued kissing him from this frankly terrible angle, but she didn’t care that her neck was getting sore or that the gear shift was digging into her lower back. Peña held her in place, one hand on her neck, the other leaving her breasts to first deftly unbutton and then untie her shirt, finally burrowing under her tee shirt. She gasped into his mouth, one hand leaving the seat where she had braced herself to come up to the side of his face as his bare hand settled onto her stomach and petted gently.

He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and her other hand left the seat to hang onto the wrist draped across her, feeling the tendons and muscles contract and relax under his skin as he stroked her, before he finally backed off slightly to allow her to catch her breath, his teeth nipping at her lips as he retreated. He met her green eyes with his, their brown depths somehow darker, and he grinned.

“Those really are some fine tasting cookies.” Vic stared up at him, panting gently, for a few seconds before his words made it past her ears and into her brain. She glared up at him and struggled to sit back up, abdominal muscles clenching under the hand that was still under her shirt.

“You’re an asshole. And you taste like cigarettes.” He was still smiling as she turned all the way around in her seat to face him fully, his hands slipping off of her and landing in her lap where he wasted no time in wrapping them around her waist.

“Good thing I've noticed you like my cigarettes.” She sniffed and looked over his shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vic yelped suddenly, grabbing his arms as he took the opportunity to drag her across the car, hindered briefly by both of her legs and the gear shift, getting a knee to the stomach, and finally into his lap. And what a mighty fine lap it was. Vic settled herself onto his thigh, legs folded along side his own, and watched his chest as he breathed, mostly bared thanks to his habit of only buttoning about half of his shirt buttons. She reached up to run her fingers over his neck like she had dreamed of doing pretty much since she had met him.

Or rather, she tried to reach him. She felt the now loose tail of her button down get caught between her seat and the shifter, preventing her from wrapping her arms around his neck. She yanked a few times, before slumping back onto his leg.

“A little help here?”

Peña slid his hands up her back under the shirt and tugged, freeing the pale blue fabric before helping her out of it completely, tossing it onto the back seat behind them. Vic, finally liberated, dove for his lips again, one hand at the side of his long neck, the other tangling in his dark hair. Peña groaned into the kiss, his hands on her ass, squeezing and trying to shift her closer to his body. Vic complied, moving her lips across his face to his ear, and moaning softly when her shuffling put her clit in direct contact with what had to be an uncomfortable erection in Javi’s very very tight jeans. She rutted against him, enjoying his hands on her ass, moving her steadily, his quiet grunts in her ear as she did so, and most of all the feeling of his cock rubbing against her, warm and large through his pants.

“Javi, baby, please,” she gasped, nose tuning into his cheek as he thrust up against her as he brought her down against him. “Javi-” she was sweating in this monster of a truck, and she could feel him breathing hard under her. Vic tried to sit up and slide further back on his leg only to find her back pressed against the steering wheel. She wriggled around, elbow knocking into the car door, trying to find a more comfortable way to seat herself.

“This is a terrible fucking place-” she gasped as he flexed the thigh under her. “To do this, Javi.” Peña’s hands halted her squirming and he asked,

“You want to stop?” She shivered as he rocked her harder onto his leg, her back still pressed against the leather and metal of the steering column.

“That is definitely not what I was getting at.” He ‘hmmed’ and she leant back down for another taste of the cigarettes he had chain smoked during their search for Escobar’s juvenile informants.

She broke away from him and stilled, looking down at his disheveled hair and flushed cheeks. She began unbuttoning the rest of his buttons and Peña watched her, hands still holding on, rubbing and caressing her through her shorts as she worked. Finally able to open his shirt all the way, she dragged her hands down from his pecs down his sternum, and down to his stomach. She kneaded the slight paunch she had uncovered, leaning down again to kiss him, getting used to the scratchy brush of his mustache. She loved the evidence of his older, slower metabolism too often exposed to too much beer and tequila. It softened him up a little, fueled her dreams of cuddling with him on her couch after he had fucked the living daylights out of her. Mostly she just loved the soft skin contrasting with the coarse dark hair that started below his belly button and trailed down beyond the waistband of his pants.

Javi grumbled into the kiss as she grabbed a gentle handful of his tummy fat and rocked herself forward on his thigh. Her movements stuttered as the seam of her shorts rubbed directly over her clit and she cried out softly.

“Fuck girl, that’s it, just like that,” Peña encouraged, hands still guiding her movements, back and forth, head thrown back as her fingers kept digging into his stomach. He pulled her closer so he could lean his forehead against hers and one of his hands made its way to the front of her pants. He kissed her roughly as she stopped moving entirely, distracted, trying to undo his belt without looking. His fingers were deft however, and made quick work of both the button and zipper of her cutoffs, sliding into her panties, and finding their way to her now soaking slit.

Vic whined as he traced two fingers up and down her folds, never stopping long enough anywhere to be truly satisfying.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Peña asked softly, voice low, eyes dark. “What do you need?” Vic shifted her hips, bumping into the shifter, chasing his fingers, trying to get them back to literally anywhere at this point. “All you have to do is ask, I’m right here, ready and willing.” His lips found hers again as his fingers continued to stroke, and she felt like she was going to pass out, trying to breathe through both sensations.

“Javi, please, you have to,” she broke off to try and grab his hand to move it where she wanted it. He resisted. “Javi, please! More!”

“More what?” Her eyes found his and she shouldn't have been turned on by the hard look in them but damn, she loved in control Javier Peña, she didn’t care what that said about any latent kinks she might need to explore later.

“Daddy, please, I’ve gotta cum before we go back to base, you have to- '' her voice failed her as her brain caught up with the words tumbling out of her, that was not supposed to pop out of her mouth, that was supposed to stay buried in the fantasies she used to get herself off, alone, where the man thus addressed would never find out about them. Peña’s eyes widened and she felt his cock twitch under her and she moaned as he finally shoved two fingers into her and curled them slightly, the heel of his hand applying steady pressure to her clit.

Vic keened quietly at the sudden intrusion and stretch, her muscles not accustomed to feeling fingers not her own slipping in and out of her, and her head fell forward to his shoulder. The steering wheel dug into her back, and she turned her face into his neck and inhaled that smell she hated to love. Her hands kept massaging his soft stomach as he ordered, lips against her ear,

“Go on, girl, right now. On daddy’s fingers, I know you’ve thought about it before.” Vic gasped and reached one hand down and held his wrist in a vice grip, holding it steady, his fingers deep inside her cunt, and she rocked her clit down hard onto his hand. She felt more than heard his groan as she sighed,

“Javi,” and came over his hand, walls spasming tight around thick digits. She let go of his wrist and he thrust his fingers in and out again a few more times, riding out her orgasm with her before pulling them out completely, smiling fiercely at the whimper that made its way past her clenched teeth.

“There now,” Peña said, panting, removing his hand from her shorts and making his way to his belt that she had only managed to loosen slightly. “That wasn’t so bad. What have we been waiting for?” Vic watched as he slid the zipper of his jeans down and was about to reach for his cock when the radio on the dash crackled to life.

“Peña? Flanagan? You guys there?” Murphy’s voice floated into their humid world, breaking Vic’s concentration on her partner’s dick inches from her greedy hands, and eliciting a groan from Peña that was far from any of the more pleasant ones he’d loosed in the past few minutes. His head dropped onto her shoulder and he bit down gently.

“If we don’t answer him, he’ll assume we’ve been shot and come looking,” Vic pointed out, out of breath and still aroused, leaning her elbow on the window next to her. Peña’s nibbling teeth did nothing to help the little shocks that still shot down between her legs. “I don’t know about you,” she gasped as he moved from shirt to her bare neck, mustache rubbing where spit and teeth had been seconds previously. “But I would rather not look like you just had your hands down my pants when that happens.”

Javi sighed, mouth still attached to her neck, clearly contemplating how long it would take to fuck her in this car and how far away Murphy and Carillo were from their current position. Deciding that he didn't like the odds, he released the bit of skin he had been hanging on to and kissed the red mark gently. He sat up a bit and reached around her, grabbing the radio, pulling her closer to him and grinding up into her while he asked,

“Whats up, Murphy?” Vic stifled a gasp into his chest as the hard ridge of his cock rubbed against her still sensitive clit, bracing herself against the door and the hard wheel behind her, one hand going to the roof of the truck.

“You guys get anything?” Peña continued to thrust against her and hummed noncommittally.

“Yeah, same thing you thought, with the kids and everything- fuck.” He broke off and hissed as one of Vic’s hands left his belly and dug, nails first, into his side.

“What?” Murphy asked over the line. Peña took a second before answering.

“Nothing.” He halted Vic’s movements, slipping a hand into her back pocket and pulling her back along his lap. “We’re coming back to base now.”

“Alright guys, see you in a few.” Peña tossed the radio back on the dash and stared at Vic, capturing her gaze and bringing his hand up to tangle into the hair that was coming loose from her bun.

“We’re finishing this as soon as we make our reports. I’m taking you back to my place and I am going to fill up that tight cunt till the only thing you can remember is my cock, alright?” Vic swallowed, aware again of waves of arousal making their way through her insides, and the smell of sex in the truck. She nodded, eyes never leaving his impossibly dark ones. Well, you’ve already broken nearly all of your rules regarding this man, whats a little more sex between friends, she thought, eyes flicking down to his lips before meeting his again. She watched his tongue wet his lips slowly, before losing all semblance of willpower and leaning down to kiss him again, already getting used to the scratch of hair on her face.

“I think that's a really good plan, daddy,” she agreed, coming back up for air and lifting off his lap completely, half climbing, half crab walking over the gear shift and back to the passenger seat. She refastened her shorts and looked over to see his cock still straining the denim of his jeans, button undone and zipper almost all the way down. “Might want to do something about that though, Agent Tight Pants.” She gestured at his problem with a slightly smug smile. “Unless you’re planning on giving Murphy a show.” Javi snorted, reaching down to zip and button his pants.

“He wishes.”