#and if five boards the train it will drop him off in an entirely new universe

[tempportal]

okay so i recognize and respect this is a very very tiny gem in a field of shit but the empty subway station five keeps accidentally jumping to is actually a whole meal for me because this is exactly the kind of vaguely creepy vibe i've had in mind for the Walkway from day fucking one

[alphaman99]

Texas Jack Omohundro

Will Rogers, who died on this day in 1935, was the very definition of American.

Born to a Cherokee Nation family in Oologah, Indian Territory (now Oklahoma), Rogers joked that though his ancestors didn't come over on the Mayflower, they "met the boat".

Dog Iron Ranch, the property of Will's father Clement Vann Rogers, had as many as 10,000 Texas longhorns, and Will, the youngest of eight children, grew up in the saddle. An avid reader and good student, Will quickly decided that the saddle was more comfortable than the school desk, and, after dropping out of school in the 10th grade, worked his father's ranch full time.

When he was 22 years old, Will and a friend set off from Oklahoma to Argentina, sure that their cowboy skills would serve them well as gauchos on the Argentine Pampas. They bought a ranch and worked for five months before running out of money. Unwilling to return home and face his father's disappointment, Will boarded a boat to South Africa, where he got a job as a rancher at Mooi River Station.

Soon, a Wild West Circus passed through the area and Will Rogers went to see the show, intent on asking for a job handling the show's livestock. Rogers would later tell a reporter for the New York Times:

"Texas Jack had a little Wild West aggregation that visited the camps and did a tremendous business. I did some roping and riding, and Jack, who was one of the smartest showmen I ever knew, took a great interest in me. It was he who gave me the idea for my original stage act with my pony. I learned a lot about show business from him. He could do a bum act with a rope that an ordinary man couldn't get away with, and make the audience think it was great, so I used to study him by the hour, and from him, I learned the great secret of the show business—knowing when to get off. It's the fellow who knows when to quit that the audience wants more of."

This Texas Jack was not John B. Omohundro. Actually, no one, not even the man himself, knew this Texas Jack's real name. He was born sometime between 1863 and 1867, and his parents had been killed when their wagon train headed west was ambushed, reportedly by a Comanche raiding party. The child had been taken captive, along with two young girls from another family's wagon, but was rescued by the cowboy Texas Jack Omohundro, who delivered the children to a Kansas orphanage, selling the Comanche ponies to provide funding for the children's education. The boy grew up not knowing his name or the names of his parents, only knowing that the man who rescued him was called Texas Jack. After Omohundro's 1880 death, this young man showed up at the Omohundro home in Palmyra, Virginia, asking for the family's blessing to use his rescuer's name as he set off on his own venture into show business.

Initially called Texas Jack Junior, by the time he had established himself as a performer in America and Europe he dropped the "Junior" entirely. By the time Will Rogers asked for a job in Ladysmith, South Africa, his show was billed as Texas Jack's Wild West Circus. According to Rogers, he asked the circus owner if he was really from Texas, if he was related to the famous Texas Jack from the dime novels, and if he had any jobs wrangling horses for the show. Jack Jr. asked the young man if he could put together a rope trick act. The young man said he believed he could and Jack Jr. hired him on the spot, suggesting the young performer adopt the nickname “The Cherokee Kid”. Performing the same lasso act that Texas Jack Omohundro introduced to the world thirty years earlier, this was Will Rogers’ first job in show business.

Will Rogers died in a plane crash with aviation pioneer Wiley Post in Alaska on August 15th, 1935. Before his death, the State of Oklahoma commissioned a statue of him to place in the United States Capital's National Statuary Hall collection. Rogers agreed on the condition that his statue face the House Chamber so that Rogers could "keep an eye on Congress." Since the statue's installation in 1939, each President of the United States of America has rubbed the Will Rogers statue's left foot for good luck before stepping into the House Chamber to deliver the State of the Union address.

[Pictured from left to right: Texas Jack Junior, Lyle Marr (TJ Jr's wife), Clarence Welby Cooke, and Will Rogers.]

[caitimetravels]

she’s insignificant

chapter 3: the dangers inside

the umbrella academy x reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.

warnings: swearing, mentions of death

masterlist

y/n stared at the blue energy in the courtyard before deciding to join her siblings as they rushed to see what it was. as she ran down the stairs she caught sight of klaus holding a fire extinguisher.

"what are you doing?" she caught up with him.

"something" he shrugged, bursting out the door first. "out of the way!"

"thats not going to- klaus what the hell?" y/n went to stop him only to watch as he tried to extinguish the mass of energy. she shook her head in disbelief, stepping beside vanya.

klaus chucked the extinguisher when he realised it wouldn't work.

"what is that gonna do?" allison shouted over the loud noise. klaus threw his hands up.

"i don't know. do you have a better idea?" he stepped back in surprise as another flash came from the portal. luther pulled klaus back.

"everyone get behind me!" and in true sibling rivalry diego nodded, shielding vanya and y/n.

"yeah, get behind us!"

they watched, brows furrowing at the familiar figure that dropped to the ground. as they stepped closer the vortex disappeared.

"is that-?" y/n looked up at vanya, peeking around diego to see.

there, in a too large sized suit, stood their missing brother. he pushed himself to his feet taking in their appearance.

"does anyone else see little number five is that just me?" klaus questioned as they walked closer. the said boy stared down at himself in confusion before looking back at them.

"shit" he cursed.

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

they all moved back into the kitchen, letting five do as he pleased while he explained what he needed to.

he placed a chopping board and knife on the table while the others stood at the other end. y/n stood off to the corner, not entirely comfortable with them after being accused of murder. "what's the date? the exact date"

five walked around, grabbing bread to make himself a sandwich. vanya answered, "the 24th"

"of what?" five pushed walking back over.

"march"

"good" he pulled out two pieces of bread, laying them on the chopping board.

"so, are we going to talk about what just happened?" luther raised an eyebrow, expectantly but five stayed silent. "its been 17 years!" luther stood, frustrated but five wasn't taking any of his bullshit.

"it's been a lot longer than that" the shorter boy walked towards him before blinking behind him to grab the marshmallows. luther sighed,

"i haven't missed that"

"where'd you go?" diego piped up, unfazed.

"the future" five sighed, "and it's shit by the way" he opened up the bag of marshmallows.

"called it!" klaus raised his finger.

"do you want one?" five looked up at y/n, referring to the sandwich, a soft gleam in his eyes. the others shared a look, of course he had only missed her. she gently shook her head with a small smile. "i should have listened to the old man" five walked to the fridge, pulling out a jar. "he knew. travelling through space is one thing, travelling through time is a toss of the dice"

he paused as he opened the peanut butter, looking up at them again before noticing klaus' attire. "nice dress"

"oh, danke" klaus twirled loose material around. allison rolled her eyes.

"how did you get back?"

"in the end i had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time" he continued making his sandwich like he hadn't just shocked them.

"that makes no sense" diego scoffed,

"well, it would if you were smarter" five shrugged, ignoring the way diego stood up to fight him. luther held him back.

"did you put a decimal point in the wrong spot?" y/n asked, surprising the others. she crossed her arms, thinking "it was probably a miscalculation in your proof of the existence of a bound for the number of limit cycles of planar polynomial vector fields of fixed degree."

five paused, thinking it over before realising she was right. "it should have been 0.57" he mumbled.

"how long were you there?" luther changed the subject, obviously confused.

"45 years" five went back to his sandwich making. "give or take"

everyone sat back down in shock.

"so what are you saying? that you're 58?!" luther narrowed his eyes in disbelief. there was no way.

"no" five looked up, speaking through gritted teeth. "my consciousness is 58. apparently my body is now 16 again"

"how does that even work?" vanya croaked out, still shocked at the situation.

"delores kept saying the equations were off" five shrugged, stepping away and looking off into the distance as he took a bite of his sandwich. "bet she's laughing now"

"delores?" vanya asked. y/n froze, he had kept her? at the girl's movement, or lack thereof, allison looked over at her, raising her eyebrows.

y/n shook her head, waving it off.

five picked up the newspaper on the table, staring at the picture of their father.

"hm.. guess i missed the funeral"

"how'd you know about that?" luther questioned, defensive.

"what part of the future do you not understand?" five narrowed his eyes, slightly amused by his brothers incompetence. "heart failure, huh?"

"yeah-" diego started only to be cut off by luther.

"no" there was silence for a moment before a kitchen knife stabbed into the table beside luther's hand.

"if i had murderous intent, luther, you'd be the first on my list" y/n scoffed, walking out.

they all stared after her in shock.

"nice to see nothing's changed" five sighed before following her out.

"thats it?" allison asked, turning towards him as he walked. "thats all you have to say?"

"what else is there to say? circle of life" he called back.

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

vanya walked up to five in the parlour where he stood staring at his painting.

"nice to know dad didn't forget me" five turned to her, "read your book by the way.. found it in the library that was still standing"

he started to walk around, noticing y/n sitting on the balcony above. she had her legs dangling through the bars, calmly reading a book. he turned back to vanya.

"thought it was pretty good, all things considered" he stared her down, "definitely ballsy, giving up the family secrets. sure that went over well"

"they hate me" vanya frowned,

"well there are worse things that can happen" five was obviously trying to cheer her up, in his own way.

"you mean like what happened to ben?" there was a pause, both thinking it over.

"was it bad?" five asked softly, he knew y/n was still listening. he heard the faint sound of a book shutting. he looked away as vanya nodded.

"y/n had a hard time dealing with it.. the worst of all of us. dad forbid her from going on missions after her reaction.."

"her reaction?" five turned back, eyebrows furrowing, this wasn't in vanya's book.

"she nearly tore our souls out.. she was devastated and couldn't control her emotions. dad said it helped her though, something about a new ability. he trained her alone from then, forcing her to find you" vanya shrugged, sighing, going silent.

"find me?" five pushed, "what do you mean find me?"

"she said she did.. did she not?" vanya looked surprised now.

"no, no she did.. just didn't stay long is all" five shook his head, frowning.

"yeah well, they stopped trying when she lied to dad"

"she lied?" five looked back up at where she was previously sitting but now she was gone, the only thing left behind was her book and a wisp of smoke.

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

"ben.. i'm- i'm scared" eight sat cross legged in front of his statue. "my powers are getting stronger and i'm scared to hurt the others. i wish you were still here" she refused to cry no matter how much she wanted to. she couldn't let the same thing happen.

"i'm scared ben. what if i can't control it? what if hurt somebody? you're not here to help me and i-.. it hurts sometimes. dad doesn't understand, he never did but it hurts to suppress my emotions like he wants me to. we try so hard and he still never thinks we're enough.." she paused, pulling her knees up to her chest. "what if i am weak? what if he's right?"

unbeknownst to her ben's ghost sat beside her. "you're not weak" he shook his head, moving to look at her face. "you'll never be weak, you're so strong. please keep being strong for me" he pleaded with her as she continued to blame herself. he hated this. he hated not being there for her. he just wanted her to be okay.

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

y/n walked beside five, standing under his umbrella with him. they didn't speak as they walked back out into the courtyard. the siblings all stood in line with luther in front of them, carrying their dad's ashes.

"did something happen?" grace looked at them all, smiling despite the occasion. they all looked up at her.

"dad died.." allison answered, confused. "remember?"

"oh, yes of course" grace nodded, expression turning more somber.

"is mom okay?" allison asked, now worried about how grace was acting.

"yeah, yeah she's fine" diego quickly defended, "she just needs to rest, you know, recharge" allison looked incredulous but dropped it nonetheless.

pogo stepped forwards, looking up at luther. "whenever you're ready, dear boy"

luther breathed out, opening the lid and dropping the ashes in a pitiful pile. they all frowned.

"probably would have been better with some wind" luther griped,

"does anyone wish to speak?" pogo ignored it, looking at the rest of them. everyone stayed silent, looking away. "very well.. in all regards, sir reginald hargreeves made me what i am today, for that alone i shall forever be in his debt. he was my master and my friend and i shall miss him very much.." he paused, "he leaves behind a complicated legacy-"

"he was a monster" diego cut off, still staring down at the ashes. klaus laughed. "he was bad person and a worse father. the world's better off without him-"

"diego" allison scolded, glaring at him in surprise.

"my name is number two. you know why?" he looked over at her. "because our father couldn't be bothered to give us actual names, he had mom do it"

"would anyone like something to eat?" grace asked, smiling again, unaware of what was happening.

"no, its okay mom" vanya denied, albeit confused.

"oh, okay"

"look, you wanna pay your respects" diego stepped out in front of them, "go head, but at least be honest about the kind of man he was" he looked at pogo now.

"you should stop talking now" luther warned, anger growing. diego glared at him for a moment before fully turning to face him.

"you know, you of all people should be on my side here, number one"

"i am warning you-" diego ignored him,

"after everything he did to you" y/n sighed, crossing her arms to her chest, fighting wasn't going to fix any of them. klaus and five shared a look. "he had to ship you a million miles away"

"diego stop talking-" luther tried again. diego was definitely hitting a nerve. he jabbed a finger into luther's chest.

"that's how much he couldn't stand the sight of you!" luther grabbed his arm and swung at his head. diego ducked. they begun fighting while everyone else backed away.

"boys! stop this at once!" pogo attempted to stop them, moving back despite this.

klaus held an arm out to shield five and y/n. the former slapped it away. they continued to fight, diego egging him on and landing several punches. klaus began to chant while vanya yelled at them to stop.

"klaus" y/n warned, gaining both his and five's attention. her eyes were turning black, she was struggling.

"y/n? are you okay?" five hadn't been there, he didn't know what she would do if she lost control. pogo walked away, not wanting to stay. klaus nervously watched y/n while the others watched luther and diego fight.

"i don't have time for this" five sighed, beginning to walk away, leaving y/n with klaus under his small pink umbrella.

that was when it happened. y/n froze as they knocked ben's statue.

"aw" klaus complained while allison glared at them.

"and there goes ben's statue"

"klaus?" y/n's voice scared them all. she sounded weak. she gripped his jacket, tightly. "klaus"

"what's wrong?" he looked down at her, watching as she fought her emotions. her eyes were turning black but she kept fighting it.

diego pulled out his knife and vanya's shouting at him to stop made it harder for y/n to calm herself. he threw it at luther, cutting his arm.

"klaus" she called again and he held her arm unsure of what to do. "i-i can't.. i can't-" she let out a pained whine as her eyes darkened, she was letting go. suddenly diego and luther let out shouts of pain.

"what's going on?!" allison watched them, confused and distraught. vanya quickly left their mother's side, pulling y/n into her.

"its okay, you're okay" vanya whispered to her, trying to calm her. "it can be fixed, you're okay, just relax. try to relax" listening to vanya's heartbeat she slowly calmed down, the blackness of her eyes seeping away and diego and luther straightened, no longer in pain.

y/n stared at them in shock and guilt before shaking her head and running inside. she locked herself in her room again. she was truly a demon.

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

one by one the siblings left, y/n watched sadly as they all abandoned her again. she was always left alone, the family problems only got bigger when they got together. she sighed, maybe she was better off alone.

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

y/n looked up from her book as she heard frantic footsteps around the mansion. peeking out her door she noticed vanya slowing down in front of five's room.

"oh thank god" she disappeared through his doorway but y/n could still hear her voice. "i was worried sick about you"

five had talked to vanya? why hadn't he come to her?

"sorry i left without saying goodbye" five's voice answered softly. what had he been doing? y/n quietly left her room to hear better. she wanted to be apart of her brother's plans too. she didn't want to be left out anymore.

"no, i'm the one that should be sorry. i was dismissive and i guess i didn't know how to process what you were saying.." vanya paused, "i still can't to be honest"

"maybe you were right to be dismissive" five huffed, that didn't sound like him at all? what was he really doing? "maybe it wasn't real after all.. it felt real. but well, like you said the old man did say time travel could contaminate the mind"

well vanya referred him to a therapist y/n tried to sense the room. something else was going on. carefully using her power she felt another person.. klaus. when vanya walked out y/n quickly turned to smoke, gliding along the floor, past five who watched vanya leave. klaus pulled himself out of the closet.

"that's so touching, all that stuff about family and dad and time"

"will you shut up? she'll hear you" five warned him, walking back over.

"you're lying to vanya?" y/n appeared next to klaus, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"it's nothing you should worry about" five dismissed before looking klaus over again. "i thought i told you to put on something professional"

"what? this my nicest outfit" klaus gestured to it. y/n snorted when five scoffed.

"we'll raid the old man's closet"

"whatever, as long as i get paid" klaus shrugged, beginning to walk behind five.

"when the job is done" they stopped just above the stairs.

"so, where are we going?" she followed along, smiling innocently at five who raised an eyebrow at her.

"not we, just klaus and i" five shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"five" she frowned,

"y/n" he mocked.

"just let me come, please don't leave me in the dark. i just want to help you" she pleaded, she had missed him.

he thought it over before sighing, "fine" he turned to walk again but klaus stopped him.

"but just so we're clear on the finer details" he waved his hand around, talking over the plan. "i just got to go into this place and pretend to be your dear old dad, correct?"

"yeah, something like that" five agreed, exasperated.

"what's our cover story?" klaus continued, ignoring five's look of annoyance.

"what? what are you talking about?" five shared a confused look with y/n who shrugged.

"i mean was i young when i had you, like 16.. like young and terribly misguided" five agreed just to get him to stop but he didn't. "your mother, that slut, whoever she was, we met at.. the disco and you can be his sister"

"i am his sister?" y/n raised an eyebrow, but klaus only smiled, clicking his fingers.

"okay, remember that. oh my god the sex was amazing"

y/n scoffed, walking away first, five following. "what a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain"

"don't make me put you in time out" klaus waved a finger at him.

as they walked out the door onto the street y/n paused.

"what's wrong, baby sis?" klaus asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "you're not backing out already?"

"no!" she quickly denied, looking up at him as she snapped out of her starstruck daze. "it's just.. i haven't left the house in 16 years.."

klaus and five shared a sorrowful look. what had happened to her?

tags: @rxses-and-reverie

[strifesolution]

Wait I heard somewhere that Martyn was thinking about doing ADVENTure again and thought about inviting Ren. I'm thinking about Ren learning more about Martyn and seeing InTheLittleFrost properly (I headcanon he saw some of InTheLittleFrost in 3rd Life but didn't really have the time to really take it in y'know?) and maybe meeting Martyn's Aunt and Uncle

Like I don't even know if that initial thing is true I just like thinking about this anyway

The blizzard is getting worse.

Ren holds onto Martyn's hand like a lifeline as they trek through the layered snow, darkening sky and sheets of snow falling making it harder and harder to see in front of him.

Just a little further to the station, Martyn kept saying. Each time with baited breath, quieter, and quieter. Just a little bit further.

And then Martyn stops. Ren feels it as he tries to step forward, but his companion lingers behind. He turns, surprise in his features as Martyn gives him a sheepish look.

"I- I really should've...explained this beforehand." He starts, voice weak. Ren lurches forward to hold onto him.

"What's wrong? Stay with me-"

"I didn't think it'd happen this quickly, I'm sorry."

And Ren's getting scared because Martyn's talking like he's dying or something and Ren is not having that on the way to a holiday vacation. Martyn manages a shaky smile.

"Toby will explain-"

"Dude, what are you talking about?"

Martyn's hand slips from his grasp.

He reaches, but in the split second of disconnect, a wave of snow sweeps between the space, and Martyn's gone. No crunch of boots on snow as he steps away, no fading of his form behind the sheet of falling flakes...simply nothing.

And Ren is alone.

The howling of winter wind fills his ear, heart beating in his chest as he squints through the storm, for something, anything, any sign of life.

And there is nothing,

Until there isn't.

"Hello, Rendog."

The voice comes loud and clear through the blizzard, a gap in the whistling wind. It's hollow and familiar all the same.

"...Martyn?"

"Not quite."

Turning in circles, he searches for the source of the voice, looking for anything to indicate something was really there.

"We haven't met properly, you and I. I suppose this is our reintroduction, after you've only felt my presence before."

"I don't know what you're talking about, or what you did with Martyn, but-"

The voice cuts him off.

"You didn't think Red Winter was his- my first experience with what the cold can do, did you?"

And finally, right before his eyes, with a gust of wind, a figure appears a few feet in front of him.

Cold, silver skin, frost tinted hair, warm winter clothes.

But Martyn all the same. It's strikingly familiar to how his Hand looked on his last life, but instead of the harsh blood-red of Dogwarts, he’s turned to brittle blue snow at dawn.

They stare at each other in silence. The ice-cold copy of his partner does not break his gaze. There is a mischievous glint in his eyes, childlike, as his lips turn up into a half-smile. He feels like he’s being mocked.

There’s a sound in his head, not unlike a beating heart. It gets louder and louder, closer and closer, as he and the frozen figure who has replaced Martyn stare each other down. Suddenly the sound is overwhelmingly loud, a tingling feeling in his chest as vibrations shake the ground. There’s a light through the storm, a high pitched screech, and oh, that sound isn’t in his head. It’s a train.

Through the fog, the locomotive reveals itself, track and platform to board completely covered by the snow, as it chugs to a stop just behind where Martyn’s doppelganger stood.

"That's our ride. Surely I- my warmer self, explained this part?"

He had. That's what Martyn said, before this lookalike replaced him. The station isn't far.

Ren does not give the imposter the satisfaction of an answer. His eyes flick to the train, a massive old fashioned steam engine who’s whistle blares over their confrontation. He holds his ground. Waiting for answers. Waiting for whatever weird reality he’d ended up in was over.

"HEY! Are you two getting on or what? You know Sandy will chew our head off if we're late!"

They both jump, as a head pokes out one of the train windows from the cart ahead of their platform, leaning halfway outside. Peering through the storm, the figure is a baby-faced looking brunette human, wearing a warm scarf not unlike the one lookalike Martyn wore. He waves enthusiastically for a moment, until realization dawns on his face, and his hand drops.

"Oh, did Martyn already transform?"

Ren finds his voice, and calls out in confusion. "...Transform?"

"Oh-" The stranger smacks his head with the palm of his head. "Did Martyn not tell you?" The man throws an accusatory glare at the lookalike, to which not-Martyn shrugs with a smug expression.

"Don't give me that look, I don't control what flowers-and-sunshine me does. Usually."

"Can one of you dudes PLEASE tell me what the heck is going on?"

Not-Martyn and the nameless train passenger share a look, one he couldn't help but recognize as one he'd shared with Doc, or Iskall, or False. One of silent friendship communication.

And then both of them burst out laughing. Not-Martyn sounds so much like the real Martyn does, and he feels fuzzy headed.

Ren is really beginning to think he's missing out on a joke.

"Okay, okay, we will, but we can't be holding up an entire train like this." The brunette explains through stifled laughter. "Come aboard first... Ren, right?" At his blink of recognition, he grins. "Take that Martyn, my memory is good! Anyways, I'm Toby." He gestured to the open train cabin doorway behind from where he leaned out the window.

Ren follows his hand to where not-Martyn is halfway through the door, leaning halfway on it and holding his arm out as if to let Ren go on first.

He'd been through a lot of weird stuff over five and a half seasons of Hermitcraft and lived, but weird supernatural experiences outside of it were a bit out of the norm. He's ready to believe he's passed out from bad frostbite and this is just a wacky dream.

"Hot chocolate's getting cold, guys!" Another new voice echoes from inside the train, and Toby pops his head back into the carriage.

"Last call, Ren." Not-Martyn says.

The tips of his ears are starting to freeze, and he actually is going to get frostbite if this is real.

And hot chocolate sounded really good right now.

With a deep breath, he steps towards the platform, definitely not ready for the next 25 days.

[coalitiongirl]

Fic Recs (under 300 edition)

So I wanted to get back to reading Swan Queen fic regularly, and I asked people to rec longfic that they'd read (not written) and loved that had fewer than 300 kudos! I haven’t read most of these, but I’ve collected them here so y’all can go through the list and discover some new fics with me! Please try to kudos and review every fic that you read! It means the world to the writers and will keep em writing, and then we all win. 😁

Atonement by SgtMac (M): With Regina's magical heart failing thanks to years of previous evil, Emma and Regina and Henry (and Granny!) set out to save her life by traveling to the Enchanted Forest and requesting help from ancient magical beings known as the Guardians. Given a mission as simple as it is impossible - to achieve atonement by creating peace - the ladies find themselves joining a rebellion and fighting for the very soul of the Enchanted Forest all while trying to help Regina to understand that the self-loathing and guilt which have driven most of her actions don't have to doom her chance for a new beginning or even, a chance to live and love again. A S4(ish) SQ love story set against the turmoil of war and the chaotic savagery of the old world.

Blood and Sand by cheshire6845 (E): A/U The Savior is a slave forced into the role of fighting as a gladiator for the House of Hearts. The odds are against her survival as she will have to win in the arena, navigate Cora's schemes, outlast a general's vengeance, and not be killed out of spite by the current House of Hearts Champion - Regina the Undefeated. This story follows the major plot points of Starz Spartacus with some twists along the way.

But what if there was no time by KizuRai (M): When she wakes up, it's dark. She can't move, she can't see, she can't feel and she can't hear. Where am I? She feels a forceful oppression, pressing her down, draining her of her energy and she's powerless to stop it. How did I get here? The question of here is relative, she's not even sure where here is. What happened? There must be some reason for being stuck here but her memory is fuzzy, like all her thoughts are being sifted through a filter. Who am I? She's not sure if she actually exists or she suddenly became sentient in the darkness.She hears a voice reverberating in the distance, it's distorted and quiet but she hears it all the same. It breaks the monotony of the silence. Someone's coming for her, they will get her out. She's just not sure she wants them to as the price might be too great.

Finding Home by evl_rgl (T): “I wanted to remember you so badly that I pulled back your cursed town just so that the memories would make sense. I needed you so badly that even when I had no memory of you, I still tried to find you.” Regina gave Emma and Henry memories of a happy life together before they fled Pan’s curse, leaving them with no memories of their lives in Storybrooke. However, when the memory spell shows signs of failing, threatening to rip apart the minds of both Emma and Henry, Regina makes a drastic choice to go back and fix it, understanding that it will mean living alone in a world where her son doesn’t know her. Was the spell really faulty, though? (swanqueen)

Five Flames by MariaComet (U): In the past, Emma Nolan disconnected from her peers in high school, preferring to keep to herself. In her sophomore year of high school, she decided to try and join the boy’s wrestling team because she was bored. She didn’t expect herself to become the champion of the most bullied kid in school or the secret best friend of the school queen. She also didn’t expect to join a club that would change her life. In the present, Emma is trying to cope with a humiliating loss in her martial arts career. She claims to be “training” but is stuck in limbo between wanting to retire and try again. She is isolated from her former best friend, Regina Mills, a local celebrity chef and the rest of her old friends. When one of them calls her with an idea to honor their deceased teacher, she is confronted with unresolved feelings and questions about how powerful love truly is.

A Glamour of Truth by PrincessCharming (T): After 2x10, Regina uses magic to show Emma the obvious truth. A tentative trust forms between them amid hilarious bickering. With Emma's help, Regina struggles to regain a place in her son's life... until Cora arrives, wanting her daughter back. Pieces of Regina's past emerge showing that the board was set long before the game started. The final battle begins soon.

His Dark Materials 'verse by MoonlitMidnight (M): A modern Alternate Universe in which Dæmons (the external physical manifestation of a person's 'inner self' that takes the form of an animal) are present. In which Emma and Regina have led slightly different lives and they make slightly different choices.

How Many Miles to Avalon? (WIP) by RavenOutlander (E): Regina would do anything to save Emma from the darkness and bring her back home safe and sound. Even put up with the two idiots, Captain Guyliner and a bunch of dwarves she decidedly wanted to drop off at the nearest exit. But in their search for Emma, they find that she might not need that much saving after all. Caught up in a search for the infamous Philosopher Stone, an all out war between DunBroch and Camelot, and ghosts from the past to haunt her every waking moment, Regina finds herself scrambling to keep her and her family's happy endings from falling apart.

The Hyperion by FrankenSpine (M): After wishing upon what she believes is a shooting star, Emma Swan finds herself aboard the Hyperion, the royal starship of an alien Queen from a faraway galaxy. She quickly learns of the tensions between the Queen's people and her own, but the Queen takes an interest in her and agrees to take her away from Earth forever. Adventure awaits. *(Loosely based on Guardians of the Galaxy with just a hint of Farscape)*

If Wishes Came True (It Would've Been You) by Angeii_K (M): After Regina films a guest appearance on her friend Neal’s popular show, he invites her to spend the weekend with him and his girlfriend. What she never expected was to actually like the woman. Sparks fly between the two, which results in them questioning everything and making choices they will later regret. 4 years later, they meet again in the most unexpected of ways. Now co-stars on the same show, they are forced to work through the emotions from their last encounter. What will happen next? Only time will tell.

The King Doesn’t Have To Know (WIP) by highheelsandchocolate (M): The White Knight had never seen anyone like her before: the Queen was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her possessive yet neglectful husband, however, was another thing entirely.

The Lich by Dangereaux (M): Gay disaster Emma, exasperated Regina, and a monster. A Halloween special.

Maybe if We Close Our Eyes we Can Reach the Stars by wellthizizdeprezzing (T): Emma is a lonely astronaut. Regina is an adventuring alien. Their paths cross leading them onto a journey of new discovery. Between galaxies and many miles of cold black space, despite not speaking the same language, they manage to fall for each other. An out of this world love story.

A prisoner long forgotten by sugarsweet_19 (M): ‘I wish I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood and as black as the wood of the window-frame. Soon after she had a little girl, who was as white as snow, with lips as red as blood and with her hair as black as the ebony of the window-frame. She was therefore called Snow-white.” This is how our story starts but how will it end?The evil queen as been locked up in a tower and forgotten that is until princess Emma looks for a place to hid from her parents after they tell her she has to marry Neal the son of the dark one.

Revenge of the Three Little Pigs by mskyo (M): Regina and Emma find themselves alone and looking for the rest of their party. The Evil Queen must face the consequences of her past actions. Will Emma come to her aid, or understand that justice must be served... *Some chapters have fairly graphic sex, and violence*

Things I Almost Remember by cheshire6845 (T): A/U Despite an oncoming war between the Dark and the Light, Emma and Regina are best friends growing up in the Enchanted Forest. When war does come, they find themselves on opposite sides. Regina will have to defy her mother to save Emma. Will Emma be able to save Regina when Cora curses her daughter to live in the Land without Magic?

What We Make (WIP) by DiazTuna (M): “My mother.” He says calmly. He’d known all along, she’s aware. But he’d known that today would be the day that would get this going. She wants to ask what it was like, to have woken up this morning, laced up his boots and walked into hell just knowing. “It’s programmed the cyborg to kill her. Before I have a chance to be born.” -In which the leader of the future sends his best soldier back to the past to save his mother from a killer cyborg. Terminator AU.

The Wrong Way by pcworth (M): Takes place right after Zelena steals Regina's heart. Zelena offers Regina a chance to go back in time with her and change both of their lives for the better. But what will be the price of that decision. Slow-burn to SwanQueen

zombie trash by 13pens (T): Zelena could have her brain and eat it, too. Fic operates on three premises 1. this takes place in any universe where zelena is a reformed asshole 2. zombies are a thing and exist iZombie style 3. i have NO chill

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Dog Tags

Billy Russo x Female!Reader

Request by @nebulastarr​ : Hey! Whenever requests open up again, could you do a Billy Russo x Reader where the reader liked Billy but doesn’t want to tell him because she thinks he won’t feel the same way

A/N: I was going to wait and get down to writing this once I was finished with my series... But this one has simply hit a little too close to home. I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I saw it and I ended up putting a lot of personal stuff in it so I’m sorry if it feels chaotic at times. Thank you for requesting, love, I hope it lives up to your expectations.    The Only Living Thing series will be back with its third part next week.  The song: Isak Danielson - Power

All you heard was an excited scream, that raised above all of the New York’s past-6-pm commotion, as a slender tall body smashed into you, locking you in a bone-crushing hug. You laughed happily, albeit feeling a little bit uncomfortable in Karen’s strong hold. You knew it didn’t seem that way, but Karen packed a wicked punch in those elegant arms of hers. Those self-defense sessions with Frankie boy that she’s been gushing about over the phone must have been finally paying off.

“Once I am done hugging you, I am so kicking your ass,” she breathed out into your hair as she squeezed you harder, as if reading your thoughts. “You’ve been ghosting me for what, a month now?”

You sighed guiltily as Karen pushed you slightly away, keeping her hands on your shoulders. You watched her as she studied your face, a creeping smile stinging at the corners of her mouth.

Grabbing one of her elbows, you groaned dramatically, pulling her towards the busy road. With your hands locked, you finally admitted:

“I did suck at communicating these past couple of weeks. Work’s been…. hectic”, the lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but this was the best explanation you’ve been able to come up with so far. “Please don’t kill me”.

Trying to keep up with your power walk, Karen let a bubbling laughter leave her lips.

“You’re not the one who should be worried then,” she gave you one of those bright trademark smiles of hers. “Next time I’m going to interview Russo, I’ll…”

You stuttered at her tirade as you walked, and of course it didn’t go by unnoticed. Karen was the best journalist you have ever met during your prominent career. She just sensed that sort of thing.

“I’m getting this ‘I-meant-to-tell-you-Karen-but-I-didn’t-and-now-you’ll-need-to-fight-it-out-of-me’ vibe”, she gave you a scrutinising look. “Want to maybe share whatever it is you’ve been not telling me before I go full interrogation mode on your plump backside?”

You rolled your eyes as you led her to a terrace-ringed Upper East Side high-rise, waving to the doorman through the glass doors. Jackson, a thirty-five year old ex-military with three kids and a labrador, gave you a brilliant smile as he hurried to open them for you.

“Good evening, Mrs Y/L/N!” He bowed his head in a stiff, very army-like manner. “A package arrived this afternoon for you, should I bring it up?”

From the corner of your eye, you caught Karen looking around, confusion written all over her face. You had a lot to catch up on.

“Don’t worry about it, Jax, just give it to me,” you didn’t mean to urge him, but you couldn’t wait to change out of your corporate attire into some comfortable old pyjamas and crack open a bottle of whiskey - that’s right, some habits did die hard. And to think you were a bubbles-kind of girl a year ago when you met him.

You could feel Karen’s blue eyes drill a hole in the back of your head as you took a small, envelope-sized package from Jackson’s hands.

It wasn’t until you both stepped into the elevator that Karen cleared her throat.

“When you said you’d rather have a girls’ night in, I asked Frank to pick me up from Queens, not from…here,” she spoke, her eyes skimming expensive red wood and mirrors. “Did you finally sleep with Russo and moved in with him?”

Whatever it was that Karen expected you to say to that, it definitely didn’t include you spitting out a roaring laugh, as you nearly dropped the package on the floor.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” you informed her after you finally restored your breath. “I left Anvil. And, well, Russo. At the end of last month”.

—

A half-bottle of whiskey for you and a bottle of white wine for Karen later, both of you were sprawled out on the lambskins thrown over the hardwood floor in your living room. Jazz music was seeping out of the speakers by the TV, a couple of Diptyque candles emitting a soft yellow glow.

You stared at the ceiling of your new living quarters, your mind a blur. As you folded your hands on your stomach, you felt Karen twitch as she bent her elbow and leaned her blond head on the palm of her hand, facing you.

“So let me get this straight,” she paused, narrowing her eyes. “After becoming the Forbes’ hottest CSO, concluding what can easily be described as deals of the century - especially the one with Anthony Stark aka Iron Man and his magnificent goatee…”

Involuntary, you giggled at this. This talk brought out some very dear memories that you wouldn’t trade for the world - the way Billy’s dark eyes shimmered in the dim lights of the opera house as he gave you a look that said you did it, ever the perfect team… Or the way he threw his arms around your frame, his long fingers sliding down your back… You knew you looked good in that dress, but the moment Billy saw you wearing it… You felt like the only girl in the world, the way his jaw dropped a tad, his lips opening up in awe…

Oookay, Y/N, can’t go there, your mind screamed at you as you wiped that dreamy smile off your face. Sitting down, you took your whiskey glass, and washed those memories away with a gulp of amber liquid.

Meanwhile, Karen ranted on.

“…you just quit?!”

She jumped to her feet all of the sudden, brushing her blond hair away from her face as she watched you excitedly.

“Jesus Christ, did Billy make a move?! He made a move on you, didn’t he?”

The urge to facepalm was fierce, almost overpowering, but you managed to resist. Slamming your empty glass against the floor harder than you intended, you gave her a bored look.

“No, Karen, why… Why in the world would you think that?” You sounded just a little short of desperate, so you cleared your throat. “I was his second-in-command, that wouldn’t have been appropriate…”

When you were done studying the flame, dancing within the glass walls of one of the nearby candles, you raised your eyes to meet Karen’s. She wore quite possibly the most blatant look of ‘you are shitting me’ on her face.  

“So you just quit?” she stared at you in disbelief, unblinking. “No explanations provided?”

“This wasn’t how it happened,” you said, hating the fact that you felt like you had to justify yourself. You brought your knees closer, hugging them tightly. “I…”

—

“…I’m here to see William Russo”. 


With a nonchalant gesture, you unbuttoned your Burberry coat, looking at a red-head secretary behind a desk that screamed power and status with every inch of its epic proportions.

Anvil was certainly new money. With all of those hedge funds injecting their cash into emerging companies, there was no shortage of these - entrepreneurial endeavours that didn’t last long.

You didn’t know that at the time, but you were going to make sure this one would.

“My name is Y/N Y/N/L,” you added, perching your sunglasses on top of your head. “He’s expecting me.”

The red-head gave you a polite smile before checking something on her Mac.

“Welcome, Miss Y/N/L,” she almost seemed shy, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before standing up. “Mr Russo is indeed waiting for you. If you would like to follow me, please”.

As the redhead led you through the training grounds, packed with fit men and women that looked like they walked straight outta Gym Shark ad, you did notice a couple of vagrant stares in your direction. You couldn’t blame them. You looked slightly out of place; more Vogue than the setting allowed for.

You quit your job as the COO of a global FinTech company just weeks ago, looking for a new challenge. It was an adventure of a lifetime, and while your ex-executive board had literally begged you to stay, once you’d decided something, no promise of a generous promotion could make you change your mind. While you absolutely loved your job, working for one of the most prominent online payment giants in the world, it felt like it was time for you to step down. Due to all the processes and wise investments you’d initiated, the company could make millions of profits without their CEO having so much as to lift a finger.

And you, well, you lived for the hustle. And that’s exactly what you were here for.

You still had your doubts about Anvil’s owner and acting CEO, though. William “Billy” Russo had already become a household name in the financial circles, albeit the company he was spearheading had little to do with the FinTech space. Some said he had the potential to succeed; others badmouthed him for being ruthless and balancing on the very edge of legal limits.

In short, the man had you intrigued. So the very moment he called and invited you to drop by Anvil to talk strategy, you knew you had to meet him.

See the beast for yourself, so to speak.

The first thing you noticed about William Russo as you walked into his office, spacious and entirely transparent, with its glass walls overlooking the training grounds, was experience, for the lack of a better word. It was etched into his every handsome feature, especially into his scruff strong-willed jaw. As he raised his gaze to meet yours upon the red-head’s announcement, his black eyes swallowing you whole, you realized no light reflected on their surface. There was a certain confidence to him as he raised from his chair, his white shirt straining some over his chest, long dark strands of hair falling onto his long eyelashes. This man meant business, as those black impenetrable eyes zeroed in on yours. He almost seemed too flawless - to spotless to be an ex-marine, stained with blood and murder.

All that Hallmark handsomeness was nothing but a cover.

Before William Russo had even got a chance to open his mouth, you were determined to find out what was lurking underneath.

“Mrs Y/L/N”, the hot-shot gave you a polite smile. “Thank you for coming”.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Russo”, you didn’t move an inch. He may have invited you for interview, but he wasn’t the only one with a long set of demands.

You briefly wondered if he knew that.

Before your thoughts could take you further, William Russo made his way to you, composed and calculated. He stopped by your side, albeit for a moment; rolling the sleeves of his shirt further up, he shot the red-head a charming smile (nothing like the one he gave you).

“Olivia, would you please bring a fresh pot of coffee to the conference room? Mrs Y/L/N and I have a lot to discuss”.

When he turned back to face you, you noted unconsciously that he was taller than you expected, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders. The cool and composed look was back on his face as he motioned towards the doors.

“Would you like to follow me, Mrs…”

“Y/N”, you cut in with a slight raise of your chin. “I’d also prefer to call you William while I tear Anvil’s strategy down”.

His reaction didn’t disappoint. Some tension left his arms, his stung-up body relaxing just enough for a spark of mischief and curiosity flicker its way to his eyes’ surface.

A twinkle of a smile danced across his lips as he bit on the inside of his cheek, nodding ever so slightly in approval.

“It’s Billy”, he said, amusement echoing in his every word. "I don’t expect any leniency, Y/N”.

“Good”, you replied instantly, looking him straight into his eyes. “That’s not what I came here for”.

He nodded again.

And this time, there was liveliness in the quirk of his brow and a touch of insecurity in the corners of his mouth.

Now that was the man you could potentially work with.

—

Working with William Russo was anything but predictable. There were, however, certain patterns to his way of handling things. Whatever the trouble was, Billy was good at seeing the bigger picture - he was usually able to put things into perspective, but there were occasions when he refused to. You dare say that sometimes, you felt like he thought that money didn’t matter - like Anvil’s financial prosperity didn’t matter - as long as his team got not to risk their lives one extra time. You watched him turn down several lucrative deals that you’d busted your ass to put on his table, because it involved sending his men a little too far from home, in a place where he had no strings to pull whatsoever should anything go south. A part of you (the part that wasn’t frustrated as hell) admired him for that - it didn’t, however, stop you from disagreeing with him, time and again.

You may have never been to Iraq, and may have never known the horrors of sleeping with the bombs exploding a mere kilometer away, but you knew a game-changer when you saw it. There were risks involved, there was no arguing about that, but those were calculated, and those kind of deals could make Anvil jump straight to the top of the private military sector overnight.

William and you disagreed.

When William and you disagreed, no voice was raised, no blood was spilt, but Billy usually became distant, cold and just short of snappy when those conversations took place.


He only crossed the line once. 



You were three months into your job as Anvil’s Chief Strategy Officer when Mayhew happened.

The clock on your desk showed midnight as you paced in your office, on the phone with Rex Mayhew, the U.S. Ambassador in Cairo. A cat-and-mouse game between the Egyptian Armed Forces and the nefarious arms dealer group had become common knowledge since a week or so; the U.S. special forces got involved in the conflict when it’d been discovered that the arms were being transported onto American soil. Rex, an old friend from your Yale days, had let you in on the fact that General Richard Ravelin, in charge of the operation, was looking to reinforce his rangs with private military before “neutralising the threat”. This was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, with a potential governmental recognition in play… and Billy wanted to hear nothing of it.

You were exhausted and barely hanging in there; Billy was categorical and stubborn.

You’ve dropped the phone on your table promising Rex you were going to give him an answer in two hours, tops. Taking a deep breath, you walked out of your office, your bare feet thudding on the parquet floors of the corridor. When you reached Billy’s hideout, you found the man leaning against his desk with a glass of whiskey in his unnerved hand.

“Billy…” you spoke firmly, barely stepping through the doorway. “Rex…”

“Can go fuck himself”.

Oh, okay. No sugarcoating this. Alright.

You saw his lips barely touch the amber liquid as he slammed the glass against the surface of his desk.

“I said no, Y/N,” he wasn’t facing you anymore, leaning on his desk with his hands digging into the wood, his back tense. “Please just go home. Have a good night sleep. We will talk about this tomorrow.”

You could have sworn you felt your head starting to fume. This was the third time Billy Russo was shutting you down. For the third time he was making you feel like an incompetent fool when you were trying to do your goddamn job.

Why in hell would he hire you if whatever vision you had for Anvil didn’t match with his own?!

“You could at least say this to my face, Billy,” you spoke a bit harshly before you could stop yourself. “You know, to my tired and disappointed face, with a mouth that you have been shutting up every time it offers you a deal of the century”.

This sounded so much better in your head.  

“Why did you hire me?” you asked almost immediately, trying to soften the impact of the words that had already escaped. “If this isn’t the direction in which you want to take your company, maybe I should just…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Y/N, just fucking leave already!” Billy snapped like a branch that’s been holding too much weight, the sound of it dry and final.

…maybe I should just rethink the entire plan.  

There was no point in finishing that sentence now, was there?

“I was there long before you came along, so I’d think I know a shitstorm in the making when I see one!” Billy was looking at you alright, brushing his hair back, his eyes black and void.

You had wished It would have been new to you - looking in William Russo’s eyes and not seeing him there. But it wasn’t. He was back to his Hallmark version of a man, but instead of playing a hero, he was now putting on his villain guise.

“Let’s get something straight here,” he leaned back on his desk, crossing his arms on his chest, his black eyes narrowed. “While you were making your way to the top of a rich-ass cookie-cutter FinTech company, I was crawling in the dirt in Iraq under a downpour of the Trident D5LE missiles. While the closest thing you’ve come to havin’ your hands dirty was bribing an investor or two, I was fucking beheadin’ people under the direction of the CIA,” his words were cold, measured and rhythmic, like a round of bullets being fired on a range. “You know nothing of what’s it like to be in the middle of that kind of shit show, princess, so when I fucking say no, you listen. Is that clear?”

Bark. Sit. Roll over.

“Crystal. Sir.”, you finally broke the heavy silence hanging in the air, just barely resisting the urge to salute him. “I’ll see myself out.”

Biting the inside of your cheek like your life depended on it, once you turned your back on him, your first thought was don’t you dare cry on his account, bitch and then almost right away wait at least until you’re home.

You could have sworn you heard William call your name in a stranded voice, but you made sure to slam the door somewhat hard as you left his office so you could pretend you didn’t hear him.

If you were to face him now, with all that power and toughness he exuded… You would never admit it, even to yourself, but you’d just end up on the floor, huddled into a shivering little ball.

—

You were grateful that the next day after the shit went down with Mayhew fell on a Friday. When you stumbled into your apartment in Queens at almost one in the morning, you immediately shot an email to the HR department asking for a day off. Once that’d been done, you dialled Rex to decline his offer to introduce Anvil to general Ravelin, washed the makeup off your face and crawled into bed, hugging the second pillow close to your chest.

You didn’t cry, if that’s what you’re wondering.

As you rolled out of bed in the morning at around 8 am, you took a shower and grabbed a coffee from the kitchen before settling behind your home office desk with a heavy head. When you opened up the Keynote presentation with your strategy outlined for the H1, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at the iPhone you left on your couch last night.

You weren’t going to check if you had any missing calls.

There was nothing you had left to say to each other.

…with your chest hollow, you powered up the screen. There were no missed calls and no new messages.

It all looked like you had another strategy to build now. If Billy Russo thought that calling you a rich-ass princess that knew nothing of the world, all butterflies and rainbows, was going to make you resign, then man, was he in for a surprise.

You once heard one of his men compare you to a military convoy, when the guy thought you weren’t listening.

He had no idea.

You spent the morning refilling you coffee cup and rebuilding your H1 plan from scratch. After about eleven calls with the people you knew could get you a foot in the door of the offices of some government officials, billionaires and generals, after typing, deleting and typing again for 5 hours straight, by 2pm you had a solid game plan. You were pretty sure it would still need some tweaking from Castle, who essentially held the role of the Chief Operating Officer, dispatching men and women on missions and planning operations, and, well, from Billy Russo.

The Badass-ex-Sniper-turned-CEO himself.    

You kept the email short and to-the-point, sending the document over to Russo with Castle on copy, saying you’d be in the office to debrief on Monday. 

Refusing to check whether your email’d been opened, you slammed your MacBook shut.

The rest of the day rolled on uneventfully. You grabbed a coffee with the People Culture Officer from your previous company, who also happened to be one of your dearest friends; then you picked up your dry cleaners and did some shopping, cracking for a pair of new shoes in Saks Fifth Avenue.

Shoes were, indeed, your weakness.

By the time you got home, the tired sun was yawning, stretching its rays in one last effort before rolling into bed. Humming a Dua Lipa song under your breath, you were putting your new Jimmy Choo’s away when you suddenly heard your phone ring.

You didn’t even have to look at it to know who it was. 

You checked the time, however, noticing is was two minutes after the official end of the working day.

“Hi, Y/N”, Billy spoke, clearing his throat. “Are you… Um… Any chance you’re available to meet tonight? I would really appreciate it if you could give me fifteen minutes of your time. Please.”

It sounded like the real Billy Russo was back around. Insecure. Rugged. Imperfect.

“Can you pick me up?” you asked softly, “I’ll text you my address. There’s a pizza place just around the corner, I could use a free slice”, you circled the cold coffee cup you left on the counter with your finger. “Free as in you’re paying, Russo”.

A laugh that came somewhere from within caressed your ear.

“Uh, yes, I’m actually… Yeah, thanks. I’m leaving the office now,” even if he tried to hide it, a shocked surprise still seeped through the cracks in between the vowels.

You chuckled silently at his reaction.

“Just one more thing,” you ventured, placing the cup in the sink and making your way to the balcony - your small piece of heaven with a wooden chair, pillows and lavender. As you stepped outside, you put oyour free hand on the railing, just to feel the coolness of it, the evening air and the gentle flower smell stroking your skin. “What kind of car should I be on the lookout for?”

Billy hesitated, biting his bottom lip, running his nervous fingers through the thick strands of dark hair. The setting sun was hitting him just from the right angle, making his sculpted cheeks look like they were made of marble.

“A Rolls Royce Wraith”, he squirmed, rubbing his forehead, probably realising how lame and pretentious it sounded. “I’ll call you once I’m downstairs”.

“Uh-huh”, you smirked, leaning on the railing with your forearms.

You saw Russo pinch the bridge of his nose, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip again. 

Your small balcony provided quite a view, when you really thought about it.

“Don’t take too long”, you couldn’t help it, it really was stronger than you. “I’m starving”.

With a wide grin, you dropped the call and went back into your apartment.

You were planning to make him wait for ten extra minutes when he would finally “arrive”.

Just for the hell of it.

—

“That’s a lot of hot sauce for one pizza”, Billy commented, watching you spray your truffles and cheese generously with the piquant olive oil.

You gave him a mischievous smile.

“What can I say,” you shrugged, leaning back in your chair and licking the tip of your finger after you swept a drop of it from the top of the bottle. “I like them hot”.

That startled a laugh out of Billy as he eyed you with something in his irises looking a lot like awe.

Just when he was about to speak, a servant brought a glass of red wine for him and bottle of sparkling water for you.

You thanked the guy with a sweet smile, while Billy eyed him a bit coldly, obviously waiting for him to leave.

When the waiter had finally made himself scarce, Billy softly called your name.

You raised your eyes to meet him, struggling as hell to keep your stare vacant. (Which was hard to do with some foreign tightness in your throat).

“Before we dig in and I hope spend a nice evening as two friends, getting together on a Friday night”, he didn’t even blink? Was he blinking? You couldn’t tell, his black eyes swallowing you whole, again. “I want to apologise. I was completely out of line… It was unacceptable. You don’t need my validation, of course, but I still want you to know that you are doing a terrific job at Anvil, taking us to the heights I never even thought existed. It’s just… It’s hard for me sometimes to be a good CEO and someone who promised to take care of my men at the same time… Everything is happening so fast, I’m afraid to lose my footing.”

You reached out for his hand across the table before you could stop yourself. You didn’t take it, but your fingers brushed his ever so slightly before you realized what you were just about to do. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, searching for a reaction. 

Billy remained perfectly still, not taking his eyes off you.

You grabbed a napkin next to his wrist, pretending this was what you had meant to do all along. 

“We’ll get there, Billy”, you said, a small encouraging smile blooming on your lips. “We just need some tweaking”.

You weren’t sure if you were talking about strategy at this point anymore.

—

You had a great time at dinner.

(And a whole-hearted laugh as Billy finished your remainders of the truffle pizza, downing a litre of water to numb down the burning sensation in his throat afterwards).  

You talked about your respective lives, your ex-colleagues, your hopes for the future… You dared think this who the real Billy Russo was.

And he was incredible.

After the two of you were done with dinner, you offered him to come upstairs to your place and go through the new strategy together. He didn’t hesitate, although you could swear you’d seen something ambiguous flash in the depths of his dark eyes before he nodded.

(You must have imagined it.)

The two of you ended up sprawled out on your soft faux fur carpet talking game plan, bouncing ideas off each other. You watched Billy frown, as he rubbed his mouth with his long fingers, smile in excitement and shake his head in awe when you voiced your ideas - you felt proud and appreciated, and you wouldn’t trade the sensation for anything in the world.

A couple of hours later the two of you had finally decided that it was enough brainstorming for one night, and you rose to your feet to go and make Billy a coffee before he got behind the wheel. As you pushed the start button on your coffee machine, you heard him speak over the noise.

“You know I’ve done four tours - three in Iraq and one in Afghanistan”, you popped your head up, only to see him play absentmindedly with something on his chest. “And every time I’m considering a mission for Anvil, I find myself back in there again… A part of a death squad.”

You carefully picked up his cup of coffee and made your way back to him. You didn’t say a word as you leaned lower to hand it over to him, encouraging him to go on. 

Billy thanked you in a whisper before clearing his throat.

“Every time I have to send them somewhere, especially overseas, I force myself to stop and think… Is this really worth it? Is a fat check really worth putting the lives of my men and women in danger? And most importantly - you may think it’s stupid…” he avoided your gaze, staring into his coffee cup, a miserable smile on his lips. “I think, will it make a difference? If one of them dies on a mission, I have to at least know they made a difference… it’s selfish and it’s more about the peace of my own mind, but it is what it is, you know?”

When he looked up at you, his eyes were full, full to the brim. There was so much emotion in them, hatred, misery, hope, adoration, all whipped in a wild mix that was Billy Russo’s dark, velvet eyes.

“I carry these at all times,” the fingers of his free hand dropped to his chest, as he got a hold of something hanging around his neck. A necklace? “When in doubt, I just look at them - they help me remember where I’ve been and what I’ve done - and I just know if it’s worth it or not. The answer is usually no, by the way”.

He smiled again, the curve of his lips looking less haunted this time, as he sipped on his coffee.

Dog tags. Those were Russo’s dog tags.

“So they’re your reminder that, even being a badass CEO of a private military company”, you couldn’t help but feel some kind of zero gravity settling in your lower stomach as you saw him chuckle at your words. “…you still have a heart”.  

“How poetic”, Billy teased you without missing a beat, putting the empty cup on the floor next to him. “But yeah. Sort of, I guess”.

As you fell asleep that night, you dreamed about explosions, piquant olive oil and holding Billy Russo’s dog tags in your hand.

—

The time flew by after that. In 8-month time (after some tweaking) Billy Russo and you became a team. It sometimes felt like nothing could stop you, as long as you were together.

It should not have come as a surprise that the two of you earned yourselves a catchy nickname - at first, it was spoken solely behind your backs, but soon enough it became some kind of a title, more powerful than that of the CEO or the CSO.

Anvil’s men and women (and especially Frank - the fact that he invented the nickname secretly tickled him pink) - were now calling you Bonnie and Clyde. The ultimate partners in crime, against all odds, doing the impossible.

The two of you also settled in an almost homely kind of routine. Ever since that Mayhew fiasco and the day that followed, Friday had become the non-spoken partners in crime day. What it meant in practice was exchanging Friday jokes on Anvil’s internal communications suite…

(Billy once attacked you with a “would you look at this, just found the actual footage of your interview @ Anvil”. Before you even got a chance to answer, he forwarded you a cheesy meme with two old women speaking to each other, one of them saying “We need someone who can do the job of two men”, and the other responding “oh, so it’s only a part-time job then”. When you shot him back a message asking whether he really considered himself an arthritic old woman, that seemed to have shut him up).

…grabbing a beer in a bar nearby…

(you sometimes invited your colleagues to join you, plus it was an unspoken rule that Frank and Karen were to be there as well)  

…you making fun of Billy Russo’s eating habits…

(It was honestly a nuisance to have a lunch with him. The list of things he refused to eat went on and on: no asian food, no food chain restaurants (even high-rated), no soups, no cheesecakes… He sure was settling well in that peaceful life he earned after spending all those tours living off canned food).

…and just overall enjoying each other’s company.

By the time the ninth month of your being Anvil’s CSO had rolled in, you couldn’t imagine not seeing Billy Russo every day. Not noticing him rolling his eyes at a smart-ass comment you or Frank made, or his orbs lighting up every time you told him the deal with that or this decision maker had gone through. You simply could not understand how you managed to live day in and day out, and think you were genuinely happy, before you actually met Billy. Everything before him just faded away somehow, your memories lost their colour and spike in comparison to the life you were living now. You kicked ass at your job, your career thrived, but most importantly, you were feeling like this was exactly where you were meant to be, braving the obstacles by Billy Russo’s side, knowing he would catch you should you fall.

He would, wouldn’t he?

It was your usual Friday night outing, the seven of you - Billy, Frank, Karen, Curtis, James from legal, Ashley from mine clearance and yourself - occupying your usual table at Whimsy, the bar that must have made 90% or their revenus off of Anvil’s folk. It was just around the corner from the headquarters, after all.  

The overall mood of the evening was rather nostalgic. It’d been four weeks since you’d lost a team member in a crossfire in Falluja, Iraq. After everything was said and done, his loss still hung heavy in the air, and it felt right to get one more drink in Jasper’s honour. The conversation flowed easily, even though the topics you’d spoken about were anything but.

“I remember how I felt when I lost Andy”, Ashley nursed her beer as she stared into the distance. “I just literally had the weight of the entire world on my shoulders, pinning me to the ground, I just couldn’t move on”, she finished her bottle in one go and motioned for the bartender to bring her another one. “Sometimes, I just ask myself, what would have I done if I’d known he was going to die the next day? Would I have stopped him from going? I think I would,” she thanked the bartender as he put the beer in front of her, her eyes a bit foggy. “Yeah, I definitely would have.”

Frank grasped Ashley’s shoulder and squeezed it hard in a comforting gesture; Karen gave her a tender look.

You didn’t know why your mind had gone there, but all of the sudden a memory of Billy sitting in his office chair, laughing his ass off at some offhand comment you’d made flashed before your eyes; it quickly got replaced by the recollection of his hand brushing against yours during the Zoom meeting you’ve had with general Warren Singer; then you remembered him putting his hand on the small of your back, staring daggers at some army brat wanting to join Anvil, eyeing you like a piece of meat (you learned later that day that the man’d been thrown out before having a chance to introduce himself); until finally, your brain stopped dead at the picture of Billy running his nervous fingers through his hair as he called you from his car, telling you he was only leaving the office.

What would you do if you knew he was going to die tomorrow?  

Your heart sunk at the thought as you gulped hard, ducking your head and staring at your hands folded in your lap.

A soft touch enveloping your elbow had you facing the man of the hour, his black eyes shimmering with concern.

“Are you okay?” he half-whispered, half-mouthed, not letting go of your hand.

No.

Nothing is okay, Billy.

I’m so happy that I met you, but you’re scaring the hell out of me.

I never wanted any form of eternity until now, I never saw the point…

So stay. Please, stay forever, and feel something for me, too.

“Yes. I’m fine,” you whispered back, staring into his eyes, hypnotised and helpless. You watched him turn away from you as if in slow motion, the warmth of his hand leaving nothing behind but emptiness in your bones.

“Here is to always telling the things that matter to the people who matter”, Billy spoke firmly, raising his beer. “Here’s to never missing a chance to open up to the people we love”.

Well, if this was his way of crossing the t's and putting the dots to the i’s regarding his feelings for you, he couldn’t have been clearer. 


As far as confessions of love went, this one was non-existent.

—

You tried, time and again, to convince yourself you had to go. You learned the hard way that your unrequited feelings were feeding on a sort of inadvertent parasitic relationship where every moment of your day depended on the level of Billy’s unintentional emotional indifference. Your days were spent questioning his every move - every look and every touch; until, the grown-ass woman that you were, you’d commanded yourself to stop second-guessing everything - stop feeling - and decided your best course of action would be… to work yourself into the ground.

If Billy ever noticed anything, he didn’t show it - your were still you, after all, working hard, laughing when he said something funny, calling him out on his bullshit when needed. He didn’t notice slight change in your eyes, when their icy surface cracked at every other compliment he threw in your direction (and there was no shortage of those). He didn’t realize the smile you gave him was different from those tightlipped signs of appreciation you gave to Anvil’s potential clients, he didn’t think twice about the reason for which you glowed around him, your every move softening, your every gesture emanating warmth.

Because Billy hadn’t really known you until you started to have feelings for him.

You knew this couldn’t go on forever. This entire situation was bound to result in some explosion of nuclear proportions, and then all hell would break loose. You needed to get yourself out of this situations, but you just… couldn’t. You couldn’t imagine your life without Billy Russo. You couldn’t leave him.

Even if being friends with him meant tearing yourself apart and suffering in silence. 



Long story short, you waited with fear in your bones for someone to walk into your life and to get you out. You’ve had no fight left in you to do it yourself.

Your salvation came in the form of a phone call on a Friday evening, when Billy was on a recruiting mission in California.

You were typing back a response to his cheeky message when the call cut in half-sentence.

Billy Russo: Please remind me to take you with me instead of Frank next time? He’s driving me insane trying to set me up with the ladies from the Organising Committee. Any ideas on how I can calm him the fuck down?

You: Sorry, Billy, but recruiting is out of my mission scope. As for the calm down part, try bondage maybe? :)

Billy Russo: I’m going to pretend you did not just suggest I engage in sexual practices with Frankie. Karen will have my balls.  

Billy Russo: But perhaps you’re right. Taking you with me is probably not a good idea. Wouldn’t want my new recruits’ brains to turn into mush because of how beautiful you are.

You: The flattery will….

“Hello? Y/N speaking”, you brought your phone close to your ear, your cheeks still a lovely shade of pink. If you were going to feel miserable when Billy came back, acting like nothing happened, you were sure going to make the best of that fuzzy feeling in your chest right now.

“Miss Y/N/L”, a smooth deep voice greeted you, and you could have sworn you’d heard it many times before. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Frowning in an attempt to remember, you urged:

“No, not at all. How can I help you?” you stared into the screen of your Mac, wheels turning in your head as you silently catalogued all the men you were in discussions with regarding a deal. “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Oh, how rude of me”, the man chuckled but there was no mockery in his voice, more like self-depreciation. “Tony Stark, from Stark Industries”.

Your mind went blank. Did you hear his last words correctly?

“Uh… Mr. Stark”, you quickly got a hold of yourself - well, as quickly as you could. “I appreciate you reaching out to me directly. What can Anvil do for you?”

You did a pretty bang-up job trying to mask your amazement with polite cheerfulness, and Stark had caught on that.

Tony Stark just called your cellphone number. What in the world?…

“We don’t really do alien invasions”.

Ohyourgod, did you just say it out loud?!

His uproarious laughter took you by surprise, reverberating through your entire body. It took every ounce of your self-control not to giggle in response.

“That’s a good one, I love it”, Stark finally said, restoring his breath. “And the better question would be, Y/N - can I call you Y/N? - what you can do for me”.

Before your brain could take you into some naughty direction, freaking Iron Man cleared his throat.

“Okay, this came out wrong,” he admitted with a sense of self-irony. “I um… I’m looking for the Co-Chief Executive Officer for Stark Industries. Well, Virginia Potts is actually looking for a Co-CEO, I’m just her errand boy. And my missions apparently include recruiting…. Anyway,” it was a bit of a challenge to follow Anthony Stark’s train of thought, but you were also still shocked, so that could explain it. “…I think you are the perfect fit for the job”.

You just stared into the screen front of you, your breathing barely audible.

“Mrs Potts and I would love it if you could swing by the A-Tower, let’s say, on Thursday? You’ll be surprised, but I can also whip up a mean cup of coffee…”

Say something.

Fucking hell.

Say something!…

“Thursday sounds great,” you blurted out without thinking. “Let me just shuffle my schedule around… I could stop by after lunch?”

 Your hands were slightly shaking as you clicked on your mouse, opening your schedule window.

“Whatever works for you, Y/N”, you could hear Stark smile. “Not to sound like a creep, but I’ve been following your career for quite a while now, and I think that the work you've done in such a short span of time for Anvil is outstanding, even though you still don’t offer protection from alien invasions”.

That made you chuckle, pushing you halfway out of your stupor.

“I’ll put that on the list of things for us to consider”, you promised.

"Tell Mr. Russo I sent my best,” Stark added, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. “I actually might have some ideas for how we could collaborate. Let's discuss this on Thursday, too, shall we?”

After you said your goodbyes, you fell back in your chair, dropping your iPhone on the table.

You: The flattery will….

...get you nowhere.

You never finished that message, leaving Russo on Read.

—

Starting with that evening, things were moving fast - too fast for you to keep track.

After a three-hour long coffee and the tour of the A-Tower, Virginia Potts, the acting CEO of the Stark Industries, had offered you the job - just like that - and asked you to come back to her executive assistant should you wish to take the job, with your salary expectations and the information about your notice period. You thanked her for her time and promised to get back to her as soon as you made your decision.

Virginia Potts was a brilliant woman; but running a company like Stark Industries while being equipped with a vagina was certainly no walk in the park. Sexism was still very much present within the Boards of the Tech Businesses. You understood perfectly well why she wanted a woman in her corner - it would have been a massive slap in the Board’s face, but it was also about having someone to lean on, who just understood.

In any other circumstances you would have peed your pants in excitement. It was an opportunity to work for Stark Industries - no, scratch that - it was an opportunity to step in as a Stark Industries co-CEO. The idea of it still made you dizzy.

…but as you looked at Virginia’s email sent to your personal address thanking you for stopping by, your eyes were swimming with tears.

You weren’t ready to leave Billy. 
You just couldn’t. 
You couldn’t leave him. 

There was no epic finale to your story. There was no big revelation, no closure, no moment of relief, no acceptance, nothing. Only a fat-ass what if.

And you didn’t know how to let go of a what if with Billy Russo.

And that was exactly why you had to do it.

You heard Billy come in the next Monday earlier than usual. He was positively humming Usher’s Yeah! quietly as he made his way past your office’s doors straight into his own.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. You’ve been psyching yourself up during the entire weekend, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal, we wouldn’t even flinch when you were going to tell him.

You had to tell him.

As you stood up from your chair, straightening you skirt with the palms of your hands, you suddenly heard the footsteps coming back in your direction. You froze in place like a deer in headlights when Billy swung open the door to your office, a box of Pierre Hermé macarons in his hands.

Your goddamn favorite Pierre Hermé macarons.

“You’re here!” Billy’s warm smile illuminated the room. “So much for a surprise, huh?”

He shook the box carefully in the air. You stared at it, dumbfounded, every single thought leaving you.

You couldn’t breathe.

In the hazy morning light seeping through the windows of your office, Billy looked beautiful and dissolute, shirt open at the collar, longer strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

He was going to be the death of you. It really wasn’t fair.

“Billy, I have to tell you something.”

Was it you who spoke those words? They seemed distant and cold, so uncharacteristically detached.

Blood roared in your ears.

“What’s wrong?”

Billy’s reaction was instant. In three decisive steps he closed the distance that separated you, leaving the macarons on your desk. He stood still just mere inches away, and just like during your very first meeting, you had a fleeting thought cross your mind: you really were tiny next to him, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders.

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, trying to keep your composure. He stared at you unblinking. He wasn’t touching you, but it felt like his eyes were looking straight into your soul, undressing you, blowing that wall you built around yourself into dust. They were taking you down, piece by piece, determined to see what you’d been keeping from him. 

Because, of course, he knew. He should have known something was going on. Hence the surprise this morning.

He had no idea what it was though.

“Maybe you should sit,” you said, making a physical effort to tear your eyes away from him, feigning sudden interest in the buttons of his shirt.



That chest…



…was going to be just fine. He didn’t feel the same way you did. He would just find someone else to fill your position. With brilliant women stalking him - in cooperative packs - that would not be a problem.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you”.

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as his words reached your ears.

Fucking hell, you should have done that by phone. Or with other people around. You should have…

“You’re leaving”, you heard Billy repeat as his voice broke a little. He stepped away, burying his face in his hands as he dragged them down his jaw and neck, staring into the ceiling.

“Billy, listen, I…”

You were the one to close the space between the two of you this time, and before you could think too much into it… You threw your hands around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

The sensation struck you like a bolt of lightening when you felt his hands cross behind you back and pull you closer.

He smelled heavenly. Like a forest fire, a hint of smoke with oud and pine. You inhaled deep, deeper still, losing yourself in his comforting touch.

In his arms, just for a second there, you felt home.

“You… The company doesn’t need me anymore”, you nearly choked on words, screaming internally at yourself to keep the waterworks at bay. “It’s thriving, there’s not much else I can give you. My job here is done.”

I need to leave because your indifference is destroying me, and when I think I’m ready to let go, all it takes is one look from you, and I’m back to wanting you, to settling for anything you give me, like a goddamn fool.

“What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?!” Billy exclaimed, his hands grasping your shoulders as he distanced your bodies just enough for him to look into your eyes. “I nee- The company needs you! I was… You know, I was planning to make you the CEO of Anvil in a couple months time,” his smile, as earnest as it was, did not reach his eyes. “Yeah”, noticing your eyes go wide in shock,  he let his hands slide down your sides. “You’re so much better at it than I ever was. I was going to join Frank and just manage operations… under you”.

You just stared at him, dumbfounded, not feeling a stray tear escape your eye and rolling down your cheekbone.

“These are the tears of happiness, I hope”, Billy added, and you barely registered his touch as his thumb wiped the salty drop off. “Well, I guess Anvil will have to settle for the little old me. With my best girl going places."

You gave him a strained smile before you carefully wiped your cheeks, just taking a moment to look at him. To try and read him.

Billy Russo was a goddamn ceiling. Plain white, cool and unattainable. In all of your time working for him, you have never seen this Hallmark version of him before. Which one was it? 


Oh wait, you guessed you knew. The happy-for-you friend.

“So where are you going?” Billy asked, his eyes empty. “Who snatched you away from m- Anvil?”

The stutter was so subtle you barely noticed. You were finally tired of reading into shit.

“Stark Industries. I’ll be their co-CEO”.

—

Before you left Anvil you promised yourself you’d get the deal with Stark Industries up and running. There was no one in the world you trusted more in terms of security than Billy.

(The fact that you couldn’t keep your heart safe from him didn’t really count, did it?)

As a matter of fact, Billy and you were going to shake hands with Anthony Stark on the deal on your last night of being Anvil’s CSO. It was happening in The Metropolitan Opera and required both Billy and yourself to dress for the occasion. 

He promised to come pick you up at 6pm sharp; you were putting on the Jimmy Choo’s you’d bought a coulee months ago in Saks Fifth Avenue when you heard a low knock on your door.

Straightening up, you threw a quick glance at your reflection in the mirror. You decided to go with a long Marchesa black velvet gown with a rather deep V-line, a pair of long diamond earrings and an elegant half-up half-down hairdo, soft curls in the front framing your face.

“I’m coming”, you yelled out, picking up your leather jacket (because why the hell not) and your purse from the kitchen counter. Sharply opening the entrance door, you realized moments later that you didn’t even take time to prepare yourself for seeing William Russo in a tux.

If you weren’t already half in love with him, the sight before your eyes would have sealed the deal.

God-fucking-damn, like he needed any help being unforgettable.

With a black jacket thrown on a crisp white shirt with a couple of buttons undone and the tie hanging loosely around his neck, Billy was here to make a statement, to leave a mark. His hair was coiffed back in his usual style; honest to God, he looked like he just stepped out of the Man of the Year special GQ edition…

Just when your thoughts were about to switch to the way you must have looked next to him, ridiculous in your simplicity, like you refused to make an effort…

…Your eyes met his.

And the way he looked at you was so intense, his big black eyes with galaxies in them probing into yours, his strong jaw slack. There was beauty and tragedy reflecting in those orbs, but only just for a second - just for a second, he looked at you the way he probably looked at the sky he could never reach. Just for a second, he looked at you the way that made your heart beat twice as fast, like the world could crumble all around him and he still would not have blinked.

Would not have taken his eyes off you.

“Wow, Y/N, you look… You look beautiful”, he finally said. “I just can't spot a part of you that beats the other.”

Something in your chest exploded silently.

“Thank you, Billy,” you smiled at him - a genuine and happy smile, because you felt on top of the world with his adoring eyes on you. “You’re quite a catch yourself”.

Before you could scold yourself for your choice of words, you stepped out of your apartment and locked the door behind you.

“Shall we?” Billy offered his hand to you, without hesitation it seemed.

“We shall”, you replied instantly, slowly sliding your hand into the crook of his elbow.

And, just like always, you were going to enjoy it while it lasted.

—

The crowd in the opera was so posh, the looks all the women had been throwing you first made you question your choice of outfit. It’s after overhearing their conversations that you realized, the reason they stared daggers at you was the man that kept by your side no matter where you went.

Virginia and Anthony welcomed you at the buffet with sun-stained sincere smiles. After a short small talk, Anthony Stark informed you both that he had signed the contract earlier today, thus officially giving Anvil an exclusive security deal with Stark Industries. As of now, Anvil was the only company allowed on the Stark Industries’ premises in the quality of guards and protection officers.

The look Billy and you exchanged spoke volumes; while your eyes were sparkling with excitement though, screaming “we did it!!”, his bottomless black eyes were whispering “thanks to you”.

The four of you then shook hands and went through rounds of gratitude and appreciation; when a pleasant woman’s voice announced the imminent start of Onegin, inviting the guests to go to their seats. Virginia immediately took you hand, leading you straight into the Opera house, saying something about leaving men to finish their drinks. You threw Billy a laughing look over your shoulder, mouthing “come join me” before disappearing out of his sight.

“So on the scale of one to ten, how pissed at me are you, Mr. Russo?”

Billy turned his head sharply to a side, leaning on the high table, and spotted Anthony Stark himself, nursing a glass of whiskey. “For taking your queen away from you? Excuse the chess metaphor, but that woman”, Stark took a sip of his whiskey and savoured it before swallowing it down. “Is a goddamn queen.”

Billy chuckled, straightening up, digging his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“That, she is,” he whispered, his eyes still piercing the spot in the crowd where your smiling face was mere minutes ago.

—

When the opera ended, both Billy and you couldn’t be more relieved - because both of you hated it with passion.

Exchanging meaningful glances in the dark during the singers’ performances now and then, you had to bite your tongue in order to not just ask Billy if you could maybe sneak out. Russo proved to be more stoic than you, carefully covering your hand with his in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

You didn’t look at him once after that, afraid to say or do something that would make him remove his hand.

How much more pathetic could you get?  

When the performance was over, Billy led you out of the opera house without saying a word, his hand hugging carefully the small of your back.

His silence was unnerving. You didn’t know what to make of it. Should you have shaken his hand off back in the darkness of the concert hall? Or should you have caressed it with your thumb?

Your mind was spinning in circles by the time he opened the door for you and you slid into the front passenger seat of his Rolls goddamn Royce.

When he got in the car and gripped his steering wheel, you reached out and placed your hand on his whitening knuckles.

“Billy,” you spoke softly, barely audibly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” he whispered back, turning his head to a side to face you. His black eyes stared into yours, looking hypnotised and helpless. “Everything is fine.”

It didn’t take a degree in Psychology to see that he was lying. You could feel his gaze on you as you turned away from him, taking your hand away at the same time.

Billy started the car. The revving engine filled the silence, loaded with the unsaid words.

—

“…he then walked me to my door, we exchanged our goodbyes. And that was it,” you finished lightly, looking back at Karen.

Her eyes were red as she stared at you, unblinking.

“Unbelievable…” she whispered. “So you never told him?…” her lips barely moved.

You sighed.

“Have you ever felt like you’re potentially in love with someone? Like, you don’t actually love him, you know you don’t, but one day you realise that you could? You realise just how easy it would be for you to fall in love with him? With all the teasing and the banter, the play hitting each other, calling each other names, just…. You start to pick up on little things - like if you listen closely, in every shut up, there’s a barely-there ring of I could love you.”

You shifted on the floor a little, and Karen watched your memories transport you somewhere else again. While physically your were here, in your apartment - with your fluttering eye-lashes, uneven breathing and loaded expression - mentally, you were somewhere else.

“….You probably don’t notice it at first, but your body is drawn to him. Every accidental or absentminded touch…�� you continued quietly. “And there’s that twinkle in his eyes when he looks at you and it messes you up, because - what’s going on with you? What the hell does it even mean? Are you imagining shit? You’re trying to make sense.”



Karen didn’t interrupt, still staring at you as if she were seeing you for the first time

“I mean, he didn’t ask for any of it, you know?” you finally raised your foggy stare at Karen, as if searching for confirmation. “Maybe he just did something dumb one day, smiled at you or said something that seemed important and then all of the sudden you’re full on Looney Tunes, seeing stuff that isn’t there?”

Your words barely audible, you swallowed hard, before continuing.

“…I just kept looking at him with what ifs, and could haves, seeing all that goddamn potential. It’s so fucking twisted. Over-analyzing everything? Waiting for a sign?…” you chuckled bitterly all of the sudden. “…I was so fucking scared of reading too much into it, of crossing that line, because… It would be so easy!… Falling in love with him would have been so easy.”

Oh sweetheart, Karen’s eyes glowed with comfort as she reached out for your hand and squeezed it softly. But you already are in love with him. 



A loaded silence ripped through the air in your living room. The sound of an engine revving somewhere close squeezed its way through the slit of an opened window, and it seemed to break the trance.

Both Karen and you shuddered, and as you took in the realisation Karen’s eyes just bestowed upon you, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“It’s pretty late,” Karen spoke up, reading you like an open book. She knew it was her cue to leave the stage. You needed time to process. “Frank is in a bar nearby with Curtis, let me just give him a call, okay, sweetheart?” she gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. “You know where to find me when you need me”.

“Yes”, you responded, blinking tiredly. “Thank you so much for coming, Karen. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that…”

“Shut the hell up,” the blonde advised, raising her eyebrows. “But honestly, Y/N, please call me once you… come to terms with things, okay?”

You nodded.

When Karen left, leaving the sweet and pleasant smell of her perfume behind, you closed the door behind her and turned around, leaning on the cold wood and metal with your eyes closed.  

It’s been a month. This was supposed to pass by now. Billy was supposed to stop inviting himself into your dreams. You were supposed to heal.

You may have just realized you were in love with the man instead.

Letting out half a moan, half a groan, you peeled yourself from the door slowly, and brushed your hair back, wanting nothing more than to fall face-first into bed.

After you at least cleaned up a bit and put out the Dyptique candles, that is.

As your eyes scanned your living room in an attempt to asses the size of the job at hand, you stopped mid-way, zeroing in on the box Jax gave you earlier in the evening. It rested silently on the kitchen table.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you made your way to the kitchen area. Grabbing the package, you turned it around, looking for any indication of the sender.

The package wasn’t even stamped.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you took a moment to grab a knife from one of the drawers, and carefully swished it between the two cardboard sheets.

Flipping over the envelop, you heard something fall out of it before you could actually see it. A small sheet of paper floated in the air before falling on the surface, partially covering whatever fell out of the package.

Your heart squeezed the second your brain identified the object, attached to a worn silver chain.

With trembling fingers, you slid two metal pieces from under the paper, covering your mouth.

Finding their home in the palm of your hand, Billy’s dog tags shimmered in the dim candlelight.

Squeezing them in between your fingers, you grabbed the paper with your free hand, your eyes staring at one single sentence scribbled on its surface.

“You took my heart with you”.

[imhereformr]

It had been years since he’d had to sneak in somewhere. Riven’s position as captain in the Magix Elite Force granted him easy access to just about anywhere he needed or wanted so long as he could justify his reason for being there. But this, he had no valid reason. It would result in his suspension, if not complete dismissal, from the force. He didn’t think he’d get caught – you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks, but that doesn’t mean they forgot old ones – but even if he did, he knew he had to take the risk.

Nabu had been the one to tell him. About the relationship; the engagement; and the – in Riven’s opinion – far too rushed wedding. He wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. He did. He also knew he should just let her go, let her marry whatever the fuck his name was, but he couldn’t not try. She needed to know how he felt even if he was years too late.  

Musa had been the one to break it off. It had nearly broken him; he’d refused to leave his room in his and Timmy’s apartment for weeks afterwards. Ultimately, she’d been right, though. They were becoming different people – growing apart – and it was better to break up now than wait until their different paths became too much and they grew to resent each other.  

Musa had released her first album a year before they’d broken up. Her tour had been hard, with him having to stay in Magix for work and her being everywhere, but he’d thought they could survive it. Their relationship had already survived so much. Musa’s star, though, had only begun to shine. Over the years after the breakup, she only became more and more successful. Every bit of which she deserved, and every bit of which Riven had followed from afar.

She’d offered for them to stay friends once the wounds had healed but Riven had declined. All the news he got of her was from the guys or magazines. His therapist – he'd gone to see a therapist; Musa would have been so proud – agreed that it was best to cut her off entirely. Beyond the whole listening to her music thing, Riven thought he’d done pretty well at that. It had only taken him a year to stop looking her up borderline obsessively, he’d dated other people, he’d even had a serious relationship or two. His only problem was that none of the others were Musa. No matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to come back to her.

So here he was, the day of her wedding, climbing a tree on the side of the hotel she was getting married at, praying that he’d be able to find the room she was getting ready in before the ceremony started. And that she’d be willing to hear him out. 

Riven managed to find an open window that led into the end of a hallway. He made his way through the navy halls, stopping to listen for her voice behind every single oversized door. Nabu, after some bribery and threats, had told him that Musa and the girls would be getting ready on the fourth floor. He’d begged Riven to think through his actions and not do anything stupid, but Riven was also certain that Nabu was on board with whatever his plan was. From his description of Musa’s fiancé, he hadn’t sounded too fond of the guy.  

The sound of footsteps put Riven on high alert. He managed to duck into a broom closet just in time to see Stella turn the corner. Jackpot. The blonde swung her long, gently curled hair over her shoulder and punched in a code on the door pad opposite his hiding spot. From the door, he heard a sound he would recognise anywhere: Musa’s voice. Double jackpot. Now he just had to pray that the girls would leave Musa alone for at least a minute at some point before the ceremony started.  

He stood in that closet, watching her door for close to half an hour when his saving grace arrived in the form of an older woman with greying brown hair piled high on her head and a clipboard in her hand. She punched in the code to the door – which Riven paid much closer attention to this time – and exited three minutes later with the five bridesmaids in tow.  

And no bride. This was turning out to be much easier than he’d anticipated.

Riven seized his opportunity the minute the woman he assumed was the wedding planner and Musa’s friends were out of sight. The light on the lock turned green on the first try and he slunk into the room as quietly as possible. Musa was turned away from him, staring at herself in mirror. Lucky too because it wouldn’t have made for a very good winning-her-back moment for her to see his jaw drop and his mind go entirely blank.  

Musa wore a minimalistic, figure-flattering white dress with spaghetti straps, a deep V and a low back. She wore very little jewelry: a pair of diamond earrings, her engagement ring and her mother’s necklace – the one she never took off that he’d recovered in Black Mud Swamp the year they first met. Her long, dark hair was curled softly, like she was a movie star right out of the 1950s. He missed her hair; missed running his hands through it; missed the way he could bury his face in it when they hugged so that the smell of her shampoo could envelop him entirely; missed the way she would play with her pigtails when she was nervous; missed the way her hair would fall into his face when she leaned over to kiss him before they went to bed every night. More than anything, he missed her.  

“Riven?” He stumbled out of his memories and into present day at the sound of her voice. She’d turned to face him, the train of her dress bunching at her feet as she spun. It had been so long since he’d heard her say his name. He’d forgotten how nice it sounded. “What are you doing here?”

“You look beautiful” he whispered thoughtlessly. Musa lowered her eyes, her face flushing like it had whenever he’d looked at her in the early days of their relationship. She ran her hands along the sides of her wedding dress – the dress she should be wearing for him – smoothing out non-existent creases in the fabric. It made him smile to know he could still make her blush like that.  

“What are you doing here?” she asked again, bringing her hands together to fiddle with her engagement ring.  

“I...” Fuck. How did he do this?  “...Should have written something down.” Yes, that would’ve been a good idea. He wasn’t Helia; words didn’t come naturally to him. The old Riven would have turned around and walked away, wouldn’t have even given it a shot. He wasn’t the old Riven anymore, and he wasn’t leaving this room without Musa knowing how he felt. He’d have to wing it. “Don’t marry him.”

“Riven, I-”

“Please. Just hear me out.” Her objections ceased, and she lowered the hand she’d put out in a stop motion. “I love you. I have never stopped loving you. I have thought about you every single day for the last seven years, four months and twenty-one days. Since the day you left. And every single one of those days, I have kicked myself for letting you go; for not fighting harder for you. For us.”

Riven approached her. With every step, he felt his heart beat harder, coming to a brutal halt when he stepped in front of her. Her eyes, for the first time since he’d complimented her, met his. She was inches from him; so close that the smallest movement would bring them together. The heels she was wearing made her taller – brought the top of her head to his lip instead of his shoulder. Had his mind been anywhere other than desperately wanting her to come back to him, he would have commented that she hated heels with a passion, and he’d always thought she’d wear sneakers with her wedding dress even if Stella gave her a headache about it.  

He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, not missing the way she leaned into his touch. Her heart longed for his just as much as his did for hers. “You belong with me, Muse. You know you do. We belong together.” His hand cupped her chin, pulling her into a kiss. Never had anything felt more right than his lips on hers. The second they connected; he knew everything would work out. He could beat the worst monsters, defeat his darkest demons, save the most helpless and conquer the universe as long as he had Musa by his side.  

Musa’s hands came to rest on his chest, balling her manicured fingers into his thin white t-shirt and dragging him into her as they lost themselves in the kiss. The longer it went, the more certain he was that she would leave with him right then if he asked her to. He would have too, if the planner hadn’t punched in the door code and announced her presence through the heavy door.

“Gimme a second” Musa managed to shout, mere inches from Riven’s face, before the woman had entered the room. The planner shut the door, informing Musa that she would be right outside and that the ceremony was ready to begin.  

Musa stepped back and Riven had to wrap his arms around her to keep her near him. “I have to go” she whispered.  

“Please, please don’t marry him.” Teenage Riven would be mortified to hear his voice crack as he begged Musa not to choose someone else, but adult Riven couldn’t care less. He would beg and plead and grovel if it meant that she’d stay with him.  

“It’s too late. I’m sorry.” She laid her hands on his chest and pushed their bodies apart. He watched, heart shattering, as she stepped away from him. Her voice broke, tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and her lower lip quivered, but ever his fierce Musa, she stayed strong. He wished, just this once, that she would break. Musa stepped away from him and turned towards the door, gathering the train of her dress in her hand as she walked away. She wiped her eyes quickly before grabbing the door handle.  

“Musa,” he heard himself say before she had the chance to turn the knob. A deep sigh and she turned to him. He’d never been good at reading people, but Musa he knew. She wanted him to fight for her, she always had, and, for the most part, he always had. He always would. He’d just fucked up that one time when it mattered most. “I’ll be out front. If you change your mind.”

She didn’t answer, merely shook her head and then she was gone, whisked away through the door and down the hall by the planner. Riven sat himself onto the nearest piece of furniture – a fancy-looking emerald green couch in the corner of the hotel suite sitting room – and dropped his head in the palms of his hands trying to stop himself from crying and shaking.  

He hadn’t felt pain like this in years, hadn’t felt anything like this in years. He hadn’t been numb – he’d known numb before and that wasn’t what the last few years had been – but life had been significantly less vivid. Everything always felt so much more with her. The lows could be soul-crushing agony, but the highs were pure ecstasy and worth every second of pain. He would willingly suffer through millennia of agony for just one hour of ecstasy with her again.  

***

Musa’s mind buzzed as she followed Christina, the planner, through the hall and into the elevator, down to the main floor. The woman – an absolute godsend in the madness that was planning a wedding and a tour in the same four months – babbled on about how adorably nervous Liam – her fiancé – was.  

She’d met Liam three years ago on a talk show. He was an actor – had started off as a child on a sitcom and managed to make the incredibly difficult transition from child star to serious adult actor. He’d been sweet and charming during the pre-interview and through the whole taping. They’d run into each other again a year later at a movie premiere – she'd sung the main theme and he was close friends with the star. He’d asked her out at the end of the night. He was cute – tall with broad shoulders and sharp features, just her type – so she’d said yes. It turned out that he was also funny and incredibly witty.  

She loved him.  

Christina led her out of the elevator and into one of the back hallways. At the end of the hall, Musa knew she’d find her friends and father waiting patiently for the ceremony to start. Musa knew what would happen: Christina would put them in order, then cue her assistant to tell the violinist to start playing – Riven had always loved hearing her play the violin, they’d talked about having one if ever they got married. Musa couldn’t let that detail go. Once the music started, the double doors would open onto the ceremony room. Hundreds of guests would be seated in the room, surrounded by thousands of dollars' worth of flowers and floating candles.  

Much sooner than she’d anticipated, it was Tecna’s turn. The purple-haired fairy – her maid of honour – turned out of the waiting area and moved up to the double doors at exactly the speed Christina had indicated; not too fast like Flora had or too slow like Stella – who, realistically, had been enjoying the moment of spotlight – had. Musa’s father turned to her, a genuine smile on his face, to ask if she was ready. Musa smiled and nodded.  

Her arm looped through her father’s and Christina handed her the bouquet of exquisite flowers – arranged by Flora, of course. The woman moved behind her to spread out her train. As she neared the door, the guests stood for her. Her father nodded to a few at the back that he recognised, but Musa’s focus was at the front.  

Liam stood with his arms folded behind him. Riven would always stand with his hands in his pockets or his arms crossed. Liam’s smile widened when he saw her. Riven only smiled when he saw her. Liam mouthed the words I love you and Musa felt a pang. She’d just heard those words in a different voice, and they’d had so much more impact. Musa smiled at him, repeating the mantra in her head.

She loved him.

She loved him.

She loved him.

She was at the altar. Her father was hugging her and whispering that he loved her and wished her nothing but happiness. Musa was stepping up to the altar. Liam was shaking her father’s hand. The photographer’s assistant was adjusting her train for the photos. Liam was smiling at her. Tecna was taking the bouquet out of her hands. Liam was reaching out for her hands.  

Musa snapped out of her haze. Her hands were in Liam’s and the officiant was welcoming the guests. Please turn your phones off. Don’t take any pictures. It’s not every day you meet someone that touches your soul. All the cheesy shit people said at weddings. Musa ignored the man they’d hired as she played the scene with Riven over in her mind.

He still loves her.  

And she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t compared every boyfriend to him. Including Liam. She’d also be lying if she said that she didn’t think about him when she was alone. When she was lonely. When she wanted someone to hold her. When she touched herself. When she cried. When she laughed. When she had news to share. When she wrote a song she really loved.  

It was always him.  

Pressure on her hand brought her back to present day. Liam was saying his I do. He was giving her that smile that, up until fifteen minutes ago, she thought she’d be happy enough to see every day.  

Happy enough.

Was that really enough?  

“...Take Liam Lukas Caffrey, here present, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”

“I...” Hundreds of eyes stared at her expectantly. She had two words to say. I do. It wasn’t that fucking hard. Musa looked up at Liam. At those pretty dark green eyes of his watching her with all the love in the world. “I...”

It wasn’t enough.

No one would ever be enough if they weren’t Riven. She’d tried to deny it, but it was true. And he was right. She belonged with him.  

“No” she sighed. The love in Liam’s eyes turned to confusion. Behind her, Stella mumbled out a what. “I can’t... I’m sorry.”

Musa picked up the skirt of her dress as much as she could and walked away. She picked up speed with every step, desperate to get away from the prying eyes. Desperate to get to Riven. I’ll be out front. If you change your mind. Had he meant it? She rushed through the double doors, past Christina and through the lobby. In the corner of her vision, she saw the doorman standing to open the front doors for her, but she got there before him.  

Lights flashed in her eyes as she pushed through the doors and onto the front steps. Her name was being shouted and paparazzi cameras popped at every angle, but she registered none of it. Musa searched the sidewalk for that telltale flash of magenta, trying to control her already heavy breathing and not appear as panicked as she felt.  

He wasn’t sure why he’d even waited. It’s too late. That should be an obvious clue that she didn’t want to be with him. Still, he waited. He’d sat in her suite for two minutes trying to compose himself before sneaking out of the room and down to the lobby. He’d gotten there just in time to hear the music start. Part of him contemplated waiting, running into the ceremony when the officiant did the speak now or forever hold your peace thing (did they even do that in real life? It hadn’t been done at Flora and Helia or Stella and Brandon’s wedding). Ultimately, he decided not to. He’d told Musa what he had to say. All he could do now was wait.

Riven took a seat on a bench in the park across the street. He absentmindedly watched park-goers walk by, blissfully unaware that he was falling to pieces as the seconds ticked by. It took all his self-control not to think about Musa marrying someone else; to stop himself from physically and mentally falling apart. Old demons tried to claw their way to the forefront of his mind, to tell him that she wouldn’t want him, that his efforts were futile, but Riven refused to listen to them. He wasn’t that sixteen-year-old kid anymore, and he knew, he knew that he and Musa were meant to be.  

Finally, after searching for what felt like an eternity, she spotted the telltale magenta hair forcing its way through the crowd. The joy that swelled in her was unlike any happiness she’d ever felt. He’d waited. Musa kicked off her heels and took off running towards him. He made it to the front of the crowd just in time for her to throw herself into his arms and pull him into a kiss.  

It was heaven to feel his lips on hers, to feel his arms wrapped around her. Musa never wanted to lose this feeling. He laughed into the kiss and Musa swore it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. Riven shuffled forward, lowering her onto one of the hotel steps as they finally pulled apart. The smile on his face could put the suns of Solaria to shame, but, as much as she loved his smile, Musa was only focused on his eyes. She loved his eyes; loved the way they shone every time he looked at her.  

Riven rested his forehead against Musa’s. Those magnificent blue eyes looked up at him so lovingly, just the way he’d longed for her to look at him for all those years. Riven swore then and there, he would move mountains to never lose that look. He was so happy he didn’t even care that all the paparazzi were watching them. Let them watch.  

“I’m so sorry. I was so stupid... I-” Musa started.  

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

“Now and forever. I love you, Riven.” Musa pulled him into another kiss. Camera flashes went off around them but Riven only saw the stars that shone in his head every time she kissed him. He pulled away from her just enough to whisper I love you too, Musa before kissing her with all the love he could muster.  

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

A Lamb Among Wolves

Chapter One

Master List

A/N: As I'm sitting in the airport waiting to board my plane, and I'm bored out of my gourd, let's post something new!

I do not tag. For notifications on the story, please follow @tilltheendwilliwrite-library​ or subscribe to it on AO3. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

Pairing: OMC Bedlam Wise/ OFC Pixie Peradino

They called him Bedlam.

A Lycantant born of the Splicer Wise, rising from the same genes as the fabled Caine Wise, consort to Queen Jupiter, the recurrence of Queen Seraphi. But unlike Caine, he did not have albinism, nor was he a runt. His Splice had not gone wrong.

Not completely.

At six foot nine inches tall and weighing in at two hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle, he was a credit to his Splicer's genius. He'd excelled his entire life, trained and fought, and obeyed.

But just like Caine, Bedlam had a flaw. He couldn't - maybe even wouldn't - connect with a pack. He was as Alpha as a wolf could be, but none of the other Lycantants appealed to him.

And they certainly tried.

Every in-season bitch found a reason to be in his presence, every beta to drop off a meal. He'd met only a few omegas, but even they gravitated toward him.

Omegas were seen as weaknesses and rarely made it out of a Splicer's den, but a few were taken, trained as pets and kept as lap dogs. Even the meekest Lycantant was strong, fast, and deadly enough to take out an intruder should an Entitled, or just one of the rich idiots, want a watchdog.

But Bedlam was not weak. He was terribly strong and fast. His senses never failed him. He lived and worked as an elite soldier, taking on the deadliest solo missions, running alone, fighting alone, with few friends and no pack.

They called him a Rogue - a rare commodity, and in recent years he'd killed and maimed and slaughtered more people than he could count at the behest of the Legion or Aegis.

There was so much evil in the Verse. Bedlam figured it was only fitting they send the devil after the demons.

***

Pixie Peradino was, to her mind, average. Maybe even below it. She was barely five foot five, thirty-two years old, and had lost her waistline in college with the freshman fifteen - more like twenty-five - and never gotten it back. Her current hair colour, a lovely sapphire, and amber eyes were the only things she felt distinguished her from any other below-average human.

Thus, she couldn't understand how it came to be that she was standing before a woman in a sleek uniform, a woman with metal bits attached to her head and hands, who claimed to be some captain of some orbiting spaceship for some group called the Aegis.

"I'm sorry… you think I'm who?" she asked for the second time.

"Your Grace is the genetic recurrence of Duchess Trillian of the House of Brantox. While not quite on the same level as an Abraxas, your holdings are anything but modest. You must come with us to Orous to claim your title."

Pixie blinked before bursting into laughter. "This is a joke, right?"

The woman, Captain Jol- something, became quite pinched around her mouth. "It is not. Your Grace must come with us. It is a matter of some urgency."

Pixie took a step back. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She'd been on her way to work, just walking out the front door of her tiny little house on the outskirts of Carmel.

Carmel-by-the-Sea was a sea-swept town in California that Pixie adored with all her heart. She felt so fortunate to live and work there, even when the tourists made her want to scream, but these tourists were trying her patience.

"Look, Captain, I don't know what kind of con you're pulling, but I'm not buying it! Now, get the hell off my lawn so I can get to work!"

The two men with her stepped into Pixie's path when she pushed past their Captain.

"No, let her go," the Captain murmured. "Your Grace. Here." She held out her hand, revealing a small metal disc.

"What's that?" Pixie asked suspiciously.

"A communications device. If you should encounter trouble of an… unusual nature, place it behind your left ear and press firmly. It will contact me, and I will send for an extraction."

Pixie stared at the small circle.

"Please, ma'am. It's my job to keep you safe, but I won't force you to come with us until you're ready."

There was genuine worry in her eyes that had Pixie relenting enough to take the disc. She figured it was a bug, maybe even a tracker of some kind, but for what, she couldn't say.

Pixie was just a gallery worker. She knew art and artists and not even very famous ones. These were all local folks, potters and painters, and weavers. While they had a good business, it wasn't anything to write home about.

The only other explanation would be that this was some bullshit plot by her ex, but she didn't think Nathan had it in him. Not to this extent.

She stuffed the device in her pocket and got in her car. She could always throw it away later.

She watched in the rearview as the Captain's shoulders sagged in defeat as she drove off.

***

"Captain. Is this course of action… wise?"

Jol vanDeman sighed. "We cannot force her to come with us." But her Lieutenant was correct. They really shouldn't leave her unguarded. Not with Gilgamee hunting her.

"Get me the Rogue," she murmured, watching the vehicle disappear.

"Captain?"

She glanced sharply at her second in command. "You heard me, Lieutenant! Get me Bedlam Wise!"

"Ma'am!" He straightened, saluted and scampered off to do what she commanded.

"I understand the need for protection, Captain, but… the Rogue?" Corporal Vance asked.

Jol looked to the sky, scanning for any anomalies. "If Gilgamee is coming for her, the Rogue is her best chance for survival."

"But… he's an animal!"

She shot the Corporal a glare. "As is any Splice, that doesn't mean he is incapable of protection. He's a wolf, pack or no pack. He can and will protect her ladyship with his life if that is what I ask of him."

"Yes, ma'am!" the Corporal barked, straightening into attention, well aware of her displeasure.

While rough around the edges, Bedlam was someone she would not hesitate to go into battle with. He'd been working with the Aegis for decades, and lone wolf or not, she trusted him more than she trusted anyone. She liked to think they were friends, though she wasn't certain Bedlam would say the same.

"He's on his way, Captain," Lieutenant Tarrant informed her, returning at a jog.

"Good," Jol murmured.

Bedlam would keep her safe.

For now, at least.

Next Chapter

[jobrookekarev]

The In-Laws

Chapter One of One

Words: 5970

Summary: When one of Meredith's dinner parties goes disastrously wrong, Meredith, Alex, Amelia, and Maggie go up to her room to drink and talk, while Jo, Link, Hayes, Winston, and the kids all hang out in the backyard as the in-laws talk together.

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.

Relationship: Meredith Grey/Cormac Hayes, Alex Karev/Jo Wilson, Atticus Lincoln/Amelia Shepherd, and Maggie Pierce/Winston Ndugu. 

Characters: Meredith Grey, Cormac Hayes, Alex Karev, Jo Wilson, Maggie Pierce, Winston Ndugu, Amelia Shepherd, Atticus Lincoln, Zola Grey Shepherd, Derek Bailey Shepherd, Ellis Shepherd, Liam Hayes, Austin Hayes, Scout Shepherd-Lincoln, and Luna Ashton-Wilson.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences, 

Additional Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Kids, Dinner Parties, Drinking (Mentioned), Babies, Pregnancy, Labor, Ice Cream, and S’mores. 

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

AN: I've had this one in my draft box for a long time and I finally just got around to finishing it. I hope you all enjoy it.

……………………………………………………………………

“Hey, good you're all here,” Meredith said as she came and the attending’s lounge.

Everyone was eating lunch. Link and Amelia were with Scout in a highchair next to Cormac, while a pregnant Jo and Maggie sat on the couch with Winston, Alex, and Luna. 

“So, as you all know, Carolyn, Derek's mother, is coming to town next weekend,” Meredith said, folding her hands together as she stood in front of the group.

“Yep, we've got it all planned out,” Link said, as he offered some of his pasta to one-year-old Scout. “We’ll have a dinner party, where she will get to meet her new grandson, and the other kids get to play with Grandma before following up with desserts and a quick exit, short, simple, and fun.”

“And our emergency get away excuse is an MVC in the ER with encephalitis and multiple broken bones,” Amelia said with a smile as she fed Scout another spoon full of applesauce.

“Either that or Jo going into labor, it depends on the situation,” Link said as he and Jo exchanged a look of agreement.

“We have a secret text code and everything,” Jo said as she nodded and she rubbed her eight-month pregnant belly while Alex bounced Luna in his arms.

“I, for one, am looking forward to meeting your ex-mother-in-law,” Cormac said with a smile as he looked over at Meredith. 

The two of them had been dating for a little while, and although things were still new they were beginning to introduce each other to the other’s extended families. 

“Well, plans have kinda changed,” Meredith said, a little hesitant before she dropped the bomb on them. “Your sisters got word of Carolyn's trip, and now Nancy is tagging along with her family, kids and all.”

“Nancy is coming!” Amelia said, putting down the spoon and sitting up.

“I've met Nancy. Are you sure this is a good idea?” Link asked, looking between Amelia and Meredith. 

“Yeah, she did spend the entire time she was here calling me a slut,” Meredith countered despite the hesitant look on her face. 

“This is bad,” Amelia said as she started to freak out. “Nancy is the worst of them all.”

“She also wants her kids to spend more time with their cousins,” Meredith argued. “And I don't think she'd do anything too bad with the kids around.”

“So you're okay with her comparing her perfect kids to our four messy kids because that is exactly what she's going to do,” Amelia said, pointing the spoon at Meredith to make her point. 

“Well, Luna's a bit fussy, so we should go put her down for a nap,” Alex said despite the completely calm baby in his arms as he got up off the couch and pulled Jo up with him. 

“Wait, just hang on for a second,” Meredith said to him, holding up her hand.

“Why none of this concerns us?” Alex said, of course, as Meredith’s best friend, he was willing to go to dinner with her and her family, but not if he could avoid it.

“Well, I was hoping to make a dinner party out of it and extend the invitation to you, Jo, Maggie, and Winston as well,” Meredith said, plastering on a smile and trying to seem like it was a good idea.

“No, that is a terrible idea,” Jo said, looking over at her wide eyed.

“It can't be that bad, I’ll make my lasagna, and I think it would be nice to meet Derek's mom and his other sisters,” Maggie said with a shrug, that jostling Winston from where he had pressed his head against her five-month pregnant belly. “Sorry, honey.”

“My other sisters are nothing like Derek and I,” Amelia added angrily, staring at the applesauce before Link put his arm around her shoulders.

“Exactly,” Jo said, nervously rubbing her belly. “And besides, every time we have a dinner party at your place, it ends in disaster.”

“That's not true,” Alex said, only for Jo to give him a look. 

“Oh really, what about the dinner party a couple of years ago where Callie brought Penny?”

“That was an extenuating circumstance,” Meredith countered.

“What about that game night that you tried to host two years ago? Half of you didn't show up, which I guess it's a good thing as I heard from Jackson that it was a huge disaster,” Jo said, waving her arm around gesturing to the magnitude of the disaster.

“Again, there were kind of extenuating circumstances there,” Maggie argued again before Jo cut her off.

“What about all the times we tried to get together the year Meredith was gone or that time your mom came into town and made lasagna. This group and dinner parties have a bad track record, and this is one train wreck that I do not want to be a part of.”

“Well, suck it up, Karev. You're part of the family now, and that means whether you like it or not, we are all going to at least attempt to have a nice time at this dinner party,” Meredith said, glaring at Jo before she looked over at everybody else. “So, is everyone on board?”

“I think we can make it work,” Maggie agreed with a nod from Winston. 

“I will help you cook, and I'm sure we can prevent any disasters,” Winston said, kissing Maggie's cheek before he leaned down and kissed her stomach.

“I'll be there,” Cormac said, getting up and putting his hand on Meredith's back. “And I'll do everything in my power to make sure things go over smoothly.” 

“What do you think?” Link asked as he looked over at Amelia.

“I am going to reserve my right to bail at a moment's notice and there better be cake,” Amelia said, pointing to Meredith, who nodded in a quick agreement.

“I think we can make it too,” Alex said, looking over at Jo for confirmation. “I’ll rub your feet and change all of Luna’s dirty diapers for a week.”

“Okay fine,” Jo said, crossing her arms before pointing a finger at Meredith. “But when everything goes to hell, and you, Alex, Maggie, and Amelia are all falling apart upstairs drinking and eating cake because shit hit the fan. I'm going to be in the backyard with your kids and getting them hopped up on candy.”

“You can't feed my baby candy Jo,” Amelia said, looking over at her.

“He’s a year old, I can feed him ice cream,” Jo countered, raising her eyebrow over at Amelia as Link laughed before Amelia silenced him with a look.

“Well, you better keep the candy in your car, Karev, because you're not going to need it. This dinner party is going to be great!” Meredith insisted as if she was trying to convince herself.

She gave Cormac a quick kiss before she left and Alex raced after her and followed her out of the room. 

“Are you sure that this is a good idea? I mean, I know your ex-mother-in-law is pretty nice, but Jo’s kinda right about our history with dinner parties.”

“It's just Carolyn, and she's on good terms with both Amelia and me, and Nancy has promised to be on her best behavior,” Meredith insisted with an optimistic smile that definitely looked out of place. “It's going to be great.”

It was not, in fact, great. 

Jo balanced the four cartons of ice cream in her arms. She pulled out the bottle of tequila from the fridge for Meredith and the bottle of sparkling cider for Amelia and Maggie and handed both to Alex. She slowly walked over to the drawer to grab a hand full of spoons and balanced the bowls in her other arm. Given what happened that night, she figured that all the kids deserve endless ice cream.

“Why don't I help you with those,” Alex said, he held Luna in one arm and reaching out to take the ice cream carton from her before she turned away.

“No, set Luna down, and go and take the drinks upstairs and comfort Meredith. She needs you right now. I got ice cream. I’m fine,” Jo said, shoving him off with her hips and a wave of her hand.

Alex tilted his head and smiled as he took the drinks and set Luna down. She toddled over to the back door, calling out for Scout. “Out, out?” 

“Lu Lu,” Scout called out to her as she giggled and waved her arms excitedly as she walked into the backyard.

She had started walking a few weeks ago, and since then, Jo and Alex could barely keep up with her. They knew that all of the adults and older kids outside would keep an eye out for her until Jo came out. They both watched Luna through the window for a moment as she and Scout met in a hug. 

“Are you sure it's okay?” Alex asked again, catching her before she moved to follow Luna as he reached out and placed his hands on her belly. “I should probably help you out with the kids, Mer will be fine with just Maggie and Amelia.”

“Alex, I told you it's fine. Meredith isn't stealing you away from me. You're helping out our friend now go,” Jo said as she grabbed the bowls and waddled towards the laundry room to head out to the backyard. 

“Are you at least going to say I told you so?” 

“Maybe next week, once the sting wears off,” Jo said as she turned around to look at him with a smirk before she opened the screen door. 

Jo waddled out into the backyard where Link, Hayes, and Winston, were calming down the kids. They were all upset at the things Nancy had said to Meredith, especially Zola. With the bowls in one hand and the ice cream in the other also balanced on her belly, Jo felt the baby kick against the ice cream shuffling the stack of cartons. 

“I know it's kind of cold, just hang on, squirt,” Jo said as she put the ice cream on the table and sat back in the lounge chair.

With extra reassurance, cuddles, and ice cream, the kids were doing better. Soon all of them were scattered around the yard. Zola was eating ice cream in the chair next to her while Bailey and Ellis were playing on the play center with Liam and Austin. Jo sat with her carton of rocky road as she fed Luna and Scout a spoonful. She watched her daughter and godson take in the cold treat with wide eyes and exciting squeals. As soon as they were finished with their bite, they would open their mouths and silently demanded more. Their little bodies were vibrating with the amount of sugar.

“Are you sure they're okay up there? What Nancy said was pretty harsh, maybe I should go talk to Meredith,” Cormac asked as he took a step towards the house.

“No, they're fine, trust me, if they wanted us up there, we would be, but they just need some time to talk it out amongst themselves,” Jo said, as she fed Luna another spoonful of ice cream.

“I just feel awkward and a little out of place standing around here. I know Meredith and I have only just started dating, but I feel like I should be there for her more,” Cormac said, staring down at his bowl.

“Yeah, I get that,” Link said, with a nod as he ate some of his own ice cream. “But you were there and stood up for Meredith in front of Nancy when it counted and she appreciates that, but now she needs time to complain about it with her brother and sisters.” 

“How long do you think before they're dancing out?” Jo asked, tilting her head up to look at the room where they were all probably still drinking.

“I give it thirty minutes tops,” Link said with a shrug. 

“Might be a bit more than that,” Winston said as he took a sip of his beer. “I know how Maggie gets when she's angry, she can rant for at least a half-hour.”

“Yeah, she's pretty good at bringing the thunder,” Jo said as they all chuckled. 

She looked around the backyard and smiled. A few years ago, it would have just been her heading back to the loft alone, maybe with Stephanie, maybe not, but now she had Link and Cormac and Winston. Alex, Meredith, Amelia, and Maggie had always been their own little family, and Jo now realized she had her own little in-law party tonight. 

“Hey, Aunt Jo,” Zola said, coming over with an empty bowl and putting it on the side table. “Can I use your phone and run inside and grab my speaker so we can have our own dance party?”

“You can use my phone Zola, I've got a really cool playlist I'm sure you'll like,” Liam offered, coming over and pulling out his phone and handing it over to Zola. 

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” Jo said before Zola ran inside to grab her speaker. 

“I hope this playlist of yours isn't too offensive?” Cormac warned Liam. 

“Relax. It's all clean music, I promise,” Liam said as he held up his arms in defense.

“They seem to be getting along pretty well,” Link noted as Zola came back out, and they set up the speaker together.

“Yeah, sometimes a little too well,” Cormac said as Liam and Zola giggled together.

The four of them sat there eating ice cream and talking as they watched the kids run around and dance to the music. It was so adorable to watch Scout and Luna dance to the music. However, it was a little embarrassing when Luna started twerking something Jo had definitely not taught her how to do. 

“Hey Liam, what song is this?” Link asked as he sat up his head lately bopping to the music.

“Um, It's,” Liam paused as he checked his phone. “It’s Sam Smith’s, Make It To Me.”

“Nice, I’ll have to add it to my playlist for tomorrow's surgery,” Link said as he added it to his phone as he looked over at her and raised his eyebrows. “A surgery you could get in on too, Jo. I need a general surgeon.”

“Or you could get in on one of my cases’ the next time I deliver a baby with a broken collar bone,” Jo suggested, smirking at him as she glanced back at Luna just in time to see when I reach for the bullet ice cream almost tipping it on to herself before Jo pulled it out of her reach. 

“Ah, that's more of just a Ped’s case,” Link said with a shrug.

“I don't know. It's always good to get a second opinion and you are the bone expert,” Cormac said, tilting his head at Link and taking a sip of his beer.

“Yeah, I just miss working with you. It seems like I never see you anymore,” Link complained with a pout. 

“I miss working with you too,” Jo said, sharing his pout. “But it's not like we don't see each other all the time. We still have our Wednesday night playdates and Waffle Sunday.”

“Yeah, but that's with the kids. It's never just the two of us,” Link said with a sigh as Scout came over to him and he picked up his son. “I love our kids, and I love that they're such good friends, but I miss having adult time with my best friend.”

“I miss you too,” Jo said, looking over at him. She rubbed her belly as she felt her baby move around inside of her. “Well, it's not just going to be the two of us, but why don't we carpool to work tomorrow and let Alex and Amelia drive the kids. Then we can get breakfast at the coffee stand before work.”

“Sounds good,” Link said as he gave her a fist bump. 

“Luna and Scout’s friendship is just so cute. They're definitely going to grow up and be best friends,” Winston said with a smile as he watched them play together on the grass. “I hope our baby has that.” 

“Don't worry, I got you,” Jo said, pointing at her stomach as all of the boys laughed. 

“Yeah, it's nice that all of our kids are around the same age and will be in the daycare together,” Winston said, walking over to sit next to her.

“You know, when Amelia told me she was pregnant, I kind of hoped that you and Alex would have a baby too so that our kids could grow up together,” Link that with a smile as he watched Luna and Scout dance together. The two of them had grabbed onto each other's arms and were swaying together. 

“Was this before or after you freaked out?” Jo said, raising an eyebrow over at him as the boys Winston and Cormac chuckled.

“It was an unplanned pregnancy. I think I'm allowed to freak out a little bit!” Link said, holding up his hand in defense.

“See, that's the hard thing about moving when your kids are older. They lose touch with their friends, but I’m glad Liam and Austin have always been able to make friends here, although I know they miss their friends back in Switzerland.” Hayes said as he watched his boys play with Zola and Bailey.

“Good friends always have a way of coming back to you,” Jo said as she and Link exchanged a smile. 

“Which is why you should scrub in on the surgery with me,” Link said as he leaned forward in his chair.

“I'll think about it,” Jo said, and she did mean it because as much as she loved OB, but there were parts of surgery that she did miss.

“What we need is a case that we can all work together,” Hayes said, leaning forward in his chair. 

“Oh yeah, that would be so cool,” Winston said as Jo and Link nodded. 

“It'd have to be a pretty specific case,” Jo said that she thought about it. “Like a baby with osteogenesis imperfecta and Mom with a bad heart or something.”

“We could probably all work together on a case with a mom and baby with Achondroplasia,” Link said as he snapped his fingers.

“Yeah, that could be possible,” Winston said, lifting his shoulder in a half shrug. “But that doesn't necessarily mean there's a heart issue.”

“It's going to be a needle in a haystack to find a case, but it would be fun for the four of us to work together,” Hayes said, crossing his arms.

“Well, I'll definitely keep an eye out and hopefully, we get to work together before the two of you go on maternity leave,” Link said, looking over at her and Winston.

“It might have to be after my maternity leave. I don't know how much longer this one's going to stay put,” Jo said as she rubbed her belly again when the baby kicked her. At 36 weeks along, she was ready to be done with her pregnancy.

“Speaking of which, did you and Alex finish the paperwork for your maternity leave.  Maggie and I went over it this afternoon, but it’s just so complicated. You think two world-class surgeons would be able to figure it out, but it's a little beyond us,” Winston said with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, Alex and I struggled with it when we took leave after we adopted Luna and we put in the paperwork for our leave this time around last month. If you want, I could go over it with you tomorrow at lunch,” Jo offered with a shrug, she remembered how dumbfounded Alex was with the paperwork the first time around, and the two of them had spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure it out.

“Yeah, thanks,” Winston said, clearly relieved as he relaxed back into his chair.

The four of them continued talking as they watched the kids dance. The warm evening sunset turned into a chilly evening, and they turned on the porch lights and started a campfire getting out marshmallows and making S'mores for the kids. It had been a few hours since the dinner ended and she could tell the boys were getting anxious. Yet, she wasn't too worried, and she knew how these things could go.

“They've been up there quite a while. Should we be concerned?” Winston asked, looking up at the window where the light was on, but none of them could see the shadows through the blind. 

Jo didn't realize that they were staring at her as she had her eyes closed and was breathing out and rubbing her stomach as she had a Braxton Hicks contraction. 

“Jo, are you okay?” Link asked, getting up and coming to sit next to her, putting his hands over hers on her belly. 

Jo smiled as her baby rewarded their Uncle Link with a soft kick against her belly. “I'm fine. It’s just another Braxton Hicks. I've been getting them more frequently these days. What did you ask Winston?”

“I just thought that maybe one of us should go up there and check on them?” Winston said, stared up at the window and absentmindedly picked at the paper on his beer bottle.

“It's probably best just to let them talk it all out,” Jo said as Link nodded in agreement. “Or else Meredith is going to end up in our bed tonight?”

“Wait, what?” Cormac asked, his eyebrows shooting up into his wrinkled forehead.

“Yeah, Meredith does this thing where she comes over to talk to Alex and crawls in bed next to us. She did it after you guys introduced the kids a few weeks ago,” Jo said before she took in Cormac's hesitant look. “Don't worry. It’s completely platonic, if not a bit annoying. They used to kick me out of bed while I was naked.” 

“Wait, you were naked?” Link asked, he had heard the story before, but Jo had left that detail out.

“Yeah, she used to toss me whatever shirt was lying on the ground and rip the covers off of me so she could sit next to Alex,” Jo said, waving her hand and trying to dismiss the conversation. 

“And Alex let her do that?” Link asked, and Jo could tell that he was shifting into protective big brother mode, so she put a hand on his chest and shook her head.

“Only because Alex was more of a pushover back then and Meredith trampled all over him. It's better now. These days she just crawls in bed next to me and steals all the blankets,” Jo said with a laugh as she remembered how Meredith had crawled into bed with them a couple of days ago. She had woken up in the middle of the night to pee, only to realize that she was sandwiched in between Meredith and Alex. 

“Yeah, she does this thing where she grabs the blankets and holds them close to her chest and almost to cocoons herself,” Cormac said with a soft smile on his face. “But sometimes, she'll share her cocoon with me.”

“Eww, Dad, we did not need to know that!” Austin said, making a face from where he was making a S’more with Bailey.

“Sorry,” Cormac said, holding up his hands. 

“Maggie does the same thing with her blanket, except she just rolls around when she's asleep until she's a burrito, and sometimes only her head sticks out,” Winston said, getting this far off look of love on his face. “Which is why I think we work together since I love the cold and sometimes only end up sleeping with a sheet.”

“I’m the opposite. Sometimes I’ll just spread out like a starfish. I kinda take up the whole bed, much to Amelia's annoyance, but she does the same thing too, and sometimes I'll wake up with her on top of me with her foot in my face,” Link said, yet he had a happy smile on his face. “So, of course, Scout does the same thing. That's why he loves the crib, as now he can stretch out. He's got to be able to starfish without any of his limbs touching sides.”

“Luna’s like me, she likes to curl up on her side, and Alex is a little in-between. Usually, he sleeps on his back straight as a plank, but then sometimes, I'll wake up, and he will have rolled over in the middle of the night to cuddle up against me. Which is nice, except for the fact that he runs hot, especially at night. It’s like a human sized furnace sleeping next to me. So I've got him up against my back and then this little one up in my ribs, and if she gets out of her crib, Luna will be up against my chest, and I'm trapped,” Jo said with a shake of her head as she affectionately rubbed her belly and smiled down at Luna who was asleep on her chest. 

“I like cuddling with you and Luna, Auntie Jo. You’re both so warm and snuggly,” Ellis said, joining the conversation as she came over and crawled up next to Jo and rested her head on her belly as Jo wrapped her arms around her. 

“I like snuggling with you too, Ellis,” Jo said, wrapping her arms around her and pressing a kiss to her forehead as Ellis’ eyes fluttered shut.

It was getting late, but it was also a Saturday, and none of the other kids seemed to mind the later hours as they kept playing and roasting marshmallows. Luna had passed out an hour ago, and after she passed out, Cormac took Ellis upstairs and put her to bed. Jo wished she could join them and fall asleep as well. The peaceful night lulled her to sleep, but her Braxton Hicks contractions kept her awake.

“Okay, maybe one of us should go and check on them. It’s getting pretty late,” Link said as he walked around the yard with Scout as he tried to get the toddler to sleep. 

“I doubt any of them are going to come out anytime soon. Most likely, they're still holed up in there with their drinks,” Cormac said, glancing up at the window as well. 

“We could fake an emergency? That would get them out,” Winston offered with a shrug.

“Yeah, we could say that Jo is in labor?” Cormac asked, raising his eyebrows over at her.

“Your Braxton Hicks were pretty strong earlier. How are you doing now?” Link asked, looking back at her in concern.

“I’m fine!” Jo insisted a little too loudly as Luna let out a sigh, but thankfully, remained asleep. Jo rubbed her hand up and down Luna’s back before she whispered. “They’re not so bad, but let’s not lie and say I’m in labor. I don’t want Alex to freak out again. A week ago, I had a few close Braxton Hicks contractions, and he was sure I was in labor. So he freaked out, running around and talking about all the baby stuff we didn't have yet.”

“Oh yes, I remember it was quite funny to watch,” Cormac said with a laugh, and the rest of the guys had a chuckle as well.

“Yeah, funny for you to watch. Not so funny for me to have to put up with. He was anxious for the rest of the night,” Jo said as she huffed and their chuckling tapered off.

“I’m sure I'll be calm when the time comes. We’ve got everything planned out, so I feel good about it,” Winston said, with a nod, looking sure about it.

Jo, Cormac, and Link all laughed before they exchanged a look. Jo glanced over to the older kids that were playing on the swing set. She didn't want to freak out any of the kids, but they were far enough away that it could work if they didn't play it up too much. So as Link came over to take Luna from her, Jo closed her eyes as she tended up and pretended to have a fake contraction. 

“Are you sure you're okay, Jo? That one looked a bit strong,” Cormac said after she pretended it passed and although he seemed a little too happy to be genuinely concerned.

“It was,” Jo said as she decided to pull out the fake tears, which was actually easier for her to do now that she was so hormonal and was something she absolutely did not abuse in any way. “Guys, I think it might be wise for one of you to go get Alex. I think I might actually be in labor.” 

“Oh my god,” Link said as he and Cormac rushed over to her, played along. Although when she looked up at Link, he was biting his lip to keep from smiling.

“Oh my god!” Winston said, jumping up from his seat and dropping his beer that spilled on the grass as he rushed over to her as well. 

“Alright, Karev, take it easy,” Cormac said as he came over and helped her stand up, letting her lean into him as she pretended to have another contraction.

“Okay, okay, nobody panic,” Winston said, holding up his hands, clearly panicking. “Okay, okay, we need towels, and hot water, and your hospital bag, and Dr. DeLuca, and the hospital!” 

Winston ran around the fire once before he started to head towards the house before coming back and then running back again. He ran around like a madman and Jo wasn't sure how long they should let this go. She didn't want to panic Alex or the kids, but it was so funny to watch. Cormac and Link could barely contain themselves, and Jo let out a cry of pain as she faked another one, biting her lip to contain her giggles. However just as Winston ran to go into the house, Link burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that he had to bend over and put down Luna to hold his sides. They all dropped the act and Jo stood up straighter and started laughing along. 

Winston paused still in his panic before catching on and glaring at them as he walked back over. “Okay real funny, guys.”

“Dude, the look on your face,” Link said as he imitated Winston’s look before adopting a high-pitched voice. “Oh my god! Get hot water! Get some disinfectant! Get some Iodine!” 

“You were worse than Alex was,” Jo said, she had to lean into Cormac because the two of them were all howling with laughter. 

“I've seen a lot of panicked fathers in my time and it's never not hilarious,” Cormac said as he laughed so hard, he snorted. 

“What's so funny?” Bailey asked, coming over to them as they just continued giggling like school children. 

Winston set them with a glare as he sat back down and pouted in his chair. He swiped a new beer before picking up his old one and setting the empty bottle on the side table. Their laughter tapered off and Cormac helped Jo sit back down in the lounge chair as Link handed her Luna, who had thankfully slept through the whole thing.

“I don't be so hard on yourself,” Link said as he reached out to put a hand on Winston’s shoulder. “It's better to get it out of your system now than to be freaked out when Maggie really does go into labor.”

“Link’s right. When Maggie does go into labor, you need to take a deep breath and not panic because if you panic, she is going to panic, and that's the last thing both of you need,” Jo said with a smile as she shook her head. 

“Parenting is the most terrifying thing you could ever do, but if you come at it with a level head, you'll do all right,” Cormac said with a nod as he glanced over at his two boys.

“If you guys want a thank you for this little stunt, you’ll be waiting a long time,” Winston said with a shake of his head, but he smiled as they all laughed again.

The screen door slammed and startled all of them as they looked back to see Meredith, Amelia, Alex, and Maggie come out of the house. 

“Hi, Mom,” Zola said, running over to her and giving her a big hug. “I hope you're feeling better.”

“I am Zo Zo, and I see you’re doing good too,” Meredith said as she swung her arm over Zola’s shoulders as they walked over.

“We made S’mores and I saved one for you,” Zola said, holding one up for her.

“That's great, thank you,” Meredith said as she hugged her daughter before wobbling a little as Cormac caught her around her waist.

“Oh, the baby and I want a S'more,” Maggie said, her eyes going wide. Winston had got up to hug her and let her take his seat. “Do you think it goes well with cheese?”

Everyone chuckled as Amelia went over to Link, and he passed Scout over to her before wrapping his arms around her waist as they silently greeted each other with a kiss.

Finally, Alex came up to her, falling to his knees in the grass next to her as he leaned in and pressed his nose into her neck, getting tangled up in her hair. “Umm, your hair smells nice.”

Jo smiled as she turned to look at him. His eyes were glazed over and he had this big dopey smile. He leaned in to give her a sloppy wet kiss and she just giggled when he pulled back. She didn't mind that he was completely drunk because of how adorable and happy he looked.

“Come here,” Jo said as she gently scooted forward so as not to jostle Luna.

Alex climbed in behind her as he wrapped his arms around her, placing both of them on her belly as their baby rewarded their dad with a few kicks, and Alex giggled. “There's a fish in your belly.” 

“It's not a fish. It’s a baby,” Jo said with a laugh. “Remember, you put them in me.” 

“I did?” Alex said as she turned her head back to look at his wide eyed expression. “I love babies, and our baby is going to be so cute, just like Luna. She's so cute, Jo. Sometimes I just look at her, and my heart melts like, like ice cream. She’s like ice cream.”

“Yeah, she is,” Jo said as he ran his fingers through Luna’s short blonde hair. They settled in and she leaned her head back against his chest as he rested his chin on her shoulder. 

“How are you doing?” Jo caught Hayes asking Meredith as they stood by the fire while Zola made her another S'more.

Meredith gave a noncommittal response, but Amelia spoke up from where she was sitting with Link and holding Scout. 

“We talked shit, and they drank, and we danced, so we're doing a lot better,” Amelia said, giving Link a smile as she leaned in to kiss him again. “Thanks for looking after the kids and stuff.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Meredith added, looking around at all of them as she patted Hayes’s cheek.

“No problem,” Jo said with a shrug. “We kind of had our own little dance party too.”

“Did you have fun,” Alex asked, his voice hot in her ear. 

“Yeah, we did,” Jo said, looking around and catching Winston, Link, and Hayes’ eyes. “We had a lot of fun.”

[donutloverxo]

Make me

*gif is not mine*

The donut series - Part 8

Note - Idk wtf this is... Lol! Hopefully I can complete this series before the year ends. Just 2 or 3 more parts now.

Thank you so so much to @firefly-graphics for the cute dividers💖💖

Summary - You move into the tower with Steve.

Warnings - 18+ only please, smut (m/f), soft dom Steve, daddy kink, captain kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, spanking, punishments, Steve is pushy and possessive, some angst, (lemme know if I missed any)

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 5.2k

Series masterlist

“What do you think you’re doing?!” You jerked when you heard Steve’s voice calling out to you, dropping your lipstick on your lap, your heart hammering in your chest.

You stared at his reflection in the dressing mirror. “God, Steve,” looking over your shoulder you glared at him, “Don’t you think you shouldn’t be sneaking up on me? Especially after everything that happened.”

His face immediately soften, muttering an apology to you, “But you’re not going out today.” He said in a tone that left no room for negotiation.

But you weren’t one of his agents or one to be bossed around. “And you get to tell me what to do, because?” folding your arms over your chest and mimicking his stance.

“Sweetheart, come on, don’t argue with me. It’s still dangerous for you out there.”

“What do you mean? I thought you arrested those guys. Who else would be after me?” you frowned.

He takes two long strides, standing before you and taking your hand in his “Clint has been interrogating them all night. They’ll crack soon enough and give up who they’re working for but we need to be careful till then.”

You sighed, “How long do you think it will be?”

“I don’t know, doll. Hopefully not too long.”

“Well, I can’t just stay locked up forever. Besides a locked door isn’t going to stop Hydra, I mean it didn’t the first time. So really what difference does it make if I’m in college or at home?”

“About that,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “how would you feel about moving into the Avengers tower?”

“What?” you blinked. You had heard of the Avengers living and working from the Avengers/Stark tower. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that Steve would possibly live there as well, but for some reason it did. “For how long?”

“Uh, we can give it a try and see how it goes?” he hesitated. He should’ve asked you to move there as soon as you told him you felt unsafe. The whole incident could’ve easily been avoided.

“I mean I wouldn’t mind living there, I think,” you shrugged, “it’s you I’m worried about.”

“What do you mean?” he tilted his head to the side, like a cute little puppy.

You got up from the chair, looping your hands over his neck and playing with the little hair on the nape of his neck, “You’re so cute and clueless, baby,” you cooed.

He huffed at that, puffing out his chest to show you how ‘macho' he is. Completely capable of protecting his girl from big bad guys no matter what.

“I just felt the tower is so unlike you. It’s so...”

Modern--was the word you were looking for, but that seemed too on the nose so you tried to think of a better adjective. You had only ever been to the tower a few times. The first was to make a delivery, when you met Steve for the first time, and then a few times at parties and little get-togethers. It was strange to think that you were part of the Avengers inner circle now, especially if you’re going to be living with them.

“So what?” he wanted to know.

“Just so not you, Stevie. I can’t imagine you living there.”

“We should’ve moved long ago. As soon as you told me about the stalker. I should’ve taken it more seriously.”

“Hey,” you traced his sharp cheekbone, “it’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Except the ones who did the kidnapping,” you scrunched up your nose, “they’ll get what’s coming to them though, right?”

“Of course, they’ll never hurt you or anyone else ever again,” he promised, kissing the inside of your wrist.

You kept looking at your watch. A gift from your mum for your high school graduation. It had a vintage feel to it, the thin leather strap making your hand look to delicate, Steve had always said that he liked it the best. He always did like you looking small compared to him.

The elevator dinged, “Exactly four minutes.”

“Hm?” he asked, lacing his fingers with yours as he walked towards ‘his' apartment. Or the apartment that was supposed to be his.

Tony had offered him boarding there when the tower was reconstructed months ago. He thought about it but eventually said no upon seeing just how big the apartment was.

Hell he had a whole floor to himself, which was too extravagant for him. He was used to taking only what he needed, if that.

More than that though...

You caught him looking at you, sparing him a sweet smile that crinkled your sparkling eyes.

More than that he didn’t want to live in such a large space all alone.

He would never share that with anyone, they’d laugh at Captain America being too scared of being alone. When he had the love and adoration of the whole world, a second chance at life and everything one could need to be happy.

But he still couldn’t bear the deafening silence of his lonely apartment. He’d get home from work, switch on the television so he’d have something to talk about with his colleagues, sip on a beer. It didn’t necessarily get him drunk or even taste all that great but it made him feel normal.

He never had to think about being alone in a strange new world all that much since he was often too busy. But he absolutely would not have an entire floor to himself. He’d surely go crazy.

“Four minutes for the elevator to get up here from the ground floor. It’s so high,” you marvelled at the view the floor to ceiling windows gave you.

“Yeah. They really should put some music there. They used to, back in my day,” he shared.

He wasn’t afraid of talking about his past with you. You never made fun of him for it, but instead listened intently and nodded. At most you’d tease him a bit... but he kinda liked that.

He punched in the code to his apartment, telling it to you, “Your birthday,” he winked, “it’s changed every twenty-hour hours.”

“That seems a bit excessive. This place is like a fortress, I doubt anybody could break in.”

He held the door open for you as you entered. Surprised to find the apartment already furnished.

“How did they manage to do all this so soon?” you wondered. Running your hands on the leather of the couch in the middle of the living.

The dark couch went well with the hardwood floors. A tall bookshelf to the side, it felt almost like a study, your fears of it being too modern and minimalistic for Steve’s taste were null, too masculine for your taste though. It seemed a lot like Steve’s old apartment. “Needs a woman’s touch.”

“You can decorate it however you like,” he said, hugging you from behind, he propped his chin up on your head.

“I don’t know... I don’t have any experience decorating apartments...” your voice small, scared of not being able to live up to his expectations. “Certainly wouldn’t do as good a job as you did,” your back leaned into his front.

“I didn’t decorate this, honey,” he chuckled. “Tony hired an interior designer. A few months ago but I didn’t want to live here then. We can ask him to call her again and then you can talk to her.”

“No, I don’t want to cause trouble. And it’s not like we’re living here for long,” you shrugged.

“What do you mean?” his voice stiff and although you couldn’t look at him you just knew he was frowning.

“Isn’t it a bit too soon to move in together?”

“But we were already living together.”

You sighed, “Yeah, but making renovations seems too... permanent?”

“You don’t want us to be permanent?”

You turned around, your heart aching at even the thought of hurting him, “That’s not what I meant, love... Isn’t it weird to live where you work?”

“It’s better this way. I can get home to you sooner,” he argued.

“Well, I suppose that’s true.”

“Are you having second thoughts about us?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head, “It’s a bit intimidating, but nope, no second thoughts.”

“That’s good then.”

You often dreamt all things Steve ever since you started dating him. Marrying him, even having a little boy wearing a mini Captain America suit for Halloween who looked eerily similar to Steve. You called him James after Steve’s late friend, you hadn’t told him about that though.

This morning you were dreaming of being whisked away in Italy, having your wedding to him by lake Como. You were wearing a traditional forties style gown, much like the one your grandma wore at your wedding.

Scrunching your nose as you were pulled from your beautiful dream when you felt something wet on your cheek. Rubbing it away with your palm, you moaned.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Steve cooed, peppering kisses all over your face. Knowing that to be the best way to calm you before you snapped at him for waking you up so early.

You opened your eyes, rubbing your sleep away, “It’s still dark... I thought we agreed I’m doing school online,” you turned away from him, nuzzling your face into your pillow. “What time is it?”

“It’s five.”

“Pm?”

He snorted, “No. AM.”

“Oh my god, Steve!” you groaned, “What is wrong with you? That’s like...the middle of the night. Let me sleep in peace.”

“We have to train you. Come on I’ll teach you some self defense moves, it’ll be fun.”

“I doubt any amount of training will make me capable of fighting off hydra...”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t try,” he interrupted you, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Maybe in the evening.”

“Morning is the best time to do it. Come on, it’ll be fun! Besides, we always do your thing.”

He did often let you pick the movie or drag him shopping so he could hold your bags and pay for your stuff. You knew he liked to work out and would like to have you do it with him. The only problem was--you literally couldn’t think of anything worse to do.

“Square your shoulders, honey,” he instructed as you followed, seeing an opening to punch him in his stomach, and because you were mad about being woken up at literally the crack of dawn you took it.

He managed to dodge it, obviously. And even had the nerve to be cocky about it as he smirked at you. “You’re so small, puppy,” he teased, patting your head.

You huffed, being almost a foot shorter than him. “Whatever.”

And then you recalled all the times you had wrestled your cousin, who was much bigger than you, when you were kids. Remembering a move that often worked on him.

You launched towards Steve, holding onto his midsection and trying to tackle him to the ground.

“Urgh!” you groaned but he refused to move even an inch.

Eventually you did give up, if only so you could stop embarrassing yourself. Helping, or rather just standing to the side and watching Steve as he punched the shit out of a bag.

“Go, Steve!” you cheered. Rubbing your thighs together at the sight of him all sweaty and of his bulging muscles. “You should bring me down here more often,” you sighed dreamily.

“Will do,” he smirked, pulling the velcro of his gloves, “Come on, it’s time to do some crunches, I’ll spot you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, please,” you tried to run away, even though you knew it’d be of no use, but he effectively caught you and made you lie down on the mat. Giving you a goal of two sets of twenty frigging crunches.

“I hate you,” you grumbled. Willing yourself to pull your upper body up despite the slight pain in your side, moving up as Steve pecked your lips. To give you an ‘incentive’.

“Stop lying, I know you love me,” he smiled.

Lying back on the mat after your first set, on the verge of giving up but Steve kept insisting that you go on.

You looked down at him. His skin barely had a sheen of sweet, blond strands kissing his forehead. He still had an amber glow to his skin even as you got closer to the winter months.

“You’re staring, sweetheart,” he reminded you.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself.” Often getting lost in his beauty.

You smirked as you got a wicked idea, putting your legs over his, straddling his hips, “Have you ever wanted to do something in public?” you asked, as he simply stared up at you, completely dumbfounded. Rolling your hips against his, “I have, it’ll be fun and thrilling.”

“I... No,” he blinked, shaking his head, “We shouldn’t,” but even as he said it, he held onto your sides, pulling you closer to him. You giggled as you felt his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

“Oh my god, guys, come on.”

You yelped, holding onto Steve’s shoulders to keep from falling, looking to your side to see where the voice came from.

“We could come back if you want...” Natasha said. She didn’t look fazed by it at all, unlike her friend.

“No, we are not coming back! This is not what you use the gym for, Rogers.”

You looked at Steve, who was as red as a tomato, “Sorry,” he got up, helping you up as well, standing behind you to cover up his erection, he introduced you to his friend, “This is Sam.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sam gave you a nervous smile.

“We should get going,” Steve said, pushing you towards the exit. “That’s a sneaky way to get out of training,” he whispered in your ear as you walked back to the elevator, “It won’t work again,” pinching you butt, making you squeal.

“We’ll see.”

You hummed as you looked at your side of the closet, which was as big as your old living room, it looked as if you didn’t really have enough stuff to fill it out. You looked over at Steve’s side, even more empty... and “So boring,” you whispered under your breath.

“Right?” Tony nodded, as if agreeing with you.

Why he was there in the first place you didn’t know. You didn’t invite him, neither did Steve, he had said he just wanted to see how well you both were fitting in. With Steve gone for the most part of the past couple of days you were on your own to unpack everything.

Tony said he’d help you... but you had a feeling he was just snooping.

“What a grandfather sense of fashion he has,” he looked at your poor Steve’s shirts in disgust.

You took offense to that. “If anyone can pull it off, he can,” you huffed. Nobody insults your man.

“Really?” he quirked a brunette brow, “I don’t think so. I mean... I could probably. I can pull off anything,” he boosted.

“I mean, you could try them on if you like, but they’re probably too big for you,” you taunted him in mock sympathy.

“Ouch, guess I deserve that,” he said as he went through the box you had stuffed your make up in.

“What are you even looking for?” you pulled it away from him, glaring at him, “Don’t you have a company to run or a world to save?”

“Hey, Steve was the one who asked me to keep you company,” he held his hands up.

“Really?”

“Well, he asked Nat, which is basically the same as asking me. So I volunteered. He wasn’t happy about that though,” you smacked his hand away when he tried to pry into another box.

“Why would you volunteer?” Steve may have good intentions but having the billionaire hovering over you was only making you irritated.

“... to hang out I guess,” he confessed when he couldn’t really think of anything else to say.

You giggled, “If you wanted to be my friend you could’ve just said so!”

“No... no,” he shook his head, “I didn’t say anything about wanting to be friends.”

He was just curious about you. To figure out what Caps taste is. And to maybe get some hot goss about him. Not that being friends with you sounds like the end of the world, you certainly weren’t as insufferable as Cap.

“What would you like to do, fren?” you fluttered your lashes at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be packing?”

“I’m bored of being cooped up. Lets do something fun!”

Steve smiled, a wide cheeky one, as he thought of all the things he could do with you and spend the remainder of his day with you. His stomach doing somersaults in giddiness.

“I could get used to this,” he said to himself before calling out for you. The thought of coming home to you everyday, so domestic and romantic. His smile dropping as he looked for you in the bedroom, the boxes sat scattered and unopened. All over the room.

He knew you were in the apartment before he even heard your voice, his super senses alerting him, “Oh, Steve!” you perked up. Giggling as you put your shopping bags down. “So, I might’ve made an oopsie.”

Plumping down on the fluffy bed, large enough to fit two Steve’s and still have room for you, taking off your real Louboutins. Since Steve gave you his card, you decided you wanted to treat yourself to them. But they were equally as uncomfortable as the fake ones.

“What?” he quirked a brow, his hands on his hips as he despondently shook his head.

“Well, Tony pointed out that your wardrobe is kinda...” you thought of a adjective that wouldn’t be offensive, biting your lip as you went through your vocabulary, “Old-ish?” when he didn’t reply you kept going, “and I might’ve maxed out your card... Tony offered to pay! But it didn’t feel right,” you jutted your bottom lip out, pushing your titts up together in an attempt to look cute.

“You went out? When I specifically asked you not to?” a rage simmering in his voice--which you didn’t quite like. Because who the fuck was he to talk to you like that?

“I had Iron Man with me. I think I was okay. You’re being annoying,” you rolled your eyes.

“Am I?” his hands now folded over his chest.

And you’d be frustrated with him acting as if he was your dad, sure you called him daddy but that didn’t give him the right to have authority over you while you weren’t naked, if he didn’t look so fucking good. With the veins propping on his forearms, light blond hair littered over it, his watch strapped on his wide wrist. You only stared him down in response.

“It would’ve been better if you had went alone instead. Tony is nothing but trouble,” he scoffed.

“I thought you wanted me to make friends with your team,” you countered.

“Are my clothes too embarrassing for you? Am I too old for you?” he tried to keep his voice from wavering, to hide some of his vulnerability, but he couldn’t, not to you anyway. “Is that why you didn’t tell your family about me?”

You gaped at him. That was the reason you hadn’t told your mom. She’d point out the obvious reasons, as she had just like you expected, him being from the forties would just make things harder for you both.

“I - ” you started but then stopped, “I like your clothes as they are. If you don’t like what I got you then we can return them. I just wanted to do something nice for you,” getting up and then walking towards him, kissing his jaw and stroking his arms to calm him, “you never think about yourself, I wanted to do that for you.”

“I wish that was true, doll,” he replied gravely. His lips pressed in a thin line as he looked at your sweet face, “But you have to apologize. For not following my orders.”

You snorted, taking a step back, “For the last time--you cannot order me around. I don’t care that you think you know what’s best.”

“Really? I’ve been working my ass off on trying to find the guys that did this to you and you are just hell bent on making my life harder,” he let out a dry chuckled, “say your sorry.”

“Make me.”

You regretted the words as soon as they came out of you, before you knew it he had you hauled over his lap, ready to spank an apology out of you.

“Ah!” you yelped at the unceremonious blow.

You did like it when he spanked you, you truly didn’t know why, but it made your pussy quiver. And honestly he didn’t do it enough. Only doing it once when you were late and weren’t able to call him.

Slapping your covered bottom a second time before stopping when he heard you moan, slipping a palm under your dress, being purposely slow to draw it out for you, to torture you in his own way, he pushed your panties aside, swirling your juices around your lips.

“You’re fucking enjoying this,” he growled.

You whimpered when he rolled your bundle of nerves between his fingers, nodding your head, already feeling yourself tethering on the edge.

“That’s too bad... I’ll have to be more creative,” he said as he withdrew his hand, making you writhe in his hold.

You looked at him over your shoulder, wiggling your butt to try to entice him before huffing when he simply stared at you, stoic as ever, “You’re no fair!”

“I’m doing this to be fair, sweetheart. I don’t enjoy it anymore than you do.”

A blatant, clear-cut, shameless lie. You both knew it. He loved thinking of ways to ‘punish' and executing them.

“What are you doing?” you asked as he placed you over his lap, your back to his broad front, his fingers working on the zipper of your dress. Pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“I’m going to fuck you till you admit that you’re sorry,” since he had no patience for insolence, placing a dubiously sweet and innocent kiss to your cheek.

“In your dreams,” you retorted but then shivered in his arms you let him roll your panties down your thick thighs, lifting up your hips to help him out, leaving you completely bare against him.

You bashfully rubbed your face against his button up, you felt his heart beating steadily, as his hands shamelessly explored your body. Grabbing and kneading at your breasts and hips, tracing the stretch marks on your thighs.

“Aren’t you gonna take your clothes off too?” you made yourself small.

You weren’t afraid of being so vulnerable before him, you had gotten used to it because you trusted him enough to not be intimidated by his perfect physique, but right now your whole body felt hot as you just wanted to cover up and give yourself some sort of modesty. Even if your desires and yearning for him was anything but modest.

“No, honey,” he answered, his fingers parting your weeping lips as he looked down to get a glance of it over your shoulders. Licking his lips at the sight of it, “Such a pretty pussy, doll. And all mine,” he rasped as he prodded at your hole with his middle finger before pushing it in, “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you nodded, trying to roll your hips over the erection pressing into your back.

He stilled your movements by holding onto your hips, warning you to stop, “Forever?” he urged.

“Yes, forever, god, just do something!” you wailed. Because whatever he was doing was not enough to satisfy you.

He hummed in thought, “I’m not a young guy. I prefer to take my time,” he pushed another finger in, stretching you out by viscously scissoring your cunt, all the while kissing your hair and your face.

He wasn’t someone who took only what he needed.

He didn’t need you.

Although it often seem to him as if you were like air--impossible to live without. He didn’t need you to live.

But he wanted you. More than anything else in the whole world.

He knew he shouldn’t keep you. Only being with you for a few months and he had almost gotten you killed but there was no way he could help himself.

“I’m selfish,” he whispered to you, pausing his ministrations to ruin your climax, “I’m selfish with you. I’m not as good as everyone makes me out to be,” he confessed. He didn’t know if it was right to do so, but he didn’t want to even consider the other option of letting you go.

“I figured out long ago that you weren’t all that good and boring,” you cried as he stopped again. Your hand holding onto his wrist as your sensitive cunt gushing juices of arousal all over your brand new sheets. “But I’m good, aren’t I, daddy?” you whispered, sultrily. “You can make me come--I’m always good to you. I promise I’ll suck you off after.”

“No.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at his rejection, he had never done that to you. To deny you so easily and bluntly. You thought he was the one person in this whole world who would do anything for you, you could ask for the moon and he’d probably try to give it to you.

Was he really that mad at you?

Your bottom lip quivering as tears welled up in your eyes, “You’re so mean,” you accused, loudly sniffing as you felt a tear drop down your cheek.

He blinked, his fingers stopping their assault on your swollen pussy as he took in your words. You could stomp all over his heart, even shoot him, do anything you want to him, he’d forgive you for it but he absolutely could not bear to see you cry.

“No, pup,” he cooed, gently removing his fingers as you whined, he kissed your forehead as he hushed you, “it’s okay, you’re okay, shush,” one hand under your neck and circling another under your knees, cradling your naked body close to his chest like a babe, he rocked you back and forth in an effort to sooth you.

“I’m sorry I was mean,” he whispered into your hair.

“You broke your pinky promise,” you held onto his neck. You were angry with him and at the situation but your body craved the comfort his gave you. “I can’t trust you now.”

His heart ached at that, “Don’t say that,” he furrowed his brows, kissing you all over your face, “I didn’t yell, puppy.”

“But you got mad,” you puffed your cheeks.

“I didn’t promise to not get mad. That’s a bit unrealistic...”

“No, you promised--no yelling, curing or meanness. Not calling me your 'good girl' or letting me come is mean! And cruel,” you reminded him, whimpering into his chest.

“Right, right. I’m sorry, that’s my fault then. I got a bit carried away... I thought you liked that you know?”

You hummed. You did like it when Steve was a bit rough, but you always knew he loved you with all his heart because you could see it in his eyes. The way he’d praise you for being so good for him, calling you his one and only, that he could never love anyone as much as he loves you.

But when he didn’t say that to you, when he refused to call you good, your soft heart couldn’t take the rejection.

“I do... but...” you hid your face in his neck.

“But what?” he urged you.

“But I also like knowing that you love me,” you spoke against his prickly stubble.

“Of course I love you. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t, even for a second. You’re my sweet girl, forever and always,” he promised, rocking you some more, until your breathing becomes normal and steady again.

“You’re my daddy forever too,” you giggled, “or Captain, whatever you prefer.”

“If I had to pick I’d say Steve,” he told you. While it was nice to have you call him sweet name, nobody really uses his given name anymore. To have you call him that in your sweet girly voice, reminding him that he could be just Steve with you, was exhilarating.

“Okie, Stevie then.”

“Right, how about I draw you a bath? Afterwards we can go over the things you got me,” he perked up.

“You don’t have to wear them if you’re not comfortable.”

“I know, pup, but I want to. I want to get with the times. Can’t have anyone making fun of you for dating an old man,” he teased, swaying you some more.

“Hm, but...”

“But what?”

“I... um... still wanna come, so bad,” you whispered softly, rubbing your thighs together. “Will you make me come, Stevie?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately, “how would you like me to?”

“I wanna come around you,” you stated as heat rushed to your cheeks. “And I am sorry. I probably should’ve told you before going with Tony.”

“I know you’ve been cooped up, honey. I’m going to take a few days off so we can do whatever you like,” he said, working on unbuckling his belt, “But before that, I need to take care of my sweet girl, just like she does for me.”

Your hands feebly pulling at his button up, he took your queue and rid himself of it, along with his undershirt as your hands explored the expanse of his broad chest.

Pulling his length out, he manoeuvred your body till you over him, “Guide me in, sweetheart,” he instructed as you whimpered.

Grabbing the base of his cock, coating your slick in his pre ejaculate, you slowly sunk down on him. Not being able to fit all of him in, because he was as thick as a can of pringles, and oh so long.

You looked at him, too anxious to disappoint him, “Can’t fit it all in,” you whined.

“It’s okay, doll,” he stroked your back. “We’ll make it fit some other day,” he pecked your lips, lying on his back and pulling you down with him he snaked a hand between your bodies, working your clit up with his hand till he felt you convulsing and clenching around his length, gripping him so tight as you squirmed in his hold.

Whispering sweet nothings to you as you calmed down from your high. You wanted to do something for him too, to make him come, so you grinded your hips over his, shivering at the sick squelching sounds your joined sexes made.

But he stopped you by gripping your hips, “How about you just keep me warm for now?” he asked.

You hummed, “It’ll be hard...” to have him just stay inside you, and you knew he could stay hard for hours if he wanted to, and for you to not be able to do anything about it...

“I know it will be. But you’re my good girl, you can do that for me, right?” he tipped your chin up to make you look at him.

“Yes, Stevie,” you agreed.

Laying your head back on his chest, muttering a ‘sorry' whenever you accidentally clenched around him and following his orders like a good girl would.

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[wolf-and-bard]

The Geraskier Soccer Parents AU of my dreams (in an early morning strike of weird-brain):

-Geralt knows he isn't the best dad ever. He tries so goddamn hard, but his job is demanding and consumes so much time and even with Ciri being seven already, he still has essentially no clue what he's doing. He sometimes falls into bed, half-dead, and she is the one to give him a good-night kiss. He sometimes forgets she prefers cheese and puts ham on her sandwiches. He is sometimes too happy to have her sleep over at her friends rather than invite them to their house. He doesn't read her all the children's classics, doesn't go trick-or-treating with her, doesn't even pretend Santa Claus is a thing. He isn't the best dad ever. He tries.

-There is one thing he never, ever fails to do and that is take Ciri to soccer practice. Ciri picks up and drops hobbies, interests, even tastes by the week, still unsure what she wants to pursue, but soccer isn't only her favourite pastime, it's theirs. Practice is twice a week and they have a ritual for it. Geralt picks her up from school and drives her there, she tells him about what the dumb boys in her class said, how her art project is going etc. Geralt is there throughout practice, tucked in between Foltest - a guy who is constantly worried for his daughter Adda to get hurt and also very much anxious for her to do well - and Tissaia - a woman who has not one, but three girls in Ciri's age group and several more in others, and knits like a magician - and watches. He takes notes, silently cheers for Ciri.

-After their games and while Ciri changes, Geralt chats with her coach Vesemir - who used to be Geralt's coach, but now prefers to train the girls' teams - about the progress of the team, upcoming tournaments etc. Sometimes when Vesemir is indisposed, Geralt even leads the practice. When Ciri is all done, Tissaia usually has another hat or mitten finished and Geralt and her drive with their girls to whatever food place the girls are in the mood for. They have an early dinner in which Tissaia lectures the girls on their form and in which Ciri is sometimes allowed to sit on Geralt's lap - but only if Fringilla or Yen don't tease hear about it - but in which she definitely gets to steal his milkshake (Geralt hates milkshakes). Geralt only praises her when they're back in the car and Ciri tells him he's too much of a softie with her and should be more like Tissaia. Should maybe marry Tissaia. They both laugh because that is never going to happen.

-Life is good that way. It's not perfect, it's not without bumps, certainly not without tears and scrapes, but whatever the job, whatever injury Geralt carries with him, however long he has to drive, he never, never ever misses soccer practice.

-The season's just kicked off in the year of Ciri's eighth birthday when Geralt and her arrive early on the field to find the stands empty save for a girl in the most ridiculously colorful excercise clothes and blond hair that is braided intricately around her head. With her is a man, maybe five years Geralt's junior. Ciri bolts towards them with a bright grin and Geralt is hesitant to follow. He knows neither the girl nor the man, but from what he can gather she wants to join the team which is just what they need as they're one girl short this season. "Hi, I'm Ciri, I adore your braids." Geralt holds back on the eye-roll. It's nice Ciri can make friends this easily, but his house already is a shrine for role-playing and board games, dolls and random DVDs and another friend means more things Ciri will want to try out. "Thank you," the girl replies and tilts her head to better show them off. "My uncle Jaskier braided them for me, I'm sure he can do yours too." Both girls look up expectantly at the man and Geralt only really notices him then. He is averagely built with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. His floral print shirt has three open buttons and his pants barely reach his ankles. He has the look of a flippant music teacher or a hipster coffeeshop owner. His eyes meets Geralt's and, wait, did he just wink? "I'd love to, dear," he says in a smooth voice that absolutely does not go straight to Geralt's guts. Geralt turns on the spot and decides to pressure check the balls, but he can hear the others giggling as Jaskier braids Ciri's hair. "I'm Priscilla by the way. What's up with your dad?" - "Oh, don't mind him, he's bad with meeting new people." - "Very intense." That's Jaskier. Oh, Geralt will show him intense.

-Ciri invites them to their after-practice dinner. Geralt wants to begrudge her that, but she and Priscilla have latched onto each other in record speed and Jaskier actually fights Tissaia on some of her more strict stances and he braids Yen's and Sabrina's hair too, only Fringilla doesn't want him to touch hers which he respects. Geralt and Tissaia glance at each other. Come to a silent agreement. They may not befriend Jaskier, but he's sunny and so good with the girls and they can use someone like him among their ranks, someone who doesn't have Calanthe's tendency for swear words or Crach's tendency to break out beer in the middle of practice or even Nenneke's tendency to relate everything to the workings of god.

-Jaskier is as faithful as Geralt, perhaps the only one who shows up every time without fail. Shani's parents only drop her off and Crach switches between  Cerys' and Hjalmar's practices and Tissaia sometimes texts Geralt to pick up her girls. Jaskier is there, every time, earlier than any of the others. He chats with Vesemir about his day-to-day, brings home-baked cookies for everyone, he cheers and whoops and tries very hard to understand soccer even though it's evident he doesn't. Geralt never wonders why it's him and not Priscilla's parents that come, it's none of his business. He begins to tolerate Jaskier, but he knows that is where he has to draw the line. He has his hands full with Ciri and his job and his brothers too. He can't afford friendships that extend beyond the field.

-Jaskier doesn't let him off though. He always takes the spot next to Geralt (technically an improvement over Foltest's sweaty visage) and prattles on and on, at least until the game begins. When it does, Jaskier divides his attention between the girls and the stack of paper on his lap which he annotates during practice. It's often either sheet music or the illegible scrawl of pre-teens or wonkily drawn instruments. Jaskier already told him, but from that too it is obvious that Geralt's hunch was right, he is a music teacher. Geralt finds his eyes darting to Jaskier's long fingers, nimble and calloused from the various string instruments he plays. Finds himself glancing at where Jaskier's tongue peeks out in concentration. He listens to the man's ramblings and hums his replies and comes to dislike the days when Vesemir isn't there and he has to focus all his attention on giving the girls a good practice. Not that he doesn't want to, it's just that having Jaskier at his back unnerves him.

-(Jaskier for his part doesn’t care at all about soccer, but he cares about Priscilla so he convinced her parents to let him take her; after that, she said it would be fine if he dropped her off and picked her up again, but Jaskier pretends he is super invested in the sport and the team and he is, but mostly he’s invested in charming Geralt)

-After an entire season of mutual pining and obliviousness, Tissaia decides she's had enough and rallies the other parents. She has Foltest organize a big party at his country house, has Nenneke promise to look after the girls (the woman doesn't drink) and has Crach whip out the finest spirits he has in storage. Calanthe makes a phenomenal playlist and it's Tissaia's job to get Geralt to the party (Jaskier's not a problem) and dress up nicely. Only Aridea, Renfri's stepmother, refuses to pitch in, but she's been a bitch anyway.

-When Geralt picks up Jaskier at his downtown flat he has to grip the wheel of his rover hard in order not to short-circuit. Jaskier has done something to his hair that Geralt can't name but that makes him go woozy inside. He wears a plain shirt that compliments his eyes and hugs his body just right and he looks high on life with color in his cheeks and the most dazzling smile. He's gorgeous. "Darling, don't you look dashing," Jaskier says excitedly and props his feet up on the dashboard, only after kissing Geralt on the cheek. Which is not fair. "Likewise," Geralt mutters, then blushes furiously. He didn't want that to come out, oh no. Jaskier either didn't hear or acts like it and they drive in silence to Foltest's country house. Well, aside from the songs Jaskier hums under his breath, some new composition no doubt.

-At first, Geralt thinks it's a nice enough party for someone who doesn't like parties. Foltest's grilling burgers, they all have cocktails, the music is mellow. Not that that stops Jaskier from swirling an already quite drunk Calanthe over the terrace in dazzling moves. Geralt wants to be swirled like that. "You really have it bad, don't you?" Crach comments when he notices Geralt staring. Geralt downs his beer (he's no cocktail drinker) and tries pointedly not to stare at how Jaskier's swinging his ass around.

-The buzz makes it easier and he relieves Foltest at the barbecue for a bit. But then Jaskier walks up to him, a little short on breath and grinning his most flirtatious little grin. It gives him fucking dimples. Sigh. "Hey you big strong man," Jaskier says. He smells like pineapple and coconut, but isn't even a little drunk. "Jask," he says, pointedly flipping a burger. "Foltest says he has an old karaoke machine in the shed, but it's too heavy for me. Help me?" - "...fine." Geralt gestures for Foltest to keep up with the meat and he and Jaskier make their way along a garden path that winds through thickets and by a small pond. The shed is painted blue and white and Geralt and Jaskier find it very much cluttered, but not dirty which is nice. Geralt only understands it's a trap when it's already sprung on them. The tiny click of the look is almost inaudible over Jaskier's anxious commentary of their search for the machine. There is only one small window and no light Geralt can see. Fuck.

-"Ehm, Jaskier?" he reaches out and gently touches Jaskier's shoulder which has the other man yelp and jump. Which doesn't bode well for what Geralt has to tell him. "I think we're trapped." The effect is immediate. Jaskier goes rigid, his breath catches. Is he afraid? Claustrophobic perhaps? Shit, so he can't be in on the joke. "Jask?" - "Geralt. I know we aren't the closest, but I need you to hold me right now." And he launches himself at Geralt. Maybe he is in on the joke? No, he's trembling too hard for that. Geralt catches him and does as asked. "I am absolutely going to die," Jaskier whines into Geralt's neck and Geralt can't help a small chuckle as he rubs Jaskier's back soothingly. This is... surprisingly nice for a trap. Also likely Tissaia's doing. Geralt has a rare idea. "What if I distract you until someone finds us?" he murmurs against Jaskier's hair and Jaskier draws back a little. In the half-dark his eyes glisten, widen when they meet Geralt's. "You would?" - "Close your eyes, Jaskier." Geralt feels a surge of daring, perhaps granted by the intimacy and seclusion of the situation. He catches Jaskier's lips with his own. When they part, Jaskier grins, shaking from something other than fear. "I thought you didn’t much like me," he whispers. "I thought I got on your nerves." - "Idiot." They kiss again and, faintly, Geralt can hear someone cheer from outside.

[get-your-fics]

Oh No!

Summary: You unexpectedly catch the eye of a psychopath when you stand up for yourself.

Pairing: Jerome Valeska x reader

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings: Non-con fingering, blood, reader is in high school but is 18, kidnapping, possessive behavior, language

A/N: happy halloween! this is a fic i had written a while back that i edited A LOT. hope you enjoy :)

"Score, Gotham, score! We want more!" you chanted along with your fellow cheerleaders at the top of your lungs, rustling your maroon and white pom poms to the rhythm. "Hit 'em where it hurts and knock 'em to the floor!"

The bus erupted in a series of whoops and hollers, the excitement for the upcoming game palpable in the air. The bus driver glared at the cheerleaders in the rearview mirror. "Sit down!" he shouted.

You did as you were told and returned to your seat, the other cheerleaders mimicking you. You sat closest to the aisle next to a girl named Isabella Green. She was relatively quiet and kept to herself, but your time on the squad together had opened her up to you, and you ended up becoming close friends over the years.

“Ready for the game to be over?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.

You playfully bumped your shoulder into hers. “Stop! It’s the last game of senior year. Try to enjoy it while it lasts?”

She forced out a wry laugh. “That’ll be hard to do with Peyton breathing down my neck.” She glared in the direction of the ruthless cheer captain loudly chatting with her friends at the front of the bus.

You opened your mouth to come to Peyton’s defense when the blare of a car horn cut you off. The bus lurched to a stop, nearly throwing you and Isabella out of your seat. You gripped the back of the seat in front of you to steady yourself. You whipped your head forward to look out the windshield and saw a red truck with the words “HEST OIL” on the side blocking the bus’s path. You rose slightly out of your seat and peered above the other confused cheerleaders’ heads to get a better look at what was going on.

Three figures piled out of the truck wearing white straitjackets. One of them scrambled to get the door on the driver’s side of the truck and yanked on the handle. It swung open, and he stood at attention as the final member of the group emerged from the truck.

A tall boy of about nineteen with fiery, red hair hopped out of the truck. Judging by the confidence he exuded and the way the others regarded him, it was clear he was the leader of their little group. You couldn’t help but notice that he was attractive. He had a boyish charm to him, but any appreciation you had for his appearance dissipated when his lips stretched into a menacing smile that sent shivers down your spine like ice had been poured down the back of your uniform.

As the four men made their way over to the bus, you seemed to realize at the same time the rest of your squad did who they were: the Maniax, the recently escaped inmates of Arkham Asylum who were wreaking havoc all over Gotham City. The footage of them mercilessly murdering people by throwing them off of a building had played nonstop on the news, so it was impossible not to recognize them.

The cheerleaders exchanged weary glances, and the unnerving silence that had fallen over the bus was pierced by hushed, frantic whispers. The redhead skipped over to the bus gleefully, spinning and sliding as he came to a stop in front of the glass door like a dancing child. He stared the bus driver dead in the eye as he tapped the gun in his hand against the glass in a signal for him to open the door.

Screams arose from the group once they realized exactly what kind of trouble they were in for, piercing your ears. You, on the other hand, had the complete opposite reaction: you became paralyzed, every muscle in your body freezing up as the gravity of the situation hit you like a freight train. You felt impossibly cold, and your mind could only comprehend five words: I am going to die.

Reluctantly, the bus driver gave in, his finger hovering over the button before eventually pressing it. You knew there wasn’t much else he could do, but you still couldn’t help but feel betrayed. The door opened with a rush of air, and a pleased grin spread across the redhead’s face.

He skipped up the steps and paused at the top of the stairs. He leaned down and swiftly seized the driver by his collar. He yanked him out of his seat and sent him hurtling down the stairs. He tumbled out of your view, but a second later, a gunshot rang outside, earning several yelps from the group. You flinched and squeezed your eyes shut tightly.

Panic spread throughout the bus like wildfire as cheerleaders leapt out of their seats. They rushed towards the different exits, shoving and pushing each other like animals. The redhead immediately put a stop to this behavior, however, by raising his gun in the air and firing one shot at the ceiling. The blast echoed throughout the interior of the bus, and everyone froze where they were. The attempted escapees slowly returned to their seats, watching him with fearful, anxious eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

The redhead grinned. "Ladies," he glanced at the few male cheerleaders, furrowing his brow, "and gentlemen," his momentary confusion subsided, and his eerie smile returned to his face, "stay where you are, or else that won't be the only time I shoot."

You swallowed the urge to scream and reached for Isabella’s shaky hand. She intertwined her fingers with yours, gripping tightly. You glanced at her face. Her eyes were red, and tears streamed down her cheeks, taking bits of mascara with them. Her glossy lips were pursed into a thin, quivering line, and you could tell she was choking back sobs. You gave her clammy hand a reassuring squeeze, although you were freaking out internally just as much she was.

The three other psychos boarded the bus and joined the redhead’s side. "Boys," he commanded, grinning out at the cheerleaders sinisterly, "cuff 'em."

The men smiled and stared at the group like predators stalking their prey. They went row by row, handcuffing cheerleaders to their seats while their hostages resisted the urge to protest, stifling sobs and weeping silently.

A man with untamed curly hair was the one to approach where you were sitting. He leaned over you to handcuff Isabella first before turning to you. When you didn’t offer him your hands, he roughly tugged on your wrists and chained them to the seat. You narrowed your eyes at him until they were slits. If looks could kill, he certainly would’ve been six feet under.

He pulled away from you and met your deadly gaze. His lips pulled back to form an evil grin, and you noticed with disgust that his teeth were yellow, sharpened points like a shark’s. It only lasted a second before he moved onto the next row in a flash, and you watched him go, your gut churning with revulsion.

You didn’t know what had changed within you, but suddenly you were no longer racked with anxiety. All you could feel now was disdain and hatred for these men, these murderers who were torturing you and your friends for their perverse enjoyment.

After everyone was handcuffed, two of the men exited the bus while the curly-haired one stayed alongside the redhead. He guarded the door to make sure no one else tried anything while the redhead stood at the front of the bus.

"I want you all to know," the redhead paced down the middle of the aisle, his footsteps loud like claps of thunder in the otherwise quiet bus, "this was a very difficult decision for us." He approached the seat where Peyton was cowering in the corner. "It was between you and a senior citizen bingo party."

He aimed his gun at her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her teeth sank into her lower lip so aggressively you thought she would split the skin, and you could tell she was trying her best to remain quiet. He pulled his gun away, chuckling at her reaction.

"In the end, we decided to skew a little younger.” He moved away from her and continued down the aisle like a shark circling the water. “Youth won the day. Sorry.” He faked an apologetic pout, although it didn’t seem sincere in the slightest. He returned to his place at the front of the bus and shouted, "Give me an O!"

Your brow furrowed in confusion. The cheerleaders jerked in their restraints, trying uselessly to break free. You thought you heard a few people plead, "Please, let us go!"

The amused expression dropped from the redhead's face, and he raised his gun to the ceiling again. He fired, the booming gunshot piercing the air and catching you off guard. Those around you shrieked before growing quiet.

"I said,” he gritted his teeth, “'give me an O!'"

"O!” you and the others repeated after him.

"Give me an N!”

"N!”

"Give me another O!" he cheered with imbued enthusiasm.

"O!” you stuttered out, your voice wavering and unreliable.

"What does that spell?" he asked, smiling wildly.

You all chanted together in unison, "Oh, no!”

The curly-haired man handed him a hose, which the redhead gladly took. A mysterious liquid spouted from the nozzle, and he aimed the stream at the cheerleaders in the seats closest to him. It took a second for the putrid odor to reach your nose, but when it did, you identified it as gasoline. Your eyes went wide as you realized his intentions.

He’s going to light the bus on fire.

The redhead walked up and down the aisle, dousing the entire bus in gasoline. He made sure to spray it directly in some people’s faces, delighting as they panicked and sputtered from being hit with the harsh blast head on. He sprayed the hose above your seat and those around you in a large arc, and drops splattered off the windows and falling down upon you like acid rain.

You found that the gasoline lubricated your hands just enough that when you contorted them (probably injuring them in the process), you were able to slip them out of the handcuffs. It took quite a bit of effort, but once you were freed, you hid your hands between your knees out of the redhead’s view. The skin around your wrists was red and raw from the metal cuffs digging into them.

You started to hastily throw together a plan in your mind. There had to be something you could do to save your friends. Escaping obviously wasn't an option; the curly-haired man was still standing guard at the door. Getting help wasn't a viable choice either, in case you alerted the redhead that you were free. The only thing there was left to do was to face the redhead straight on. Although you could be killed in the process, you would take your chances. It wasn’t like sitting there obediently would change that outcome anyway.

The redhead passed by your seat, and when his back was to you, you sprang up and launched yourself at him. You landed on his back, a cry falling from your parted lips. Your surprise attack threw him off balance, and he grasped at the backs of the seats around him to steady himself. The cheerleaders around you stared at you with wide eyes and slack jaws. You instinctively grabbed onto his hair, attempting to tear out tufts of red orange as you sunk your teeth into his neck without thinking. You felt the bared skin break and something wet seep out from around your teeth.

He yelled out in anguish as you marred his alabaster flesh. In one swift movement, he leaned forward, sliding you off of his back, and you hit the floor with a solid thud. Every bone in your body ached, and it felt like the wind had been knocked out of your lungs, leaving you gasping for air.

You groaned in pain, squeezing your eyes shut, and when you opened them, you were staring down the barrel of a gun. You raised your gaze a little higher and locked eyes with the redhead staring down at you.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the bus. You studied his angered expression, his tense brow and lips pulled back over his teeth in a sneer. But as quickly as it had appeared, his countenance softened into one of shock. You imagined what you must look like. The copper taste of his blood was still on your tongue and surely smeared across your lips like rouge, the same blood dribbling out of the bite on his neck and staining his otherwise pristine straitjacket.

You stared at each other for what felt like hours, like you were the only two people on the bus. Those around you held their breath, anxiously fidgeting and waiting in anticipation for what would happen next. Then, his lips slowly curled into a smile.

"You," he began slowly, "got out of your handcuffs, then had the audacity to attack me?"

You blinked at him. You didn’t get a chance to respond as manic, crazy laughter bubbled from his lips. You winced while the redhead doubled over, slapping his knee. The sound made your skin crawl, and from the looks on the faces of the cheerleaders around you, it had the same effect on them as well. He wiped away a stray tear rolling down his cheek as his cackling ceased. He shook his head at you, the gun still trained between your eyes.

"You, you are crazy. I like you already." He took a step closer and towered over you until his face was mere inches from yours. "You're coming with me, princess."

Before you had time to register the weight of his words, he wrapped his arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulder. He spun around and started marching towards the exit. You heard cries of your name, and you looked up to see Isabella staring after you with glassy eyes and trying to rise out of her seat.

Gasoline dripped down the stairs as the redhead hopped down them, forming a puddle on the pavement. You shrieked, beating your fists against his back and kicking wildly, although your assault didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. Once he was off the bus, he tossed the hose aside carelessly and set you down.

The second your feet touched the ground, you tried to run, but you barely got a step away from him before his arm snaked around your waist. He pulled your back flush against his chest and buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. You squirmed in his grip and clawed at his hold on you, but he remained strong and stoic like a sentinel. Your efforts were to no avail.

The other three men rejoined the redhead outside of the bus. Their brows wrinkled in confusion when they noticed that you were with him, but as he pulled out a lighter with his free hand, they quickly disregarded your presence. It was clear that he was the one in charge here.

"Ready? Okay!" The redhead held the lighter close to the gas on the steps. You twisted around in his arms and hid your face in his chest, not wanting to see the moment the gas caught fire.

"Don't worry, princess," his voice cooed right in your ear. "You get a front row seat to the light show!"

You whimpered in response. "Please, don't do this!"

He ignored you and continued to flick the lighter. When it still didn’t light, he huffed in frustration and looked at his friends. "This is so embarrassing," he muttered under his breath. He looked over at the bus. "Does anyone got a light?" He was met with screams in reply.

"I do!" a voice behind you said eagerly.

You spun around as the redhead did, and you saw that the voice had come from one of the members of the group, a man shorter than all the rest with a small stature and close-cropped hair that curled around his ears. He dug the lighter out of his pocket and held it out to him. There was a light in his eyes, like he was eager to please.

Just as the redhead was about to take the lighter from him, the wail of sirens caught their attention.

You turned your head to see three cars swerve into the parking lot and skid to a stop. Two of them were police cars, and you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope ignite inside of you. The sound of car doors slamming shut resounded in the lot as policemen got out of their vehicles, guns drawn.

"Stand your ground, boys.” The redhead’s lips curled into a smile as he and his friends got out guns of their own. “They can't shoot at the bus."

With that, all hell broke loose.

It was like open season as they shot at the cops, bullets ricocheting off of the cars’ metal exteriors and shattering the glass in the windows. The opposition could do nothing but watch, dodging bullets where they could.

“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" you heard a voice amongst the policemen shout.

You watched in horror as one man got hit in the chest and crumpled to the ground. You yelped and receded further into the redhead’s grip for protection.

"Aaron, Greenwood, go get the truck started,” the redhead instructed the curly-haired man and the last member of the group you had neglected to notice. He was tall, bald, and well-built, the features of his face set into a grim expression. “We're gonna blow this barbecue!"

The two men nodded firmly and hurried off. The redhead turned to address the smaller man from before but noticed a detective sneaking closer to the bus. He whipped around and aimed his gun at him. The detective ducked behind the car just in time to avoid the shot.

The redhead fired again and again until he pulled the trigger and nothing happened but a dull, hollow click. He clenched his jaw and dropped the empty gun to the ground. Twirling a finger in the air, he commanded, "Light 'em up!"

He retreated to the truck, dragging you with him. You kicked your legs in the air and released an ear-splitting scream from your throat. He picked up the hose and sprayed more gasoline at the bus, laughing that same eerie, hysterical laugh. It was rough and low, like it was stuck in his throat and resonating from his chest.

He grabbed onto the side of the truck as it drove away, leaving the smaller man behind to set the bus on fire. He banged the hose against the truck, his face contorted in an expression of perverse glee.

Once they were far enough away from the bus, the redhead yanked open the door to the truck and slid inside. You latched onto the frame of the open door and pulled against his arm around your waist. "Let go of me, you monster!"

He ripped you away from the frame and closed the door behind you. He easily maneuvered you like a doll so you were in between his body and the curly-haired man’s. You found yourself awkwardly squished between them in the cramped cab, along with the bald man who was driving the truck.

"This one's feisty," the redhead chuckled. "Greenwood, hand me some rope."

The curly-haired man did as he was told, and the redhead wrapped rope around your wrists and ankles, tying them in strong knots. "Let's hope you don't get out of these like you did with those handcuffs."

The curly-haired man leered at you, looking you up and down like you were something to eat. "Who's this?" His mouth twisted into a demented smile, and he placed his hand on your knee. You writhed, trying to get away from him, although you knew it was of no use with your hands and feet bound together.

The redhead slapped his hand off of your leg. The look on his face was oddly serious. "Touch her again, and I'll cut off your hand.” An animalistic growl rumbled deep in his chest.

Fear was evident in the curly-haired man’s eyes, but he played it off, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat.

You stared straight out the windshield, silently praying that you didn’t see a column of thick, black smoke rising into the sky. Your chin wobbled as you thought about your friends roasting alive, flames licking and devouring their skin as they screamed in agony. You imagined the stench of burning flesh permeating the air. A small tear escaped from the corner of your eye and rolled down your cheek. You hoped the policemen had found a way to stop the smaller man from lighting the bus in flames in time.

Suddenly, the redhead gasped, drawing your attention to him, and he brought his hand up to the fresh bite mark on his neck. He pulled his hand away and stared at the ruby red blood sticky like syrup coating his skin.

"I hope I'll get to bite you too, princess.” He smirked. "I'm Jerome. What's your name?"

You didn’t answer; instead, you spat at him.

Your saliva landed directly on his cheek. He flinched and wiped at it with his bloodied hand. He stared at the combination of his blood and your spit on his fingers almost as if he were mesmerized before sticking them in his mouth. He stared straight into your eye as he sucked on his fingers, moaning sensually.

You grimaced, recoiling in disgust. He removed his fingers from his mouth and laughed at your reaction. “You want a taste?” He held his hand out to you as if he was offering you a lick of his ice cream cone.

"You're disgusting," you hissed.

He cackled again, and the sound rattled your bones. "What's your name, princess?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. He stared at you until you eventually gave in and gave him your name.

He repeated it as if he was tasting it on his tongue. Then, he hummed thoughtfully. "I think I like princess better."

-

What felt like a very long car ride later, you found yourself in the middle of the Maniax’s secret lair. It was not what you had expected at all, not in the slightest. Instead of a dark, dingy cave or abandoned warehouse, the domestic terrorists resided in an upscale penthouse that was lavishly furnished and overlooked a beautiful view of the Gotham City skyline. Who knew insane asylum patients had such good taste in home decor?

You were greeted by two people when you got there: the first, a man dressed in an expensive, tailored suit with slicked-back, raven hair; and the second, a woman wielding a scary-looking whip wearing a black leather jumpsuit, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Neither of them looked happy to see you.

"We're back!" Jerome singsonged, skipping into the room and dragging you along behind him. He had undid the rope around your wrists and ankles, but his hand on your arm was heavy like a ball and chain.

"And unsuccessful.” A scowl settled over the mysterious man’s features. "After you fled the scene, Detective James Gordon knocked out Dobkins and moved the bus before any flames could catch. We had to assassinate Dobkins before he could expose us."

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding at hearing that your friends were alright, your eyes fluttering closed. Even though you were at the mercy of these maniacs, the knowledge that your friends were safe gave you the smallest sense of relief.

Beside you, Jerome’s jaw clenched, and his free hand curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. “I should’ve killed that idiot myself," he seethed.

"Who's this?" You opened your eyes to find the mysterious man’s on you. The weight of his gaze was heavy, as if he could see straight through you. If Jerome was a demon, this man was surely the devil.

"This," Jerome slung an arm over your shoulder and pulled you into his side, "is my girl, princess." He beamed like he was bringing a girl home to meet his parents for the first time.

The mysterious man’s frown deepened. "Jerome, you can't just go kidnapping innocent girls whenever you feel like it.”

"Oh, she's not innocent.” He chuckled and pointed to the bite mark on his neck. It was starting to scab over but still stood out like a brand on his ivory skin.

The mysterious man looked at the woman next to him brandishing the whip like they were communicating telepathically. The woman turned to you, and with a flick of her wrist, the leather of her whip was coiled around your throat.

Your eyes went wide, and your lips fell open, but no air passed between them. Your hands automatically shot up to grip onto the whip, but it slipped between your fingers like the scales of a snake. She tugged on the other end of the whip, and you were yanked out of Jerome’s arms. The whip constricted around your throat, and a squeak escaped your lips as you fought to breathe.

A look of pure, unadulterated panic came over Jerome’s face. "Stop!" He froze for a second, unsure of what to do, until in a split second decision he reached for the bald man’s gun. He snatched it from him and pressed the barrel against his head. "If she goes, I go. And you need me.”

You watched the mysterious man’s countenance slowly crumble as his gaze flickered back and forth between you and Jerome, questioning just how valuable he was to this little team.

"I swear to God, I'll do it," Jerome threatened and cocked the gun for extra emphasis. His tone was even, and his hand was steady.

Your hearing grew muffled, and your lungs burned from a lack of air, collapsing in on themselves like a house of cards. The mysterious man gave the woman another meaningful look. She hesitated, but just as gray spots started to dance across your vision, she retracted the whip. Without the whip to hold you up, you fell forward, but before you could hit the ground, Jerome caught you in his arms.

You heard the gun clatter on the ground next to you; Jerome must’ve dropped it in order to catch you. Your throat felt impossibly dry and sore as you gasped for air. You coughed and wheezed, tears springing in the corners of your eyes.

You felt Jerome raking his hands through your hair. You wanted to push him away, but you were too weak. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you,” he assured you.

The woman with the whip glared at the mysterious man. He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let the boy have his fun. Maybe he’ll be more focused when he’s gotten it out of his system.” He shifted his gaze to Jerome. “If she gets in the way, I won’t tell her to stop next time.”

He walked away, the soles of his dress shoes slapping against the tile. The woman with the whip shot you and Jerome on the floor one last scalding glance before she followed after him.

Jerome watched them go with something akin to madness tainting his gaze, but it all melted away when he looked at you. He kneeled at your side and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Are you alright, princess?”

When you managed to recover somewhat and regain your breath, you swatted at his hand in your hair. “Don’t touch me.” Your voice was too hoarse, and what you meant to be a firm protest came out more like a whimper from a kicked dog.

The look of concern on his face disappeared at your words, and a grin took its place. “Sounds like you’re just fine.”

He jumped to his feet and grabbed your hands, roughly pulling you off the floor. In one fluid motion, he threw you over his shoulder again. “Princess and I are going to be spending some much needed bonding time together.” He started in the direction of the stairs. “Don’t disturb us!”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you heard a voice laced with sarcasm say. You looked up to meet eyes with a woman who had curly, blonde hair. She wrinkled her nose at you as Jerome passed by her.

You didn’t bother retaliating this time around as he carried you up the stairs. All the energy had been sucked out of you from your earlier escape attempts and near death experience. He walked down a hallway and kicked one of the doors open. He stepped inside, and only when you heard the lock turn on the closed door behind you did he finally put you down.

You righted yourself and stepped out of his grasp, choosing to observe the room instead. It was rather plain, the only pieces of furniture a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The walls were bare, and there were no decorations to bring life into the dull room, nothing to make it seem like a place someone actually resided in, like whoever slept here was only doing so temporarily.

"Welcome to my humble abode!" Jerome spread his arms out wide and gestured to the room. "It's no Palace of Versailles, but it's a lot better than the trailer at the circus or a cell in Arkham."

So this was where you were to be held captive during your stay here, however long that may be. It suddenly became apparent to you that there was no guarantee that you would live long. It was only a matter of time before Jerome grew bored of playing with you and disposed of you like an old toy or those two people downstairs thought you too much a liability. Your thoughts quickly drifted to your friends and your family. You wondered if they had started searching for you, although you knew whether or not they did, there was no way they’d be able to find you. At least, not alive.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as Jerome circled you like a shark who smelled blood in the water, the look in his eyes scarily intense. “I want you to tell me what you’re thinking, princess.”

It was hard to look him in the eye. “Who were those people downstairs?”

He quirked a brow. “You mean Tabitha and Theo?” Figuring that's who they were, you nodded. “Our benefactors and generous hosts. They’re the ones who broke us out of Arkham.”

So that explains the fancy penthouse. Although, you wondered what two clearly wealthy and established yet inarguably unhinged people like them had in store for the inmates and, most of all, where you fit into it all.

“But I know that’s not what you really wanted to ask me.” His pace was relentless, circling around and around like a never ending spiral. “What’s been on your mind since you first got here.”

You did have a burning question on your mind, a question that had been nagging at you for a while, but you hadn’t been able to voice it out loud. Mostly because you were scared of the answer.

“Why me?” Your voice sounded so small. “Why take me in the first place?” He could’ve killed you a long time ago for disobeying his orders, and yet he chose time and time again to keep you around.

He laughed as if you had said something funny. He stopped in front of you. “Because, princess,” he reached out to caress your cheek, and you flinched as his hand made contact with your skin, “there’s a spark inside of you. You’re brave and fearless.” He swiped his thumb across your cheekbone almost tenderly. “I admire that about you.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. In a momentary burst of rage, you pressed your hands against his chest and shoved him back as far as you could (which wasn’t very far). “Fuck you!” Your voice resonated off of the empty walls.

He barely stumbled back a step, unfazed by your anger. “Only if you’ll do the honors.” He winked smoothly.

You raised your arms to strike at him again, but before you could even get one blow in, his hands wrapped around your wrists like handcuffs. He guided you backwards until the backs of your knees met the bed. But he didn’t stop there. Your eyes went wide as your back met the mattress and he landed on top of you. Any strength you had left was gone, and his weight on top of you knocked the wind out of you.

He pinned your hands above your head, his face inches from yours. “None of that.” The tip of his nose brushed against yours. “Or do I have to remind you that your life is in my hands now?”

You blinked back tears. “Please,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

He shushed you, his eyes fluttering closed before closing the gap between your lips. The kiss was surprisingly soft and gentle. He moved his lips against yours, although you remained immobile like stone. You briefly contemplated kneeing him in the groin, but you didn’t want to push him past the point of inflicting pain on you.

As if he knew what you were thinking, he kneed your legs open and pinned your thighs down with his knees. He adjusted so he was holding your wrists in one hand, his other hand going to rest on your jaw. It moved down your neck, over your collarbone, to grope your breast through your uniform. You gasped, and he seized the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. His thumb brushed over your nipple, massaging it into a stiffened peak.

He rolled his hips against yours, groaning into your mouth. You felt his hard length straining against the confines of his pants press against you, and it was like alarm bells went off in your head. His hand on your breast moved down to flip up the skirt of your uniform, baring your lacy panties to him.

He disconnected your lips to admire them. “A little scandalous for a cheerleader, don’t you think?” His fingers ghosted over your clothed core, and your hips involuntarily bucked against his hand. “Unless you were wearing them for someone?”

There was a jealous glint in his eye as he stared down at you, rubbing your folds through your underwear. All you could respond with, however, was “Stop.”

He sighed. “It’s always the same: ‘get away from me, let go, don’t touch me.’ But I know what you really want.”

He slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear and pressed them between your folds. You took a sharp intake of breath; his fingers were cold against your hot flesh. He spread your lips, and you heard the telltale sound of your arousal as he spread your wetness around your slit.

He bummed in contentment. “Just as I thought: you’re soaking wet.” He kissed your neck, and you could feel his cocky smile against your skin. He looked up at you. “Is all this for me?”

You didn’t dignify him with an answer. You tried to close your legs, but it was impossible with his knees holding you down. He gathered the wetness leaking out of your entrance before pressing his fingers into you. You hissed at the intrusion as he stretched you open.

“Although, maybe it would be fun to watch you fight back.” He smirked. “I can tell you want to.” He moved so his face took up your entire field of vision. “Go on. Give it your best shot.”

Your muscles seized up, unsure if this was a trap or not. Meanwhile, his fingers continued to move inside of you, in and out, in and out until you grew accustomed to the size of his thick fingers.

“Or maybe you’re enjoying it too much to try and stop me,” he teased you.

You knew he was pressing your buttons on purpose, trying to get a rise out of you, but it didn’t stop you from reacting. With both your hands and legs secured, it left you with a limited amount of options. But you took your chances anyway and, as fast as you could, smashed your forehead into his nose.

He grunted and reeled back. You felt something wet hit your face, and when he looked back down at you, you saw blood dripping from his nose. You wondered if you had broken it or not. Despite the injury you had caused him, the grin on his face was wider than ever.

“That was a good try.” He cackled. “Now, it’s my turn.”

He leaned down and sank his teeth into your neck.

A scream was ripped from your throat as a white hot, burning pain spread from your neck to your nerve endings. You felt the skin snap under the pressure of his teeth. He held you there, like you were a dead bird caught in the jaws of a lion. It felt like he was trying to tear your throat out.

He retracted from you, licking your blood from his teeth. “Now we’re even.”

His thumb flicked at your clit, and you yelped. He started tracing gentle circles over the sensitive nub while his fingers still thrust into you. You lifted your head (ignoring the shooting pain in your neck) just enough to watch his pale fingers disappear in and out of you again and again. He twisted his wrist slightly as he pulled them out almost all the way only to plunge them back in. You clamped down on the appendages violating you.

“You must not hate it that much with the way you’re strangling my fingers,” he gloated.

You thought back to the living room when you had the whip wrapped around your throat, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. Surely that tightness had been more bearable and less mortifying. Part of you wished the mysterious man hadn’t told her to stop just to spare you from this torture.

You wanted to shoot him a glare, but he curled his fingers so they brushed against your inner walls, and a pathetic mewl fell from your lips instead. You collapsed back against the bed, failing to bite back your moans as you let the pleasure consume you. You felt that familiar tightening in your gut and cursed yourself for reacting to him this way. Warmth spread from your core to your fingertips, and your toes curled as your orgasm hit you.

Your pussy fluttered around his fingers, and Jerome leaned down to kiss you. You could taste your blood on his tongue mingling with the blood still oozing from his nose. He didn’t stop fingering you through your high. He didn’t even stop fingering you after your head came down from the clouds, still mercilessly stroking your clit. It wasn’t until you whined from the oversensitivity did he laugh and have the decency to remove his hand from you.

He let go of your hands and moved off of your thighs, but you were too worn out from your orgasm to move. He kneeled on the bed next to you and stared at his fingers glistening with your juices. He stuck them in his mouth and slurped it off, moaning as he did so.

You had enough strength to turn your head away from him. A cold hand on your jaw forced you to look back at him. His face was startlingly close to yours.

“You’re mine, my princess.” He traced the bite on your neck with the pad of his finger, and you cried out at the twinge of pain that shot through you as a result. “And now everyone will know it.”

You stared up at him, eyes glassy, the only thought in your mind that you were in deep, deep trouble.

-

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Tags: @ckatattack​ @bamposworld​ @verysleepy1​

[spencers-renaissance]

tell me how to balance my coins

Summary: When Spencer falls down the stairs one morning he decides not to tell anyone, his insecurities about not being enough winning out. Too bad insecurities don't matter when they end up trekking through miles of barren land on a search and rescue mission, and his injuries finally become too much. The team knows exactly how to make it better.

Tags: hurt!spencer, whump, hurt/comfort, hiding medical issues, insecurity, angst with a happy ending, fluff, team as family TW: self-esteem issues

Pairing: GEN / Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Set in S1 but there's no Gideon because he didn't really fit the plot, so it's just the five other field agents here. This entire fic was inspired by this post by @i-write-whump so credit goes to them for the premise! Title from this poem by Zahraa Surtee <3

Maybe it’s embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. Spencer runs headfirst into dangerous situations every day, puts his life on the line repeatedly and escapes unscathed more often than not, but his nemesis this time is the single flight of stairs in his apartment building he descends each morning.

He’s later than he usually is, and already feeling a little flustered from both his toaster and coffee machine breaking, leaving him with a cup of instant coffee and an overripe banana from breakfast, which only makes the situation worse. As if lying sprawled out in a public stairwell wasn’t bad enough. He gingerly pulls himself up, catching a glimpse of a “Caution: Wet Floor” sign he somehow missed, and winces as pain floods his body.

His ankle is screaming at him, throbbing and burning, and for a moment Spencer has to close his eyes against the gut-wrenching pain of a twisted ankle flaring up his calf. A couple of thankfully undisturbed minutes later, the pain eases enough for him to open his eyes and inspect the damage. It’s already swelling slightly, and he’s certain he’ll be covered in bruises by tonight if the aching of his entire body is anything to go by.

For a brief moment he considers calling Derek or Penelope or someone else on his team; maybe even calling in sick, but he quickly pushes that thought away. It’s not embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. It’s a good cover story to keep him from addressing the real reason, but it isn’t the truth.

The truth is that the only time he ever feels valuable is when he’s contributing to a case. That cruel voice in the back of his head will waste no time in piping up, telling him how worthless he is, what a burden his friends see him as, how insignificant he is to the team if he doesn’t suck it up and head into work.

Fighting back the tears burning hot behind his eyes with ardent determination, he drags himself up by the stair handrail until he’s upright. His ribs ache and his ankle burns something fierce, but he compartmentalises it, breathing deeply and taking a few tentative steps, one at a time until he’s limping towards the train station.

The moment he walks into the bullpen, JJ grabs his elbow. “You’re just in time, Spence,” she says, marching towards the briefing room with a pace Spencer can’t quite keep up with. “We have a new case. Rural Kentucky.”

Everyone’s already seated at the round table, and no matter how much he tries to disguise his limp, putting far too much weight on his battered ankle, he can’t get it past a room full of profilers.

“Hey, pretty boy, you alright? You’re limping.” Derek’s tone is light, carrying the cadence of joking banter, but he can see the concern in his eyes, and that’s just unacceptable. He can’t have people worrying about him: he’s not worth their pitied looks or vapid attempts at comfort, especially not when they have a far more important case to be focusing on.

He slips into a seat, and manages to conceal a wince at the movement of his ankle swinging forward. “Oh, uh, I just stubbed my toe pretty hard on the way in.” It’s not convincing even to his own ears, but luckily it’s enough of a time-sensitive case for JJ to barrel on regardless, drawing everyone’s worried glances away from him and towards the board full of grizzly crime scene photos.

Even though he’s been on the team for close to three years now, he still feels like the new kid. Elle is newer than him, but she’s still far more confident in her place on the team than he is. He suspects that’s probably because someone like Elle doesn’t have trouble fitting in anywhere. It’s never been quite that easy for Spencer.

Pushing his insecurities aside like he always has to do in these meetings, he reads the case file thoroughly before offering his own contributions. The unsub is snatching young women from bars and clubs and holding them for weeks before leaving them to succumb to the elements in the rural countryside of Kentucky. With a missing woman and the expected deadline for the unsub dumping her fast approaching, they don’t waste any time in boarding the jet and flying the short way to West Kentucky.

It’s a short enough flight that there’s no time for personal conversation — no time for Derek (or anyone else for that matter) to confront him about his blatant lie and obvious injury — since they spend the whole journey discussing the case. Thankfully, throwing himself head first into theories and hypotheses keeps his mind off the pain a bit, but he can’t fully keep it from bothering him.

He’s just thankful that he has enough experience in disguising his true emotions that no-one’s attention is drawn to him by poorly hidden winces.

They dive straight into the investigation when they arrive at the sheriff’s station, everyone laser focused on finding Marissa Williams. By mid-afternoon, though, Spencer’s gritting his teeth as he forces himself to persevere through the pain despite it increasing incrementally every hour, and he curses himself for not being able to dedicate 100% of himself to the case. If he can’t help everyone find this woman, then what is he good for? His stomach twists at the thought.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on, Spence?” Derek asks him as it approaches 4pm, cornering him at the coffee machine.

Spencer looks around as subtly as he can for an escape, but he quickly succumbs to his fate. “I’m fine, Derek,” he promises. It’s so far from the truth he wants to cry.

The concern in Derek’s eyes only intensifies at that. “Seriously? You’ve been quiet this whole case, I catch you wincing when you think no-one’s looking, and you’re still limping. A stubbed toe wouldn’t do that, kid, and you know it.”

He sighs, knowing the jig is up. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Derek.” He’s not sure it’s the truth, but it’s close enough to it that it doesn’t bring burning tears to the backs of his eyes.

Derek’s about to say something when JJ calls out for him. They both turn to look at her, Spencer feeling relief flood his chest, while Derek’s expression quickly morphs into one of frustration, sighing heavily as he curls his hands into tight fists.

“This isn’t over,” he says, levelling him with a serious look before walking back over to JJ, leaving Spencer to stir his bitter coffee in peace. It definitely doesn’t make him want to cry.

They finally get a break in the case at nightfall, a call on the tip line combined with their profile leading them to a secluded wooded area down by a small river. Knowing there’s nothing more for them to do at the office, Hotch gathers them all up, insisting they join the search party to find the poor, beaten woman currently suffering exposure, awaiting their rescue.

Spencer’s heart sinks as everyone gathers their equipment, and he’s almost relieved when Derek speaks up.

“Reid can’t go,” he insists to Hotch, only barely in earshot of Spencer. If he doesn’t go out in the rescue party, then he’s still served his purpose hasn’t he? He helped with the profile that narrowed down the area she’s likely to be in, he worked the case until this point, he can rest and still be worth something. Right?

Besides, it’s not exactly like he can don the heavy walking boots everyone else is pulling on. If he goes out, he’ll have to wear the same loafers that have been squeezing his swelling joint all day, and that’s hardly going to work. Hotch will let him stay back, and for once, he’ll accept the rest he’s offered.

His hope is quickly dashed. “We need all the manpower we can get,” Hotch says, clearly distracted in the same way he has been throughout the entire case. Spencer likes his boss but he has a tendency to wear blinkers when on a job, not noticing anything that doesn’t pertain to the ultimate solution. “He’ll be fine.”

Derek sighs again, clearly frustrated.

“I’ll be fine,” he says as Derek comes over to sit with him, not sure who he’s trying to convince. His ankle is still burning in pain. The last time he checked it, it was bruised and swollen, tender to the touch. It’s nothing short of a nasty sprain.

“You stick close to me, Spencer. I mean it.”

He can’t help the small smile that crosses his face, genuine happiness warming his heart at the concerned protectiveness of his friend. “Sure, Derek,” he says softly.

The pleasant temperature of the mid-Spring day drops to almost freezing as the sun sets, the moon and stars taking over the clear night sky. Even Spencer’s thickest coat isn’t enough to keep him from practically vibrating with the force of his shivers as they trek across the miles of terrain, staying as quiet as possible to listen for anything that could indicate their victim’s whereabouts. They’re spread out a little, but for the most part they all walk reasonably close together, the beams of their torches criss-crossing as they fight their way through the windy countryside.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple of hours into the search and rescue mission that a call crackles over the radio, telling them that Marissa had been found, beaten and weak but alive. Spencer can’t even bring himself to feel any kind of victory or relief, nothing being able to penetrate the haze of pain he’s in. Everyone else chatters happily enough as they converge back together for his silence to go mostly unnoticed.

His obscurity doesn’t last long, though.

“Are you ever gonna tell us what happened to your foot, Spence?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow at Spencer’s heavy limping and Derek’s worried hovering. By the second mile of their walk, Spencer had given up trying to hide the limp, instead focusing on gritting his teeth and breathing through the pain as it flares up his leg.

She’s clearly voicing what everyone else is thinking, judging by their worried expressions. Part of him wants to give in and tell the team, but the part that wants to continue to hide his embarrassment away, the part riddled with fear and insecurity wins out. He stubbornly shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. In the kind of terrible timing so emblematic of the life of Spencer Reid, in the short second he has his eyes closed he manages to stumble into a small divot in the ground, and he trips, twisting his ankle all over again as he falls down.

His vision whites out, the pain suddenly all-consuming, punching nausea through his stomach and he can’t help the cry he lets escape as he lays helplessly in the grass.

“Spencer!”

Derek crouches next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he checks him over frantically, and Spencer can’t help but lean up into it, craving the kind of comfort he can only get from his best friend. Hotch joins them quickly as JJ and Elle stand close enough to offer support without crowding him.

“That’s it, Spencer,” Hotch says firmly, blinkers well and truly off by now, “you need to tell us what’s going on.”

As the blinding pain slowly fades into something minutely more bearable, Spencer forces his eyes open to face the team. “I fell down the stairs this morning,” he finally admits, sullen and teary. “Pretty sure I sprained my ankle.”

Hotch wastes no time in gently rolling his trouser leg up, exposing his ruined loafers and the bruised, swollen joint to the torches of his teammates. Derek audibly winces as he positions himself behind Spencer, supporting his back as his tired, aching body starts to collapse.

Hotch levels him with a stern glare after he finishes his tender inspection of his ankle. “Spencer, it was incredibly irresponsible to hide something like this. You not only put yourself in danger, but you put the rest of the team at risk, too—”

He doesn’t get any further in his lecture before the tears he’s been holding back all day, finally spill over and a dry, sudden sob, his bruised and aching rib cage heaving as he starts to unravel at the seams. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Softening immediately, Hotch puts his leg down gently and shuffles closer, taking Spencer’s hand in his. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry for yelling,” he says soothingly, watching as Spencer presses closer into Derek’s hold. “You’re not in trouble, I’m just worried about you, Spencer. Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt?”

He squeezes his eyes closed again: it’s as much dignity as he can hope for when his face is crumpling and he’s sobbing on the cold, hard ground as it nears midnight. “I just… I just wanted to be worth something.” It’s an admission he’ll regret later, he already knows that, but he’s so so tired and all he wants is the comfort that only his team can provide.

Derek pulls him into an even tighter hug before anyone can react, holding him against his chest fiercely while his hand plays gently with his hair. “Spencer, you are worth something whether you’re injured or fully intact, you hear me? We’d love you with a broken leg, with a bad case of the flu, if you quit the team tomorrow and decided to never work again. But most importantly, we love you now, kid. No matter what. Nothing can change that, alright?”

“He’s right, Spence,” JJ says softly, sinking to the ground along with Elle. “I know you think we only tolerate you because of your brain and what you bring to the table on a case, but you’re so much more than that. We love your nerdy rambles and your awkward waves and the way you love so openly and protectively, no matter how many times you’ve been hurt before. We love everything about you, Spencer.”

“Yeah, if you’re hurt, Reid, we wanna know,” Elle chimes in, sounding a little hesitant as the one who’s known him the shortest amount of time, but firm in what she’s saying nonetheless. “I know I haven’t been on the team that long but this is a group of people that watches out for one another, that supports each other, that builds everyone up leaving no person behind. That includes you, Spencer Reid, even when you don’t feel like it.”

“Everyone is right, Spencer,” Hotch says softly, still holding his cold and shaking hand protectively in his gloved one. “I’m just sad that you still prioritise your work over your own health. You are not this job. You are an incredibly talented and multi-faceted person that oftentimes needs a little TLC, and until you’re willing and able to do that for yourself, we’ll be here to do it for you, okay?”

Tears are streaming down his face as he nods, feeling warmer than he has all day despite the cold dark night they’ve found themselves in. The strangest part about it all is that he’s actually starting to believe them. It’s not like they haven’t all said similar things before, but hearing them all vehemently corroborating each other’s stories, hearing it all laid out in front of him as they promise him with earnest expressions that they’re telling the truth is doing something to shift the leaden weight of insecurity and low self-esteem that presses on his chest each and every day.

“Now, come on,” Derek says. “Let’s get back to base and I’ll go with you to the hospital to get you checked out, make sure it’s nothing more than a sprain.”

He shifts behind Spencer, using his already firm hold on his waist to help gently pull him up to a standing position, taking most of his weight as Spencer whimpers at the pain that swiftly reignites at the movement.

Derek turns around and bends at the knees slightly as Spencer leans on Hotch, before looking over his shoulder, his signature grin returning. “Hop on, pretty boy.”

“What— Derek! I’m way too heavy!”

Everyone immediately breaks out in amused laughter, even Hotch chuckling fondly.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Come on, Spencer, you’ve gotta weigh what, like, 140lbs? 150? You can’t exactly walk on that ankle anymore and it’s the only way we’re getting back without calling for a search and rescue team of our own.”

“Reid, I’m pretty sure I could give you a piggy-back ride,” Elle points out, raising her eyebrows. “Just let him carry you back.”

Let us take care of you is implicit enough in everyone’s words and expressions that it doesn’t really need to be said, but Spencer hears it anyway.

Hotch helps him up onto Derek’s back and they begin the long trek towards the search and rescue base, and Spencer’s never appreciated the easy banter they all share more. Hotch is visibly relaxed with the case solved and his youngest team member soon to be taken care of, so he joins in with the conversation, his light and happy expression that he only ever wears around his family or the team on rare days and nights off, replacing his focused frown.

Spencer clings on tightly to Derek and presses his face into the space between his neck and his shoulder, closing his eyes as he listens to the conversation, the vibration of Derek’s laugh and the shameless flirting between Elle and JJ taking his mind off the pain that throbs in his ankle with each step Derek takes.

When they finally get back to base, they all gather round the ambulance that’s been designated to take Spencer and Derek to the hospital.

JJ steps forward to give him a hug first. “Love you, Spence. Let us know what they say, okay?”

Hotch surprises him by stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug as well, forgoing the macho pats on the back for a short but close embrace that feels fatherly enough for tears to prick the back of Spencer’s eyes. “We all love you, Spencer. Remember that okay. And actually listen to what the doctors tell you. Morgan, you’re my eyes and ears.”

“Well now I want a hug, too,” Elle says dramatically, squeezing him in a tight embrace for just a moment before stepping back, lining up with JJ and Hotch to present a united front of people on his side.

“We’ll see you both in the morning,” Hotch says as the paramedic starts prepping for the journey, moving Spencer onto the gurney and rolling him in.

“Hope they don’t keep you too long!” JJ calls just as the doors close, making them both chuckle.

Derek takes his hand in both of his, staying out of the paramedic’s way as she quickly places a line of mild painkillers before sitting back, knowing that there’s not anything more she can do for Spencer until they get to the hospital.

Derek must see the anxious look on Spencer’s face, because he’s quick to reach a hand out and brush his cheek gently. “Hey, I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not gonna leave you on your own, okay? You’ll be alright, pretty boy, you’re gonna be just fine. I promise.”

And on the flight home the next morning he realises that Derek’s promise was kept. He’s fitted out with a crutch and a temporary wrapping around his ankle, resting comfortably with his head in Derek’s lap while his foot sits elevated on a pile of cushions carefully built by JJ, surrounded by people who swear up and down that they love him while proving it to him in a thousand little ways, and he’s really not sure it gets any more alright than that.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

[goodlucktai]

Hi! I love your works! 71 + 72 for Luffy and Jinbei?

PROMPTS LIST

71. “I’m going to protect you.”

smile again

x

As a watchdog journalist, Jinbei's work takes him everywhere. He isn't always in the best position to receive phone calls. Sometimes, depending on what story his group decides to chase after and what far-flung corner of the world it leads them to, Jinbei goes weeks without internet access.

By the time he gets news of the accident, Luffy has been out of the hospital for a month and Ace has been dead just as long.

Jinbei has to go home.

His colleagues-- a group of solid, hard-working people he's known for going on twenty years, has worked with on the field and off, in smoke and fire and claustrophobic office spaces-- are entirely understanding.

Tiger drives him to a small airport, the truck bouncing along a bumpy gravel road. There's a single, hastily-packed duffel in the bed of the pickup. Jinbei isn't even sure what he shoved in there, having only made one mindless pass through his room. He would have left without his passport if Hatchan hadn't shoved it into his hands on his way out the door.

"It may be time for me to retire," Jinbei says aloud. His mind is ebbing and rising like a tide, a vast ocean of grief. Thoughts go bobbing away like loose buoys before he can get a grasp on them.

All he can think of is the last video-call he made home, over a month ago now. Ace and Luffy, pressed cheek-to-cheek so they'd both fit in-frame, competitive in all things and unwilling to take turns, even as Jinbei laughingly promised he had plenty of time to talk.

They made him promise to call again soon. He meant to.

"Don't worry about us over here," Tiger says. His eyes are on the road, hands tight around the steering wheel. He carries Jinbei's grief like it's his own. "Just worry about your boy."

His boy, Jinbei thinks. Not by blood or by law, certainly, but by something less quantifiable than that. Those scrappy kids that spilled into his yard one muggy summer evening, hiding in the hedges from their well-antagonized CPS caseworker and somehow claiming a piece of Jinbei's heart from the moment he first laid eyes on them.

Ace was so angry back then, and Luffy was so easily frightened, and they clung to each other in a practiced way, as if they were so used to the world trying to claw them apart that they didn't expect anything else, even from a perfect stranger. They didn't seem to know what to do with kindness. Ace watched Jinbei like a hawk for weeks, long after Luffy warmed up to him. His trust, when he finally gave it, felt like a prize.

Jinbei was working long, unpredictable hours, and knew it wouldn't be fair to drag two children into his household if he couldn't afford them the time and care they deserved-- but after school? Weekends? Holidays? Those he gave up freely.

His days gained some semblance of routine again, for the fist time since he finished college. His kitchenware came down from the cupboard, the pockmarked kitchen table was often set for three. He made dinner at home, more than he ate in the office with his colleagues.

Hell, his colleagues ate dinner with him at home more often, too. Within an hour of meeting the boys, each of Jinbei's friends, to a man, would have taken a bullet for either of them, no questions asked.

The sense of structure did wonders for the brothers. With a safe place to return to when they needed it, and someone to fall back on, Ace stopped looking at every potential foster home as if it was a threat. Luffy came out of his shell, bolder with each new day. He made a friend in the village, a boy with vivid green eyes, and they hardly spent a moment apart.

They were finally placed with a couple who lived nearby. Shanks was wry and good-natured, and Benn had the patience of a saint. After a few weeks, when Jinbei asked how they were settling in, his worries were soothed: Luffy clearly adored them, and even Ace grudgingly admitted they weren't so bad.

And when the time came, and Ace applied for emancipation as well as custody of his brother, he had a small army in his corner. A patchwork family collected in little bits and pieces, ready to support him through anything.

"I will always be here for you both," Jinbei had promised him, countless times. "You'll never be alone as long as I'm alive."

"Thank you," Ace said, a little bashful. But he was so pleased, and so full of hope for the future, and he said, "I'll feel better, knowing someone's around to look after Luffy if I can't."

He immediately got shouted down by his entire strange extended pseudo-family for daring to suggest they'd ever let anything happen to him, and it made him laugh so brightly, and now the memory sticks like needles in Jinbei's throat.

Tiger hugs him hard before Jinbei boards the plane. In the back of his mind, where there is a tiny corner free from drowning, Jinbei can't help but wonder when he'll see his friend again.

He keeps thinking of that last video call. He can't remember everything they talked about. He doesn't think he said enough. He almost certainly didn't tell Ace everything he deserved to hear. Foolishly, he assumed there would be another time.

He's learned from this. He won't take it for granted any more.

"Call me when you land," Tiger says. "Give the monkey our love."

"I will," Jinbei replies. His heart is so heavy he doesn't know how he manages the steps onto the plane. He doesn't know how the pilot manages to lift them up from the tarmac. It's a wonder they aren't sinking, straight through the earth.

Nami and Usopp are waiting for him at the airport, wide-awake even though it's well past two o'clock in the morning. They're familiar to Jinbei from the stories Luffy has told him, from the numerous video calls they've bullied their way into over the years, and the handful of birthdays and holidays Jinbei was able to make it home for.

"Luffy wanted to come with us to pick you up, but he fell asleep," Usopp says, apropos of nothing, as they're waiting for their Uber. "Sanji said it was a small miracle, and Zoro looked like he was going to hunt us for sport if we even thought about waking him up, so--"

"He hasn't been sleeping, then?" Jinbei asks quietly.

"After he came home, he was on some pretty heavy meds, and he slept a lot," Nami says. Her arms are folded tight against her chest in the nighttime chill, her eyes trained somewhere far away. "But he had bad dreams and he would wake up disoriented. Now he fights sleep tooth and nail."

"We've all sort of become the insomnia squad," Usopp pipes up. "Thank god I'm not taking any classes this summer."

"Sanji's gotten really good at making lattes," Nami adds with a small smile. "Wait till you see his shiny new espresso machine."

"I'm like eight-five percent sure he stole it from the Baratie."

Jinbei listens to their chatter, feeling at once anchored by them and adrift at sea. It makes sense that they would be ahead of him. They've been here all this time, practically from the moment of the accident, facing it with all the bravery and endurance of sailors in a typhoon. Jinbei, meanwhile, had been living in an unchanged world.

For the last month, Ace has been dead. How many times had Jinbei thought about him? Mentioned him to a friend? How many times had Jinbei wrongly said his name in the present-tense?

The house is warmly-lit when they arrive, but quiet. An old blue Irish wolfhound greets them at the door, wagging his tail. Robin looks up from the papers she has spread out on the coffee table and smiles. Chopper is fast asleep beside her, his head on her shoulder. Behind them, Jinbei can see Sanji at work in the kitchen, shaping dough. Something is baking that smells of cinnamon and apples.

They weren't kidding about their sleep schedules being a mess.

"Hello, Jinbei. It's good to see you," Robin says. Her voice is soft, in deference to the sleeping teenager. "Luffy is asleep, but you can see him if you like."

"Please," Jinbei replies hoarsely.

"I'll take him," Nami says. "Usopp, would you bring his bag to the guest bedroom?"

"'Course," Usopp replies, but he makes a detour into the kitchen first.

Nami takes Jinbei's hand and leads him toward the stairs. "I feel really stupid about this, but I was so angry at you," she admits as they make their way up. "It's hardly the first time we haven't been able to contact you, and I know why that is. But-- I don't know, I think I was going crazy. I wanted Luffy to have everything he wanted. I wanted everyone who loved him to be here every time he woke up. So I-- so there might be some angry emails waiting for you, but please don't hate me for it."

"I won't even read them," Jinbei promises gravely, his heart cleaved clean in two. "I can't imagine how-- how hard it must have been. I-- if I had gotten the messages sooner-- "

"I know," Nami assures him, pausing outside a closed bedroom door. "Franky spoke to you like six hours ago, and you're already here. You dropped everything to be here. We know the kind of person you are."

She stands up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and Jinbei bends to accommodate her, the same way he does for Koala. Then Nami reaches out and pushes open the door.

Zoro is awake, sitting against the headboard with his phone in hand and earphones in, and his eyes are as bright and sharp now as they were when he was a child. He looks up when the door opens, and seems to relax when he sees Jinbei stepping in behind Nami.

"Go to sleep," Nami whispers, pointing at the second bed across the spacious room.

"Don't tell me what to do," Zoro replies, just as quiet, but he pulls his earphones out and extracts himself from the bed with all the exacting precision of a bomb disposal technician. Nami takes him by the arm, helping him get up so carefully that the mattress hardly moves. It's such a well-practiced maneuver that Jinbei thinks he honestly might cry.

"If one of you would stay for a bit, I'll grab a shower," Zoro says.

"Sure, stinky," Nami says, nudging him toward the door. "Jinbei?"

He nods, unsure of what he's agreeing to. Now that he's finally next to Luffy, nothing else seems to exist. He sinks into the chair beside the bed, only half-aware of Nami and Zoro leaving. Their murmured conversation is cut off by the closing door. The room is silent, save for the gentle, unobtrusive sound of Luffy's steady breathing.

He's lost weight since Jinbei saw him last. There are shadows on his face that don't belong there. He looks both older and younger than he has any right to, even now, when his face is untroubled and slack with sleep.

"Hello, little monkey," Jinbei says. His voice is quiet, but it still breaks. He's crying, he realizes, thick tears rolling down his face with abandon. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

He thinks of two little boys, spilling into his life on accident, taking up room in his home and his heart as if they always belonged there. They weren't his, not really, but he loved them anyway. Loves them still.

"I'm here now," he whispers. His hands are shaking. "I'm going to protect you, like I promised. I'm here, Ace. Please believe me, wherever you are. I won't fail you again."

[jasonscaramel]

Positions - The Mandalorian

Din Djarin x unnamed female reader (credit to gif maker up there I just work here)

warnings include: i was inspired by ariana grande’s new album, i also haven’t written in forever (much less for din—that’s never), 2.9k words, heterosexual sex, slight cockwarming, slight dom!din (but that’s all you’ll ever get from me)

author’s note before we get started: i have more of these planned so if you’re interested in being tagged let me know! also it has been forever since I've written so if you like it pls let me know

Being a multi-faceted human being isn’t that difficult, especially growing up in the middle of an endless galaxy. You were taught many valuable lessons growing up: cooking, farming, smuggling, hand to hand combat—the necessities to keep you alive. So upon your first ever meeting with a Mandalorian, it was no shock that he deemed you useful almost straight away.

Growing up with defected Imperial parents, the intelligence training you received from your paranoid parents was better than the Empire could offer. You were sneaky, sly, and downright deceptive when you needed to be. Talking a bounty into walking straight into their death was easy, as was putting them down yourself if you needed to.

You’re also a damn good babysitter. And kids love you.

All around, it was a no brainer for Din—after promising you passage to a nearby planet that ended up being a six month journey—to keep you on board. You were all attached to each other at that point, especially the kid. He found maternal energy quite soothing, and even if you weren’t his mother, it seemed as though having a woman to counteract all the Boy going on eased the little one’s mind.

So now you’re here, the kid strapped to your chest and Din by your side, the only thing in your way of the Razor Crest is the man holding a knife to your throat. He’s trying, and failing, to get ahold of the kid in the process. Din pulls out his blaster in a move to protect the both of you, and the knife shoves further in your neck.

“Come any closer and they’re dead!” The man shouts in your ear, and a squeal comes from the makeshift baby carrier on your chest. You look at Din, hoping desperately he’s making eye contact with you. You give him a single nod, then stomp on the man’s foot as hard as you can, moving to grab the knife from your pocket. The blade at your throat is piercing, but you ignore it to stab the knife into the man’s thigh. He finally pulls away in agony as you rip it out, only to shove it into his throat seconds later. He hits the ground with a thump, choking on blood, and the kid lets out a relieved huff.

“Let’s go, it’s freezing,” you say as your teeth chatter, wrapping your arms the kid and snuggling for dear life. You can feel the sticky warm blood trickling ever so slowly down your neck, but the wound doesn’t hurt.

Upon entering the Razor Crest and shutting the hatch, Din turns his attention to you. “Does it hurt?”

You give a slight chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s fine, Din. You get us in hyperspace, I’ll put the kid to bed and get cleaned up.” You left no room for arguments as you made your way over to the baby’s pram and began unraveling him from your chest. You noticed Din hadn’t moved yet, but you didn’t really mind. He’s very protective of his son, so it doesn’t affect you to have him watch you coddle the kid, coo at him and sing him to sleep, if only it puts Din’s mind a little more at ease. With the lives you live, it’s hard for either of you to have trust in anyone. The only way is to prove yourself, and you intend to do it every day. Maybe for a little more than trust, but hey, you’re not complaining having Din stare at you all the time.

By the time the kid is ready to lay down, the ship is up and beginning its course. You shut the little guy in on himself so nothing bothers him and head to the refresher. Looking in the mirror, you have a sizable cut on your throat, but it’s only surface damage. You wipe off the blood, put on the first antiseptic you can find and head out. Apart from that little scuffle, your day had been relatively uneventful. You stopped on this planet to get groceries and fuel, for maker’s sake.

Settling into the co-pilot’s seat, you turn to look at Din and find him already facing you. You give him a soft smile, reaching over and giving him three light taps on the beskar on his thigh. It was something you always did; it always comforted him, even though he never really knew what you meant by it. “You alright?” He sounds genuinely worried, and you imagine if you could see his face his brows would be furrowed in the cutest expression.

“Definitely,” you reassure him, lifting your head to expose the cut a bit more. “It’s superficial, no harm done.” You drop your head to give him a bigger smile for added convincing. “What’s on your mind?” You know he’s concerned, but there’s something else underneath it. There always has been something else with you two. It lies beneath every conversation, making its way in through comfortable silences and soft touches. It pulls at your heartstrings at the oddest of moments, like when he’s cleaning up spit up with his cape or gazing out at the stars in hyperspace when he thinks you’re not there.

“I just don’t like to see you hurt, is all. But you handle yourself well, so it’s hard to worry for too long.” You hear his tone get lighter as he finishes his short explanation, giving you a slight chuckle when he’s finished. You return it easily.

“Please, you have nothing to worry about. As long as I have you as back up, I can do anything.” It started as a simple sentence, but the longer your silence sat the deeper the meaning became. Neither of you broke the spell, just stared at the general direction of each other’s faces and hoping you were making eye contact. It made you giggle, and when he cocked his head to the side, you just shook yours.

“Well, I wa-“ Din was interrupted by a beep on your wrist, indicating the child had been moving around. You turned on the speaker and gave him soft reassurances and cooed a small lullaby.

You didn’t hear anything after that, so you returned your attention back to him. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” You pulled your sleeve over the watch to show you were giving your undivided attention.

The words that come out of his mouth are so quiet you hardly hear them. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

A smile breaks out on your face, tears unwillingly welling in your eyes. “Me too, Din. Me too. I-“ You stopped yourself immediately. What were you going to say? Maker, you could think of a dozen. I love you. I want to touch you. I want to sit in your lap and feel safe.

You’re glad to hear the child crying from the speaker on your wrist.

It had been two months since your almost-talk with your favorite Mando. Since then, Din has parked on the edge of a rainy planet, leaving you and the child for the past week. Easy enough job, watching the ship and the kid, albeit incredibly boring. By day two you were considering what card games the child would understand. By day five, you took to cleaning the entire ship.

Din came back on day eight, the day where you decided to fix up whatever you could laying around. Granted, you’re not a mechanic, but you’ve hot wired enough ships in your day to know a thing or two. It’s basic things at first, fixing loose wires and buttons, tightening bolts. After poking around for long enough, you think you find a decent enough project in fixing the nest of wiring in the cockpit, so you get to work.

It’s not much more than busy work, so when the child started crying you let him sit in your lap and help you work. After doing more harm than good for a solid half hour, you began to try to teach him the task at hand. He couldn’t grasp the entire idea of what you were doing, but he was doing a great job at handing you the wires you needed.

It was a while before you heard the ship make it’s familiar noises as Din came onboard. You heard the bounty pleading, the whoosh of the carbonite, but you didn’t hear his footsteps come closer so you continued your task. The child was beginning to have enough, you could tell he was getting tired, but knowing Din was here you wanted to keep him up as long as possible. Give Din more of a break after working so hard.

“Hand me the blue one,” you paused, watching the child’s little hand reach for the wrong wire. “You don’t know colors, do you?” Sighing, you moved his hand a little to the left to put him back on course. “That’s blue.” He made a noise in acknowledgment, handing you the wire to clip underneath the control panel.

You heard Din finally making his way up as the child handed you another wire. “Red! Thanks, buddy.” He gave you a small, sweet sound before turning to look at Din. You followed suit, looking up from your seat on the floor. The child wrestled his way out of your arms, waddling over to his father and lifting his arms. Din picked him up, holding him tight and rocking back and forth slightly to soothe him. It was the cutest thing you’d ever seen, and you don’t even think he realized he was doing it.

“How’d it go? You alright?” You asked Din as you rose from the floor, dusting your hands on your pants. Giving him a once over, you don’t see any blood leaking from anywhere, so that’s a good sign.

“I’m fine, he just wasn’t that easy to track down.” Din kept his eyes on the little one, watching as his eyes drifted open and shut. He was fighting sleep, but Din could always get him to knock out quick.

“If you want to go put him down and get dried off, I’ll get us going to our next destination.” You could hear the rain beating down on the Razor Crest, so there’s no telling how much water snuck it’s way between skin and beskar. He gave you a gentle nod, turning and making his way down to the refresher. The baby’s pram was next to his cot, so he could do everything in one place.

As the ship began its kick into hyperspace, you heard Din’s heavy footsteps make their way closer to you. Turning on auto-pilot, you jump over to the co-pilot seat to give Din his back. When he sits, he double checks the coordinates, and once he realizes you’ve done it all right, he slumps into his chair. You reach over, tapping three times on his thigh.

“I can take care of this if you want to sleep,” your voice was soft, imagining him dozing off like the child was earlier under that helmet.

He tensed, shaking his head without looking at you. “I’m not tired.” His fingers twitched, reaching for a lever and gripping it hard. Reading him was always incredibly difficult, but the more you’re around him the more he lets out his emotions in physical cues. He seems frustrated, restless, was the bounty that bad?

“Then what can I do to help? You seem... tense.” The sharp intake of air was audible through the helmet, so you followed your gut and placed your hand on his thigh.

“Cyar’ika...” his voice trails off, as tense as his body. He’d never called you anything but your name, especially not something this soft, and you found yourself moving to situate on your knees, in between Din’s. Looking up at him, you could see the beskar of his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. You ran your hands up and down his thighs, gazing up into—what you hoped were—his eyes.

“Is this okay?”

He cleared his throat, nodding his head. “More than.” After you hear those beautiful, consenting words, you immediately get to work. You reach for the waistband of everything you could get your hands around and pull. Luckily, Din helps you and before you know it his pants around his ankles and his cock is right at eye level. You take a moment, eyes widening once you finally realize where you’re trying to fit that thing. Din shifts in his seat with nervous energy, and you remember he can actually see you, so you continue. Soft kisses up and down his thighs, the occasional bite soothed with your tongue, all while pumping him with your spit slicked hand. Making your way back up his thighs, you kiss up his balls and shaft, giving the tip a kitten lick before you take him in your mouth. The groan that emanates from the helmet drives you further, doing your best to get used to his size. You moan when he finally hits the back of your throat, and Din grabs your hair with a growl.

“I need—I want...” Din stops, panting, desperately trying to pull you off his dick by your hair. You comply, jerking him softly while looking up at him.

“Tell me what you want and it’s yours. Don’t hold back.” Your voice comes out raspier than normal, and you feel Din’s cock twitch in your palm.

“I need to fuck you.” You could feel his need even through the vocoder, so you let go of his cock and—after removing your clothing from the waist down, wearing nothing but a tunic—moved to sit on his lap. Din grabbed you by your hips, pulling you close and hovering over right where he wanted to. Slowly, fingertips digging deliciously into your skin, he guides you onto the tip of his cock. You share a moan as he stretches you, slowly but surely, as you feel like you’re going to split in half.

“Kriff, Din,” you whine, finally seating your hips against his. He runs his gloved hands up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe before resuming their iron grip on your hips. “You’re huge.” You smile when you hear a deep, gritty chuckle through his helmet, and once you feel his guiding pressure on your hips, you finally begin moving.

It’s slow at first; your hands doing all the touching as you got used to one another’s bodies. As Din got more comfortable, he began thrusting into you, taking over your pace and morphing it into something faster, yet equally close. He pulls you so close your chest is tight against his, your head moving to bury itself in his neck. As his pace grew, your hands gripped onto his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

It was the best sensation you’d ever felt in your life. The stretch was just enough for an extra sense of pleasure, and the way he kept hitting your g-spot on the way out had you seeing stars. You press your lips against the tiniest bit of skin you can find, your fingers desperately trying to find purchase on his shoulders.

“Maker, Din, please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for—it sounded like your voice came from far away, like it wasn’t you. He felt so good and strong and sturdy and his soft grunts and groans were filling your ears solely to heighten your pleasure. Everything about him made you want to never let go, keep him just like this forever.

“You going to cum for me, cyar’ika?” His tone is playful as his thrusts get rougher and out of rhythm. You know you won’t last long and neither will he.

“Need it, Din. Please.” Your sobs of pleasure are almost drowned out by the beskar on his shoulder, but he hears you—he always does. His left hand leaves your hip and trails down to where the two of you meet. He traces his fingers over your pussy, and where it meets his cock, then moves to your clit and begins his wonderful torture.

You’re so close, and he’s so good, rubbing your clit just right while his cock splits you open. You hear him breathe your name from under the helmet, followed by a string of curses you can’t begin to comprehend, and you let go, squeezing tight around him as your thighs shake. Din thrusts once, twice more before he’s buried as deep as he possibly can be and comes inside of you. The warmth inside of you makes you shiver with the contrast of the coldness of the cockpit.

The both of you are out of breath, holding onto each other tightly as you try to regain your bearings. His hands reach around you, encompassing your body in a hug as he runs his hands up and down your back. Upon realizing your legs are still shaking, he moves his soothing motions to your thighs.

“You’re amazing.” Mumbling into his neck, you grab at one of his hands and hold on for dear life. “I don’t wanna move.”

“Did I wear you out that well?” Despite the vocoder, you could hear the smile in Din’s voice. You share a laugh, and upon mellowing out, you give his hand three little squeezes. “Alright, cyar’ika, just a little bit longer.”

His gaze stays on the streams of stars as he holds your hand, rubs your back, and whispers sweet nothings in your ear. A little bit longer with you could never hurt.

[hauntedbythefanficsofmypast]

Roma Marinette pt. 1

Marinette's parents joined a traveling circus a year before Marinette was born. They make all the food that's sold as well as food for their fellow travelers.

Marinette is born in the circus. She is one of three kids. Only one year younger than Dick Grayson, Dickie as she grows up calling him, and five years younger than Johnny Grayson. Dick's nickname for Marinette is Marigold. Marinette takes to the Graysons she and Dick adore each other and all the Graysons love little Mari. With Tom and Sabine's permission they start training her along with Dick. Both kids fast learners with what seems like an ability to completely defy gravity and break its rules.

Dick and Marinette are stuck at the hip learning everything their circus family can teach them. Marinette is the one that decides that they should learn knife throwing and fire spinning. While Dick decides they are going to work out with the strong men and learn how to handle the animals. 

While they are still too young to join in on the trapeze they are allowed in the show. Together they wow crowds doing cartwheels, flips, and complicated floor routines together. Once they are 6 they are allowed to fly with the rest of them. Their shows garner more and more attention, everyone wanting to see the two youngest aerialists in the world.

Everything is perfect in their lives, until they go to Gotham for a show. Dick parents begin acting weirdly, hugging Dick more and more, while looking at him in a resigned manner. This causes both to worry a bit but they don't let it show. When Dick sees people messing with the trapeze both of them brush it off. Before the show they meet the young Drake family and take a picture together. Marinette and Dick are on one knee together with Tim sitting on their bent knees.

When the lines snap Marinette and Dick stand on the boards opposite of each other watching in horror as the lines snap. In minutes both are on the ground near the bodies, Dick crying silently holding his mother's bracelet while Marinette holds him tightly crying herself.

Bruce walks up and talks to the two and is slightly surprised to find that Marinette wasn't their daughter. Marinette smiles weakly telling them she was pretty damn close. Bruce comforts Dick before going to talk with the Commissioner and a Social Worker.

Before the end of the night Dick is packing up his stuff and getting ready to leave with the social worker. Bruce never leaves their sides. Marinette stops Dick from leaving and hands him her stuffed tiger named Sikhaya. Dick hugs it tightly before pulling out his elephant Zitka and giving it to her.

Marinette pulls him into a tight hug sniffling into his shoulder.

Mari- Don't you dare forget me Richard Grayson. We'll find each other again someday Dickie. So until then don't you dare forget me.

Dick- I could never forget you Bluejay. 

Two months later Marinette and her parents leave the circus and settle down in Paris. It breaks their hearts but after the Grayson's tragedy Tom and Sabine find it the best option.

Dick and Marinette don't see each other for a very long time, but they never forget the other.

Zitka is well loved and taken care of. The stuffed animal has a special place on Marinette's bed even when she is an adult. While Dick takes to putting Sikhaya on a shelf when his brothers come into the mix, not wanting it to be destroyed if they become destructive.

Dick grows up as Bruce's son becoming Robin when he turns nine. At thirteen he joins a team of young superheroes, at fifthteen he leaves behind Robin giving the mantle to his new brother Jason. He also begins dating Barbara. They break up a year later when Dick realizes he is continually comparing Barbara to Marinette. When he becomes seventeen he mourns the loss of his brother and nearly kills the Joker, only stopped by Batman. He takes a year break, taking counseling sessions with a reformed Harley Quinn. During his break he meets Tim Drake once again, he doesn't remember him however. He begins training Tim to find solace in acting as a brother again, he also digs up evidence on why the Drakes are terrible parents. Dick encourages Tim to become Robin, his first night out as Robin is Nightwing's return. When he turns 18 he goes to the police academy, and once he graduates he becomes part time and goes to college for business. He is 20 when Red Hood begins targeting the entire family. Jason was not prepared for how vicious Dick got when he shot Tim. Batman once again stops Dick in his anger, telling him once again that neither of his brothers would want him to kill. Jason uses this time to escape from the family and drops into hiding. He hacks into the Batcave and watches the caves videos and reading reports of what's happened since his death. When Jason finally comes back he is ashamed and is surprised when Dick simply hugs him crying. Things are tense between Bruce and Jason, but a few counseling sessions with Harley and their relationship is slowly rebuilding. Shortly after Damian comes into their lives. Dick is quick to knock Damian down when he attacks Tim. He tells Damian that he doesn't care who his mother is, or that he is Bruce's blood son. He slowly brings Damian into the family. While the boy is still distant and mean to the family they all notice he doesn't mean his insults anymore. When Dick is twenty-two he graduates college with a degree in business. He begins working at Wayne Enterprises as well, he mainly works from home and behind the scenes with Mr. Fox. No one outside the company knows he also works there, the entirety of Gotham believes he is just Officer Grayson.

Marinette grows up in Paris with absent parents. They love her but now that they have their own business they only have time for dinner with Marinette. While she is upset she joins gymnastics and aerial arts classes, quickly rising to the position of top student. She also begins going to regular school during her first day. She is so nervous she keeps tripping. The entire class soon begins to view her as clumsy, something that sticks. Even though Marinette only trips afterwards when someone does it on purpose, they choose to ignore the fact she catches herself quickly. While everyone believes she is just clumsy Marinette no one realizes that she is Paris's national champion in Gymnastics. Marinette is so good that they want her on Paris's Olympic team once she turns 16. When she turns ten she realizes she can sell her designs online. She pulls out all her notebooks pulling out her favorite designs and begins to make them all. Once done she creates a website under the name Marigold. On each outfit she hand stitches Mari in gold thread, for a signature marking. Marinette slowly makes friends outside her classmates, while they are nice they all stand by when Chloe attempts to bully Marinette and she doesn't like that. Especially when she sticks up for a few of them, she remains civil and polite to them although in her eyes she is clearly distant. When she is thirteen she becomes friends with Alya, the two girls slowly growing closer. She also develops a crush on Adrien that Alya blows way out of proportion wanting to help her new bestie. While Marinette likes Alya, Dick still holds the spot of best friend in her heart. Marinette also becomes Ladybug, she struggles at first but her years of training in flying helps her greatly and her aim has not deteriorated since leaving the circus. Marinette begins making less clothes and takes up karate classes as well four days go to gymnastics, two go to aerial arts and one to karate. Her three main instructors make the connection to her being Ladybug after a year, when Ladybug uses an aerial move that only she has ever used in front of them. 

Aerial Arts- Madeline Saint Cloud

Gymnastics- Tasha Buchanan 

Karate- Abraham Lebanon

Instead of confronting her the three get together and come up with a way to help Marinette. They start by deciding that Chat Noir either needs to get serious or get lost. One month later they all have solid examples of. why Marinette needs to bench him if he doesn't. It's at that time they confront her. Marinette attempts to lie saying that she isn't but stops when Madeline speaks up.

Madeline- My dear bird, you've never liked lying. You've rarely done it, and because of that you are truly terrible at lying

Marinette is dejected and apologizes to Tikki, but the Kwami just smiles telling Marinette that it wasn't the first time a Ladybug's mentor had found out.

Tikki- It's just never been three before!!

Marinette listens to her instructors carefully before telling them that she agrees. She tells them her partner looks through life with rose colored glasses. That while she does find him kind and silly she doesn't have a crush on him. That she doesn't find him as kind, caring, or as funny as Dick. She pauses after saying this, surprised that she hadn't said Adrien. Her instructors watch her as she closes in on herself taking a moment to sort through her thoughts. Once she is done a stray tear falls from her left eye.

Marinette- After all this time my thoughts still drift back to him…Chaton will never measure up to the person I truly love. His insistence and pushing do nothing more than cause stress on our partnership. I will look into having him either replaced or given one last chance.

That night she lays in bed hugging Zitka close to her chest as she stares out her open trap door at the stars. A few minutes go by and Marinette gets out of bed gently setting Zitka down. She walks over pulling the pictures of Adrien down, as well as his schedule tossing them all in the trash. Once done she climbs out onto her rooftop garden Tikki following her and sitting on Marinette's knee once the girl sits down.

Marinette- Adrien...Adrien Im sorry. I took your act of kindness and compared it to the kindness I use to have daily. Instead of seeing you, I saw Dickie. I thought I loved you, but I loved the kindness you showed me, that reminded me so much of him. I don't love you like that Adrien, instead of wanting to be your girlfriend. I just want to be your friend, so from this day on I will try harder to be that.

Two days later Ladybug tells Chat Noir to meet her on the Eiffel Tower that night after patrol. She tells him that she isn't in love with him and that she never will be. She knows she is coming off harsh and she tells him that, then explains that she needs to because after a year he is still acting like this. Chat is clearly saddened, this causes Ladybug to sigh and hug him.

Ladybug- I know it hurts, but you need to come to terms with this Chaton. You are my partner and you're like a brother to me. My heart is already taken, Chaton I have loved him since I was a child. Even if I was to date another right now I would just continue to compare them to my Robin.

Chat agrees to take things more seriously telling her that he still loves her, but he understands. He promises her that he will not let his feelings get in the way anymore. As the months pass the two become closer and closer. When Lila arrives Adrien already knows that she is lying and takes to avoiding her. When he spots Marinette getting put down by Alya and Nino for telling them Lila was lying he is quick to stand up for her. This causes a split among their classmates they don't want to be mean to Adrien, but he is always with Marinette. Lila is constantly telling the class that Marinette is bullying her and they want to do something but Adrien gets in their way. While Adrien and Marinette get closer they both realize one day that their partner in suits and civies is the same person. After them the two are rarely separate from each other. Gabriel finds Marinette very respectable despite Marinette being Roma, which would caused him to turn up his nose at first. He allows Adrien to spend more time with her, giving him permission to attend her gymnastics competitions. She is fifthteen when she becomes the new Guardian. By the time both are sixteen they have been outcast by their class and forced to the back. However they did not allow this to way down on them. Adrien had gained permission to model for Marinette along with their friends Luka and Kagami, and Jagged and Clara, two of Marinette's most famous clientele. Marigold was a very well known designer however no one knew what she looked like. Marinette never stepped out in public so the media didn't know the designer was a high school student. Marinette was also old enough to try for a spot on the Olympic team. She is sent an email the day of her birthday and Tasha laughs at the subtle begging in the email. Marinette is quick to agree and the four friends go out for dinner to celebrate. Only for it to be ruined when Lila shows up with Alya, Rose, and Alix claiming that they stole the table she reserved. Adrien was going to snap until Marinette placed a hand on his arm. She wiped her mouth standing up gracefully. She smiled politely at the four telling them not to worry the table was open now. The four walk away together not acknowledging Lila's glare. Marinette is seventeen when she participates in the Tokyo Olympics Adrien going with both her and Tasha. She uses Kaalki to get her and Adrien back to Paris for Akuma attacks. She loves her entire time in the Olympic Village. Marinette takes the gold for all four events. She is crying as she stands with her teammates four medals around her neck. Returning to Paris had been wonderful, she was greeted by the President and the Mayor and many fans. Adrien teased her relentlessly over the amount of fans she had. Once they returned to school the entire class demanded to know why Marinette never told them. Marinette simply sighs telling them she never kept it a secret. That she'd told them plenty of time she couldn't do something because of training. The class is really upset and they try to get Bustier on their side and the teacher just sighs softly wishing she never agreed with the Principal to teach Lila Rossi. Bustier knew she wasn't the best teacher but that girl destroyed her reputation by turning her class into the worst in the school. They are eighteen when they begin attending college Marinette for fashion and Adrien business. Marinette is nineteen when she and Adrien take down Hawkmoth only to discover Gabriel Agreste underneath. They hand him over to the cops before heading to the Eiffel tower together. Once there Adrien and Marinette de-transform and Adrien breaks down, Marinette pulls him into a tight hug tear of her own falling. Two months later Adrien sold off his father's company and the mansion. Moving into a cosy apartment with Marinette. Adrien takes the last name Dupain-Cheng and the announce it together on their way to the next Olympics when Marinette is twenty-one. She once again takes home all four gold medals, keeping her title for another four years. They graduate college together at twenty-two, and decide its time for the world to meet Marigold. Marinette reveals herself to the world as Marigold, and everyone in the fashion industry is talking about the young women who built her fashion empire before she was even 18. Adrien takes a job in her company head of PR. When they fully introduce themselves they become known as Marinette and Adrien D.C. The world is talking about the D.C. siblings, most of the conversations being around Adrien no longer going by Agreste. Together they travel the world, nothing changing in their lives until they visit Gotham, and Marigold receives an invitation to the Wayne Charity Event.

Marinette's first stop in Gotham is the place where the Graysons fell. Adrien goes with her hugging her gently as she softly cries. The next day she visits their graves alone, saying hello to the cold stone and asking if they remember her. She leaves flowers on the graves and a letter to each of them, including one to Dick. 

Marinette- Thank you for all you taught me and encouraged me to learn. I never thought I'd use my flying to save peoples lives when I returned to Paris.  Please continue watching over me and Dickie. I'm going to find him, I promise.

She leaves the graves feeling a lighter happy to have visited them once again

When the Charity Event arrived Marinette and Adrien D.C. couldn't wait to leave their mark on Gotham high society. Unknown to both of them that Dick Grayson had become Richard Grayson-Wayne.

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