#and that wasn’t intentional on my part just a cool coincidence

[authenticcadence18]

the duality of (wo)man

[juliettedunn]

Gus Porter: An Appreciation and Analysis

I loved Gus when he seemed to be a fairly simple comic relief character, but very quickly he shows himself to be more than that. He may not get as much screen time as the main characters, but he does have two episodes where he is a main focus, and he reveals a lot of depth.

Gus has the common trope of a nonhuman obsessed with human culture and thinking of humans as interesting animals to study.

His obsession with humans is very intense: he founded a human appreciation society, he collects human artifacts, dreams of traveling to the human realm, and memorizes as much information about humans as possible (even though most of it is incorrect). If it wasn’t obvious, humans are clearly his special interest.

Gus is very poor at picking up on other people’s manipulations. In Through the Looking Glass Ruins, he is instantly trusting of Bria and fails to notice several warning signs that she has less than pure intentions.

He is also incredibly eager to be accepted into the group. The whole time, he is basically completely blinded by excitement at getting to hang out with “cool” kids. We learn more about where this stems from in the second Gus-centric episode (and one of my personal favorites), Labyrinth Runners.

In a flashback, Gus doesn’t notice a kid is exploiting him until he happens to overhear the kid admit it. He fully believes the kid genuinely wants to be his friend, just like he does later in his life with Bria.

Both times, he takes what people say at face value, the thought not crossing his mind that they could have ulterior motives.

One of his lines in Labyrinth Runners really struck me. “Everyone thinks I’m the smart one. So why do I act so dumb?”

Gus is what is considered a gifted kid; he’s two years younger than the rest of the Hexsquad because he skipped grades.

And the way he is portrayed in the show is very true to the typical gifted kid experience.

Gus is praised for being smart. He’s been bumped up grade levels, he’s considered a prodigy, he very clearly does amazing on tests. So like all gifted kids, he takes that on as part of his identity.

But someone can’t be smart at all things. And Gus is poor at reading other people. So despite being academically adept, he misses social cues, cues which are very obvious to everyone else.

He doesn’t notice when other kids are pretending to be his friend only to exploit him. That’s something that a lot of autistic people have a problem with.

And in Labyrinth Runners, he fails to recognize Willow, his best friend of many years, as an illusion, whereas Hunter does, despite only having met her once. She was definitely acting out of character, but in a way that would require an understanding of her mannerisms, something Gus doesn’t have a good instinctual grasp on.

His attempts at cheering people up aren’t always the best either. Though Luz did end up getting admitted to Hexside, he prepared for her to fail, and got consulting messages ready. This took the form of giant blue letters saying “Better luck next time.” Obviously, these words are very blunt and come across as quite cold. It is not something that would have made her feel better, but Gus clearly thought that it would, further showing that he doesn’t quite understand how best to comfort someone.

Same with Willow, where he sends her a bunch of illusions to console her and just ends up making the situation worse, unable to figure out the right ways to comfort someone in need, even though he has a huge heart and really wants to be there for his friends.

He’s the best at being there for Hunter. He teaches him the breathing technique, and gets him involved in the Cosmic Frontier fandom. Hunter is also bad at reading social cues and also is autistic I believe, though that’s a whole other discussion. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that that’s who Gus is best at comforting, someone who is also rather unconventional with emotional issues.

Gus’s failure to see through people trying to manipulate him, and his failure at knowing how to comfort his friends, leads him to believe he is “dumb,” which greatly hurts his self esteem.

Notice, also, that Gus is always trying to entertain his friends. He’s funny, and he knows this and is actively trying to be. Why? Because if he isn’t smart, at least he is funny. He wants to be liked, wants to be seen as cool. And he’s just starting to enter the age where most gifted kids start to falter, where the lack of studying abilities really starts to catch up.

When I hit that stage, I definitely also tried to be “the funny one.” Autistic people are almost inherently funny to neurotypicals, and if people aren’t praising you and admiring you for being smart, at least they’ll like you if you’re funny.

If he’s not fulfilling his “value” as either the child prodigy or the comic relief, then what is his purpose? Such is the crisis many gifted kids go through when they go from being far ahead of their peers, praised as geniuses, to still being above average but certainly not the absolute one in a million wonder that many people told them they were.

Now for another amazing part of Gus - he has shut downs. When he gets overwhelmed, he hits a breaking point and curls up, completely unable to function any longer. Because his magic is so powerful, it impacts his surroundings too. In Labyrinth Runners, he is so overwhelmed he casts a spell over the entire school.

Shut downs and panic attacks feel like this. Of course, they don’t involve real magic like in the show, but the way the school appears as a trippy, foreign landscape they have to navigate is true to how it feels to be overwhelmed as an autistic person. Even though there is no illusion magic, the familiar quickly becomes foreign, and places I’ve been a hundred times before feel wrong.

Willow teaches him a breathing method, and I actually use that breathing method too. I don’t know if it inherently works or if it’s because it’s connected to The Owl House, which is my comfort show, but I actually move through panic attacks and disassociation episodes much faster ever since I started using that technique.

Finally, Gus stims! You can’t tell me that him grabbing the bubble wrap, knocking over items due to lack of spatial awareness, happily shouting “Look at all this human stuff!” and then intently focusing on popping all the bubbles until it was over was not the most autistic thing you’ve ever seen.

Gus is a great portrayal of an autistic gifted kid heading into burn out, academically intelligent but far too trusting, believing everyone acts at face value, and falling very easily into exploitation because of it. Adopting the identity of child prodigy and witty entertainer, and taking a serious blow to his self esteem when he can’t live up to those ideals.

Happily, he now he has real friends, most of whom are neurodivergent like him! As I said before, the almost instant understanding and bond he and Hunter have is largely a result of them both being autistic; they read each other very well and instinctually know how to help each other. I love their relationship so much.

This was a lot longer than I anticipated, but I just had a lot to say about him. He’s getting a lot more appreciation form the fandom recently, but he still is fairly underrated as a character. I love him so much even though I don’t talk about him as much as I talk about other characters, and I do wish he would get confirmed as autistic on screen (though the most I can ever hope for is Luz getting confined to have ADHD, and even that I really doubt). Still, I know he is autistic, and he is amazing.

[pearlypairings]

steve and robin with “put the icing down”? one of them is a birthday cake baking pro the other is a nightmatreeee (also happy birthday weekend lovebug!)

platonic steve & robin || angst, comfort, dynamic duo || 1788 words (lol oops)

A/N : uwu!!! I went crazy! this prompt made me drag out a lil angst (mostly because it coincided with that devastating behind the scenes photo of Dustin in front of Eddie's grave). I liked playing with the idea that Steve would end up being the more skilled baker with Robin being very who cares it's just a cake??? and he's like NO I need to FIX our friend! which is that's not at all realistic for this level of trauma, but his heart's in the right place so Robin goes along for the emotional ride.

"yesterday's" prompt

"Rob—Rob!" Steve pointed at the flour-coated, eggshell-laden hostage with a death grip on his mother's precious silver icing spatula. "Put. The Icing. DOWN." Her fingers pressed into the plasticky flesh of the piping bag in direct mutiny of his kitchen dictatorship. "What's got your panties all in a bunch? You've been a snobby baker all day. Isn't making a cake for someone supposed to be fun?"

Robin hovered dangerously over the three layered round cake propped up on the white ceramic cake stand. They'd been in the Harrington kitchen slaving for hours on each part, though Steve surprisingly wielded more skills than Robin in the baking department, especially for being such an athletic doofus. Turned out he learned the way of the oven from his mom, baking for charity fundraisers and the like when his dad was away on business. He hadn’t divulged any more details when Robin had asked how he learned all these recipes, and she didn’t have to ask.  She already knew the Harringtons were sticklers for high achievement and perfection, which clearly influenced Steve's eagle-eye approach to measuring the dry ingredients and the almost weirdly-scientific method in which he ordered the ingredients to be mixed together "for maximum moistness."  Gag. He wasn't even listening to how ridiculous he sounded and that definitely made her raise more than a few eyebrows as she stayed on the outskirts of his deliberate process.  "It needs to be perfect, not just slathered all over." Robin watched as he had to consciously refrain from finger combing his hair, his own hands covered in remnants of their baking “project.” That was his nervous tick, something gnawed at him more than just their favorite twerp’s birthday cake. "Isn't it the thought that counts?" she pushed, not yet retreating from the cake. "Yeah, well—Mrs. Henderson asked for my help, because she had to work or whatever. I don’t want to let her down...” He spoke softer, rocking back and forth heel to toe, toe to heel. Steve’s face softened, too, making Robin lean in, forcing herself to listen closely. The truth was coming. “And you know how bad Dustin has had it lately. I don’t have to remind you. He hasn't even mentioned his own birthday, just kept talking about Eddie’s last month."

Steve's hands planted themselves on his hips. A shadow glazed his eyes when he mentioned their younger friend struggling, like responsibility hung solely on his shoulders for Dustin's grief. As if somehow Steve was the only one who made life-altering decisions that day. Robin dropped her arms to her sides and with that, the frosting no longer threatened the pristine vanilla-chocolate-marble layers of tempting cake. She shrugged off the tiny mutiny with an apologetic look. "Thank you," he said as he leaned to one hip, cooling off his unusual, micro-managing attitude. He poked another toothpick through the top layer and kept his hand close to see if any warmth lingered to confirm it was ready to be iced.  She slid next to him focusing intently, probably mentally plotting out his icing to spatula strategy for the canvas of the cake, and she bumped gently into his hip to get his attention. Robin wasn’t gonna let him stay locked up in his head under all that stupid, silly hair to fend for himself. "It's not your fault, you know." His gaze sank for a moment from the counter to the floor, and a sigh fell from his lips heavy as an ocean anchor. His knuckles whitened along the edge of the island counter. "Ever since..." Steve trailed off, shaking his head low. They both knew what he meant: last year’s spring break, when Hawkins had the deadliest un-natural disaster. Nobody bounced back this time like the other tussles with the Upside Down, the wounds struck too deep for them not to be left bleeding out and a mess in the aftermath.  His grasp held onto the granite counter even tighter. "The kid saw things he shouldn't have. Well, they all did. But he was alone, he had to... had to find his own way back by himself, covered in......” His back bent to let his head hang even lower. “They shouldn't have been left out there in the open in the first place. I knew better than to let either of them be in that park." Robin's powdery hand gravitated to the arm he flexed out of anger or grief she wasn't sure. Lately it seemed like every conversation circled back to this idea that their failure had more to do with Steve than the impossibly terrifying, murderous interdimensional mutant with an insatiable vendetta against Hawkins. Like the death and maiming and earth splitting destruction that was so much bigger than their little Scooby Doo gang somehow circled solely around Steve Harrington. But she knew better than to try to rationalize right now when he was like this. He placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed it twice. Their well-practiced system to communicate that they're still present, mentally. She squeezed his bicep once more, looking up at him. "I just wanted him to have one good, perfect thing this year for himself, and I guess when his mom asked me for this favor, I did the typical Harrington family thing and made something simple into a whole….. shitty perfectionist production. I'm sorry, I was being an ass about it."

"Well, dingus, you're always an ass, but I can let this one time slide." Robin made that smile stretch to near goofy levels, the one that always made him roll his eyes, but smile back. Desperate times, desperate measures, etc. etc. “I think this cake will be Mrs. Henderson-approved when she sees how insanely tall it is. And I don’t know how we can help Dustin right now, but at least this can show him we’re here, you know, when he’s ready to talk?” He nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little to a lower slump. His hands stayed busy though, moving onto the big bowl of frosting to stir and fold its contents to re-fluff it or something, she guessed.  “None of us really came out unscathed, did we?” “No, don’t think anyone’s really okay. We’re just trying to survive with what’s left.” “Yeah…..yeah.” Steve conceded. The spatula kept folding and folding and folding until it made Robin dizzy to watch. She stopped him again before shrugging. “So let’s make a really good cake. We’re in control of that.” He offered her the first scoop to put on the heavenly smelling layers of cake before them; panic started to squeeze at her throat. That actually was a disaster waiting to happen with her luck lately with general coordination outside of navigating her trumpet. “Come on, you get first dibs for me being such a douche.” “Actually, I’ve rethought my stance. How about you ice the thing and I put the little Oreo crumbles and sprinkles on the edge. That seems more like my thing…..” She laughed at herself, snorting a little while she visualized the final product and its delivery. “I think, maybe, you should also be the one who carries it into the Henderson’s house, too. To be safe.” The last thing poor Steve needed was for them to finish this thing, in hopes of making him feel better, and then, she trips across their lawn and this fucking masterpiece cake goes flying up in the air only to become worm food. This was now a mission to help their friend remember that he mattered, too…. That they could remember their lost loved ones, honor them, and still celebrate their own lives. And in Steve’s world, that started with an expertly baked cake, so that's what they’ll do. He didn’t budge at first, but once Robin nodded him on his way, Steve started to gently ice the cake in precise swoops with the special spatula. She grabbed all the toppings to get them ready, organizing them in tiny bowls with tinier spoons she found in the Harrington specialized utensil drawer; she was sure they weren’t technically the correct tool, but like, they seemed perfect and Steve didn’t correct her when his eyes flicked her direction to note what she was doing.

When all was said and done, the center was devoid of the most important pronouncement. Robin eyed up her work on the sides. The sprinkles and crumbles probably could have looked cleaner if he did them, but they were at least evenly distributed and not too crazy in their wild array. “So, my handwriting is shit.” Steve said, smirking with a grip on the smallest piping bag of vibrant green-colored icing. He offered Robin the task at hand. “I know you’re handwriting isn’t shit.” “Uhh, don’t you think this part’s a little too important for me to fuck up? We already established I am not a natural at domestic work, it seems.” “If it’s bad, it’ll make Dustin laugh. If it’s good, he’ll be surprised that two idiots can make a cool cake. Win-win in my book.” “But, then you could try to do it.” Robin shrugged off the green threat. “I was being a control freak the whole time.” His face shifted, a tense knit in his brow. “Come on, this’ll at least make me feel like I didn’t ruin the whole day.” “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll do it, but if I hear one giggle out of you before we see Dustin, I WILL smash your face into the cake and tell Mrs. Henderson what happened. She’ll take my side, you know it.” He offered the tube again with a pleased grin. “Fair’s fair.”  “One more thing first.” Robin had been eyeing the silver bowl of extra white frosting. She’d controlled herself while he’d worked diligently on the cake, like he was training for the world championship of baking. But now the sight of it and the timing was too tempting. She stuck her finger for a big scoop and swiped it across his cheek in a sneak attack. His reaction was too slow, with a pitched-down “hey!” and a swat of his hand that missed and nearly got the cake instead. Robin took the decorative icing bag from his hand, took a step back and shrugged innocently. “It had to be done. For Dustin, of course.” Steve rolled his eyes, grabbing a dish towel to clean off the white streak from his face. “ I’ll get you back when you least expect it.” “I know, and I’ll count on it. Now, let me focus….should it be in Russian or English?” “Jesus, Robin, English obviously.” “Okay, okay. Good, because I don’t know if Russians celebrate birthdays or not…or how to spell Dustin in Cyrillic.”

[r0b0tb0y]

directors cut for 1 rogue street?

fanfic writer director's cut meme

ROGUE STREET MY BELOVED

Here are scattered thoughts and a piece of 2 Scarif Street to see if posting part of the draft revs me into filling out the rest of the sequel:

One thing I've been really happy about is that three headcanons of mine came true in Andor: he lives in a vehicle, has a good relationship with his adoptive mother, and works in engineering.

Interestingly, I hadn't finished House of Leaves when I wrote Rogue Street, so the distorting staircase was a coincidence (but it was kind of clear that was where HoL was going)

Because the Yonder is shaped by human belief, Kay looks like a stereotypical demon because Cassian grew up with Doom and Gwar and D&D. This gets mentioned in 2 Scarif Street because exorcist Din Djarin thinks it's hilarious.

Krennic is Australian and I tried to show it by making him as annoying as possible

The choices of when they go to Tesco and Sainsburys were absolutely intentional and narratively significant

Maple pecan praline latte really is my favourite Starbucks order

The house's Fucked Locus that functions as a cylinder of negative energy from the basement to the top floor is based on a really unlucky spot in the construction site opposite my old apartment where multiple accidents such as fires, collapses, misapplication of concrete, and dropping stuff all happened in a 2m-diameter area on different levels.

Chewie is Han's watcher demon, but he's a dog, since the movie Chewie was based on Lucas' real dog.

Cassian's paramour in That Other Time is fancast in my head as José Maria Yazpik, since he and Luna have worked together lots and have great chemistry.

I once had someone say they wanted more description of the interior design, which I totally concur on but I don't have a huge design vocabulary. I grew up in a hideous Edwardian house (complete with shrieking creatures in the walls and doors that opened by themselves) so Rogue Street has some elements of that, like the crown moulding, ceiling roses, patterned glass, dark wood panels. I think Galen had the living areas painted and carpeted in cool grey Nordic fashion, since that's his palette in Rogue One.

HERE HAVE SOME EXPOSITIONY DIALOGUE SEQUEL DRAFT (also be warned it talks about religious homophobia):

‘You know, I had an exorcism once,’ Cassian said.

Din winced. ‘How’d that go?’

Cassian nodded in Kay’s direction. So, not very effective.

‘Catholics?’ Din asked.

‘Yeah,’ Cassian’s tone was mild.

‘Must have been a long time ago.’

‘You can see that through the beskar?’ Cassian raised an eyebrow.

’No, you’re just…’ Din waved a vague hand. ‘You seem okay. The way you talk about it.’

‘If you thought he’d be scarred by the experience, why did you ask?’ Kay spoke from further ahead.

‘He brought it up,’ Din pointed out.

‘It’s okay,’ Cassian shrugged, despite the skeptical look Kay gave him. ‘I mean, it’s okay now. I was thirteen.’

‘Your family realised you had a demon?’ Din guessed.

‘No, my family thought I had trauma,’ Cassian rolled his eyes.

‘Which you did,’ Kay added.

‘Yeah, but it was my teachers who called the priest.’

‘Which didn’t work,’ Kay said.

‘It worked on the other boy,’ Cassian muttered.

‘He wasn’t possessed,’ Kay said. ‘He was queer, and probably still is.’

There wasn’t room to get a word in between them—not that Din had much to add.

‘Does it ever work?’ Cassian directed this question at Din.

‘Not on queers: we’re immune,’ Din said, and Cassian laughed. Din frowned at himself: what was he trying to prove? Cassian was spoken for, and the Watcher was a dealbreaker. Maybe some way to assure them he wasn’t a total outsider.

‘On demons, it can work,’ Din kept his mouth talking. ‘What did it feel like to you?’

Kay tilted his head. ‘Like people shouting at my charge. The incense tickled.’

Din nodded. 'A lot of it is showmanship and browbeating the victim into compliance, but if there’s a sensitive priest and a real possession, it can work.’

‘So the Catholicism is auxiliary,’ Kay drawled.

Din sighed. ‘It’s a ritual. Religion amplifies the intent, some of the techniques… but a real professional can lorem ipsum their way through an exorcism.’

‘You’re not making a good case for yourself, you know,’ Cassian said.

‘We’ve been going down these stairs for ten minutes,’ Din muttered. ‘You notice how nothing has attacked us?’

Cassian looked at Kay: he did that a lot. There wasn’t an increase in psychic interference when they communicated this way: it seemed to be mundane codependence.

‘Beskar?’ Cassian asked Din.

‘And professionalism,’ Din quipped.

[slowpoke-fics]

Scent | Mate Series

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Derek x Y/N

Summary: Derek is getting suspicious of you, you're hiding something and he wants to know what

Warnings: not really I think but just in case, as always, read at your own risk

A/N: This is Part One | Next Part

This whole thing is a whole family pack au and mate au, OC stuff in later chapters but I really loved writing this and love the idea of a family pack <3

You walked into Scott’s house, happily smiling at everyone gathered around the table, noticing that even Derek had showed this time. The wolves seemed to carry on about their business as you muttered something about dinner and moved to the kitchen. “I don’t like that ya know?” You jumped a little, turning to Derek and smiling in confusion. He sniffed the air, “All I can smell is your strawberry shortcake lotion. You use too much.” You scoffed, turning to the food, “I don’t care, go smell someone else.” He shook his head, “Why? I don’t like not being able to smell you.” You looked at him, eyebrows raised, "Derek, I know what you wolves do, it's a violation of privacy, I like my emotions being mine." Derek huffed under his breath, "Just trying to care." He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

You couldn't help but wonder if you'd been excessively hateful, but you were right. You knew better than anyone, wolves violate your privacy whenever they can by just smelling you, let alone with serious practice what they can do. You could never keep a secret around a pack of wolves, and living in Beacon Hills with the extra wolf sense going around is no different. It's better to just hide your scent all together. You of course knew how to do this very well without the nifty supernatural trick; putting lotion over your scent glands regularly, wearing tight clothes, and lots of deodorant. You sighed to yourself as you thought of how different it could be if you could come clean.

Derek hung back after the meeting, watching as you waved everyone goodbye, claiming he was cleanup help since you cooked. "What's up Derek?" Scott said once the door shut. "Y/n," Derek started, turning to Scott, hand rubbing his scruff nervously, "has she always covered her scent like that?" Scott's eyebrows furrowed, "Now that I think about it, yeah, why?" Derek shrugged, acting like it was no big deal but wanted to put the fuze out before it went to far, "Dunno, she's just the only one that does it, even Lydia with the amount of crap she wears, I can smell her," he sighed, "it's like Y/n is hiding something man, I've just never once smelled her." Derek shook his head, "I mean, it's never bothered you? Not being able to smell her?"

Scott could sense something he hadn't ever before with Derek, a sense of need, like when Stiles called to him when he almost lit himself on fire. "She just wants her privacy, she knows we can smell fear, anxiety, joy, embarrassment," he slapped Dereks shoulder, "relax man, are you really worried Y/n is out to get you?" Dereks hands fell next to him, "Something like that." Derek said his goodbyes to Scott and happily Stiles, as over the years he's grown to love the wild man, and left wondering about you.

At the next pack meeting, this time in his loft, you were the last one in again. As everyone was catching up and cutting up, Derek found his way beside you, "I don't like that one, it smells sour, what is it?" You blushed just slightly, "I don't know some cucumber mix." Derek huffed, "If all I can smell is fake shit, at least something good, citrus, sweet or somethin'," he shrugged as he made his way to the table.

You'd all been discussing new training for the supernatural creatures drawn in by the Nemeton and handling the strays that don't fall in line with the help of the argents. Derek was next to you, something you knew was no coincidence as he'd swapped places with Scott at some point. He reached over to the map in front of you, trying to rub just your shirt, but you slyly moved your arm, muttering an apology, "Oh, sorry," but Derek didn't miss the extra heartbeat, even if just for a second. What is going on with you?

A few days later you find yourself climbing in the passenger of Stiles' jeep, just leaving your house after reapplying lotion, knowing that you were going to Dereks' for pack training. "Scott needed a ride today, that okay?" Stiles quizzed you, studying you as you answered with a hum. "Everything alright?" he reiterated, turning the music up. You shrugged, "I just have a feeling something is going on." Stiles gave you a sympathetic smile as he pulled up to Scott's.

Scott climbed in Stiles' back seat, glancing at you, consciously aware that you only smelled like mixed berry lotion, smiling, "Hey, Y/n, how was your day?" You shrugged, "The usual, excited for some pack time." Scott listened to your steady beat, kicking himself for even listening. The ride to Dereks normal while you intently listened to Stiles ramble. It was impossible not to notice that something was bothering Scott, you just hoped it wasn't you.

Scott was the first to knock on the door, Stiles following impatiently while you stood behind the two men. Derek slid the door open, looking over the two men and directly smiling at you, welcoming you all in. You followed closely in behind Stiles, narrowly missing Derek. You sense him reaching forward, out for the small of your back, you quickly stepped out of the way and to the kitchen, hoping your heartbeat was steady. "So what am I making?"

You worked on finishing up the tacos, careful to clean up any mess you made and wash the used pans. You had Liam lay out the table who was cooling off from a tough session with Isaac. He was really slinging the plates down, you put your hand just inches from his, stopping him from laying another plate down, "Liam," his eyes connected with yours, "listen to my heart, get yours to match it." Liam shook his head, starting to lay another plate down, clearly frustrated, but you spoke again, "Liam," you sighed, "it is okay to lose control and get angry, but get it back. Take a breath, control your heart rate, ground yourself." Liam took a deep breath in as you guided him, smiling at you before gently setting the plates down. You could feel the anger dissipating from him as he did.

"Thank you for helping," you muttered as you rubbed his shoulder comfortingly, making sure your sleeve covers your bare hand, smiling at him, "I'm gonna go get them." You walked into the training room, sweat and power smacking you in the face, "Dinner's ready!" Scott and Derek let go of each other, playfully draping their arms around each other, "You wanna spar, Y/n?" Derek asked and you laughed, a sound that blessed his ears, "Uh, no thank you, I'll leave that to the big bad wolves." Scott smiled, "Come on! Even Stiles trains!" Stiles jumps at this, pointing to Scott, "Hey!" Causing everyone to erupt into laughter, you smiled, "Who else is gonna cook?" At that Stiles interjected again, heading to the meal, "Not it!"

After you all ate you helped Liam collect and wash dishes, Derek watching you dodge every corner of the tablecloth, studied your moments as you put up pates, careful to not touch them with your bare hands. He thought to himself as he watched you that he was reading way too much into it. That you were just a private polite person, but something was rubbing him the wrong way, something he was missing. As you put away the last dish, Stiles stood up, smiling, "Bye, sour wolf." Derek glared at him but turned to you who was side by side with Stiles, your arm around his waist, also heading out, "See you later, sour wolf."

Scott trailed behind, making sure you and Stiles were out of earshot. "Man, what is your problem I can literally see the fury coming off of you." Derek glared at Scott, "Y/n, she just-" Scott rolled his eyes, "You can't be serious, not with this again." Derek rubbed his face, "Man, I'm telling you," he shook his head, clearly troubled, "She won't let me touch her! At all, I'm talking not even an accidental brush," Derek spoke lower, "She wouldn't train because that causes sweat, we could smell her, won't even touch the tablecloth. She washes every dish she uses, won't touch the plates with her bare hands? The plates?" Scott could tell Derek was genuinely upset by this, "Why does this bother you so much man?" Derek sighed, "I don't know," he drug broth his hands over his face, an attempt to rub the stress away, "I don't think she'd hurt us of course, but she's definitely- Scott, there's too many questions I need answered." Scott sighed, "Okay, if it means that much to you, I'll look into it." Scott started walking and that's when you snapped back into Stiles honking the horn of the car, you giggling with him as Scott came rushing out.

How much longer could you hide your secret?

[lavendereyedassassin]

Cursed Kisses - Chapter 2

SasuHina Month Day 8 prompt “Geborgenheit.” It is unbeta’d and rated T, please enjoy...

Cursed Kisses By: Lavender Eyed Assassin (Rated T)  

Chapter 2: The Agreement

~~~

Geborgenheit (German): The sensation of complete safety

SH Month Day 8 Prompt

~~~

The fog of sleep fell away slowly, taking the soft feel of rosy warm lips with them. Sasuke’s chest rose and fell with leisurely breaths, appreciating the comfort of his bed; basking in well-rested bliss he hadn’t experienced since the Uchiha were more than a clan of one. His heavy lids opened unwillingly to the white dimpled ceiling above his head, and he remembered he was home. The one place he could be alone, without worry or fear. It was safe. It was comfortable. It was small and almost bare but it was his.

He indulged in the feeling of the crisp morning air filling his lungs. Memories from the day before came flooding into his consciousness. Ririka’s words still fresh in his mind and the odd string of events that followed. He rationalized the curse wasn’t real and the two disgusting oral interactions were all coincidence.

Then there was Hinata…

Pushing the sobering thought aside, he came back to the present. If he had it his way, he would lie in bed all day and avoid everyone. Unfortunately, a sharp, repeated clacking at his window forced him out of the lure of his warm sheets.

Sliding the glass on its frame, an eagle flew to his arm, digging its claws painfully into his skin. Sasuke retrieved the message, tucked away on its leg and sent it on its way. It read:

 Sasuke,

I feel terrible about what happened yesterday. Ririka was way out of line. After you left, Shion and I got into it. Anyway, we broke up and they decided to go back to the temple. I wanted to look for you, but I was really bummed about Shion leaving. I hope you’re feeling better and that you can forgive me for my dumb idea. I really did want to help. Anyway. Come find me when you can. You know where.

Naruto

=^.^=

 He folded the note and put it in his pocket. He wasn’t really upset with Naruto. As much as he would like to stay fortified within these four walls, he knew he would have to talk to Naruto eventually. Plus, the grumbling in his stomach was an unpleasant reminder that he was alive, and human. Just having returned from his travels, he had no groceries and needed to head into the village for basic necessities. So, he got up and got ready for the day.

Stepping foot outside of his sanctum, his senses flew into high alert as he realized he was being spied on, poorly, by several morons. He quickly ran through his mental checklist of everyone who might target him within Konoha.

Keeping his cool, he decided to pretend to be ignorant of their presence. Allow them to reveal themselves and their intentions in their own time. He locked the door and proceeded to the center of the village.

His mind continued to work. It could be the Konoha council. They’ve always had a touch and go relationship. They knew he was dangerous but they also knew it was better to be the hand that feeds him, for fear of being bitten. Maybe he still would bite them someday. That thought brought a smirk to his mouth.

Now at the edge of town, he knew they were about to act based on the excited and coordinated movements of his trackers. His adrenaline spiked and he allowed his chakra to spread throughout his body. He would beat them to the punch.

In a shunshin, he dropped into an alley where he determined the majority was hiding. His eyes bled red; his blade secured in hand.

Then the screaming started.

Sasuke was level-headed. Cool and collected. Fearless.

Except in the face of his fan club.

To many a rogue ninja, Sasuke’s sudden appearance would have them pissing themselves in terror. Not these teeny boppers. They were worse than the monsters in the dark.

The Uchiha’s usually stoic demeanor instantly warped into horror as a half-dozen fangirls, and one fan guy, grasped at his clothes with shrieking delight. Gripping and reaching for any part of him they could manage to get their filthy paws on.

With a quick twist of his torso, he was on his feet and fleeing from the hoard. They were faster than he remembered, but no one was as quick as him.

Running up the building sides and across rooftops, he was yet again surprised when he discovered that some of his followers were trained Konoha genin. Maybe even chunin.

Feeling overly confident, he almost ran straight into his fan guy who used a henge in a sneak attack. He noted the crazed admirer was dedicated- similarly dressed in Sasuke’s well-known, although snug fitting, mission gear and wearing a raven-colored wig that was styled in a way that reminded him of a duck’s rear end. He glowered, feeling offended.

Smoothly pivoting his hips and sliding away, he slipped out of reach of the pudgy doppelganger and immediately came face-to-face with a prepubescent female. She tittered cheerily at her ability to approach her idol and dove in, literally, for a kiss.

Sasuke squeaked his terror and teleported away, feeling a soft brush of lips against his jaw before he was on another building.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! The curse is real!

He was rubbing the wet spot in full freak out mode now. Ririka’s screeching laughter came back to taunt him from the depths of his mind. That witch was going to regret messing with the last Uchiha. He didn’t call himself an avenger for nothing. In order to get his revenge though, he needed to take care of the delinquents. With a shake of his head, he was resolute on being calm and thinking through this logically.

The Uchiha enthusiasts tried various cheap tricks to capture him. Bunshin, fuinjutsu, genjutsu, some even attempting to stall him by maiming.

He had to give his fan club credit. He wasn’t expecting them to be as creative, synchronized, or skilled as they were. It seems they had improved from his academy days.

Ever aware of his surroundings, something across the street below caught his eye.

It was Hinata.

She was sitting alone outside a café, with a porcelain mug and cinnamon bun in front of her. She appeared tranquil, wearing a sunhat and navy-blue dress while reading a book.

He was elated. Fate could be merciful- It gifted him with another opening. It worked last time. He had to know if it would work again.

Hopping down by her side, he was momentarily stunned when she thrust a gentle fist at him. He countered her attack with a turn of her arm behind her back and in the same fluid motion, he tugged her hard against his body. He smirked at her wide-eyed astonishment when he leaned his head towards her face, and gently brushed his lips against hers before sucking in her bottom lip.

Just like last time, the beating in his chest accelerated to a point he didn’t think was possible while standing still. Inhaling her scent reminded him of fresh flowers carried on a cool breeze. Not wanting to deny any of his senses, he allowed the tip of his tongue to graze the inside of her upper lip suggestively.  Her flesh was soft and pleasant. She tasted like icing and coffee, and although it was sweet in every way, he didn’t mind it for once. His nose nuzzled against hers as he gently bit her lower lip, breathing in her soft air.

Although he was completely enamored with her entire being, he could still pick up on the activity around him. All around him, he could hear the depressed moans of his pursuers as they witnessed the scene. Unanimously, they decided to give up their chase. Scattering to the winds, bemoaning their loss.

It wasn’t until the last of them had left that he released his grip on the flustered maiden.

Her eyes fluttered against her pink cheeks. Her breathing was quick and shallow. When her knees buckled, he caught her and firmly said, “Oh no, you don’t.”

“Uh… Huh?” Came her confused response.

“Stay with me, Hyuga,” he instructed without force, in an attempt to coax her to stay awake.

Her lids began to droop as her anxiety spiked. She pried them back open forcefully, only to find them starting to close again.

“Hinata. Look at me.” He spoke with a soothing tenderness neither knew was capable of him.

Obeying his command, she lifted her stare and was instantly captured by a pair of glimmering rubies.

Instantly, she felt more awake.

Allowing her focus to wander to her surroundings, she noticed that everything was still. The couple talking at the table next to them was quiet. The waiter serving coffee to the elderly woman was immobile, the liquid half poured floated in the air, frozen.

Her eyes snapped back to the Uchiha, who she noticed was holding her rigidly against his body. Her blush returned ten-fold as she was very aware of his hard chest pressed securely to her soft one. Their breaths mingled and she could see the tiny golden flecks in his eyes that made them look like they were glowing.

“U-Uchiha-san. Would you let me go… please?” She timidly requested.

“Of course,” he coolly responded and did her bidding.

She let out a breath in relief as she backed away for some much-needed personal space. Looking down at her toes to avoid his intense stare, she asked the question she already knew the answer to. “Did you… Did you put me under genjutsu?”

“I did.”

His easy response had her searching his face for answers. “Why?”

“You were going to faint. I am helping both of us avoid that problem.”

Hinata chewed her lower lip thinking of what to say next. It was unnecessary, however, as Sasuke spoke up first.

“I’d like you to come with me,” he stated without context, preamble, or restraint. A simple fact.

“W-what?” She was stumped. “Where?”

“Everywhere. I’ll pay you,” he offered.

In sharp contrast to her blush earlier, she now paled a ghostly white. Completely appalled at his suggestion, she reminded him, “I’m not a companion, Uchiha-san. I’m a kunoichi of Konoha. A Hyuga of the main house.”

“I’m not asking for you to do anything we haven’t already done, Hyuga,” he smirked. “It’s just until I can find the witch. Why else would I request your company, if not for her curse? I need your help to keep the curse at bay. Name your price. I’m willing to pay it.”

She lowered her lids in contemplation. Not for a second was she unaffected by the hot-blooded man standing inches away. His presence was impossible to ignore, by anyone really.

It was laughable, the more she thought about it. Her love life was non-existent considering the fact that the only man she ever had the courage to admire that way, took her confession and treated it like nothing. She had sacrificed herself for him. For the village.

So did Neji.

Yet she wasn’t worth a response. Less important than a fly buzzing in his ear. She was less than dirt. Was she not good enough for anyone?

Now here she was, with the last Uchiha- the most desired bachelor in all of Konoha, heck maybe in all of the nations, by everyone except her. Many would say she had the privilege to have lost her first, and second, kiss to the impressive young man.

After the initial shock of the intimate attack, she had been overwhelmed with heat and the pitiful rapid pace of her heart, before her ridiculous self-preservation alert sounded and she passed out. Instead of feeling honored by his choice, she felt like something priceless had been taken from her. In fact, she did want some form of payment.

The light in her eyes brightened as a nebulous idea began to take root in her scattered mind. The excitement was building in her chest and she stumbled out, “Anything? You’ll pay anything?”

“If it is within my power to give, and does not betray my morals, I will pay it.”

She scanned over his features. The charming mess of dark hair on his head, the set of his chiseled jaw, and most importantly, the truth resting behind his observant gaze. She bartered, “Then I want your help in return.”

He arched a brow at her declaration, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

Shifting to the table where her book was, she picked up the old but carefully tended to item, and pulled a folded, abused piece of parchment from within. Placing the book back down, she opened the note and displayed the contents. “I need your assistance to collect these items from these locations, and bring them to the Temple elder.”

“You can’t just collect them from Konoha?”

“No. It’s imperative that they come from these specific locations,” she insisted.

“What for?” He wondered aloud, quickly committing the seemingly random list to memory.

“It doesn’t matter. Do we have a deal?” She stared at him with wide hopeful eyes, each tense moment of silence feeling like an eternity.

“I believe our paths are aligned, Hyuga,” he ultimately agreed with a dip of his head. “Ririka will be at the temple as well, so we have the same destination. You have a deal.”

The blinding smile that spread across her face felt like a gut punch. It knocked the wind out of him and for a moment he felt dizzy. He released the genjutsu and life around them started up again.

“What now?” She asked giddily.

“First, we eat.”

.

.

.

Looking around her light-colored and minimalistic quarters in the Hyuga compound, her heart weighed heavy. Absorbing every little detail of the layout, the familiar scents, and her precious keepsakes.

Her memories.

The well-worn books on medicinal herbs and hanakotoba, from her long-departed mother, lying flat atop her bookshelf. On the wall where her headboard rested, she displayed her treasured weapons. From the first weapon her father gifted and trained her with, the bamboo shinai, to the deathly sharp, five-hundred-year-old tanto Ko brought back for her from the land of Iron. There were colorful ribbons on her vanity from her sister that could be converted to bindings, rope, or thread. A piece of Pain’s metal rod, that pierced her body when she saved Naruto and the village served as a reminder of both her triumph and losses, adorned the upper right corner of her desk.

In that same corner sat a headband. A symbol of the Leaf Village and source of pride and achievement for graduating academy students. Neji’s headband.

She delicately held her late cousin’s personal effect in her hands with deep interest as the minutes slowed to a crawl. He wanted her to live. To be happy. With Naruto, as she’d always desired. How would she honor his death now?

With bitter melancholy, she gently folded and tucked away the revered object into the pouch on her lower back. It was the last item she needed to pack. Before shutting the door to this place she called home and found respite, Hinata took one last meaningful glance. She did not know how long this journey would take or what fate had in store, but she knew she was headed towards something life-changing.

Approaching the gates of Konoha, the leave of absence approval from the Hokage securely in hand, that feeling of desolation continued swimming in her gut uncomfortably. Not just because she was leaving the home that she had, after many years of childhood trauma, finally found peace with, but because she had been planning this journey for far too long and could not afford any mistakes.

“Hyuga.”

Her thoughts were disturbed by the deep rumble and depthless gaze of this mysterious figure before her. It was at that moment, when black eyes met with white, that Hinata felt a calm warmth spreading from her chest to her limbs. She wondered for a moment if this was another genjutsu, and realized it was not.

As ominous and unfamiliar as Sasuke Uchiha may be, without knowing why, Hinata Hyuga felt safe with him. In fact, she no longer felt apprehensive at all.

This knowledge brought a genuine smile to her face and she greeted, “Call me Hinata.”

The edges of his lips curled up, taking her breath away. His eyes glinted in amusement. “Call me Sasuke.”

~~~ To Be Continued ~~~

[bthump]

I just saw the ask you answered about whether guts is fully human or not, and while i agree with your opinion on it and think that guts being completely human is an important aspect of his character and parallel to griffith, i’ve also wondered if maybe miura originally meant to imply that he might not be and was gonna do smth with it eventually. Personally, when i first read the manga years ago, i kinda thought he might have some kind of connection to zodd. It was mostly their hairstyle and incredible strength, but idk, smth about him made me feel like there was more to it than coincidence. Imo since Guts is the main character his design is supposed to stand out, but zodd looks kinda like a demon version of him. Then again gambino and him have similar hair too, but that might be a way to show his influence and parental role on guts. Zodd prob wouldn’t know if he had gotten guts’ mom pregnant or anything but it was always kept in the back of my mind as a possibility. Idk if maybe it was an idea miura only played with in the beginning then scrapped, or if it was eventually supposed to become part of the story, or it wasn’t his intention at all, but i like to think about it. Idk if i sound completely stupid lol but i was just wondering what you thought about this, sorry

That's fair! I probably phrased my last post a little harshly because I'm personally not very into those kinds of plot-twists in general, but yeah I mean, I can totally see why you'd make that connection.

I think that Zodd and Guts are intentionally meant to be similar in a lot of ways, and I think that's because they're foils who parallel each other a lot. Zodd replaces Guts in the new Band of the Hawk, Zodd essentially lives Guts' "dream" of fighting stronger and stronger enemies and being the most powerful, Zodd has transformed his body into a weapon even more thoroughly than Guts has, Guts envisions himself as Zodd after killing Adonis, etc.

So yeah I think you're right that Zodd does kind of look like a more demon-y version of Guts, and I think that could be why, if it's not coincidence - he's sort of a dark mirror to Guts.

Thanks for sending your thoughts, and please don't worry about sounding stupid lol, discussion is always cool!

[wrenhyperfixates]

The Raven Haired Rebel

Chapter 1

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After invading New York, it was decided that, as a punishment, Loki would work for SHIELD. Yeah, right. After escaping from their custody and stranded on Midgard, the God of Mischief decides to prove he’s the one thing no one ever thought he was: the good guy. Now a vigilante, Loki attempts to make amends for his past wrongdoings while also evading the Avengers, including their newest member. You. Brought in specially for the case, you notice more and more details about the prince’s story don’t add up. When you get the chance to turn him in, will you listen to your employers or your heart that believes Loki’s done nothing wrong? Chapter Summary: In which you plead Loki’s case. Chapter Warnings: none A/N: Besides this being a miniseries, all the chapters are pretty short too! Hope you enjoy all the same :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely @laurenandloki @fallinallinmendes @sophlubbwriting @mooncat163

RHR Tag List: @happygalaxymilkshake @electroma89 @stardust-walker @i-would-kneel-for-loki​

Masterlist

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Swiping into Avengers Tower made you feel important, more so than swiping into a SHIELD base. You weren’t exactly sure why, though. Perhaps it was because SHIELD was a secret, and no one knew. Here, the passerby on the street looked on in awe. Or maybe it was because the Tower was so elite. Because so select few got to enter. But really, it probably wasn’t that you got to enter so much as why you got to enter.

True, since your first day on the job, word got around that you were the best in your field. Fast as lightning, you’d risen through the ranks to be Fury’s top tracker, a position all but secured when he brought you on for this case. A case, you knew, that intrigued you far more than it should have.

Just like everyone else had on that day a little over three months ago, you watched the TV with rapt attention as gods and superheroes made themselves known to the world. And, you supposed, supervillains too. Not that you’d told anyone, but something didn’t quite sit right with you in the weeks after when news anchors and colleagues alike were referring to the raven haired god as such.

For the next three days, you’d pored over books of Norse Mythology and a number of studies. Most of the latter coming from one Dr. Jane Foster, who you soon came to link with Thor. But even there you found a disconnect between the god of legends and the bloodied man on your screen. He never really did have malicious intent before. He was a trickster, yes, but he’d not even come close to doing something this drastic before! Ok, yes, there was his involvement in Ragnarök in the myths, but even for that you’d found multiple sources that could debunk it. Besides, it certainly didn’t seem like Asgard had even faced the end times yet.

Alas, you figured Thor knew his brother, and you had your own case to work on, so you let be the mystery that was Loki.

And then you were called into Fury’s office a week ago and asked to begin tracking the god. A bit too eagerly, you’d agreed to take the case. You’d dealt with villains before, truly evil people, and your search only further proved what deep down you already knew; Loki was not one. Everywhere you followed his trail, a mysterious savior was stopping bank robberies and saving people from burning buildings and runaway trains. Not to mention there were multiple descriptions of said savior using green magic. It seemed a wonder that the tracker in the case before you hadn’t noticed. Then again, people tend to only see what they want to.

Regardless, you made your way to the elevators, heading toward the conference room on one of the upper floors. You tapped your foot as it ascended, impatient to share your findings. As the lift stopped and you got out, you tugged on your leather jacket. It was ever so slightly too big, but it was on sale. Plus, you felt like it looked pretty cool, considering your job and all. Subconsciously, you puffed up your chest a bit too. Regardless of actual size, you felt like a petite little thing, stepping into a room of now renowned heroes. Strange, you thought, how so much could change in just three months.

“You know, I got to get me one of those,” said the man suddenly keeping pace next to you. You quickly identified him as Tony Stark.

“I... Pardon?” you replied, slightly startled.

“Your jacket,” he said, pointing at it. “I feel like the leather will match the whole rugged good-guy, vibe. Besides, I think Capsicle’s got one.”

You chuckled at that. “Maybe we should just make it the team uniform then.”

“Team, huh? So you must be that new tracker kid we’re working with.”

“I’d hardly call myself a kid,” you scoffed.

“When you get to be as rich as I am, you get to call everyone a kid,” Tony shrugged.

“I’m not exactly sure that’s how it works, but whatever you say, I guess,” you chuckled again.

“See, now if everyone would just adopt that mindset, we’d get stuff done a lot faster around here.” He quickly signed something that was brought up to him on a clipboard, never stopping. You wondered how long he could keep up like this before collapsing. “Besides, take it as a compliment. That last tracker was some fuddy-duddy old guy.”

“Fuddy-duddy?” you guffawed. “Maybe you’re the old one, after all.”

Tony feigned like he’d been struck in the heart. But before you could keep up the banter, you reached the conference room, and Steve was waving you inside.

“Stark,” he said with a nod. “Are you ready to begin or are you going to keep distracting our new teammate?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” he said with a little salute. “Reporting for duty.”

You mouthed a sorry as you followed Stark into the room. Even if the rest of them turned out to be hard-asses, at least Tony was fun. And having one ally was better than none, you figured. As you took your seat across from your new friend, you flipped through the file that had been left for you. It wasn’t really anything new, so you glanced at your teammates again. Nat and Clint both nodded at you, recognizing you from a couple other missions you’d interacted during. There wasn’t really any time to talk, however, before Captain Rogers was walking to the head of the long table.

“Alright, team. Before we get started, I think it’s worth mentioning we have a new member on the team,” Steve said, before welcoming you by name. “I think we’re all caught up on the situation here, so let’s dive right in. A new trend has shown up in the Tower’s data mining.”

“Data analysis,” Tony butt in. “It sounds more ethical that way.”

“Whatever you want to call it, the program showed that wherever Loki goes, there’s a spike in activity of an organization calling themselves AIM. At first glance they seem innocent, but after some digging, we’ve found they’re anything but. We’ve determined Loki is working with them, perhaps even masterminding some of their more underground projects. Agent? Can we assume you found the same things?”

“Uh, yeah, no. Actually, my data shows the opposite,” you cleared your throat. Standing, you slid the information from your tablet onto the room’s TV screen. “See, it seems that he’s actually doing good deeds. There are multiple accounts of a man fitting Loki’s description performing heroic works.”

“Ok, I’ll bite,” Tony said, leaning forward. “What about AIM then? You think it’s a coincidence.”

You bit your lip. “I’ll admit, I haven’t found anything about them yet. But... maybe, just maybe, Loki’s showing up where they are because he’s trying to stop them.”

“I am so sorry to interrupt, but that does not sound like the Loki I know at all,” Thor laughed. “A wonderful joke, though.”

Now you were getting mad. You shouldn’t be, but you saw something worth defending in Loki. A lot, actually. There was something about that look in his eye that you couldn’t quite read, but it was telling you something was wrong all the same.

“That’s not fair! Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought. Look at this,” you said, swiping to show a side by side of Loki during and after the fight. “You can see it by the look on his face; something was seriously wrong during the battle. Plus, I’ve seen videos of him when he first came; he was not alright. Afflicted with severe anxiety and what looks like burn marks, I’d say. He needed help.”

“With all due respect,” Clint chimed in, “aren’t your a tracker, not a psychologist?”

“Yes, but as such I’ve been trained to look at all the details. Not just what’s convenient.”

“Listen,” Steve sighed before things got any more heated. “It’s a great theory and all, but you read Thor’s account of everything that happened before this. So, until we get some solid evidence proving otherwise, we’re going to have to stick with what we already know. We’ll put a pin in the AIM thing until you can take a look, though. Ok?”

“Ok,” you agreed, defeatedly taking your seat again.

You looked around the table. Natasha and Bruce, the only two who hadn’t said anything, both looked kind of pensive. Alright, maybe bewildered was the better word for Bruce. He was smart, no doubt about it, but you got the impression he wasn’t very good in social settings. Then there was Clint and Thor, both who seemed a little skeptical of you. At least Thor seemed to be considering his brother’s innocence at least a little. Steve was a bit more unreadable as he continued to prattle on about what you already “knew” for the case. And then there was Tony, who seemed more impressed than anything else. He, at least, had seemed to genuinely consider what you said. Perhaps he still was.

“The best way to solve this,” Steve closed his spiel, “is to bring him in. Agent, have you located him yet?”

You sighed. Deeply. It shouldn’t be this much of a struggle to present your findings. You’d had no trouble speaking on his behalf. Yet a part of you—an alarmingly large part, you realized—didn’t want to turn him in. But who were you to ignore direct orders?

“Yup,” you conceded, pulling up a map with a blinking red dot, marking Loki’s location.

“Well then, team,” Steve said to the group. “Let’s roll out.”

[the-bau-quinjet]

Next Time

Peter Parker x Rogers!reader

Summary: You and Peter make plans for "next time", not realizing just how quickly they would happen.

Warnings: none! Just fluff :)

Word Count: 3504

a/n: My first real Peter fic! So this is a sort of sequel to 16 hours isn't enough. I was just feeling inspired, but this focuses more on the readers relationship with Peter! You don't have to read the first part to understand this one.

Masterlist

“I’m gonna go out with Ned and MJ tomorrow, celebrate our day off. Do you wanna come?” You and Peter had just gotten back from patrolling, and it was already 2 am. He's hopeful that you'll want to spend more time with him, but given the guilty look on your face, he doesn't think your answer is going to be positive.

“I would love to, but I need to sleep for at least 15 hours. Maybe I can come next time? If we ever have another day off.” He can't help but laugh, completely understanding the feeling.

“Trust me, I get it. Next time works. Add in a 16th hour, you deserve it.” He smiles at your yawn, thinking about how cute you look when you're tired.

“Thanks Pete.” You both laugh when you yawn again. “16 hours might not even be enough.” He relishes in the feeling of your hug before heading to the elevator.

He decided to head back to Queens tonight so he could sleep in a little longer. He can definitely relate to your need for sleep, being a teenage avenger is an exhausting schedule to maintain.

-

The next morning, nearly afternoon, Peter finally gets out of bed. Having slept for 8 hours, he definitely understands what you were saying last night.

Still, he's a little bummed he won't be seeing you today. He gets ready anyway, texting MJ and Ned. The three of them decide to go to Delmar's for lunch and wing it from there.

After ordering their usual sandwiches, the trio heads outside to eat.

"I thought you were going to invite Y/N?" MJ starts the interrogation as soon as the three have sat down.

"I did, but she was exhausted, said she was going to sleep all day." He's bummed again at not seeing you, but he still understands.

"Oh man, I'm sorry dude." Ned responds, feeling bad for his friend.

"It's fine. I get it. I definitely could have slept for another 8 hours." Peter shrugs it off, not wanting to dwell on it.

"What should we do now?" Ned poses the question, looking at his friends.

"I don't know. Something fun though, I never have free time anymore." Peter complains, although his friends can tell he's mostly joking.

"I haven't been to Coney Island in a while. What if we go ride all the rides and make fun of the scaredy cats?" MJ suggests.

The two boys agree, finishing up their sandwiches and heading to the subway.

After a horrendous 2 hour subway ride, the three teens finally arrive at the theme park.

MJ drags the two of them from ride to ride, excitedly- but subtly- pointing out the strangers who look like they're going to puke.

Peter does his best not to think about you while he's there. He can't help but remember all the times you told him about going to Coney Island with your dad though. You absolutely loved your father daughter days.

"Dude, isn't that Y/N?" Ned smacks Peter on the shoulder, pointing toward the line for the slingshot ride.

"I thought you said she was sleeping all day..." MJ worriedly looks toward where Ned's pointing.

"Um, yeah. That's what she told me. It probably just looks like her." Peter doesn't want to turn around. He doesn't want to know.

"No, dude. That's definitely her." Ned keeps gawking, trying to get Peter to look. "Why is she with Captain America?"

Peter perks up at that, understanding what must have happened. "He's here too? He was supposed to be on a mission until Tuesday!" He finally turns around, easily spotting you and your dad in line for the ride.

He can't help but stare at how beautiful you are. His smile grows as he takes in your tired, but excited expression.

"Um, care to share your findings with the group?" MJ shoves his arm, trying to get his attention back.

"Huh? Oh! Right." Peter laughs at himself. "He wasn't supposed to be back until Tuesday, they must be having a father daughter day. She told me how they used to always go to Coney Island as an escape from the superhero life." Peter grins, remembering the first time you told him about missing spending time with your dad. He's happy you're finally getting just that.

"What?! Why didn't you tell us she was Captain America's daughter? That's so cool!" Ned finally turns back, staring wide eyed at Peter.

"I introduced her as Y/N Rogers... I kind of thought it was implied." Peter looks back and forth between his friends. It's clear MJ knew, but Ned is genuinely surprised.

"I'm honestly not even surprised you didn't put that together Ned." MJ shakes her head at the boy. "Now, what should we get for dinner?"

"Ohh, hot dogs! It's a Coney Island classic!" And just like that Ned's attention has been diverted. Peter can't help but steal one more glance at you.

You're clearly having a good time. It looks like you've finally convinced Steve to go on the slingshot if the cautious smile on his face means anything. He watches as you jump up and down, hugging your dad with a big bear hug.

He smiles at how happy you are before turning and following his friends to the hot dog stand.

-

Peter didn't see you at all on Sunday. Normally, the two of you would at least do some homework together, but you hadn't responded to any of his texts.

Around 10 pm, his phone finally dings indicating two new texts from you.

I'm so sorry! I slept so late today, I panicked and forced Tony to help me with my homework so I could get it done faster.

Did you get yours done? I can try to help you :)

haha, I thought you were going to sleep all day yesterday? And, yeah I got mine done. Thanks for the offer though! 😄

I was definitely planning to sleep all day. My dad got back early and surprised me with a father daughter day though. I didn't have the heart to tell him I was exhausted. 😴 I powered through a full day of hot dogs, amusement park rides, McDonald's, and a movie 😊

He was about to respond when another text came through.

Okay, admittedly I fell asleep halfway through the movie... but still

Honestly, Peter was glad to hear the confirmation that you hadn't lied to him. He didn't think you would, but it still calmed any unnecessary anxiety to know exactly what happened.

Well, I'm glad you got caught up on sleep today then. I actually was at Coney Island on Saturday too, what a crazy coincidence 😂

Peter...

Did you see me at Coney Island?

Damn, you know me too well... I did, but I saw your dad too so I figured you were having a father daughter day!

I just didn't want to sound creepy... 😳

Not creepy, just a coincidence...

we should go together sometime 😊

Peter nearly dropped his phone when the second text came through. Were you asking him out? Was it just a friend thing? Shit, he really needs to respond.

For sure!

Peter can't help but think he sounds like an idiot. "For sure?" Who says that?!

I mean, that would be great. Our next day off?

For sure! 😉

Oh god. He was definitely in for it now.

-

Yours and Peters next day off came a lot faster than he expected. Normally, you would go months without a whole day off.

Maybe Steve was worried about you, or maybe it was Tony. Maybe it was just a lack of bad guys, but not even two weeks later you were both given a day off.

"So, do you still want to go to Coney Island?" You were nervous to be asking Peter about your conversation a few weeks ago, but you wanted to spend time with him.

"Yeah, definitely! You'll have to show me all your favorite rides." he smiled, glad you brought it up so he wouldn't have to. "I can pick you up tomorrow at 8?"

"Sounds perfect. Not too early, but still early enough to get there before the crowds." You smiled. If he wanted to pick you up, maybe he thought it was a date...

You hugged him, lingering a little more than usual in his arms. "i'll see you tomorrow, Pete."

He blushed at the nickname, as usual. "Goodnight, Y/N."

The two of you went your separate ways, each freaking out about what the other was thinking.

-

The next morning, you were pacing around the kitchen in the compound, freaking out. You didn't want to make a fool out of yourself on this maybe date.

"Morning, sweet pea. What's on your mind?" Your dad walked in, getting ready to make his post-run smoothie. One look at your frazzled pacing, and he knew something was up.

You froze instantly. You hadn't even thought about telling your dad. "Oh, um... nothing?" You winced, knowing hoe unconving that was.

Steve laughed, even more intrigued now. "Come on, you can tell me. What's going on?"

"Well... I maybe have a date today..." You said the words slowly, unsure of how he would react. You hadn't talked to your dad much about dating.

His first question surprised you. "Maybe?"

You breathed a sigh of relief, glad he didn't immediately freak out. Unbeknownst to you, on the inside he was screaming.

"Well, yeah. I don't know if it's a date or not." Your nerves were back, displayed by your continued pacing.

"Do you want it to be a date?" Again, his question was calmer than you anticipated.

You didn't even need to think about your answer. "I do, but I don't know if he does. That's why it's a maybe."

He nodded, seeming to think about your predicament. "Nat! Can you come in here for a minute?"

You froze again, unprepared to share your maybe date plans with another Avenger.

"What's up, Cap?" She smiled at you, clearly having an idea as to what this could be about.

"Y/N maybe has a date." Her smile grew, clearly her idea was on the right track.

"Maybe, huh?" She turned back to Steve, trying to figure out why exactly he needed her help.

"Yeah, so can you help us figure out if it's an actual date?" You smiled at your dad, surprised but thankful for his actions.

"Of course! Tell me everything, how did you plan it?" She sat down at the island, listening intently as you explained your text conversation with Peter that day, leaving out only the fact that it was Peter.

You went on to describe the conversation you had with him yesterday, again leaving Peter's name out of it.

"Well, from what you described I can definitely see why you're confused. You've been friends with this guy for awhile?"

You nodded, even more nervous to hear your confusion is justified. She nodded to herself, seemingly pondering all the information that was presented.

"I think it's a date." You froze for the third time, unsure if that made your nerves better or worse. "But, you'll know for sure when he picks you up. If it's just a friend thing, he'll probably wear what he always wears. If he thinks it's a date, he'll probably dress a little nicer. He'll want to impress you." She winked as she rose from her chair.

"Thank you!" You rushed around the island, pulling her into a hug. Now you've at least got a plan as to how to figure out if this is a date or not.

"No problem, kiddo. I'm happy to help with girl stuff." She winked at Steve, heading out of the kitchen.

"So, you gonna tell me who this maybe date is with?" There's the questions you were expecting.

Before you could even think of a response, the doorbell rang. "Gotta go, love you!" You planted a kiss on his cheek, rushing out of the room before he could question you.

As you ran out, Tony wondered in just in time to hear Steve ask "Friday, who just rang the doorbell?"

"Mr. Parker, Captain."

Steve nearly choked on his smoothie.

"What's that about, Capsicle?" Tony asked, taken by surprise at the man's reaction.

"Peter Parker is taking my daughter on a maybe date." He said it with a sense of caution, unsure how to feel. To his joy, Tony nearly choked on the water he was drinking.

-

You were nervous to open the door, but excited to test Nat's theory. It made sense when you thought about it. you yourself dressed a little nicer than normal for your day with Peter.

Instead of jeans and a tee, you opted for a colorful t-shirt dress. It was still casual, and comfortable enough for a day at a theme park, but nicer than normal.

You flung the door open, immediately pulling Peter in for a hug. "Hi!" You were slightly out of breath from running from the kitchen, but Peter didn't say anything about it.

"You look really pretty." Peter blushed, squeezing you tightly.

"Thank you. You look very handsome." You couldn't stop the smile from growing as you took in his outfit. He had on a pair of khakis and a long sleeve button up. He still looked casual, but definitely nicer than normal.

"Thanks. You ready to go?" He held his arm out when you nodded, guiding you to the car when you took it.

You didn't know what to expect on the car ride, so you were pleasantly surprised when Peter put on some music. A few songs in, you recognized it as a playlist you made him of your favorite songs. Your heart melted a bit at the realization.

When you arrived at the park, Peter rushed to open your door for you. It was a tradition you never understood, but you blushed anyway, accepting his hand as you rose from the seat.

"What do you want to do first?" He lead you toward the entrance with a hand on your back, again taking you by surprise.

"Oh, well it makes the most sense to do the big rides first, before the lines get too long!" You were instantly in planning mode, creating the best route for you to get on all the best rides.

You eagerly pulled Peter through the park, holding his hand to guide him. It wasn't uncommon for you to grab his hand and drag him somewhere, but you felt a little bolder today. When you got to the first line, you intertwined your fingers, continuing to hold his hand as you waited.

The next few rides went the same way. You pulled Peter from one roller coaster to the next until lunch time.

"Do you want to get some lunch?" He intertwined your hands this time, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

"Sure! Let's go to Paul's Daughter, yeah? Dad and I had hot dogs last time." You scrunched up your face at the idea of eating more hot dogs.

Peter couldn't stop the smile from growing on his face as he took in your adorable expression. "I had hot dogs last time too."

The two of you just stared at each other smiling until someone bumped into trying to get around the boardwalk.

You laughed, squeezing his hand. The two of you strolled down the boardwalk until you made it to the restaurant.

You happily ate your burgers and fries, talking about anything and everything that came up.

After eating, you continued to walk along the boardwalk, giving yourself time to digest before doing anything else.

"Did you want to go to the arcade area?" Peter questioned, trying to make sure you did everything you wanted.

"Sure, we can play some games! Fair warning, I've had lots of practice. You can't get mad if I beat you." You couldn't help but tease him a bit.

"Darling, you wound me." He playfully slaps his hands over his heart, giving you his best puppy eyes. "Did you forget about my spidey senses?"

You laugh alongside him at his antics, genuinely having fun with him. All of your earlier nerves seem so unnecessary as you stare at his smiling face.

"Yeah, yeah spider boy. Let's see what you can do."

Unsurprisingly, Peter beat you at nearly every game you played. You might be a force to reckon with in hand to hand, but when it comes to throwing rings at bottles, he's got you beat.

True to every rom com ever made, Peter wins you a giant blue elephant. You're not even annoyed at losing, having experienced it over and over with your dad.

It's going on 8 pm when you finally finish playing games. You gave most of the prizes to little kids you passed, only keeping the elephant. You wanted something to remember this day by.

"Is there anything else you want to do?" You smile at Peter, letting him decide your final activity.

"I've always wanted to ride the ferris wheel..." He answered honestly, leaving out the part about kissing you at the top.

"Then ride the ferris wheel we shall!" He laughed at your over the top expression, smiling as you again dragged him by his hand.

The two of you slid into the last open seat on the ride, sitting next to each other with the elephant across from you.

You gleefully looked out over the park, smiling and pointing at all the lights.

"We never stayed this late when I was younger. I was always so tired, so we'd leave and get McDonald's on the way home." You smiled as you remembered countless father daughter days. "The lights look so pretty."

"Absolutely breathtaking." Peter whispers, not having taken his eyes of you for the duration of the ride. When the ride stops, the two of you are at the very top.

A slight breeze cause you to shiver, leaning into Peter for warmth. He puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

His other hand reaches up to brush your hair out of your face, and just like that you can barely breathe. His hand lingers on your cheek, eyes roaming your face.

You both lean a little closer, ready to take this next step when the ride jerks, causing each of you to jump back in shock. You lean your head on his shoulder for the duration of the ride, cursing the bad timing.

When you get off the ferris wheel, Peter guides you back to the car. Again, you're half expecting the ride to be a little awkward, but Peter doesn't let it happen.

The two of you continue talking about life, reminiscing on stories from when you were younger. Before you know it, your back at the compound.

Again, Peter gets out to open your door, taking the chivalry thing very seriously. He walks you to the door, painfully aware of your almost kiss on the ferris wheel.

"I had a really good time today, Pete. Thank you." You lean in, kissing him ever so lightly on the cheek.

You purposefully linger close to his face, willing him to give you a sign that he's on the same page.

His hands frame your face as he pulls you in for a kiss. You melt into each other, eagerly reciprocating the kiss until you need to pull away for air.

"Goodnight, Y/N." Peter whispers, his face still only millimeters from yours.

"Goodnight, Peter." You whisper back, planting a final quick kiss on his lips before going inside.

You lean back against the door, relishing in the feeling of his lips on yours. Eventually, you walk through the compound, heading for the elevators.

Unsurprisingly, Natasha, Tony, and your dad are all sitting in the common room you have to pass through.

Before you can ever utter a greeting, your dad is talking. "Parker, really?" Your not surprised that he figured it out, he probably just asked Friday. You are surprised at his tone of voice though. It almost sounds approving.

"Yeah..." Your answer is cautious, unsure of where this is going.

"I'm happy for you sweet pea, he's a good kid." You hug your dad, glad to know he's not going to ban you from seeing him. You wouldn't have expected him to react so drastically, but you’re still surprised by the calmness.

"Thanks, dad. I love you."

"I love you too." He rubs your back until you pull away, ready to head to bed.

Before you can leave the room, Nat asks the question all three adults have been wondering. "What's the verdict? Date or not a date?"

You were nearly out of the room when she asked, looking over your shoulder when you reach the doorway. Your face betrays the answer before your voice does, wearing a small, but loving smile. You involuntarily squeeze the elephant closer, hugging the giant stuffed animal closer to your body.

"Definitely a date."

[legends-live-in-memories]

Picture Perfect

AYO! its me back with more content for the second time this week while i ignore my other wips again. this is a lil gift for @queen-o-leen who i promised wholesome content for! I hope you like it!

Timinette/Timari Oneshot 1.9K words (not related to my other timari oneshots)

Summary:

“Tim spends a nice day in a park in Paris and takes a picture of a pretty girl.

He somehow gets an almost date out of it.”

no warnings this time. completely family-friendly. I know i surprise myself with this one too.

without further ado

He would be the last to admit that Jason was right and that time away was what he needed at this point in life but it can’t be ignored that, for the first time in possibly three years, Tim was having a wonderful day. He was having a wonderful week actually. After one too many unsuccessful cold cases and the simmering anxiety of off-world missions, his family, primarily Jason, for some reason, demanded that he take some time off and away from his unusual brand of normal. How that meant being sent across the Atlantic Ocean to Paris of all places, he wasn’t entirely sure. Alfred probably had a hand in that decision given that, as part of his forced vacation, Tim was not allowed to actually plan any of it. Him. Timothy Jackson Drake. The guy who stalked and manoeuvred his way into Batman’s house and team. The guy who tracked and found said man when the universe thought he was dead but was actually drifting through time. Yeah, Tim was not pleased about being led blind on his vacation. 

At least Paris was a nice city. And he brought his camera. He figured he could use this time to get back into old hobbies and what better hobby to start up again in the city of love than photography? He’s taken pictures of every tourist attraction worth visiting by his second day and began to take candid shots of people and animals. Would Damian like the animal pictures? Maybe, if they came from someone who wasn’t Tim. Is he going to try and give them to him anyways? Absolutely not. He liked his liver where it is, thank you very much. They would serve as great bribing material however. But that’s a thought for another day. 

Right now he was working on capturing what could possibly be described as the stereotypical outing with friends. He’s sitting along some bushes near the entrance of a park and staring at a group of teens his own age hanging around. He spots a brunette with thick curls of hair animatedly speaking with a guy in a vibrant cap. She’s waving a camera herself, and he appreciates her taste in equipment. Her eyes spark with fox-like mischief while the cap guy has a peaceful aura about him; like an old turtle. Next he sees a blonde, her hair is in a ridiculously high ponytail and she’s in a deep conversation with a red head off to the side of the whole group; her words are rushing out of her and she’s a buzzing bee with excitement. Another blond is in the area, but he sits in a broad patch of sun possibly napping with an open book on his chest. Very cat-like Tim supposes. He barely pays them more than a second of thought however. No. 

His focus is on the quaint beauty directly in his line of sight. She’s poised up against the giant tree trunk with a sketchbook in her lap and pencils surrounding her. Her hair hangs by her shoulders in twintails and it’s a colour so dark it seems to absorb the shade of the tree. She’s scribbling furiously on the page before her and her tongue is slightly peaking out to the side. Her forehead is creased with stress lines and her shoulders hunch slightly over her frame. She’s the vision of deep concentration and dedication and Tim would be a fool not to capture her. He’s gotten wide shots of her companions but now he wants to focus on her. 

Looking through the lens of his camera he zooms in on her profile. When his camera focuses, he spots a constellation of freckles across her cheeks, barely there, almost blending in with her complexion but Tim is nothing if not hypervigilant. He goes to take another photo when a bug flies into view. It’s a ladybug. It lands precariously on the tip of her nose and it’s just the thing that breaks her out of her work-induced trance. Tim is watching her now, long forgetting to click the shutter. Her eyes cross as she stares intently at the black-spotted creature and its presence seems to amuse her. She’s giggling to herself, as if sharing an inside joke with the bug and reaches a slim finger to swipe the insect gently from her nose. She inspects it and smiles a smile so soft that not even a feather could compare. He feels like an intruder. More so than one who takes pictures of cute strangers in public. 

Coming back to his senses, he takes another picture, the final picture, and lowers the camera from his face. He looks back at his temporary muse and finds that she is already looking at him. Her head tilts in confusion. Apprehension. Possibly a bit of fear. Which is valid given that Tim was pointing a camera at her from across the public park. What should he do though to quell her fears? 

He felt his face lift into a grin; he didn’t need to look at himself to know it was awkward and forced. A shrug of his shoulders and a flimsy wave of the camera in his hand was the only thing he did. Before he could begin to stumble over himself in apology, however, she surprised him. With a cautious hunch, her shoulders brought up to her ears, and an embarrassed smile to match his own, she slowly flips her sketchbook around and he comes face to face with, well, his face. It was a portrait of him. She had drawn a portrait of him. And she was showing him. Feeling embolden, he flips his camera to show her the screen but she’s too far away. He gets up on unsteady legs, cramped from his uncomfortable position, and begins a slow stride towards her. She meets him in the middle.

“Hi.” He barely speaks those words. They’re more like an exhale or a sigh of relief that he hadn’t scared her off. 

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind the drawing.” Her voice is high and light. Like a spring breeze. She’s daintily waving at him and he sees that her fingers are rough, and calloused. Unexpected but he finds it rather charming. Before he could get another word in, she’s off like an engine. “I just saw you there, and you had your camera so I figured you were taking pictures of us and thought that if you were then you wouldn’t mind me sketching you in kind but I should have asked and I’m sorry for breaching your privacy—” 

“Wait, slow down.” He fears that if he hadn’t interrupted her when he did she would run out of oxygen. Did she even breathe during her spiel? A voice in his head, that sounds like Cass, utters a soft ‘pot, kettle’ and okay, he sees a lot of himself in her mile-a-minute style of speaking. 

“No need to apologize. I’m flattered, truly. You were right, I was taking pictures of you. And your friends!” he hastily adds that last part. He turns his camera so the display screen faces her and he feels himself hold his breath in anticipation. 

A blush rises to her cheeks, red like the ladybug that interrupted her. He quite likes that colour on her. His eyes drift to the sketch and he’s further impressed by her skill. She has an eye for detail. He notices a bird in the background. It’s a robin. That piques his interest and lights a flicker of fear within him. 

“May I ask,” he begins slowly, unsure of what that little addition could mean. Did she know? How could she? Was his identity compromised?

“Why did you draw a robin in the background? It’s lovely but I’m curious,” he finishes. He’s going to play dumb until he has more information. She seems taken off guard by the question and raises her shoulders to her ears again in an embarrassed hunch.

“Well,” she starts, but she seems unsure and the words die on her tongue. She tries again.

“I just saw it fly by and then it landed behind you. So I thought ‘why not?’ and drew it. It seemed fitting.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye and now he felt kind of felt like a jerk for baselessly accusing some random girl. Of course it was just a coincidence. This bat-paranoia was going to be the end of him one day. It’s by sheer miracles and luck why it hasn’t already. 

“Oh, no worries. It just surprised me because it’s my favourite bird.” Right. Lie to the pretty French girl. But what else could he do? Tell her the truth?

“Then it’s a cool coincidence, huh?” She seems encouraged by that tidbit of information.

“Yeah, pure luck on your part.”

“What?” She seems more startled at that than Tim thinks she should be but before he can think deeper into it she speaks again and he would be a fool to not give her his undivided attention.

“Why did you take a picture of me with the ladybug? If you don’t mind me asking.” That stumps him because, to be honest, he does not know why himself. It just felt right. So he tells her as such.

“Well that would be another coincidence because ladybugs are my favourite insects.” She gives him a full smile alongside that statement and the brilliance of it almost blinds him. He wants to capture that smile for eternity. 

The thought strikes him. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He knows by the Friday of next week he’ll be flying back to Gotham where it’s business as usual and Red Robin won’t have time for commitments and puppy love. But right now? Right now Tim Drake is on vacation with a week and half left and all the time in the world to entertain the idea of a spring romance. Making the decision, he goes for it and takes the chance.

“I was getting a bit hungry. Do you know anywhere that’s good to eat at?” It’s an offer, open to interpretation. If she just lists some place, he knows where her interests lay. If she offers to escort him somewhere, then she’s taken the bait for exactly what it is, an invitation for more; whatever more is. He hopes she takes the bait. 

“Yes I do actually! My parents own a bakery just outside the park.” Her enthusiasm is uplifting and the offer of a place so personal is a good sign in Tim’s book. “Let me show the way, and I could join you if you would like.”

“Perfect. That’s wonderful. It will be my treat since you’re going out of your way on my account.”

“Nonsense. Like I said, it’s my parents’ bakery. They’ll be more than happy to give some complimentary snacks.” She loops her arm around his and begins to drag him to the park gate. She’s strong and her grip is firm and Tim feels lightheaded at the ease with which she pulls him. He can’t help but be swept up in the tides that is this girl. 

“I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Drake.” He offers his name, something he should have done at the beginning.

She looks back at him over her shoulder and he’s caught up in the oceans of her eyes. They’re alight with joy. 

“Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Nice to meet you too.”

They’re almost by the bakery now, he can smell the fresh baked goods from here, and he can’t wait to sit down and get to know this girl better. Maybe get her number by the end of their lunch.

Yeah. Tim was having a wonderful day.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Kinktober 3: Naga/Semi-public

Tags: naga, semi-public, is there a word for female cockwarming? pussy warming??? idk, uhhh, yeah

You don’t know why you find the upper levels of the library so enticing. Once the archives are closed, no one very much cares to venture up to the near-attic, the scent of carefully dusted wood calming after a day of stressing over whatever class you feel like you’re falling behind in. Up here in the rafters, surrounded by ancient scripture and stories of lands almost forgotten, you can slip out of your mind and focus solely on what you must.

Okay, well, scratch that, maybe you do know why you like it up here. Thunder roars in the near distance, shockwaves of sound vibrating against the windows and stone of the walls. It doesn’t take too much of a temperature shift outside to suck out all the heat through the thin sheet of glass separating you from the raging storm, and by the way a frigid nose pokes beneath your skirt, someone doesn’t find the cold as enticing as you.

With a steady hand, you turn the page of your textbook, eyes scanning the page as a scaled tail wraps around your ankle. Tapping your pen against your notebook, you practically glare at the illustration, trying to ignore the imploring fingers slipping beneath your underwear. All you offer in response is a quick shift of your hips to ease his struggle, his breath almost cool against the wetness between your thighs.

“Malak,” you half-whisper, tangling your fingers in his white hair. “You said you would help me study.”

“I’m cold, baby,” he hums in response, hiking up your skirt further up to your waist. Teeth graze against your inner thigh, nothing more than a playful nip, but it melts your insides down to a boiling point. “Let me warm up first.”

Swallowing thickly, you only turn back to your schoolwork, trying to angle yourself on the chair in a way that lets you spread your legs as far as necessary. Focus, focus, focus, your mind chants as his tongue slowly teases the skin around your lips. Intention when casting runes is just as important as the markings themselves; to fully produce their desired effect, one must-

A burst of pleasure runs up the length of your spine; you have to catch yourself before you let out a sobbing whimper. Malak’s tongue has graced your clit with its presence, his bright blue eyes looking up from under the table with a sly triumph. Clamping your mouth shut, you turn back to your work, trying to focus on making a flashcard with the proper vocab words as he spreads the skin of your pussy out.

Trying to keep your voice steady, you say, “what are the three virtues one must exhibit while casting runes?”

“Clarity,” he kisses your slit, “focus,” another kiss, “and aplomb.”

“Good,” you manage to get yourself under control, taking a sip out of your thermos, “glad to see you’re keeping up.”

He makes a purring noise, flattening his tongue and licking from top to bottom, little sparks of thrill running through your core. Then, just to be infuriating, you think, he lets out a small whimpering noise that sets your entire being on edge. Still, there’s no one around to hear his little show of subjugation, so you decide to let it slide.

Up, down, up, down, a smile on his face as you wrap a leg around his cool back.

Keeping your voice under control, you look over your notes. “What is considered the rune for this modern age?”

He waits for a beat, flicking his tongue against your opening, then says, “Synthetic Moderna.”

You shudder as he delves back down, but you have to nod your head. “Ri-right. What about- what about the Acadian Revival?”

“A period in the nineteenth century revolving around the idea that older magicks were somehow better than modern- do I have that right?” Without waiting for your answer, his mouth closes on the upper part of your pussy, slowly pushing his tongue between your folds, sliding it back and forth against your clit.

You suck in your breath. “Y-yeah, that’s it exactly.” Trying to convince your quivering core that everything is alright and you don’t have to pay attention to what’s happening between your legs, you turn the page, eyes dancing over the chapter for more important information. “And what put the Acadian magic back into obscurity?”

You think you can feel his eyes rolling, but you’re so focused on the letters in your book that you don’t look. “Older magic was useful for the older world. New technologies mean new uses that don’t coincide with those ancient concepts.”

“Yes, that’s- that’s correct.” You don’t understand how he can be so very casual about everything while his tongue slowly probes your entrance, nor could you ever fathom why he might not insist you pay his own body any mind. Still, you suppose that you’re grateful for the release.

“Have I earned my prize yet?” He asks, batting his pale, thick eyelashes at you.

“Not yet,” your chest is tight, your core even hotter. “We need to get through this unit first.”

“Mmph,” he complains against your pussy, taking one of your lips and nipping gently with his fangs.

You don’t want to ask him for any more information, mostly because his face feels awfully nice against your throbbing core, but you also don’t want him to flunk out, no matter how much he seems to know his stuff, he has a nasty habit of not showing up to exams. “Who is an influential figure that began the development of Synthetic Moderna?”

He shivers against your body, tail wrapping up your shin and closing in on your knee. “Alphonsa Rodrigez.”

For being at the mercy of someone hellbent on making you cum, you think you’re doing an outstanding job at ignoring him… until his fingers become involved. Your vision blurs despite your desperate attempts to focus on anything and everything but him. Clearing your throat, you continue, “and what exact discovery did Doctor Rodrigez discover?”

He moans into your pussy, his throat rumbling low and sweet. Now that his fingers are involved, the stroking of your clit doesn’t cease when he looks back up at your face, “isn’t she the one who came up with the three virtues?”

You inhale sharply as he presses his thumb into your slit, but say, “no, she wasn’t the one to finalized the three virtues into mainstream practices… it has to do with the idea of clarity, though.”

“Oh,” he says, realization in his eyes as he offers a kiss to your thigh, “right, wasn’t she involved in the development of neural observation when it came to the actual casting?”

“Ye-Es!” Your voice lilts and almost becomes a whine as Malak, the fucking bastard, closes his mouth around your clit and sucks just as you open your mouth. You clap your hands over your mouth, face red, hoping desperately that no one heard. Judging by the lusty smile on his face, he knows what he did, and you feel the urge to smack him upside the head. ” Malak!”

“Careful, baby,” he says, infuriatingly quiet, “someone might hear you.”

As though the universe heard his words and decided that it would be super funny to turn against you in the worst way imaginable, you hear footsteps. Sucking in air, you’re quick to fix your posture, wrapping your legs around Malak’s neck in the hopes of keeping him still. Despite the hazy layer of sweat on your temple, you think, you hope that you don’t look like… well, like someone is mouth fucking you beneath the table.

“Are you alright?” A head pokes out from the back, eyebrows raised. A grad student you recognize, he’s one of the TA’s in your least favorite class this semester, though you’d never tell him that.

Silently, you thank every god who might have brought the desk you’re sitting at because it’s one of the older fashioned ones, the kind that closes off and hides whatever might be underneath from passersby. Briefly, you wonder if the person who first made them had this exact reason behind it. Malak’s tongue doesn’t give you an ounce of reprieve, working almost harder to flush your face, hoping with all the power in his fingers that you might squeal with pleasure.

But you’re stronger than that, more determined than he, so you offer up a casual smile and a noncommittal shrug. “Sorry, Martin, I saw a spider. You know how I am with those.”

“Ri-ight,” he says, drawing out the center syllable for longer than you would like. Maybe he’s just mocking you for the phobia? “Of course, sorry for interrupting.”

“Oh, I’m just studying-”

“Of course, goodbye.” And just like that, his head ducks back between the books, gone and embarrassed for reasons you don’t want to think about. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tail poking out from where the wooden board almost meets the floor, thrashing about like in some kind of distress. Or some sort of perverse pleasure.

You don’t have time to feel shameful because Malak is attacking your body with a much more vicious gusto than you had thought him capable of… okay, well, maybe not, but you did think he would at least wait until the study session was over. Steadily, with so little mercy, he sucks on your clit directly; you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out.

Even if you offer up a meager question, you know that he’s so focused on your pleasure that he couldn’t be bothered to answer. You’re almost afraid that you might be squeezing his head too tightly, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least, arm snaking around one of your legs to shift and position however he needs. Out away, then back closer when a chill of coldness threatens his delicate skin.

He’s sucking now, sucking on your clit, except it’s not like those quick, kissing motions; it’s full-on, and your vision tangles with a web of black. Everything in your core is tight, hot, yet Malak is cool enough to tie your body down to the mortal plane, even if he’s relentlessly licking like his life depends on your orgasm. And there, you can feel it coiling in your stomach. You have to bite down on your sleeve lest you start whining like a pup. With your other hand, though, you rake your fingers through his hair.

Now he’s looking at you, crystalline eyes filled to the brim with smug satisfaction. Still, his tongue moves against your lower regions with the skill of a well-seasoned whore, a kind of his own desperation on his face. Almost like his very being depends on your pleasure. He gently pushes a finger into your pussy, curving it slightly to hit that one specific spot, then slowly begins to massage your inner walls, and you are over.

You can feel the beginning of the orgasm creep up inside your core, small tendrils of pleasure reaching out through your nerves. The steady building turns into waves, though, morphing from a modest sort of feeling to something large, bright, and overshadowing everything else. Something slick and hot rushes through your pussy, trickling out and into Malak’s eager and waiting mouth.

The sounds he makes while drinking your cum are obscene, even though he tries to keep quiet, just as you asked. But he doesn’t slow down and instead lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, tongue still licking and mouth continuously kissing despite your body’s slow decline off that high. Everything in your body seems to shut off, muscles relaxing as the final rolls of pleasure ebb away, until you’re barely nothing more than a shivering, boneless mass on the chair.

He crawls up your body then, every movement with purpose and vigor. He kisses your stomach, a shiver pulsing out from it, then up your sweater, pausing at your collarbone, then goes to your neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and your legs around his waist, snuggling up against his solid, large body to ground yourself.

“Babe?” He asks.

“Yeah?”

“What leap of advancement does Synthetic Moderna have over its many predecessors?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Incorrect! That's a penalty."

[where-all-the-time-went]

welcome back to puzzles' giant crate of weird yttd theories. today she brings you one she's actually kinda confident in...

alright i've just finished 3-1b (no lmao i started this post a month ago and I'm finally getting back to it today) and i was talking with an irl of mine, and like they lowkey forced me to try and explain why i felt that mr. policeman being joe's dad was important. i'd sort of thought about it a lot before but explaining it to someone who disagreed with me got me thinking, and i reached a WAY COOLER theory. wait for it. wait for it...

What if Keiji's wish was to meet Mr. Policeman's son?

So I know this instantly has some problems. First, I'm gonna present to you why I think this is true. Then, I'm gonna refute the "obvious" counterargument. This'll be fun! Haven't written one of these beasts in a while!

Keiji is the only living candidate whose wish we don't know because Sara didn't know where he was when she used the lantern. Ranmaru was quick to theorize that Keiji wished for Sara to be in the game because of his jealousy and his knowledge from the transceiver and the knowledge he was given as a dummy. Personally, I think at this point he had already used the Joe AI and some of Joe's mistrust of Keiji had waded in, and while that might support my theory later, I don't really have enough evidence to back this up, other than my confidence that he had used the Joe AI early on in 3-1a because of the dog chain scene. Regardless, this is the most we know at this point about Keiji's wish, and, well... it's wrong? Like, if it's true, there would need to be some wack-ass reasoning, but we have literally played as Keiji before and we know what his actual plan was with the Midori head, so we know that, at least in part, Ranmaru was wrong.

Before we get back to our regularly scheduled programming, for those who still aren't convinced that Mr. Policeman is Joe's dad, I'd like to thank tumblr user @craftybubb (let me know if you want me to get rid of that mention, please, I just figured I should credit you with this information) for responding to my post nerding out about the Joe's dad theory:

the japanese dialogue highly suggests this. it's lost in translation but he wanted to "name his kid who is passionate about his feelings", (情に熱い漢の名前 very literal translation but it's a bit awkward in English)

情 stands out because it's pronounced as "jou" = Joe = Jou Tazuna boom

Anyway, that out of the way, I am now back, a month later, to finish this super awesome theory. I haven't proofread, nor will I proofread, anything before this, so deal with however nonsensical it sounds, this is a fucking tumblr post for Christ's sake.

So, the questions are: why did Keiji instantly trust Sara? and what is the character and plot relevance of Joe being Mr. Policeman's son?

My original thought process here was that Keiji always suspected a little bit that Joe was Mr. Policeman's son, and was thus terrified of him. First, Keiji may have been a bit paranoid that Joe would recognize him somehow, and he also may have been terrified to face up to the consequences of his own actions, those being Joe's status as an orphan. Keiji's fear of Joe is evidenced by Joe's mistrust of Keiji: there were plenty of members of the death game with equally bad intentions at the time, but very few who showed signs of some level of mistrust towards Joe. Hence, Keiji's fear would stand out to Joe. Still, my friend pointed out to me that this doesn't sound like the cool, logical Keiji, that he wouldn't think this way. Although I posited that Keiji's own trauma would prevent him from thinking rationally, I still don't think this theory quite makes sense on its own. The familial resemblance would simply never be enough evidence for Keiji to believe that Joe was Mr. Policeman's son.

So I think there was another element at play, Keiji subconsciously remembering his wish. If Keiji could wish for anything, would he not wish to apologize to the son of the man he killed? The son we now know he knew existed?

Now, we already know that the reason Joe was in the death game was to create "balance" by preventing Sara from taking a massacre route. However, it's been demonstrated through Shin's simultaneous existence as a candidate and as Kanna's wish (via Kugie) that candidates can have multiple reasons to be in the death game. In this case, it's just too much of a coincidence that Joe happens to be the son of the man Keiji killed. Furthermore, presumably, Mr. Policeman was looking into collusion between the police and Asu-Naro, since, well, everything in this game is connected, so along with the man's death, the existence of Mr. Policeman's son and murderer would instantly be known to the organization. Thus, they may have planned for Keiji to wish Joe into the death game in order to have access to both men.

uh tbh i definitely had more evidence a month ago when i first came up with this theory, and i was really convinced it wasn't just a crack theory, but i honest to god cannot remember why. so like, I'm gonna put this out there, and I'm gonna plead and beg that if this so ~inspires~ you to find more evidence, please share.

[bambeptin]

the map of infinity was wild as hell: an analysis

ok, let's get this out of the way first: there's no reason why Professor Paradox had to make the Map of Infinity other than "for fun".

which makes sense! he’s immortal, he’s been travelling for a while, and he’s likely very, very, very bored. anything he does is probably to chase new stimuli. his sense of morality is off, from human standards.

it's the complete space-time map of 17 different dimensions, which Paradox doesn't technically need, since he has the Chrononavigator and his own innate time powers. he doesn't even need it to reach the Forge of Creation, since he can literally just like, walk there whenever. Paradox was the person that made the barrier between the Forge and the rest of the Universe in the first place. was it even always outside of the universe? did he send it out there? I imagine it sort of went like this:

"boy, am I bored today!"

"let's see if I can make an in-depth map of a bunch of different dimensions"

fought Celestialsapiens when he reached the Forge of Creation, K6BD-style. they can't kill him (his powerset matches up well against theirs) and he can't kill them all (and they’re starting to mess with his time plans), so eventually they agree to a treaty. he found the war sorta fun

bored again

"what do I do with this map I made? destroy it? no, that would be pointless..."

"oh! I know!"

"split it into 4 parts, 2 of which are keystones to a world and 2 of which are in death trap temples, because that would be 1. fun to make and 2. could lead to fun situations in the future"

let's go over them all!

Map Piece 1. Mykdl'dy

gesundheit. if you don’t remember this planet, it’s the half hot/half cold one that Paradox made a death trap temple on, which is now guarded by Necrofriggian cultists.

"welcome to my crib....... I enjoyed creating brutalism-inspired shapes of dark grey prisms against the ever-changing backdrop of ice and fire. in front are two statues of a mysterious person in robes, because I thought it would look cool. within are some dastardly traps that I designed myself, so watch out! the Necrofriggian colonists making a religion out of it wasn't my intention though. it's just a coincidence that they're the same species as the statues! I felt like the high point of this temple is dragon-wyrm that I created! the acid is a fantastic extra touch.”

“dungeon design is my passion.”

it seems like he decorated the inner parts the most, lovingly, with his shade of blue, used a bunch of magical spells (presumably; elaborated on later) for that part too, then realized that it would be a bit of a pain decorating the rest of the place and made the rest plainer. I wonder if he made it all himself, or like, hired some dudes

Map Piece 2. Piscciss

it’s hidden as the anti-gravity multiplier that holds Piscciss together.

“huh?” you might ask. “why would that piece have that power?”

I don’t know, maybe they all had that power or something. maybe if Aggregor just took one and started blasting everyone with anti-gravity the arc would be over way faster. maybe it’s magic. maybe Paradox is fucking with you.

“wait???” you might ask next. “it’s hidden as WHAT????”

that’s right! this is the little thing that keeps Piscciss a planet and not a bunch of water filled with dead fish floating around in space. “haha yeah this works perfectly... trust me it's not a macguffin that will be stolen and break your planet apart and someone in the future will have to sacrifice an alien to replace it lol...” - Paradox handing the anti-gravity multiplier to the Piscciss Volann when they were making an artificial water planet for them to live on

either that or the Piscciss Volann stumbled on the piece in an unseen other death trap temple, found its powers, and decided to use it, which sort of goes against the whole “Paradox hid all the pieces” thing if he simply never checked up on them

Map Piece 3. Perplexahedron

I know they went to Ledgerdomain third but that is saved for the end because it’s fucking mental. so we’re gonna talk about the Perplaxahedron. it’s the cube from Cube (1997).

if you don’t know what that is, it’s an absolutely huge artificial planet/building that’s entirely made of death traps. each new room is an exciting and fresh way to die. invigorating! while it does have a simple design, it’s efficient at what it does, and the clinical nature adds to the theme of being an unknowable deadly object. that’s what he probably describes it as anyways. again, did he build all of that himself? can I make a “Paradox construction squad” OC?

maybe Paradox made these dudes to help build the place, and kept them around as guards, because that’s efficiency.

this dude’s sole purpose in life is to wait there and hand over the Map of Infinity piece to whoever’s smart enough to get inside. I assume Paradox made him, because he disappears from reality like ten minutes after he hands it out, but Paradox has hired people to be guards in his temples before. the pay must be really good. maybe their culture is like that. maybe he didn’t disappear and actually it was an actor to squeeze the most drama out of the universe.

anyways, if he was real, Ben basically ruined his life before he died by tossing out the very important piece of the Map to Aggregor for basically no reason. oops!

Map Piece 4. Ledgerdomain

“he can reach the Forge of Creation. so obviously he can reach Ledgerdomain, a dimension of pure mana. what’s the problem?” well, there’s really no problem. it’s quite cool! no, what’s wild is that nobody really thinks about the ramifications of this piece of the Map of Infinity. for a refresher, this is what it’s hidden as:

“It is an object as old as time itself, through which all magic flows. It is the keeper of the true name of [Ledgerdomain]; source of ultimate power! And it is mine!“ - Charmcaster

the secret true name of magic. if you have it, you have power over magic itself.  it can revive the dead or instantly kill people. that power corrupts its wielder easily. also, if it’s removed from Ledgerdomain, the realm loses all natural entry/exit points, destabilizes, and begins the crumble. that’s right! it’s the Alpha Rune.

Paradox is confirmed to have actually made the Alpha Rune, not just hidden a piece as the Rune. I implore you to think about what that entails.

he knows magic (3-page minicomic I made about that topic). he doesn’t just know magic, he knows the secret name of magic, automatically making him a disgustingly powerful mage. either that or it’s possible to get the secret name of magic without knowing magic, which is fine too, but just being around the Alpha Rune makes you able to cast spells. he probably ripped the Alpha Rune from the Omniverse and bound it to his will because he had nothing else better to do that day. could he make even more Alpha Runes (even if they’re weaker copies), since it knows it already? did making it into Rune form rip it from his own mind? I like to think that the reason why he can’t lie is because if he does, his latent magical abilities will automatically attempt to cast a spell to make it real.

here are three ways you can interpret “Paradox made the Alpha Rune”.

he found the secret name of magic and made the Alpha Rune out of it

he literally made the secret name of magic. i.e. he made magic itself. that would be wild as hell.

the writers didn’t really think about the ramifications of any part of the Map of Infinity past “cool artifact”, which, to be honest, fair enough.

he probably finds all the magic really useful, since it helps streamline all of his temples and stuff. all of the bright blue lines connected to Paradox’s creations might even be magic! or his time powers.

by the way, he pulls the same split-something-into-pieces-and-hide-them-with-death-traps stunt with Maltruant, so I think this is his hobby.

[deniigi]

my supervisor fucked me over with all my other coworkers present. can I request a one shot from you to cheer me up featuring Sammy?

Did I give y’all the fic about the hotpot?

Well if I didn’t, I’m giving it to you now.

Title: hotpot

Summary: Ganke checks the comments for the Blindspot comic daily and there’s this one asshole anon who keeps talking shit about BT.

--

The Blindspot comic went live in the fall and Ganke couldn’t stop checking the hit count every five seconds. All night there had only been ten hits.

He told himself not to be disappointed. The only person who really mattered had read and loved the comic.

Miles said that BT had even forced everyone on the team to read an abridged version of Journey to the West, and had gone as far as to make a quiz to determine everyone’s character.

Miles refused to disclose who he’d gotten.

BT had clearly rigged the game to make himself Sun Wukong and Ganke was proud of him.

That kind of enthusiasm was exactly what he’d been hoping for, anything else now was just icing on the cake.

Even though it would be cool if it wasn’t just BT reading his own comics.

That would be pretty cool, right? Like. If people online all started reading BT’s comic. That would be sort of amazing.

Kind of excellent.

Definitely worthy of an A+ and double pats on the back.

Right?

The hit counter didn’t think so. But hey, five more people had opened the page since last night. That was something, wasn’t it?

 MM: dude why not just ask Sam to tweet out the link?

 How dare you, Miles Morales.

How dare you waltz into this place with logical thought.

GL: I can’t do that. That’s like. Idk. Inflating the views.

MM: okay yeah explain to me how appealing to the person in control of the largest part of his own fandom is inflating the views

GL: I see your logic and I’m banishing it

MM: I’m messaging him

GL: DON’T

MM: too late

MM: he says ‘gimme link’

GL: asdksjsjdks

--

 @blindspot: hi I know y’all can’t get enough of me to the point of asking shockingly invasive questions and for you I say good news! Some amazing folks have gone through the trouble of making a Blindspot comic. it’s good guys check it out [link]

--

 It helped.

A lot.

It helped a lot.

--

 People, on the whole, had great things to say. The panels were screenshotted and tagged and sent all over social media and even though Miles was pretending to be chill and aloof about the whole thing, Ganke could imagine him smiling big and bright and white at his phone non-stop.

Mom and Auntie saw a few of the bits on Twitter and tittered over them in the kitchen like pigeons.

The pride rose like a wave. Ganke kept waiting for the crash.

--

 It came two days later in the form of a comment that read ‘Christ, look at all this fuss. BT is fine. I hate his brother.’

It felt like someone punching the wind out of Ganke’s lungs.

He took comfort in the handful of people who leapt in to shout down the commenter. They emphasized that if the anonymous commenter didn’t like the story or the characters, then they didn’t have to read it and they, especially, didn’t have to say anything about it.

Ganke appreciated those guys. He got the feeling that a lot of the people on there knew that the whole thing had been done but a couple of kids.

Not that Anon cared.

Anon replied to all these comments ‘No, I’m gonna keep reading, thanks. Anyways, the brother is lame. The smart part is cool, but why’s it always gotta be a guy?’

The part that haunted Ganke even after he’d shut his laptop and had gone to stick his head out the window for some big breaths of cleansing air was that Anon was kind of right.

--

 GL: should we have made Guotin’s brother a sister?

MM: no

GL: why not?

MM: cause BT’s always wanted a brother

 Oh.

Okay. Then it was fine?

 MM: yeah man ignore them. it’s chill.

GL: k thanks my ego is huge and fragile

MM: trust me I know

 Asshole. Fine, moving right along.

--

 It didn’t stop. Anon commented on every page. Every. Single. Page.

Ganke didn’t know what to do or say. On the one hand, clearly this person was dedicated and deeply engaged with the comic, on the other hand, they needed a Rude Alert button. Ganke wondered if Ned could code one for them and them only.

The latest of their fury was directed at the big reveal in the second issue—BT’s face.

Having now met Sam, BT, Blindspot, Ganke’s whole image of him had changed.

He was not conventionally attractive as far as like, K-Pop idols and famous Chinese dudes went. His eyes were puffy and narrow and his face was round everywhere but the jaw. He leaned more towards ‘cute’ than ‘sexy,’ which Ganke sort of loved about him.

He was friendly. Stressed and grumpy and feisty as hell, yeah, but first and foremost friendly.

Miles claimed that he called it his ‘number one asset in employability.’ Which was wild because hello, Blindspot.

Obviously, BT couldn’t help his face. But Miles and Ganke could help Guotin’s.

Ganke had sent Miles about fifteen different images of Chinese celebrities and had told him to do his worst. They’d reviewed the final few drafts and had picked one that was most like a young Chen Kun. His face was more oval-shaped than BT’s. His chin and lips were slimmer but more defined. He was pretty, but not so pretty as to be called ‘feminine,’ which Ganke thought was a solid compromise between ‘handsome as sin’ and ‘looks like he’s got a quirky sense of humor.’

Anon hated him.

Anon thought that he looked like an idol, and they were not here for it.

They told ‘the artist’ to give him a mole or something, anything to make him look ‘less pristine. God, I can smell him from here and he smells like Dior and staph habitat.’

Ganke had to look up what a staph infection was. He regretted it. He asked Miles if they should censor Anon.

Miles said ‘mmmmm, idk it’s not like they aren’t saying anything that isn’t true.’

Ganke resented that. Clearly this was defamation of BT. This person hated him and was taking their feeling out on the comic.

 MM: I mean yeah but it’s not like they’re talking about the comic, man. They’re talking about the style and like, thinking about it, a mole or smth to help you tell him apart from other folks would kind of be helpful. Like, especially if we ever put him in a crowd, you know?

 HHHHHH.

Fine.

Anon could stay. But they were on thin ice.

--

 It was hard not to be bitter about Anon’s comments, especially when they arrived daily, as though Anon knew exactly what they were doing and which page they’d left off at. They couldn’t possibly be reading the comic one page at a time, this was intentional.

Ganke’s jaw hurt from all the tooth grinding he’d endured as of late.

This latest one read ‘yo, has BT ever mentioned fighting with a sword? I don’t recall him mentioning. Someone should take that thing away from him before someone loses an eye—or maybe even two.’

That felt like a pointed jibe.

That turned the churning irritation in Ganke’s gut into something much, much colder.

Did Anon know about BT’s black and blue eyes? How could they know? Was it a coincidence? It seemed to be more than a coincidence.

The pile of critiques was growing bigger and bigger, and now that Ganke thought about it, they all seemed to take issue with things that didn’t match the real Blindspot’s personality.

It was as if they knew him.

 GL: miles did you read the new comment from AnonTheAsshole?

MM: lol yeah

GL: tell me if I’m talking out my ass or whatever but like

GL: you don’t think they could be Muse, could they?

 Silence.

 MM: oh no

 Yeah. Fuck.

 MM: chances are low.

GL: they know so much tho??

MM: might be stalker? Maybe someone who’s over-invested in BT’s social media pages?

GL: maybe.

MM: hold on let me ask Spidey to screen it

GL: does he know Muse?

MM: no, but he’s paranoid and he’ll get Wade to be paranoid with him, and then they can decide whether its worth giving to DD for verification. He knows Muse.

 Ganke’s head was spinning. His fingers shook with guilt and the thought of Muse’s pale body hunched over a secret, cracked cell phone in a high security prison who knew where.

In Ganke’s head, he smiled wider and wider, until the skin on his cheeks cracked. He dug out scraps of paper and redrew Blindspot—Sam—with gaping holes for eyes and a screaming mouth and he drew dismembered corpses in black lakes and he laughed.

He just kept laughing.

 MM: hey ganke

MM: it’s going to be okay. It’s just a comic. I’m sure AnonTheAsshole is a stalker. They’re not threatening anyone.

MM: Sam can deal with a stalker. And we can too, okay?

 There was a reason that Miles was a hero. Ganke wiped at his eyes and swallowed.

 GL: okay. Thanks for doing that.

MM: 👍🏾

--

 It took a few hours because Spidey and Deadpool had lives outside of being Spidey and Deadpool, but not so long that Ganke ran out of nails to chew.

Miles messaged him back and said that Spidey had read through everything and ‘escalated it.’ This meant that whatever he’d seen had caused him enough concern to take it to DP.

Miles said that he’d get back to Ganke with DP’s verdict as soon as he had it. In the meantime, he’d run the comments by the other Spideypeople and they thought that it most likely wasn’t malevolent but was maybe something to keep an eye on in the meantime. He tacked onto all, somewhat stiltedly, that he had a weird feeling all of the sudden. The pink Spidey’s tone had changed. She’d shut down and gone cagey, which allegedly wasn’t like her at all. Then she’d told the taller guy to DM her and they’d vanished from the chat. Miles wasn’t sure what was going on there or if maybe they knew something about stuff going on that he didn’t, but he wasn’t super comfortable with it.

 GL: crossing my fingers its nothing?

MM: same man, same.

--

 DP escalated it.

Ganke couldn’t stay still in his room. There was no comfortable place to sit or stand or lay. There was nothing to do that would make him stop thinking about everything.

 MM: It’s gonna be fine, man, DD always knows what to do.

 Miles kept saying that for every step of the way, and yet here they were. Double escalated. Ganke wasn’t so sure he even knew what was happening anymore.

That was scary. Miles was supposed to be part of the in-crowd.

 MM: Wade doesn’t think it’s anything that can’t be nipped in the bud.

 That was easy for a contract assassin to say, wasn’t it?

 MM: he says that you and I are fine. Doesn’t see any links there. Waiting on DD for confirmation of tone.

 Hurry up, Daredevil. Your apprentice’s life might be about to take a nosedive into a heap of trash.

--

 Two hours. One text.

 MM: >:/

 Ganke couldn’t contain the bubble of laughter.

 GL: good news?

MM: [image]

 He opened it.

 SC: HANNAH YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. STOP BEING A BITCH ON MAIN

HC: You can’t tell me what to do

SC: I CAN

HC: Mom he’s being MEAN

SC: Mom she’s scaring children online

HC: I scare children everywhere I go why are these ones special???

SC: Because I said so

HC: that doesn’t fucking work Samuel you’re not her

SC: I am your older brother

SC: your ELDEST brother

HC: YOU AINT SHIT

SC: THEY DON’T COUNT

SC: HALFSIES COUNT

 What.

 MM: so.

MM: she’s not Muse.

MM: Red’s laughing his ass off at all of us for taking this to a level three

GL: wait I don’t understand

MM: Hannah is Sam’s little sister. She’s found a new hobby in our website.

 Blindspot’s little sister was reading the comic??? Holy shit.

 GL: she hates him?

MM: no I’ve been informed that they would literally commit murder for each other but this is how they express love.

 No way. Siblings were wild.

 GL: so we’re good?

MM: [image]

  SC: apologize 🔪

HC: eat my ass

SC: apologize or else

HC: or else what? You gonna come in here and sit on me? Huh? Huh????

SC: I know your email password. All 3 you cycle through. What was his name? Uuuuuuuuuh Jing?

HC: you fucking bastard

SC: Hi Jing, it’s me, Hannah. I’ve been in mad crush with you since sophomore year. Please notice me senpai 😖

HC: Die

SC: kill me

HC: I will.

 The giggles that came this time were a mix of relief and genuine intrigue. This lady read the comic every day. She took the time to scroll through pictures of her brother being an absolute lunatic and fighting with a huge monkey. Then she hopped into that comment box and took him—not Miles, not Ganke, specifically Blindspot--down a peg.

She must miss him a lot. Ganke wondered if this was her way of keeping him in her thoughts.

 MM: I don’t think we’re getting a sorry, man. DD says Sam’s been at this all morning and has been tricked into apologizing himself twice

GL: so you’re saying that she’s an evil genius

MM: idk but she’s def Sam’s main nemesis. I always thought that older siblings got like, rights or something over younger ones, but idk anymore. Angel says this is normal.

GL: do you think she misses him?

 Miles took a long time to respond.

 MM: yeah

 Yeah, Ganke thought so, too.

 GL: should we change Guo tin’s brother’s name to ‘hamish?’

MM: ASDLDSDSFKdsjf

MM: one moment.

MM: sam says yes. Hannah says that she thinks our comic is shit and we need to draw everything uglier

GL: she’s kind of funny

MM: 👀perhaps she would like to be a consultant?

GL: 👀👀👀👀

MM: brb asking

MM: sam says no. Hannah says she’s got better things to do than proofread comics on the internet. She’s also not sorry. She wants that to be clear. DD says that the conversation has moved from English to Chinese and to maybe duck and cover for now. He says all is good tho. Thanks for checking in.

MM: Muse doesn’t use punctuation and talks in riddles, so if we get any of that, we’re supposed to send it to DP right away.

 Oh, nice. That was a relief.

 MM: oh

MM: sam wants to put us in a chat. Can I give him your number?

 Uh, only if he wanted Ganke to hyperventilate.

 GL: sure

 --

  [GL has been added to a Secure Chat]

 It was a page of characters and emojis that were somehow more menacing than Ganke had ever seen them before. Miles popped a little waving hand into the fray, as though testing the waters, but the characters just carried on scrawling around it.

Ganke wasn’t quite sure what to do.

 GL: hi? Are y’all okay?

 There was finally a pause. Then a few shorter lines of characters. And then finally, Blindspot switched from Chinese to English.

 SC: yes we’re FINE. We’re GREAT. Aren’t we, sibling from hell?

HC: who’re you? Why are you in our family chat? This is a family only zone, can’t you read?

SC: God Hannah he’s Korean don’t be a dick

HC: I can’t not be I learned it from you

SC: fair but pretend in the face of company

HC: okay fine. Hello losers.

MM: adksadfadsdfldfsldf

MM: hi

GL: hi?

SC: go on

HC: UGH

HC: fine

HC: I didn’t mean to shit talk your creation. Only my brother.

SC: also a sin, we’ll get to that later

HC: no one cares about you Samuel, stop spreading lies

SC: you first. We both know this is no lie, my white dad cares about me a whole lot

HC: well we can’t all have white dads now can we

SC: don’t be jealous

MM: lol you really call Matt your white dad??

HC: who is this person and how do they know our mutual parent’s name?

SC: this is not a mutual parent situation how many times have we been through this. He’s mine. Get your own.

MM: hi! 👋🏾I’m Bitsy! Spidey no. 4

GL: I’m his friend. He draws the comic. I write it.

HC: oh. nerd children x2

HC: anyways yeah Matt is our dad

SC: ffs

MM: he’s sort of dadly ig.

HC: ?? oho

SC: mind your face. Think about your face. Think about how much you like your face.

HC: little spider, did you not hear?

SC: kay everyone out. We’re done here

MM: hear what?

HC: lol Sammy you didn’t tell them about how Matthew Mcconaughey adopted you in all ways but paperwork?

 Ganke held his phone away from his face as far as it would go.

 MM: …wait are you for real?

SC: no. okay out.

HC: awwww Sammy so shy now. What are you embarrassed about? It’s cute.

SC: Hannah literally shut up I’m not playing

HC: damn okay sorry

MM: can I be honest?

SC: no

MM: I’m going to be anyways: I think we all sorta knew.

SC: …

HC: right?

SC: what does that even mean?

MM: idk, it just felt right, you know? You two are always fussing at each other and red lost his shit that time you got shot. He doesn’t treat you the way he treats the rest of us and we’re his teammates. He doesn’t even treat spidey like he treats you. So like, yeah. It fits.

MM: I’m really happy for you guys.

MM: is there a reason it’s a secret?

 Ganke eased himself back down onto the mattress. This was real. This was like, actual, real information. Something that he and like, four other people in the world now knew.

He kind of wanted to forget it. It didn’t feel right to know.

 SC: I dunno.

HC: if sam has an honest emotion towards anything he has to calculate its weight so he can make space for it in his collection of satellites.

MM: wh

SC: you’re so not funny.

HC: it’s called emotional repression, darling. It’s all the rage in this family.  

MM: oh

MM: so that’s why you and Red get on so well

SC: HHHHHHH

HC: HA

SC: okay but listen his is different, I’ve only seen him cry at his wedding. I cry at least 4 times a week. Obviously under the bed, but that can’t be emotional repression. That’s expression. That’s clearly expression

HC: I can make the old man cry watch me

SC: please don’t I’ll die

MM: awwwww

SC: shut up it doesn’t even matter.

MM: AWWWWWW

SC: LEAVE ALREADY

MM: no I like it here. I want to hear you talk about how much you love your white dad

SC: I don’t. He loves me. I’m fine with this because it results in food, shelter, and continued employment.

HC: uh huh

SC: I’m using him

HC: yeah because you’re like the most manipulative person I know.

SC: thank you

HC: /sarcasm

SC: I know I ignored it.

MM: so wait why do you actually pretend like you hate him tho?

SC: wh

SC: what the fuck am I supposed to do? Just go on up for a cuddle? Have you met Matt? The second someone starts crying, he finds trash to take out to the bins. Hell no. Life is easier for everyone if I stab him with a stick and he kicks my ass in training. It’s fine.

HC: Sam is learning how to be a Manly Man. This is step one.

SC: I’m plenty manly

HC: you’re what mom imagined as manly

SC: which is perfect. That’s all I need.

HC: mama’s boy

SC: must suck to suck, no one’s kid.

 Wow. Ganke had never been more glad that he didn’t have a sister.

 GL: That’s kind of cool, though.

GL: that you and DD are close like that I mean.

GL: Its different from all the other mentor/mentee superheroes we see who like, sort of hate each other.

SC: wh

SC: OH. you mean Peter and Kate. Peter doesn’t actually hate Stark, fyi. And Kate calls Hawkeye the Old bi-weekly to make sure he’s still breathing. It’s actually pretty normal.

MM: he doesn’t mean like that Sam. I mean, like those guys don’t associate with their Olds now that they’re grown up and stuff, but you and DD stick together. It’s like you’re family.

MM: and that’s super cool. Idk if Spidey would ever consider me family. I don’t think he wants that for us.

SC: I?

SC: oh shit

HC: CLARITY ON THIS FINE DAY. What was your name again, tiny spider?

MM: miles

HC: PRAISE BE TO MILES

HC: AN EMOTION WAS HAD

SC: get fucked

HC: An epiphany was obtained!

SC: would you shut up

HC: Something has finally permeated that non-porous, two-inch thick skull of my esteemed eldest brother

SC: I’m your only brother

HC: you’re not

SC: they don’t fucking count

HC: now will you FINALLY invite our mutual dad to hotpot?

SC: Hannah he doesn’t want to come to hot pot we’ve talked about this. it’s too spicy for him.

HC: I’ll make it 1/3 less spicy

SC: that’s still too spicy

HC: I’ll make it 2/5 less spicy

SC: 3/5

HC: listen

HC: I have all this fucking equipment that SOMEONE left here callously

MM: what’s hotpot?

SC: 👀

HC: 👀

GL: 👀

SC: well fuck

HC: EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

GL: have we never taken you with us for hotpot???

MM: no?? is this the sticks?

HC: can be. Where do you live?

SC: Hannah no

HC: Hannah yes. We’ll make one here. You’ll make one there.

SC: do you know how much shit I’ll have to buy? Where are we gonna put it?

HC: this wouldn’t be a problem if you’d taken your goddamn inheritance with you to SF

SC: HHHHHH

MM: you guys are actually being serious?

HC: I am. I am here all on my lonesome. Abandoned by my only kin. I require enrichment.

SC: try doing your fucking homework

HC: did anyone hear something?

MM: lololololol I like you

HC: 😊

SC: wh

SC: oh no. No no no.

SC: you two don’t get to be friends

HC: come here bb pspspspspspsps

MM: I’m here

HC: got ‘im. Let’s have hotpot. Sammy send me resippy. We’ll do it together over video so I don’t fuck it up.

SC: I’ve got to go. This has been traumatizing.

HC: byeeeeeeeeeeee

HC: is he gone? Hell yeah, he’s gone.

HC: hey thanks for making that comic thing. It’s hella rad. He loves it. Mom used to call him Monkey when he was little.

GL: omg aw

HC: ikr? P cute. He misses her a lot so I think it brought back good memories. Anyways, I’m actually going to make hotpot. Come over and have some with me, it’s more fun with more people.

MM: you’re not joking

HC: nope, it’s been ages since your whole team has gotten together, right? Ask them to do it. I’m a shit cook, but Sam’ll show us how not to screw it up. And he’s playin’, he’s totally down to hang out with us. We never had more than three people. It’ll be new. Exciting. Enriching even.

MM: are you secretly a nice person, Hannah?

HC: the fuck do you mean ‘secret’??? I’m a delight.

MM: Okay I’ll ask the team and my mom

MM: ganke?

HC: 👀

 That—

Sounded kind of nice?

 GL: I’ll ask my mom.

HC: nice. You can tell them that it’s a friends dinner or whatever. Idc. I promise I’m not going to kidnap and murder you. I’ve got like, class and work and shit. I don’t have time for that.

MM: 👍🏾

GL: 👍🏼

HC: great here I’ll message you my number. This is legit our sibs chat so Sam’ll freak if you’re still here when he gets back.

MM: thank you! And sorry for thinking you were muse!!

GL: yeah that too

HC: lol np ttyl                                    

 That…had really just happened, hadn’t it?

Ganke needed to sit down even though he was already sitting down.

 GL: they’re so nice???

MM: ikr?

GL: are you actually going to ask your mom?

MM: Im gonna ask BT if its cool first. Then yeah. Why not? Our team really hasn’t gotten together in a minute. Everyone’s been super busy. It would be a nice change of pace, and if everyone brings smth then Hannah doesn’t have to pay for anything.

MM: ah, Sam says it’s okay. He says sorry his sister is weird and that he’ll make sure she doesn’t poison us.

GL: I kind of love her

MM: same

MM: okay will check in with the others. Talk to you later.

GL: yeah see you later

 Damn, at this rate, Ganke’s family was going to triple in size, and all thanks to a comic.

Before he left for downstairs, he made a note to make Guo tin’s brother snarkier.

[the-darklings]

╱ together.

pairing: jean & v, implied other v ships

verse: coa, alt post-ch19 timeline

word count: 4.8k

prompt: “We’ll lose.” - “Then we’ll do that together, too.”

notes: so this is a speculative piece looking at how jean might have fit into coa verse & how him and clara v could have fit together. dedicated to that one anon who asked more of them, thank you very much for making my day! 🌿 ✨

“Well, well. Out here all by yourself and in the dark?” a smooth, accented voice calls out and your shoulders jolt, stiff with disuse, your head tipping towards the approaching figure of a man. “Have you been doing much brooding, chérie?”

Jean’s tall, graceful frame casts a shadow across the decking of the penthouse terrace as he saunters closer and you bite back a grin. With the cover of darkness as his partner, he’s a panther, a predator, out for a casual hunt in the shadows. Tonight, his prey is you. But he knows better than that. You both do.

The Frenchman halts beside you and takes a seat on your right without waiting for an invitation. This time a roll of your eyes follows his innate show of arrogance but you don’t impede him. Allow him space next to you which is a privilege very few have ever been granted.

It’s dark up here. Quiet. You didn’t bother with any lights aside from the automatic pool ones. Wind whistles gently across the tranquil surface, causing a ripple to shift across the previously calm body of water. Faintly—from the direction Jean had just come from—you can still hear the rest of your family inside the apartment.

The final touches are being added and prep is being made. Tomorrow…

Tomorrow will either spell the beginning of your victory or utter defeat. One of these scenarios ends with all of you dead, if not worse.

“And here you are bothering me in my final moments of peace,” you note dully.

The man beside you stretches his legs out, inclining back in the comfortable outdoors chair leisurely. Plush and Italian made—as if Santino would ever clad his home in anything that wasn’t authentic or expensive. A taste for finer things in life is something Jean and Santino share in common. Though you’ve long since learned that Jean’s appetite comes from a different place; a place you could always relate to, much to the Italian’s chagrin.

Wind plays with your loose hair—a rare occasion when it’s not pulled out of reach—and it leaves you breathing calmly, counting the thuds of your own heart. It’s not frantic this time though. You savour every beat of your heart now. Relish the moments you still have. However few of those there are still left.

Jean shifts beside you, pulling something out of his pocket and you glance at him briefly. The dark grey of his expensive wool jumper almost makes him blend in with the night, but the icy blue of his eyes stands out with the pool lights reflecting in them. If anything, it makes his attention feel even more intent. Honed.

“Can’t a man enjoy a smoke anymore?” he wonders innocently, a touch of sarcasm clear, and places an unlit cigarette between his lips, lighting it with expert ease a moment later.

He takes a long drag before pulling it away from his mouth and you watch his profile as he exhales slowly, savouring the moment, his head tilting towards the vast sky above you.

Using his momentary distraction, you reach forward, pinching the cigarette between your fingers and placing it between your lips instead. Jean doesn’t offer much resistance. As usual, he only looks mildly amused by your antics, a brief smirk appearing before it’s gone.

“Still greedy.”

Your lips twitch at that, too. “Some things don’t change.”

You inhale deeply, feeling the burning heat of the smoke at the back of your throat before passing the cigarette back to him. The smoke slips like dreamy wisps from between your parted lips and you look towards the open sky as well. Jean’s stare stays on your mouth. You know because you can always feel him. His attention is like silk caressing your skin, kissing little patches of skin, stealing them for himself.

You’re hardly the only greedy one here. He, too, exists in absolutes. More so than he would care to admit at least.

The blinding lights of New York City—even this late—almost drown out the stars but you can still see them. As cold and as distant as the man beside you. You want to ask him why he’s out here in the first place. Why would he bother? He may dress it up as wanting to smoke but everything Jean does is far too deliberate and calculated for this to be a mere coincidence.

Nor does the man beside you believe in such things. Master of his own fate—he always has been.

Jean places the cigarette back between his lips and turns to grab something from beside his chair. You hadn’t even noticed he was carrying something. Are you slipping this much already? Your instincts and body deteriorating even quicker than you calculated?

“May I interest you in a drink?” he offers, his words almost a soft murmur around his cigarette, and raises a bottle of wine and two glasses in the air.

You don't bother hiding your chuckle. “Trying to get me drunk on the eve of the battle?’

He, in turn, doesn’t bother denying it. He only bestows you with a knowing twitch of his mouth—all half-secrets and implications; dark and arcane as him, but doesn’t confirm nor deny your words no matter how long you wait.

“Maybe your hangover will be so terrible tomorrow you will abandon your suicidal plan, vipère.”

It’s a mild statement; a test of waters more so than anything, but you know Jean doesn’t speak mindlessly often. If ever. He chooses his words as carefully as he does everything else in his life. He’s methodical; oftentimes ruthlessly so.

You watch curiously as he places one glass next to your feet and one beside his own, opening the bottle with practised, near beguiling ease. He pours half a glass each, a cigarette bit between his teeth now, and you see how he inhales the smoke, still tasting tobacco on your own tongue. Red wine and cigarettes are two flavours you associate with him. With his mouth. The growl of his voice in your ear, the roll of your name on his destructive tongue.

A smudge of dark orange light illuminates his angular, handsome features and dark stubble and you can’t quite help your next words.

“You’re here.”

You hadn’t expected him to linger. His job was done. Yet here he is.

A small sound rumbles from the back of his throat. “I’m here because you asked me to be here,” he reminds you, and you can hear the displeasure—the downright callous edge to his amiable words—when he removes the cigarette from between his lips. Smoke slips from between them as he speaks, his eyes finding yours in the darkness. “Consider yourself very lucky that I owe you, V. After this, however, I’m not sure I’m ever going to bother you with business again. I’m not sure why you bothered inviting me here in the first place.”

Yes. His debt.

He’s tried to weasel out of it for years. Everything from trying to get you into trouble, outright attempting to get rid of you, to downplaying the sheer magnitude of it. He’s never succeeded, however, and has grown fond of comparing you to a viper with seven lives.

A life debt is a life debt though.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t think you’re half as bad as you make yourself out to be.”

Even if others have outright disagreed with your opinion of the man.

Jean snorts under his breath, a cool smile splitting his face, sharper than one of your blades. Shaking his head, he lifts the glass in the air, offering it to you. You take it after a pause, watching him do the same with his glass. “You’re right,” he hums in agreement, and takes a sip of his wine; a slow one because he never rushes these things, and you know it. The cigarette returns to his mouth a moment later and he turns to glance at you again. “I’m much worse.”

“You’re also smart,” you note without missing a beat and take a mouthful, too. It’s red and fruity, and the sweetness of it coats your tongue pleasantly. Though usually you aren't too fond of wine this sweet, Jean has developed a habit of finding things you love. However accidentally. Or perhaps he knows you better than you do. He no doubt believes so. It’s become another game for him over the years. One of his favourite games to play between you on the rare occasion you would run into each other. “And know that if you betray me and my family, death will be the least of your worries.”

You don't bother mincing your words or implying things. Not this time. Not when it comes to this.

If he betrays you, he will die choking on his blood regardless of your past association or lingering fondness for him. You will rip him to shreds with your bare hands if he ever so much as attempts it.

Bringing him in on this has been the biggest risk you ever took. Everyone opposed you. Even John. Winston had been the only one who—no matter how reluctantly—eventually agreed that Jean Laurent could end up becoming a unique and unexpected advantage.

You proved your own suspicion correct. Combining Jean’s web of information with Step’s hacking skills has been as good as striking a goldmine. It’s been invaluable in gathering intel on all the members of the High Table and their weaknesses.

A vicious, clever spider sitting in the middle of his silky web of information, and you have taken advantage of every single thread in it.

You’ve been watching his every move since he joined your side like a hawk. You don't trust him—can’t trust him. You would be a fool to do so, and even though he has stuck by his word so far, you still feel like the moment you glance away from him will be the moment he sells you out.

One leak, one sly suggestion—that’s all it would take for everything you’ve been working towards to fall apart. Everything would be lost, and it would be your fault.

All because you placed some semblance of trust in the last man on earth deserving of it.

“My, my, I do love it when you talk dirty to me, vipère,” he murmurs lightly, his voice unconcerned but the shift in his eyes informs you how your words have been noted. He knows better than to dismiss you.

Jean raises the glass back to his mouth, a smouldering cigarette sitting snugly between his index and middle fingers, and you watch how the wind ruffles his black hair.

This time smoke rolls from his nose. He gazes at the New York skyline silently, pensively. Maybe he did mean his earlier words after all. Maybe he simply joined you because he, too, wants a moment to himself.

Cold nips at your fingertips—you’re not quite sure how long you’ve been sitting out here by yourself—and perhaps that’s the reason why you break the silence between you first.

“You came because I asked,” you begin carefully, still peering at him while he looks out towards the world. Forever looking ahead. You always loved that about him. Jean doesn’t like looking back, only ahead. Often you wished you could shake your past as easily as he seemingly can shake his. How many times has he told you the same? “But you chose to stay. Why?”

His expression remains impassive, not outwardly reacting to your words, and you begin to doubt he will ever offer you a response before he finally speaks up.

“It will never work,” he states frankly. “This plan of yours. It cannot be done. We’ll lose.”

Of course this is what this is about. He’s always been out for himself. The fact that he thinks your plan will fail should not surprise you. He told you as much the moment you finished telling him about it. He point-blank called you an idiot for ever thinking you could take on the High Table and win.

You are many things, V, but foolish is not one of them.

You had hoped these weeks spent planning and working together would have changed his mind. Shown to him that this isn’t a simple pipe dream. That you have the raw skill and the will to follow through with this coup.

You wanted Jean to believe in this goal—this dream—too.

He is, of course, not wrong.

The longer you planned, the more of this plan came together, the easier it became to see what he’d been saying from the start.

You are not only likely to lose, you are near guaranteed to do so.

Unless…

Unless you gamble away everything. Whatever little there is still left of you. The clock is already ticking. It has been for two months now. Every minute of every day the end is nearing. The least you can do…

The least you can do is make it count.

“Then we’ll do that together, too,” you say softly.

And it won’t be such a terrible way to go, you think, keeping them safe.

Jean finally drags his eyes your way. The bitterness creasing his expression cuts deeper than you ever could have expected it to. It’s rare for him to show this much.

“Do not tell me you are this naive, chérie,” he says coldly, his expression emptying of emotions swiftly. He seems to have caught himself in the uncharacteristic slip, exhaling a low, “But it seems like this night is full of disappointments,” he adds quietly with a forced exhale, his eyebrows curving downwards.

Neither of you speaks for a while after that.

You cradle the wine glass between your partially numb fingers, occasionally lifting it to your mouth.

Maybe you should get drunk. Do something reckless. The call of the void has been screaming at you as of late. Seductive whisper after seductive whisper how you could and should do anything you want. With whoever you want.

L'appel du vide, vipère, Jean used to exhale hotly against your ear, it is why you and I are the same. Your days are numbered unless some miracle happens and you find an antidote anyway.

But feeling hopeful after failing for two months straight is not something you can muster up tonight.

You realise, then, that this may very well be the last opportunity to get some answers from the man beside you. Get some rectification on your odd bond over the years. Not your first attempt but what will certainly be your last.

“Do you think…”

You’re suddenly unsure where to even begin. How does one untangle years of tiptoeing around different labels? Enemies that are not quite enemies. Lovers that are not quite lovers. Friends when it suits them, then the cycle repeats, and it’s like they’re back at square one all over again. Constant push and pull.

You’ve never been sure where you stand with Jean. Two years ago everything between you changed but unlike with others, he’s always been every blurred line in your life. An almost-maybe.

“I try to,” comes his dry response from beside you.

You roll your eyes, bobbing your leg up and down as another gust of wind sweeps across the silent terrace.

Jean has finished his cigarette, his shrewd stare now focused on you, expectant.

Go on, then, say it, his unfaltering stare seems to goad.

You’re not nervous. You have nothing left to fear, not anymore. But all the same…

You’re tired of constantly being hurt by someone. Your question opens the door for exactly that.

“Do you think we ever could have worked out?”

Had life gone just a little different. Had you met when you were both less guarded and twisted up inside. You, at least, have managed to find people willing to stand in your corner and fight your fight.

He’s all alone.

And maybe he prefers it that way—he has certainly always been adamant that he does—but you’ve never believed it. Not fully, at least.

A house full of people he could string along and play with, yet the liesmith seeks refuge out here in the dark. With you.

A thoughtful hum, then, “Don’t let your gaggle of boyfriends hear you asking me that.”

You almost splutter.

Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowing, “I don’t have a gaggle of…fuck you,” you spit when you spot his smug expression and a raised brow.

“You have,” he purrs, his accented words a caress of his hot mouth across your fluttering pulse. “Many, many, filthy times, amante. Or am I so easy to forget?”

“You know, for how often you go on about Santino stroking his ego,” you remark dryly, giving him a pointed stare. “You sure do it often yourself.”

Jean clicks his tongue, leaning back in his seat, more irked by the change in the topic than he lets on. You’ve learned to read him as well. To a degree, at least.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by D’Antonio’s drooling?” he scoffs, words bland but tone sharp. “It’s frankly embarrassing. Either he’s atrocious at seducing you and you’re entertaining him out of pity, or he doesn’t understand you at all.”

His words dig into your heart but you don’t let him see it. Quirking an amused brow, you instead stare at him. “At this point, I honestly can’t tell if you hate him because you’re French and he’s Italian or because you don’t like him as a person.”

Jean grins this time; a dark, cruel thing. “Ah, chérie, hatred is too strong of an emotion to waste on someone I don’t care about,” he rebukes smoothly, standing to his feet. He glances in your direction, adding a deliberate, “But D’Antonio hates me because I won the one thing he always wanted but could never have.”

You.

Even if it weren’t for the deliberate, hot dig of Jean’s stare focusing on your face, you know as much already.

Blue depths drag over your still shape, lingering on your neck and lips, and you wonder if he’s thinking back on all the wicked things he’s done with them. Every moan and bruise, every hot drive into your body and mould of your naked skin together. He’s been an escape from everything. A bit of fun, a release, a shadow smearing in and out of your life for years.

Now though, you can’t help but wonder. Can’t help but consider why it’s always been so easy with him when it hasn’t been with others. Why every pursuit of happiness in the past has ended in misery and pain. With Jean, you always got exactly what you signed up for.

Mindblowing sex, thrill, challenge, and an escape without any attachments. No promises of a glowing future or expectations for you. He never made you live under the expectation of you being anything other than yourself. Messy and cracked around the edges but still you.

Jean has never cared for a normal life or demanded it of you, never wanted you to become an apprentice or Lady of anything.

You’ve always been enough to him just as you are, you realise with a dizzying rush. And his awful, seductive, traitorous self has always been enough for you as well. He’s never tried to change you or himself to appease you.

Not hearing a response, Jean offers you another striking grin you know has seduced endless numbers to his bed and turns to go.

“Wait!” you call out, jumping to your feet. Your joints protest, groaning and cracking, and stumble a step after him. He’s paused in his tracks, turning back towards you. “You never answered my question. If you think we could have worked out.”

You stand together, breathing, and he gazes at you for a long, charged minute. It’s nigh impossible to tell what’s going on behind his effortless mask of ease and composure. Always in control of himself and his emotions.

You’re about to ask him again but he closes the distance between you in two steps, grabbing you by the neck and yanking you to him. His mouth is hot and consuming as you remember it. His tongue drags over the roof of your mouth, seeking out every edge, every crevice, claiming it entirely. Claiming you. Despite him standing almost a head taller, you snake your hand around his neck, savouring his hiss of breath at the feeling of your cold fingers on his heated neck. Broad shoulders block the wind, block the rest of the world, and you sigh into him. He still tastes of smoky tobacco and sweet wine. A dizzying mix that stirs your body, warming your blood. Your nails drag up his neck and into the strong strands of his midnight hair, scratching all the while. You feel his hold on the back of your neck tighten in response.

The battle between you two never ceases and you can feel him grinning against your mouth, as if he, too, is having the same epiphany.

“Don’t die,” he exhales hotly against your parted lips when you separate with a gasp, still holding you to him, every hard edge of his body cutting into you. “Maybe then we can find out.”

Don’t die.

You almost burst into tears.

I’m dying right now, you want to confess to him. Would he stay if he knew as much? Would he stay until your heart halted inside your chest and you became forever still? Would he be kind if you asked him to be? Just this once?

He’s unaware of your internal struggle, dragging his thumb over the line of your jaw. Lips parted, and eyes hooded—you’ve seen this side of him many times. The sensuous lover with his sultry eyes more sapphire than blue now that he’s gazing down at you. How many times has he stared at you exactly like this? Caught dragging his tongue over every crevice of your body, his favourite being the dip between your thighs and your neck.

Jean nudges backwards, and you read his question there, his body asking what his tongue won’t.

If you’re joining him in bed. If tonight you’re his. Another stolen instance between you.

“I can’t,” you say quietly. He doesn’t appear surprised or angry by your refusal, his hands slipping from your body with a nod. But you don’t let him retreat, grasping his forearm, feeling the coil of muscle where you’re holding onto him. “Wait.”

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out a familiar, heavy object. Gold gleams in the low light and you turn the circular disk, warmed by your body.

Jean stiffens at the sight of it. You both know what it is.

Opening the Marker with a too quiet click, you release your hold on him, staring at the print of his blood smeared inside.

He helped you only because the High Table would have hunted him if he hadn’t obeyed his Marker, you remind yourself. You silence the voice inside your head that reminds you he could have sold the information to them for immunity if he so wished.

Exhaling, you press your thumb against the tiny needlepoint, not reacting to the bite of pain. Blood wells against your skin and you stare at it for a moment.

You’re not sure if Jean is still breathing but you feel the intensity of his stare searing into your body.

Breathing deeply, you press your thumb harshly against the cool metal. Another second later you pull back, staring at your dual blood prints on the metal plate. Your insides quiver at the sight of it.

This is the way it’s always been between you. Shadows and blood, secrets and hunger.

Sometimes…

Sometimes in between those moments, you could almost pretend he loved you.

“We both know you were going to leave anyway,” you begin tightly, closing the Marker with a grim smile, holding it out to him. “This was just another shitty goodbye. Never thought you’d manage to top Venice. Or Berlin for that matter. But now you’re free. I no longer want you here, so don’t be here tomorrow. Save yourself while you still can.”

He doesn’t deny your words. He at least respects you enough to not dismiss you like he would others. Let them tangle themselves in a web of speculations and doubts. Jean enjoys few things more than people choking on their own words. A rope of their own fashioning is poetic justice, he used to tell you.

He reaches for the Marker, the one damn thing that’s always tied you together, and takes it. A stab pierces your heart to see it in his grasp. Now there’s nothing between you. You don’t doubt his earlier words. It’s unlikely he will want to associate with you in the future after this.

Doesn’t matter now though. You’re likely to be dead by tomorrow, or another few weeks if you’re lucky.

If.

“You knew.”

Your smile is grim. “Of course. I know you better than you think.”

He won’t risk himself for a plan doomed to fail.

You drop your hand but he grabs it before it can fall back to your side. This time his kiss is different. Hungrier, simmering with some desperation you’ve only caught glimpses of a few times in the past. A silent war in him you’ve never been able to decipher. Jean cups one of your cheeks, leaning over your at an angle that’s unlikely to be comfortable with your height difference but you savour it all the same. His heat. His presence. The burn of his stubble scratching against your skin. More, more, more. You want every last bit of him.

You’ve never noticed how safe a man this dangerous makes you feel. After Tokyo, Chicago, after the desert, after everything you’ve been through, you never thought you’d ever feel like this again.

Alive.

For being no better than glaciers, cold and merciless, nothing burns better than him.

His nose nudges against your cheek—it’s too big, you put that nose any closer to me and you might take an eye out—his arm, an iron band around your waist. Jean is never shy about his touches, he knows exactly how every inch of you trembles and shudders. He’s spent endless hours familiarising himself with every inch of you after all. You hate how you feel a silent goodbye in every second of your body curled against his now.

“Come with me,” he says, and it borders on a snarl, a demand. “Arrêter… this stupidity now and come with me. My web goes far and wide. I could hide you.”

“And go where?” you wonder softly, leaning into his touch, his thumb stroking your cheek despite the chipped bite of his native tongue. You’re desperate for another few seconds with him.

You never thought you would miss him this much, that you would ache so much at the mere thought of never seeing him again.

“Anywhere, vipère,” he drawls, tugging you closer as if he’s a hair away from throwing you over his shoulder and disappearing into the unknown. For a single second, you want him to. “The world is ours. A beach. You and me, and a whole lot of naked skin,” he continues with a seductive grin you feel against your face.

Seduction—his preferred weapon of choice. You wonder if you’re imagining the harder bite of his voice and meaner grip of his hands, as if he needs to convince you to abandon everything and disappear.

Your closed eyes flutter open, meeting his earnest stare. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more earnest in all the years you’ve known him.

“I want to,” you tell him, leaning closer to kiss him once, softly. His muscles tighten and you half expect him to flinch away from it because it’s not lust you’re kissing him with, and he knows this. He’s too good not to recognise it. Leaning back, your breaths still mingle, and you inhale his cologne, “But I’m done running, Jean. One way or another. This ends. Now go. I don’t need you anymore.”

He pulls back, his smile cool, caustic. “You’re still a terrible liar, amante.”

The golden Marker disappears inside his pocket. Out of sight.

“I do believe there’s more left for me to teach,” he drawls deliberately, his smile smoothing into something more enticing, crooked as it is sly. “I’ll be seeing you, V.”

There’s no question there. You don’t have the heart to inform him you’re unlikely to ever see each other again.

When no one can locate Jean in his room or reach him over the phone the next morning, you simply tell others to stop looking and focus.

It’s better this way anyway.

At least this way one of you gets to live.

[yungbud]

Hi my love! When you have time could you write an fluffy & smutty imagine where the reader gets insecure & worries or compares themselves to Ashley? (Halsey) & Dom finds out & shows the reader how much they mean to him & how much he loves them daddy kink in there with the smut please & a lot of praise & saying "I'll take care of you pretty girl" 🥺

Word count:4.1k

TW?: mostly angst and fluff, but mentions of daddy kink and adult themes obviously its smut.

A/n: anything for you my lil nugget 🥺 Smut is at the bottom you horny cunts. I hope it was everything you wanted and more <33

*rewrite

You knew better. Unfortunately, you were self destructive and couldn't help yourself. It was 3AM and Dom was fast asleep beside you, and had been for hours. You, however, had chosen to watch a video before bed. It was titled “Yungblud being cute for 6 minutes straight.”, but of course one video turned to five or six more, until eventually you came along another video. This one was called “Halsey and yungblud cute moments.” and the cover photo was of them in onesies, one of Dom's arms wrapped around her and the other holding the camera. You could feel the pit begin to grow in your stomach. Glancing over at Dom to check he was still asleep, you pressed play on the video, flipping over so you were facing him, so that if he did wake up he wouldn’t see what was on the screen.

It was ridiculous, honestly. How could you be jealous of her when you were the one laying right next to him. It broke your heart the way he looked at her, you couldn’t help but wonder... is that how he looks at you? Why would he? She’s so beautiful, look at jawline, look at those eyes and her voice. Oh god... her voice, she's a musician. You loved music, but you had never been musically inclined and at best you could go hard on the triangle. But her, she understood it all, down to the tour life. When he was overwhelmed with work or couldn’t find a melody, she could help, when he didn’t know how to deal with all the attention, she could help. She was like the perfect mentor/ girlfriend combo. She connected with him in ways you would never be able to. She got it.

Your finger hovered over part 2 of the video, a moment of hesitation before pressing it. You tapped twice more to skip past the person's intro, wasting no time in getting to the painful stuff. 

One of the first clips was Halsey talking about the night they met. You knew it was unhealthy, but you couldn’t look away. She described it so beautifully, taking a moment to mention that of course she would because she's a writer and that's how she saw the world, her world was so beautiful. Dom deserved to live in her world. 

She went on to say that they had met up in a bar to chat, to which you remembered why. It wasn’t a coincidence, Dom liked her music. He looked up to her. Just another way you could never be who he needed. 

You couldn’t help it. He’d made the trade down of the century and everyone knew it. You paused the video momentarily, subduing the verbal attack on your ears and laying your phone down on your chest. Heavy breaths slid past your lips as you tried to calm yourself from a full blown breakdown.

 You glanced once more over at Dom, ensuring he was asleep before letting a single tear slip down your face. You used the blanket to wipe it away, basking in the shitty feeling you had created for yourself. You decided that was enough of that, shutting off your phone and plugging it up for the night. After laying there silently for a moment you scooted a bit away from Dom. 

You didn’t really feel like being held by him tonight.

----

The first thought in your head the next morning was of the events of last night, the same shitty feeling digging itself into the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck.” You sighed

“Sorry, I was borrowing one of Dom’s shirts. I didn’t mean to wake you.”  You turned your head to acknowledge the presence in the room. It was Tom, bent over and digging through a pile of Dom’s clothes.

“All good.” You murmured, flipping onto your stomach and burying your face in the pillow. It smelled like Dom.

Soon after you heard the door shut behind Tom as he left, your head lifting from the pillow. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t really feel like being around Dom today. You couldn’t get past the feeling that he was ultimately worse off with you, that he had settled for less.

You hated the way you felt, your face drooping back into the pillow in an attempt to hide and ended up dozing off, the late night pity marathon catching up with you.

About an hour later you were awoken to Dom’s lips on your forehead. Your eyes met momentarily as you blinked the sleep out of them, reaching upwards in a stretch.

“ ‘ello sleepy head.” Dom says, planting another kiss, this time to your nose. You roll over, replanting your face in the pillow once again, “Are you going back to sleep?” He asks

“Tired.” You mumble back, voice muffled by the pillow.

“It’s 1pm.” no response “How late did you stay up last night?” He asks, laying his head on the pillow next to yours. You shrugged.

“Are you feeling alright, love?” You shifted your head so that you were looking at him, cheek still pressed softly against your pillow “Are you feeling a bit sick? Is it cramps? I can make you a cup of tea and get you some pain killers.” He continued, offering to help you in any way he could. He just wanted to know what was wrong with you, so he could help you. He hated the idea of you up in bed all alone feeling ill. He considered skipping the studio today, he was already cutting it close on time.

“No, I feel fine. Just need a nap. I must’ve stayed up later than I realized, s’all.” You knew you needed to tell him. Every silent moment was filled with you trying to convince yourself to just say something to him. Just talk about it. Just let him in.

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll be out of the house at the studio, but Tom and Adam are here if you need them. I’ll tell them to be quiet so you can get some rest.” You smiled in response, your eyes closing as he rubbed his thumb lovingly against your cheek “Hey, I love you.” he says, your eyes opening as you mumbled back an I love you of your own, your lips meeting in a chaste kiss before he stood back up and slipped out the door.

As much as you would’ve loved to, you didn’t sleep at all after he left. Tom and Adam had made good on their promise to stay quiet, but it didn’t make much of a difference when that little voice in your head wouldn’t shut up. You opted for distracting yourself with your phone, scrolling through instagram and hoping the memes would brighten your mood. For the most part they did, acting as a simple distraction. 

Once you felt a bit better, you decided part of the reason you felt so bad today and last night was partially due to the fact that you hadn’t had anything to eat. You went to the kitchen to prepare yourself lunch, hearing Tom and Adam talking quietly in the other room.

While you were preparing your food you accidentally bumped into a stack of dirty dishes that had built up in the kitchen. You didn’t see what happened and when you turned to check nothing looked broken, but it was loud.

“Y/n?” Tom asks, tilting his head to get a better look into the kitchen.

“Hm?” You respond after a few moments of quiet deliberation. You weren’t exactly ready to be observed as awake, but you didn’t have any other choice, besides blaming it on an intruder who broke in with the intent of stealing the beloved orange tree outside, but when they arrived in the kitchen and were met with such a disgraceful mess decided they had no choice but to clean up after us. Of course, that might have stirred up a bit of a panic. They loved that orange tree, after all.

“Oh you’re finally up. Are you feeling alright? Dom said he thought you maybe came down with something.” Adam says

“I’m alright, thanks for asking. I’m just making myself lunch.”

“Come sit with us while you eat. We’re playing uno.” Tom invites. When you’re done making yourself food, you decide maybe it would be best to join them. It’s not good for your mental health to be stuffed up in your room pitying yourself all day.

You sat with your food in front of you, watching silently as they played.

“You wanna be dealt in the next round? It’s more fun with three players.” Tom offers, you give him a nod in response as your mouth is full of food. As you nod, Adam plays a red six, which ultimately leads to his demise as Tom then plays three red draw 2’s, stopping Adams hand as he goes to pick up and continuing to lay a red skip, then a yellow one, changes the color back to red and ends on his own red 3. You all laughed as Adam was absolutely massacred, almost choking on your lunch.

“There ain’t no coming back from that. Just tap out man.” You say through your laughter, reaching over to place a comforting hand on Adam. You all had small conversation as you finished your lunch, but soon you were done and the cards were passed out.

After a game or two, the round was paused as Adam stood up to get himself a glass of water, Tom and you shouting out your own drink orders from your place in the living room. By the time Adam was back at the table the running conversation had died down a bit. You began to think about why you’d been in bed all day, and the fact that Dom still attributed it to a small sickness. You felt the insecurity growing inside you once again, and you finally decided to talk about it.

“Did you guys like Ashley?” You ask, as inconspicuously as you could manage.  You watch as they glance at each other, taking a sip of your drink to occupy your mouth.

“Yeah, she was cool,” Tom says, Adam nodding in confirmation “Why?”

“Just curious, I guess. Did you guys ever hang out?” You tried to play it off as casual conversation, but you got the feeling they were picking up on the fact that there was something more under the surface.

“Not really. Not without Dom, even then it was rare. Who’s turn was it?” Tom continued, feeding into your curiosity while trying to maintain the card game.

“Yours, I think.” You paused for a moment, thinking of your next question “Do you think she was better for him than I am?” Your eyes met with Tom’s as the words left your mouth. He stayed silent for a moment and you couldn’t tell what the emotion on his face was. It felt weird, confiding in your boyfriend’s friends. Usually you could tell what your friends were thinking, or have an idea about what they might say, but you didn’t know these two like that.

“Like how?” He asked, nodding towards you to silently mention it was your turn.

“I dunno, they have the same career.” they let out a small laugh at that.

“She knows how to play a guitar so she loves him more?” Adam says

“Well, no, but…” you tried to remember what you were anxious about “she gets it. She knows what it's like to be on the road all the time and not see your family, she knows about the mental toll being in the public eye has and how to deal with it, she knows how to help if he’s nervous about performing.”

“What makes you assume that?” Tom asks

“She’s been doing it so long.”

“Well, yeah, but knowing how to do that isn’t a part of the job description. It’s less about knowing how to be famous and more about knowing the person you’re with. If it was about that, most people in Dom’s life don't get it. But we get Dom, and that’s what he cares about. You get him, so you have nothing to worry about.” Tom says softly. He made a surprisingly good therapist. 

You nodded, picking up 4 cards and sorting through them in your hand.

“But that doesn't mean you get to hide in your room cause you’re insecure. Just cause we’re talking about it doesn’t mean you don’t still need to tell him.” Tom continues, his chin resting in his hand as he looks at you.

“Yeah, of course.” You agree

~~~

You could hear Dom the second he walked in the house, engaging in a small conversation with the boys before making his way up the stairs. You heard his footsteps trail down the hallway and eventually meet your bedroom door, your eyes closing as you listened to it creak open.

“Love? Are you up?” Dom whispered, shutting the door softly behind him. You remained silent, trying to regulate your breathing like that of someone who’s asleep. He sighed, which made your heart crumple a bit. You wondered if you should respond, he might’ve had a hard day, but the nerves took over and you remained silent. 

“You’re still sleeping?” He asked, partially to himself, before exiting the room once more. You could hear him talking with Tom from outside the door.

“Has Y/N been asleep all day?”

“Uh, no. She came out and ate lunch and played uno with us around 2. Is she asleep now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

You planned on talking it out with him, and up until he walked into the house you were, but you were suddenly overcome with intense nerves and all you wanted to do was hide.  You figured you would get a good night's rest and talk it out with him in the morning, that way if it went badly he would be out for most of the day at the studio and you wouldn’t have to sit in awkward silence as you tried to sleep.

He entered the room once again, stripping himself of his clothes as he preferred to sleep half naked, before joining you in bed. You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him and wrapping you both in the blankets. Flipping over to face him, you nuzzled closer into his arms.

“Y/N?” He asks again, shifting to see if you’re awake. You hum in response this time, curious as to what he might have to say.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks, his hand returning to your cheek as it was this morning. You nod, letting out a small, genuine yawn as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

“How was your day?” You ask, shifting the conversation. 

“It was good. We finally got that song done, I think i’m gonna play with it a bit more tomorrow though. It’s good but I think it could be better.”

“You always think it can be better.”

“It always can.” He states simply, making you smile. You loved that about him, his pure determination and dedication to his craft. It can always be better.

“How was your day? Tom said you guys played a bit of uno, who won?”

“It was alright. Yeah, him and Adam were playing when I came down so I decided to join them. I think overall it was probably Tom though, I think he was cheating.” Dom laughed a little at the claim, brushing his fingers through your mess of a hair.

“So...” You began, needing to get a word out so you wouldn’t bail on talking about this. God, you hated confrontation. Especially when it was about something you were feeling. 

Dom hummed in response, the gentle reminder to continue breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I wasn’t sick today.”

“No?” He encouraged

“No. I was a bit tired though. But, that wasn’t the problem. I was watching youtube last night and I came across a video someone made. It was, like, a compilation of cute moments or whatever so I watched it cause it was cute. Then I watched another, and a few more, and eventually I came across a video that was called ‘Halsey and YUNGBLUD being soulmates for 3 minutes’... and I watched it.” He lets out a small, quiet snort, not entirely catching onto  the vibe of the conversation.

“Jeez, how do they come up with this shit.” He remarked lovingly

“Heh, yeah. It’s just… I watched it and I saw the way you talked about and looked at her… It just got me thinking, yenno?”

“I don’t. What’d it get you thinkin’ about, beautiful?”

“I just felt like maybe you regretted being with me. Maybe you’re still bummed that you guys broke up and you ended up with me. Like maybe you still miss her.” You admit. It’s silent for a moment as he takes it all in, you almost expect him to confirm your suspicions.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I made you feel like that.” He took a moment to think carefully about his next words “I know it must be hard to hear me talk about someone else like that, you can’t really escape my past relationships because of who I am. I honestly never thought of that. I love you, okay? Not anybody else. Obviously she and I had something, but it’s completely in the past and I don’t regret a thing because it led me to you, and I love you so much. You’re my fookin soulmate, I mean it. I’m not gonna let that slip out of your head ever again.” He said, punctuating it with a passionate kiss.

You expected the kiss to end rather quickly, but it didn’t. It kept going, building in intensity as you scooted closer to one another. 

“I love you.” You whisper, breaking the kiss momentarily

“I love you so much, pretty girl” He responds, his hand coming up to hold your jaw.

“Hmm, show me.” You whisper, pulling him closer. His hand slides down your side and onto your thigh as your lips meet again, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and pulling away lightly before indulging in the kiss once again.

Dom’s hands didn’t stay in one place for long, moving about your body as you made out, pausing his actions for a moment to take your shirt off, placing a kiss to each of your breasts before moving his lips up to your neck, leaving little marks for you to find in the morning. A chill ran down your back as he bit down on your ear, his hands massaging your breasts before reaching behind you and unbuckling your bra, throwing it off to the side and shifting his attention to your nipple. Taking it into his mouth, he presses his tongue flat against it as you lie down to give him a better angle.

His tongue flicking against your nipple while his hand plays with your other nipple. He swapped between which he used his mouth on and which he used his hand, making sure to give them both equal attention,  your hands tangling themself into his hair while he did so. When he was satisfied he pulled away, causing you to let out a small whimper as you felt his lips leave you, making their way down your stomach in a series of wet, open mouthed kisses.

When he made it to your underwear he licked a single stripe, taking his his sweet, sweet time. First, kissing his way up one thigh, then back down and ghosting his lips over the area you needed him both, taking a moment to inhale your scent before kissing his way back up the other leg, and right back down. 

“Please.” You whine

“Shh, I’m gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He hushed, pulling your panties down your legs and glancing up at you as he did so, mimicking your pout before placing a chaste kiss on your clit. You leant your head back, closing your eyes as you waited patiently for him to begin. 

He started off slowly, licking up your slit as he took his time with you. Dom loved to use his tongue anytime he could, you loved it too. When he ate you out, it wasn’t just tongue, he made sure to pay attention to your clit and use his fingers when needed but on nights like tonight, where he really wanted to drive you crazy, he made sure to use a lot of tongue.

“You taste so good, pretty girl.” He whispers, his breath fanning against you, his hands wrapped around your thighs as he lost himself in you, holding you like if he didn’t you would take his meal away. You tried your best to suppress the moans he was pulling out of you, knowing Adam and Tom were just rooms away. The way he was working you left you wishing you had come to him with this sooner. Your hips came up to meet his actions, your hand placed firmly on the back of his head, pushing him as far into you as he could go, eager to meet your release. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, ride daddy’s face. Let daddy show you how much you mean to him.” He hums, taking a moment to catch his breath. You do as you’re told, the request putting you in anything but a bratty mood. You let out a small moan as he continues his actions, your hips setting the pace.

Once again, it started off slow, until you began to work yourself up. Your hand reached down, tangling itself in his hair once again, tugging as you tried to push yourself further down, your hips speeding up while you bite your tongue to keep down the moans that clawed their way up your throat.

You could feel the pressure building up in your stomach, squeaking out to Dom that you were gonna cum before releasing on his tongue. He let you remain there for a minute, riding out your high while he massaged and kissed your thighs. When you had fully come down you move yourself off his face, making your way down to his bulge where you began to unbutton his pants. His hand quickly came down to stop you.

“Tonight’s supposed to be about you.”

“I wanna make you feel good too.” You say, giving him a small pout. He stops to think for a moment before taking off his pants pulling you over him, giving himself a few painfully slow strokes before slipping himself inside of you. Your hips rocked carefully against him, still sensitive from your last orgasm. His hands continued to massage your hips as you found your pace, finding it harder and harder to remain silent.

“You’re so beautiful, pretty girl. Daddy loves to watch you bounce on his cock.” Dom growls, his hips coming up to meet yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, you give up on holding back your moans at this point as it’s already very obvious to anyone in the house what's happening upstairs. 

The bed was creaking, your skin  slapping together as he thrust into you, unable to cease the  loud moans falling past your lips. Your legs began to shake as you approached your second release. Dom pulls you close, holding you, the gentle gesture in sharp contrast with the way he’s pounding away at you.

“Please can I cum.” You whimper

“One moment,” he interrupted himself with a groan “I wanna cum with ya, love.”

You held on as best you could, melting into his grasp as he worked towards finishing himself off. Soon after he growled a barely audible “Cum.” signifying his release. You moaned against each other, Dom pulling you closer as close wasn’t close enough. He maintained his actions, riding through your orgasm with one hand in your hair and the other lovingly stroking your thigh.

“Daddy’s got you babygirl.” He whispers into your ear, hushing you as you come down from your high.

When you finally felt well enough to sit up, your muscles hurt from the strain so you and Dom decided to have a bath.

He got up to run the bath water just the way you liked it and insisted on carrying you there, because ‘You’re hurtin’ so you can’t walk.’

You didn’t mind, though, laying your head on his shoulder as he carried you princess style into the bathroom. Luckily, the boys were in their rooms with the doors closed, presumably to suppress some of the noise.

The warm watered soothed your aching as you sat with Dom behind you, his wet hands stroking your arms with his head buried in your neck while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

After that night, you didn’t think you’d ever question your relationship with Dom again.