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bitterlavenderwritings · 4 years ago

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lovely little thing

a/n: i haven’t written for hawks for a long time then this scenario settled in my head for some reason. what was supposed to be a drabble turned into a fic of sorts lol.

(take note that the reader acts aloof and doesn’t express herself often than most people, so if you feel like you can’t relate it’s alright for you to not read this.)

pairing/s: yan!hawks x reader

wc: 1 688

tags: kidnapping, yandere themes (obv), stalking, manipulation, implied drug use.

Any sane person would panic right now.

Waking up in an unfamiliar room should already set off alarms in your head that most people would immediately heed to. How did you get here? Were you taken by force? Where was your phone-

You moved to grasp anything, a headboard or whatever solid thing that’s closest to you. But there is nothing but silk sheets and pillows scattered around. Your eyes struggle to lift open,for some reason they feel heavier than usual. After a few blinks you open your eyes to see yourself in a huge cage-?

With shaking arms, you get up on your knees to survey your surroundings. It’s then you realize your wrists are bound with individual cuffs with long, thin chains locked in two small hooks at the very back of the cage. You give them light tugs, testing how heavy and durable they are. Despite it’s light weight, it would still be impossible for you to break them without any heavy tools.

But that wasn’t the most peculiar thing you were seeing right now, what puzzled you is the cage you were currently in.

It was huge, and had a lot of space. It wasn’t a box or any cage that resembled that of a dog’s. it was shaped like a bird’s cage, long gold thin bars encasing you in that stretched to the ceiling. It had intricate designs that made it look elegant and beautiful, something you would’ve appreciated if it weren’t for the fact that it held you captive.

You spot a small door, locked shut with a padlock that looks brand new. You give it a few shakes, rattling it a bit to test how tight it is. After a minute you give up, opting to observe everything else in hopes of finding a way out.

It’s odd how everything seems to be staged just for you. The room the cage is in is a lavish bedroom, the type you see on television. A four poster bed in the middle, a dainty dresser complete with a wide mirror on the opposite wall, and a walk in closet that seems to be closed as of the moment.

You look down at yourself, taking notice of the nightgown you’re wearing. It doesn’t seem to be one of yours, an expensive material that’s soft to the touch with pretty lace trimmings.

You feel so out of place, estranged to the unfamiliar room that speaks nothing of someone like you. You’re here for a reason, but you can’t put a finger on it.

Your inquiring thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an opening door. You stiffen in fear as you hear the door close again with the nearing footsteps of an unknown person. They take their time approaching you, light steps that seem to have a bit of a pep in them as they make their way to you.

You feel a gust of wind that billowed on your bare back, causing you to shiver for a moment. You desperately want to see them, your captor, the person responsible for your captivity. But you don’t move, choosing to stare at the blurry window that shines a glowing light to your meek frame that feels oh so small in the cage.

“Once again you’re not saying anything. Quiet as always, aren’t you baby bird?” That nickname...

Slowly, you turn behind you, eyes meeting a familiar pair of honey gold irises. He smiles, a soft curve that speaks of quiet triumph and glee. His gloved hands are grasping the bars softly, sending a message of possession and dominance.

You know him, hell, everybody does. Being a number two hero was no joke, especially for someone as young as him. His wings, a deep shade of red that spreads out at his back, flutter in light flaps as he takes his time looking at you.

He seems to be pleased, barely containing his excitement as he caresses the bars fondly. There’s a soft look in his eyes, the type a person would give to a dear lover of theirs.

But you’re not his lover, at least you think so.

There’s no mistaking the dark gleam in his eyes, something too hidden and cryptic for you to decipher. It’s sends an unpleasant feeling in your chest but you keep shut about it. Who knows what he might do if he’s displeased.

You remember how sharp and deadly those feathers can be, despite how soft and pretty they can look at first glance.

Fear settles in the pit of your stomach, but you ignore it. You had to know, why were you here and why you of all people. You only managed to utter one word.

“Why?” His eyes widens just for a tiny fraction, surprised at your newfound courage. His lips curl into a smirk, seemingly satisfied that you’re not screaming your lungs out or protesting like he’d expect any person would.

But of course you weren’t like most people, which is why he had chosen you in the first place.

“Do I really need a reason?” His smirk widens even wider at your raised eyebrow. To think you can still hold your own at a time like this, how interesting...

He reaches out through the small gaps of the cage, just wide enough for his right arm to fit and enter your rightful place. He preens at the thought, your new home, just where he is.

He holds a strand of hair in his fingers, playing with it as he looks at you endearingly. A spread of warmth fills his chest as he sees your usually blank face fluster at his touch.

“You’re mine, isn’t that easy to understand? Ever since that day I saved you, I’ve already claimed what’s rightfully mine.” Your brows furrow, taking in his words. He doesn’t hear a word of objection, but he knows you disagree despite your silence.

“Don’t you think I’m right, little birdie? I saved you from a painful death after all, that building would have crushed your frail body when that villain struck it’s concrete walls. Rescue wouldn’t have made it in time, so it was all my efforts that kept you alive and breathing ‘til this day.”

It’s then he sees it, a crack in your argument that you hold between your lips. He knows just how he can convince you to stay, and he won’t stop until you believe it completely yourself.

You’re a stubborn person, something he observed after keeping track of you ever since seeing you that day. You haven’t met him personally at the time, but he saw you first.

You looked blissfully in peace tending to your row of lilies, smiling softly to yourself unaware of the prying golden eyes of a hawk latched onto its prey.

He thought the flowers fit you perfectly, sweet innocence that blossomed beneath the loud, massive noises that dominated the crowd.

He’s kept watch of you since then, trailing behind you up in the skies where you couldn’t see him. He even went as far as to disguise himself, hiding his identity to speak a few words to you as a stranger.

He wasn’t even disappointed when you limited your interactions, choosing to utter a few words then cut off the conversation entirely. You disliked talking to people, especially strangers. So you made sure to make it obvious that you weren’t an open person anybody could just approach.

He liked that about you, something that set you apart from the rest. He thought it couldn’t get any better, but you surprised him again once more when he saved you that day.

You were grateful of course, despite your cold nature, you still had feelings and manners like any other person. But you didn’t gawk at him, or praised him endlessly like a god like his fan girls did.

You even refused when he offered to fly you home! Not wanting to abuse his generosity as you put it. You were blunt and wanted nothing more from him. He was instantly hooked.

He couldn’t possibly just let you go now, could he?

So when the time finally came, he didn’t hesitate to use your vulnerability to his advantage. You always left your windows wide open at night, preferring to sleep with the moonlight lighting up your dark room softly.

He found that habit of yours adorable, but also too dangerous. What if there was someone else like him who could reach your floor and possibly harm you? He couldn’t have that, no no. All the more reason to keep you safe and sound, he reasoned. But on his own terms.

It wasn’t that hard if he was being honest, you were already tired when you got home to begin with. So when he held the dampened cloth to your nose, your struggles weren’t that strong to budge him the slightest.

Within a few minutes you grew limp in his arms, making it easy for him to carry you up in the night sky, taking you home right where you belonged to.

Seeing you calm and collected on that cage nearly sent him to a frenzy. You sat like you belonged there, ignoring the way your eyes darted from you to him apprehensively.

“It’s okay now sweetie, I’ll take real good care of you.” He cooed as he held your face in his hands. Your skin was smooth and delicate to his touch, something he noted while admiring your beauty.

“You’ll see, sooner or later you won’t have to worry about a single thing.” He’ll make sure of it. He can already see it, you craving him as much as he does with yours. But first he has to be patient, he’s not deluded enough into thinking you won’t go down without your own defenses after all.

He’ll have to take his time breaking down each and every one of the walls you’ve built around yourself to finally lay a hand on how you truly feel. He grinned in anticipation.

You were an interesting, lovely little thing after all, and he’s gonna have so much fun with you.

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Stark Spangled Banner

Ch51: Captain America Homecoming

Intro: The team at the compound begin their experiment with the Quantum Tunnel, but it doesn’t all go according to plan. But just as everything seems lost, Tony appears having rethought his initial stance. And he has a little surprise for Steve.

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: I can’t give @angrybirdcr enough credit��she makes my images into, well, erm, images…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 50

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Bruce needed a day to calibrate the computer and systems to the right configuration to use with Scott’s Quantum Tunnel (which was, amusingly yet completely unsurprisingly, in the back of his ugly brown van). Katie took the chance to head into the office to catch up and then inform Soraya she didn’t know how much she would be available in person over the coming week.

They had another day before they were due to collect Emmy from the train station, her five day trip to Philly was drawing to a close and when they had spoken to her last night she had been equal parts excited to come home and fed up that it was ending. But she would be back at school soon, and she had an important few weeks coming up as she was studying for her end of year exams. Neither of them were particularly concerned about that, however, as Emmy was a complete brainbox. Although she was only a freshman, she was taking APs in Human Geography and Psychology (having told her parents she wanted to be a Therapist) and was already being touted by her tutors as Harvard potential. Steve wasn’t overly keen about his daughter being in a different state, but all things considered, Boston wasn’t too far. And he knew he had to let her make her own decision so they’d cross that bridge when they got there.

For the time being, the only bridge Steve wanted to cross was the one he and Natasha were currently planning on making to reach out to the remaining original Avengers, Thor and Clint.

“Thor should be easy, surely?” Nat asked, swinging her feet up onto the table as she sat back in her seat. She looked to Steve for confirmation, but instead he sighed and shook his head.

“Has Katie not told you?”

“Told me what?”

Steve scratched at his chin. “He had a disagreement with one of the Elders about three months back. From what Valkyrie told Katie, there was a bit of an argument over the rebuilding of their army and the elder took a shot at Thor, saying he wasn’t fit to lead any kind of battalion as he had failed to keep them safe from Thanos.”

“That’s harsh.” Nat frowned.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve bit his lip. “I think it was more anger speaking than the guy actually thinking that, but it sent Thor into another downwards spiral and he’s ignored Katie’s attempts to reach out to him again so she’s given in.” “Okay, so, maybe a little harder than we anticipated.” “Least we know where he is. Any luck on Barton?”

“Rhodey thinks he’s targeting a gang in Hong Kong.” Nat sighed. “But I won’t know for sure until he arrives.”

Steve, nodded. “Well when we find out where he is we can scramble a jet and…” “No.” Nat shook her head “Not we, me. I’ll go alone.” “Nat.” Steve frowned “Clint, he’s been leaving a trail of utter carnage behind him, I don’t think you-“

“He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“It’s not him I’m concerned about, more the people he’s taking on.” “I can handle myself.” Nat replied, firmly as she looked at him. Her eyes were sparkling with that Black Widow venom Steve had to admit he had missed over the past few years. He took a deep breath and against his better judgement conceded.

“Alright. We’ll do it your way.”

Natasha frowned, and smirked. “Really? That’s it, no argument?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You want an argument?” “Not really.” She shook her head, smiling.

Steve gave a chuckle and then they were cut off by an incoming call springing up in front of Natasha. She swiped to her right and the hologram form of Rocket appeared on the desk.

“Hey Nat.” He nodded, turning to Steve, “Cap.We’re wrapping things up on that latest lead, then we have to nip to Contraxia as I need a few things,” he Raccoon explained, looking at them both, “should be with you day after tomorrow lunchtime, ish” “Rocket, you were close to Thor right?” Steve spoke, an idea coming to him.

“Kinda, why?” “We need him.” Steve stated simply. “He knows about the stones, but convincing him could be a bit of a task. So I was thinking maybe you could help and go with Katie to New Asgard.” The animal pondered for a while before he shrugged. “I can try.”

“That’s all any of us can do.”

The raccoon nodded again “Alright.” He turned to Nat. “We’ll see you soon.” And with that he disappeared.

Steve stayed at the compound until late afternoon, popping in to see how Bruce and Scott were getting on, before he made his way home. Katie and Jamie were already back and he could hear the two of them in the living room.

“Who’s that?” Jamie asked as he pointed to the photo in the album that his Mom had open on her lap.

“That’s your Uncle Sam.” She smiled at the photo of Steve and his best man at the reception of their wedding “You know you get your name from him, well one of them anyway.”

“Where is he now?” Jamie asked.

“He err…he went away” Katie said slowly as she tried to figure out how to explain this to a three year old. “You know how daddy has told you about his friend, Uncle Bucky?” “Yeah.” “Well, a few years ago, before you were born, The Avengers, well they had a fight, with a nasty man, and your Uncle Bucky and Uncle Sam, and one of our other friends, a lady called Wanda…they had to go away afterwards.”

“Was Uncle Tony in the fight?”

“Yeah, he was.”

“And Auntie Nat-Nat?”

“Yeah. And Thor. There were a lot of people involved?”

“Did you and daddy fight with the Avengers?” Jamie asked, his eyes wide.

At that point Katie looked up and saw Steve hovering in the door way. He swallowed and walked into the room.

“A long time ago buddy, yeah.” He nodded.

“Did you know Captain America?” Jamie’s eyes were now almost the size of dinner plates.

“I did yeah.” Steve nodded, kneeling down in front of his son. “But he gave up fighting.” Jamie pondered something as Katie looked at her husband. “Not for much longer though.” She locked eyes with him.

Steve took a deep breath and swallowed once more. He wasn’t sure he’d ever hold that shield again.

“Maybe.” he said, shrugging, before he stood up and settled on the couch at the other side of his son.

Jamie made to turn the page in the album and the next photo was one of Steve’s favourites and one they had a large framed version of on the mantel piece. It showed him and Katie at their first dance, heads pressed together, huge smiles on their faces as he held her close.

“Momma you look real pretty!” Jamie smiled and Katie dropped a kiss to his head.

“Thanks, Baby.” “Your momma always looks pretty.” Steve smiled “She’s the most beautiful girl on the planet.” “Charmer.” Katie looked at him as he stretched his arm over the back of his son and pulled her in closer.

“Only for you.” He winked, dropping a kiss to her cheek.

****** Tony stood at the sink, rinsing down the dishes from dinner whilst Pepper settled Morgan down for the night. He’d spoken to Kiddo earlier, she’d told him they were running the first Time Travel trial tomorrow. He’d managed to push it out of his mind for most of the afternoon but now, as he stood alone, he kept thinking about it over and over again. He knew Bruce was clever, but this really wasn’t his area…

What if something went wrong? Not his problem.

Tony’s grip on the attachment to the tap slipped and it jerked out of his hand, spraying water all over the place. With a sigh he turned it off and grabbed the tea towel, mopping up the water from around the sink and then the shelf which it had squirted all over. He glanced at the photos, and paused for a moment at the frame that was placed just to the right of the one which held a picture of his dad. He took a deep breath as he wiped the water off the faces- him and Peter Parker holding the fake Stark Internship Certificate upside down, each one pulling peace signs behind the other’s head. He swallowed.

“We can snap our own fingers. We can bring everybody back.”

Tony looked around his kitchen, his stomach turning slightly. Yes, he had something to fight for, something personal, the kid. They all had something personal right? Natasha had Clint’s family, Rogers and Kiddo had Barnes, Wilson and Wanda… Scott had his girlfriend, or whatever. But he couldn’t risk it. He shouldn’t risk it….

But they were going to risk it. He knew that. And they could, probably would, fuck it up without him.

“Damned it, Rogers.” He mumbled, placing the photo down and heading into the dining room.

Two hours later, Pepper was out in the greenhouse as she often was later at night and Tony was talking to FRIDAY, with whom he had been brainstorming a number of ideas for the past hour and a half. He looked the holographic model in front of him and tapped at the pad on the table.

“Look at a mod inspiration, let’s see if it checks out.” He instructed, watching as the image changed in front of his eyes. “So…” he pressed a few keys again, “run one last sim before we pack it in for the night,” he clapped his hands together and paced round the side of the table, “this time, in the shape of a mobius strip, inverted, please.”

“Processing.“ FRIDAY replied as Tony crossed his arms and watched.

“Give me that Eigen value,” he reached out to spin the image with his hand, “that, particle factoring, and a spectral decomp,” he grabbed the bottle on the side of the table to take a drink of the smoothie he had made, “that will take a second.”

“Just a moment.”

“And don’t worry if it doesn’t pan out,” he replaced the top on his drink and grabbing a blueberry from the packet he had been eating, “I’m just kinda…” he trailed off chewing the fruit, as he watched FRIDAY do her business.

“Model rendered.”

The red words ‘Model Successful’ with a rating of ‘99.987%’ flashed in front of his eyes and Tony felt his mouth drop open, utterly bewildered by his discover. He fell back into his chair, looking up at it and his mouth flew to his hand. He, Tony Stark, had figured out how to do exactly what Lang had proposed, how to safely travel time.

Despite himself, he felt a certain level of pride and smugness, and he threw his arms out to his side. “Shit!” He laughed out.

“Shit.” A voice spoke from behind him, followed by a giggle. He paused, and turned to see his daughter was sat on the bottom stair, grinning at him.

He held his finger to his lips and shook his head. “What are you doing up, little miss?”

“Shit.” She repeated again.

“No, we don’t say that. Only Mommy says that word. She coined it, it belongs to her.”

“Why you up?” Morgan looked at him.

“Cause I got some important shit going on here,” Tony jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the hologram, “what do you think?”

Morgan shot him a frown and he took a deep breath, when she pulled that face she looked ridiculously like her Auntie. ”No, I got something on my mind,” he explained in a softer tone.

“Was it Juice Pops?” Morgan asked, hopefully.

“Sure was.” Tony looked at the other side of the room before he turned back to his daughter, “extortion. That’s a word.” He stood up and looked down at her. “What kind you want?” He asked, taking her hand and she stood up. “Great minds think alike. Juice Pops, exactly was on-” he looked back to the model then turned towards the kitchen “-my mind.”

A little while and a juice pop later Morgan was back in bed, demanding a story.

“Once upon a time, Morgoona went to bed. The end.” Tony grinned.

“That is a horrible story.” Morgan looked at him with a glare.

“Come on, that’s your favorite story.” He grinned and as she rolled her eyes he smiled. “I love you tons.” He made it clear that was the end of the conversation by standing up, kissing her on the forehead.

“I love you three thousand.” Morgan looked at him and Tony smiled.

“Wow.” he said, quietly. His daughter had an ability, very like Kiddo, to say things that sideswiped him, and made his chest burst with love, and this was one of those moments. He contemplated that for a moment before he stood up and turned off her lamp. “Three thousand, that’s crazy.”

He walked to the door, and closing it behind him, still grinning he told her “Go to bed, or I’ll sell all your toys, night night.”

By the time he reached the living room Pepper was back inside, sat on the couch reading a book.

“Not that it’s a competition-” Tony spoke and Pepper looked up at him “-but she loves me three thousand.”

“Oh does she now?” Pepper smiled.

“You were somewhere on the low six to nine-hundred range.” Pepper laughed and turned back to her book. Tony, still chewing on the juice pop stick looked back to where the model was still projecting over his table.

“What you reading?” He asked, although he wasn’t particularly interested. His mind was racing once more.

“Oh, it’s just a book on composting”.

“What’s new with composting?” His eyes were still on the image. “Interesting science…” she began, but he cut her off.

“I figured it out, by the way.” Tony looked back at her, removing the juice pop stick from his mouth.”

“And, you know, just so we’re talking about the same thing –“

“Time travel.”

“What?” Pepper whispered as Tony glanced back at the hologram, arms folded. “Wow,” her gaze dropped down slightly, “that’s amazing, and terrifying.”

“That’s right.” He dropped down beside her, his left arm hanging over the back of the sofa.

“We got really lucky.” Pepper said, stroking his arm.

“Yeah, I know.”

“A lot of people didn’t.”

“No, but I can’t help everybody.”

“Well, it sorta seems like you can.” Pepper pressed again.

“Not if I stop.” Tony shrugged, and Pepper gave a small huff of a laugh. “I can put a pin in it right now, and stop.”

“Tony, trying to get you to stop has been one of the few failures of my entire life.”

Tony gave a soft laugh and his right arm gently rubbed the hand that was laid over his left arm.

“Something tells me I should put it in a locked box and drop it at the bottom of the lake, go to bed.”

There was a pause, before Pepper looked at him again, her eyes soft and her face rearranged into a knowing expression.

“But would you be able to rest?”

Tony didn’t reply, he didn’t need to. They both knew the answer was no. *******

“Alright, Emmy, remember what I said?” Katie looked at her daughter who was sat on the couch in the living room of their old quarters.

“Yeah, I can’t leave here until someone comes to get us.” Emmy nodded

“No matter what.”

“Yeah mom, I got it. We’ll be fine, wont we Jamie?”

Jamie nodded, grinning up at his mother “Yeah, fine.”

“Okay, love you both.”

With one last glance over her shoulder at her kids, Katie made her way back to the hanger.

“Breakers are set. Emergency generators are on standby.” She heard Steve call out as he strode back towards the computer. Katie couldn’t help but admire his ass, he looked pretty good in a pair of black denims, light blue shirt as always tucked in, belt circling his toned waist. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow with a smug smirk as he caught the expression on her face and she shrugged.

“Good, ‘coz if we blow the grid, I don’t wanna lose Tiny here in the 1950s,” Bruce said through gritted teeth, jerking his thumb at Scott, only his comment wasn’t quite as quiet as he thought. Scott, who was stood in his suit, fiddling with something on his helmet heard perfectly.

“Excuse me?” Scott glared at Banner as Katie and Steve exchanged a glance. .

“He’s kidding!” Natasha said in a playful voice, shaking her head as she tapped on the tablet she was holding which would be used to track Scott. She looked up with a smile, which Katie knew perfectly to be false and laughed. “You can’t say things like that.” Natasha looked at Bruce.

“Yeah, sorry, it was…just a bad joke.” He smiled as he looked at Scott. Scott nodded once as he walked back to the van.

“You were kidding right?” Katie looked at Bruce.

“I have no idea!” Bruce hissed. “We’re talking about time travel here, either it’s all a joke or none of it is!” He looked away from Katie and flashed Scott the thumbs up. “We’re good.”

Steve crossed his arms and let out a breath as Scott pulled his helmet on. He gave Bruce a double thumbs up and Katie smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

“Alright Scott, we’re gonna send you back a week, let you walk around for an hour, then bring you back in ten seconds. Make sense?” Bruce asked as he tapped at the keys on his desk with a pencil

“Perfectly not confusing.” Scott shrugged.

Okay, so now Steve was nervous. He took a deep breath and looked at the man stood by the back of the van, his hands dropping to his hips.

“Good luck Scott. You’ve got this.” He refrained from adding I hope.

“You’re right. I do Captain America.” Scott grinned, proudly, as Bruce hit a button, sucking him into the tunnel.

“On the count of three-“ Bruce called, and Steve dropped his hands, his fists clenching, mouth open slightly as he watched . At the other side of Bruce, Katie and Nat shared a nervous glance. “Three… two…one…” Steve breathed a sigh of relief as someone appeared but it was short lived as he realised the person in front of them could be no older than Emmy. Katie frowned as did Natasha, confusion etched across her face and next to them, Bruce adjusted his glasses.

"Guys, something doesn’t feel right.” The boy informed them nervously.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, as Bruce set about pressing a load more buttons. “Hang on…”

“Is that Scott?” Katie’s eyes grew wide as she looked at Bruce, who ducked down to hit something on the console, her eyes locking with Steve who looked as utterly perplexed as she felt.

“Yes, it’s Scott!” The boy exclaimed.

Teenage Scott was sucked back into the tunnel, Natasha watching Bruce as he straightened up and the four of them looked back to the tunnel to see another person thrown out, this time an elderly man.

“Ow, my back!”

“What is this?” Steve asked

“Can I…I need a little space!” Bruce demanded as he moved to his right.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Steve hastily moved out of the way and going to stand in between his wife and Natasha. “Can you bring him back?”

“I’m working on it.” Bruce hit one of the screens. Katie, Steve and Nat shared another panicked look as Old Scott was yanked back in only to this time reappear as…

"That’s a baby.” Steve deadpanned.

“It’s Scott!” Bruce defended.

“As a baby!” Steve snapped as the infant looked up at them wide eyed.

“He’ll grow!” Bruce said, attempting a joke.

“Bring Scott back!” Steve instructed sharply.

“Nat, when I say kill the power, kill the power!” Bruce called and Natasha ran off to the breaker at the side of the hanger.

Katie and Steve watched as Bruce jabbed more buttons, before he yelled out “Kill it!”

Natasha pulled the lever down and Bruce slapped a large red button. This time Scott Lang returned exactly as he had been before he left.

“Somebody peed my pants.” He called out loudly, standing stiffly still. “I don’t know if it was baby me, or old me. Or, just… me-me.”

“Time travel!” Bruce beamed excitedly, throwing his hands out to the side as Katie, Steve and Natasha looked at him. “What? I, I see this as an absolute win.”

Steve simply stared at Bruce in silence for a moment, before he shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. He looked down at the floor before he walked off, Katie watching him as he left the hangar and stepped outside.

“I think we should take a break.” Katie took a deep breath. “Nat can you check the kids, I’m gonna…” She jerked her thumb after Steve and Nat nodded.

Steve stood outside by the large metal pillar at the side of the building, hands still on his hips as he stared at the floor. What was the point of being able to time travel if you couldn’t control it? The worse thing being that he wasn’t even sure if they would be able to perfect it with practice, and was he willing to keep risking Scott to do that? They had been so close, but Tony was right, it had clearly been a pipe dream.

“Hey.” Katie’s hand fell gently to his elbow. “Honey, we knew it was a long shot.” “I know.” He sighed, looking at her. “But I thought it might have worked, you know. That we might have had a chance to…”

He was cut off as a loud engine growled in the distance. They both looked out over the compound to see a familiar Audi R8 speeding down the drive towards the hangar. Katie and Steve exchanged a glance as the car pulled up to where they were stood, but overshot their position slightly. Steve followed the car with his eyes as it backed up and Tony rolled down the window and looked at them both. Steve raised his eyebrows, looking away.

“Why the long face?” Tony asked, directing his question to Steve. “Let me guess: He turned into a baby”

“Among other things, yeah.” Steve replied, an edge of frustration in his voice as he looked back at Tony. “What are you doing here?”

Tony opened the car door and climbed out, walking to the back, completely ignoring Steve’s question as he spoke.

“That’s the EPR Paradox. Instead of pushing Lang through time, you might’ve wound up pushing time through Lang.” Tony looked at Steve “It’s tricky. Dangerous. Somebody shoulda cautioned you against it.”

“You did.” Steve deadpanned, not in the mood for a lecture.

“Oh, did I?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow and Katie felt a grin cross her face at her brother’s sarcasm “Thank God I’m here. Regardless, I fixed it” Steve raised his eyebrows as he glanced at his brother in law who held up his right hand which bore what looked like a watch of some description. “A fully functioning Time-Space GPS.

At this Steve let out a genuine smile as he realised Tony was here to help. Tony returned it with one of his own

“I just want peace.” He made the sign with his fingers. “Turns out, being angry and bitter is corrosive, and I hate it.

“Me too.” Steve nodded softly, recognizing this for what it was. An apology for the other day, and he was happy to provide his own.

“Guys, we got a shot at getting these stones, but I gotta tell you my priorities.” Tony urged softly, looking from Steve to Katie and back again “Bring back what we lost? I hope, yes. Keep what I got? I have to, at all costs”.

“So do we, Tony.” Katie implored. “Our Kids, they’re the most important thing to us.”

“Nothing we do can jeopardise them.” Steve dropped his left arm round Katie. “Any of them.”

“And maybe if we could manage to not die trying, that would be nice.” Tony shrugged.

Steve smiled and held out his right hand. “Sounds like a deal.”

Tony shook it, before he smiled, cheekily, and headed to the trunk. Steve looked at his wife and she shrugged, before the two of them followed him, Steve watching curiously. Tony lifted something out, turned it upside down to dislodge the teddy bear sat on it and Katie’s hand flew to her mouth as she saw it was Steve’s shield.

Steve hesitated, taking a deep breath. “Tony… I don’t know..” He swallowed, the nerve twitching in his jaw. He wasn’t worthy of that shield, not anymore.

“Why? He made it for you.” Tony held Steve’s gaze. “Plus, honestly, I have to get it out of the garage before Morgan takes it sledding.” Steve looked over his shoulder at Katie, who was fighting back her tears and she gave him an encouraging nod. He lifted his arm and Tony slid the shield straps over his shirt and Steve looked down at it, taking a shaky breath. It felt like slipping into a familiar pair of sneakers.

“Thank you, Tony.” Steve looked up at his brother-in-law, his voice choked as behind him, Katie dropped a hand to his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to the spot between his shoulder blades, her face resting on his shirt.

“Will you keep that a little quiet? Didn’t bring one for the whole team.” Tony hesitated for a moment. “We are getting the whole team, yeah?

“We’re working on that right now.” Katie moved so she could see Tony, before she heard a yell behind her.

“Uncle Nee!” Jamie shot straight by her and launched at his Uncle.

“Hey, Sport!” Tony grinned, picking him up. “What you been up to?” “Me and Emmy were colouring and making dinosaur models.” “Wow!” Tony nodded, turning to Emmy who was walking towards them.

“Mom?” Her voice was a whisper as she spotted what Steve was holding. “Dad’s…” “Yeah.” Katie smiled at her, dropping an arm round the teenager’s shoulders as she continued to glance at his shield. Never one to miss anything, Jamie glanced at his Sister, then his dad and his eyes widened.

“Why you have shield like Captain America?” Jamie frowned as Steve ran his fingers over the edge of the Vibranium before looking at his son as Tony placed him on the floor, struggling to find the words to explain.

Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder “Alright, I’ll leave that one with you. Time to go see what a mess of my compound Brucie has made. ”He walked passed Emmy, dropping an arm round her shoulders. “Walk with me kid, tell me about Philly.” He shot a glance at Katie who smiled as he steered the teenager back to the compound whilst she began excitedly telling him about her trip.

Steve turned to look Katie, his eyes glistening with emotion.

“Still suits you.” She smiled to him and he gave a little chuckle.

“Daddy!” Jamie insisted, tugging on his trousers, annoyed at his question being ignored.

“Sorry Pal,” Steve crouched down, shield still on his arm. “I have a shield like Captain America because I was Captain America.”

Jamie frowned before his eyes grew wide. An older kid might have laughed and told his dad to stop being silly, but Steve had never lied to Jamie before and it would never have occurred to the three year old to ever think he would.

“You were Captain America?” Jamie frowned. “When you fighted with the Avengers?”

“Yeah” Steve sighed, running his hand through Jamie’s golden hair. “I was.”

“Are you still Cap now?”

“I dunno.” Steve glanced back at his shield before he looked at Jamie, smiling gently.

“I think you are.” Jamie cocked his head to one side as his hand reached out to touch the shield. “Because Cap’s a hero and you’re my hero”

Katie saw Steve’s eyes water instantly as he pulled Jamie closer to him, dropping a kiss to the side of his head as the boy’s arms wound around his dad’s neck. He glanced up at Katie and she swallowed, leaning against the column to her left, wiping her eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had called any of the Avengers that, and to hear it from his son meant more to Steve than anything.

“Daddy?” Jamie mumbled against his dad’s shoulder, where his head lay.

“Yeah?” Steve cleared his throat.

“You got a helmet too?” Jamie pulled back to study his father’s face as Steve gave out a soft laugh

“Yeah buddy. I do.”

“And a uniform?”

“I have a few.” Steve nodded.

“Can I see?” Jamie’s face lit up and Steve glanced at Katie who smiled, nodding encouragingly.

“Sure… come on.” Steve stood up, Jamie easily lifted in his free arm. “You coming?” He stopped at his wife’s side as she reached up a hand to smooth down Jamie’s jumper which had ridden up slightly.

“I think this is a hero to son moment, don’t you?” She smiled, standing on her toes so she could give his lips a peck. “Besides, someone’s gotta stop Tony creating havoc in there.” “Good luck with that.” He muttered, giving her another kiss before he carried Jamie into the compound, striding through the hangar doors and across to the corridor. Katie waited for a moment, composing herself before she headed back inside.

**** True to their word, Nebula and Rocket arrived the following lunch and it wasn’t long after that Katie and Rocket headed off to New Asgard, along with Banner. Banner and Thor had shared a lot during the events leading up to Thanos’ attacking the Asgardian ship and Katie was hoping that together they stood a better chance of convincing the God to help. Katie sat in the passenger seat of the truck belonging to one of the Asgardians who had come to greet them. She couldn’t help but smile as they rolled past the sign at the side of the road WELCOME TO NEW ASGARD, PLEASE DRIVE SLOWLY. They stopped at the small port, and Katie hopped out of the truck, thanking the man, whilst Bruce and Rocket climbed out of the back.

“Kind of a step down from a golden palace for an Avenger highness and whatnot.” Rocket mused, looking around.

“Hey, have a little compassion, pal.” Bruce said gently. “First they’ve lost Asgard, then half the people. They’re probably just happy to have a home.”

Katie spotted Valkyrie who smiled at her, and then her face rearranged into surprise as she saw Bruce.

“You shouldn’t have come!” She warned as they approached her.

“Ah, Valkyrie! Great to see you, Angry Girl.” Bruce smiled.

“I think I liked you better either of the other ways.” She almost chuckled, taking in his appearance.

“This is Rocket.” Katie gestured to the raccoon.

“How you doin’?” He greeted her.

Valkyrie nodded at him before she turned to Katie. “He won’t see you.

“Still that bad, huh?” Katie folded her arms.

“We only see him once a month, when he comes for-“ she looked over to the pile of kegs on the side of the port, “-supplies.

“It’s that bad?” Bruce mumbled.

“Yeah.”

“We have to try.” Katie bit her lip, looking round before she turned to Bruce and Rocket. “Come on.” She led them down the side of the harbour and they walked up the small, cobbled street towards the fishing hut Thor was living in. Katie paused, and tried the handle. It opened and Rocket stepped in first. Instantly, Katie was hit with a smell that made her nose wrinkle. It was a combination of dirty clothes, stale beer and old take-outs.

“What the… woo!” Rocket grimaced, waving his paw in front of his nose. “Something died in here.”

“Hello? Thor?” Bruce called.

Thor’s voice rumbled through to them from another room. “Are you here about the cable?”

They made their way into the main room and Thor, who was shirtless, having definitely put on more than a couple of pounds since Katie had last seen him, was walking across the room gesturing to the TV.

“The Cinemax ran out about two weeks ago, and the sports are all kind of fuzzy.” He grabbed a beer from the ice bucket and Katie looked at Bruce who was frowning.

“Thor?” He asked, his voice disbelieving.

Thor turned and took a moment to look at the three of them, before his face cracked into a smile

“Boys!” He laughed out. “Little Stark! Oh my God! It’s so good to see you!” He crossed towards Rocket, trying to hug him, his knuckles rubbing the raccoons head. “Come here, you little rascal!”

“No, I’m good. I’m good. That’s not necessary.” Rocket groaned, wriggling away.

“Hulk, Little Stark, you know my friends, Miek, Korg, right?”

Miek and Korg were sat on a couch, the Rock creature in a Hawaiian shirt, play station controller in his hand playing what looked to Katie like Fortnite- one of Emmy’s favourites.

“Hey guys!” Korg raised his hand in greeting.

“Hey!” Bruce smiled. “Long time no see.”

“Beers in the bucket. Feel free to log on to the Wi-Fi. No password, obviously.” Korg said cheerfully as he turned back to his game, growing suddenly serious. “Thor, he’s back. The kid on the TV that called me a dickhead again.”

“Noobmaster.” Thor growled out as he spun round. Miek threw a piece of pizza towards the TV in disgust, giving a little click.

“Yeah, Noobmaster69. Called me a dickhead.”

Thor stomped over to Korg, took his headphones and spoke loudly into the mic.

“Noobmaster? Yeah, it’s Thor again. You know, the God of Thunder? Listen, buddy. If you don’t log off this game immediately, I am gonna fly over to your house, come down to that basement you’re hiding in, rip off your arms and shove them up your butt! Oh, that’s right. Yes, go cry to your father, you little weasel!”

Katie and Rocket exchanged a look as Thor returned Korg’s head set, before she glanced up at Banner who was watching, a look of disbelief on his face and Katie couldn’t help but echo his feelings. Seeing their friend, their once mighty Avenger partner, in such a state made her beyond sad.

“So you guys want a drink? What are you drinking? We have beer, tequila, all sorts of things.” Thor asked, using Stormbreaker to open a bottle of beer. Bruce walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Buddy, you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine! Why, don’t I look all right?” Thor frowned.

“You look like melted ice cream.” Rocket crossed his arms, but despite his joke Katie could tell he was concerned.

Thor simply laughed and looked at them all. “So, what’s up?

“We need your help” Katie spoke gently “There might be a chance we could fix everything.”

“What, like the cable?” Thor burped. “Cause that’s been driving me bananas for weeks.”

“Like Thanos.” Bruce spoke and Katie saw Thor’s smile slowly disappear. He put a shaky hand on Bruce’s shoulder and pointed at him.

“Don’t you say that name.”

Behind Thor, Korg stood up, taking off his headphones. “Um, yeah. We don’t actually say that name in here.”

“Please take your hand off me” Bruce’s tone was quiet as he brushed away Thor’s grip on his shoulder. “Now, I know that… guy might scare you…”

“Why would, why would I be scared of that guy?” Thor scoffed, turning away. “I’m the one who killed that guy, remember? Anyone else here killed that guy? Nope. Didn’t think so. Korg, why don’t you, tell everybody who chopped Thanos’ big head off.”

“Umm… Stormbreaker?” Korg offered.

“No, who was swinging Stormbreaker?” Thor shot back.

“Thor.” Katie started gently. “I get it, we all get it. You’re in a rough spot right now-”

“I’ve been there myself.” Bruce picked up from her “You wanna know who helped me out of it?”

“I don’t know…Natasha?” Thor snorted and Katie rolled her eyes.

“It was you. You helped me”.

Thor walked back over to Bruce and pointed out of the window with the hand holding his beer. “Why don’t you ask the Asgardians down there, how much my help was worth?” he dropped onto the chair “The ones that are left, anyway.”

“We think we can bring them back.” Katie looked at him.

“Little Stark, please stop. Stop, okay?” Thor pleaded, opening a packet of M&Ms. “I know you think I’m down here wallowing in my own self-pity, waiting to be rescued and saved. But I’m fine, okay? We’re fine, aren’t we?”

He looked at Korg and Miek eating pizza and playing once more on the Playstation.

“Nah, all good here, mate!” Korg nodded.

Katie looked back at Thor as he stared up at her. “So, whatever it is that you’re offering, we’re not into it, don’t care, couldn’t care less. Goodbye.”

“We need you Thunder God.” Katie swallowed as she shook her head sadly. ”Please.”

Thor shook his head and ignored her.

“There’s beer on the ship.” Rocket broke the silence, crossing his arms.

Thor paused, and without looking up he spoke again, this time his words softer. “What kind?”

**** Chapter 52

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fic #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

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A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 1 [NSFW/18+]

Chapter 2 ->

Summary: You can’t stand Frederick Chilton, but after he’s tortured and left scarred by a former patient, you are afflicted by an irrepressible desire to get him in bed.

This has been posted on AO3 for awhile, but I thought I’d post the chapters here! (Took the liberty of fleshing out the short smut a wee bit.)

2,380 words

Dr. Frederick Chilton was arrogant and unpleasant.

Everyone thought so, but most would dance around their hostility toward him with subtle digs couched in polite conversation. Not you. You weren’t shy about saying it to his face.

As he exited the courtroom doors, Dr. Chilton saw you waiting in the hall to ambush him, and braced himself for another soapbox diatribe.

Such a shame, he thought. He recalled how he had tried to make a good impression when you first met, but all his charm kept backfiring, and now you patently despised him. His failure to curry favor was nothing out of the ordinary, but unfortunately, he still had to deal with you. You were one of Crawford’s lackeys, and had made yourself inescapable since Will Graham’s arrest.

“You conniving, idiotic, condescending weasel!” you exploded upon the man with an expensive suit and gaudy cane. “How could you get on the stand and make that bullshit testimony? You don’t know anything about Will!” You withheld the fuck-you’s that time, out of professional courtesy.

He brushed you off and continued walking briskly down the hall, cane tapping on the polished floor, but you followed and walked alongside him.

“Do I need a restraining order against you?” Dr. Chilton said, bored.

You crossed your arms. “Oh, hah-hah.”

“What is it, then?” he sighed, slowing down. Trying to outpace you was more trouble than it was worth, thanks to the pinching of scar tissue in every stride. “I am extremely busy.”

“‘The confused man Will Graham presents to the world could not commit those crimes, because that man is a fiction,’” you quoted his testimony.

“Correct. Is that all?”

“Did you ever consider it’s because he didn’t commit those crimes? You know, being the only one who thinks Will is a psychopath doesn’t make you a genius, it makes you an idiot. Or do you know that, but you’ve just been pining have him locked up so you can study him?”

“Incredible. Mr. Graham has found a truly gullible fool to place under his thumb. I have never met anyone so susceptible to his manipulations. Have you ever been tested for personality disorders?” He regarded you like you were a lab rat with a lot of audacity to be squeaking at him (though to be fair, that was how he looked at almost everybody).

You burned to keep arguing, but he walked down the courthouse steps and got into an obtrusively fancy classic car. Your heart was racing. You weren’t finished with him.

*****

You seemed to be the only sane person aware that the sweet, empathetic, dog-loving Will Graham was obviously being framed, and did your best to visit him as often as possible at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Unfortunately, that meant dealing with its chief of staff.

Every time you visited Will, you ended up clashing with that pompous buffoon and his perfectly coiffed hair. He was notorious for his unethical practices, but since rich white assholes were incapable of being fired, it was your self-appointed job to protect Will from him.

Though, recently, you had to admit two things.

One: you may have been the tiniest bit biased by your fondness for Will, and two: your feelings toward Dr. Chilton had been softening.

Not long ago, Chilton had barely survived being tortured by a former patient, Abel Gideon. The sight of him on a medical gurney cradling his own internal organs in his arms was a horror that would be burned into your brain for life. He may have been an incompetent jerk whom Gideon had every right to want revenge on, but he didn’t deserve that.

You didn’t think he would survive, but in a few weeks, like magic, he was back to play Will’s jailer, a cane in hand but no other sign of the trauma he endured.

Too little sign of the trauma he endured, honestly. After all, he was only hurt because of his own meddling—using psychic driving to convince Gideon he was the Chesapeake Ripper in order to achieve the fame and glory of having treated the Chesapeake Ripper.

But no, he was still bursting full of egotistical remarks and ambition, if a little short on organs.

“I see the experience hasn’t humbled you one bit,” you commented upon his return, when he gloated about the accolades he would receive after writing a book about Will Graham.

“Funny, it almost sounds like you wanted me to be gutted,” he retorted in a pleasantly upbeat voice with a sharp undercurrent.

His rich-boy superiority complex did make it tempting to punch him in the face… but disembowelment was going too far.

Something changed after that. It used to be that you couldn’t wait to get away from him, but now you found yourself wanting to stay and fight longer, your cheeks burning with indignation. Days you weren’t visiting Will, you went to the mental hospital to crusade against Dr. Chilton over ethics and his lack thereof, just for the excuse to see him.

The two of you exchanged cutting banter the same as always, but you found yourself being more civil... or, at least, your heated arguments felt more playful. Sure, you still called him a dirty slimeball, but now it was a friendly roast and not because you hated his (slightly damaged) guts.

It was strange. Every time you argued your heart would pound against your chest in anticipation, but you couldn’t figure out why.

Your breaking point came when you barged into his office and discovered him spying on patients’ private conversations with visitors—headphones on, feet up on his desk, holding a Montblanc fountain pen in his mouth and swirling it with his tongue.

He didn’t startle at your unexpected entrance, as a person who feels shame might do when caught in the middle of something so sleazy. He was completely unrepentant about it. Sliding a headphone off one ear and picking up a glass of top-shelf scotch from his desk, he took a slow sip, and smugly asked, “Can I help you?”

What could you say to that? You felt your face heating up, so you turned on your heel without a word, and left. You finally understood what you had been feeling.

You always took him for a coward—the type who runs crying to mommy the moment his knee gets scraped. But he’d been tortured, brutally, and still wasn’t running away. He got more than what was coming to him, but he didn’t change his manipulative psychiatric practices or grating personality at all.

As infuriating as it was… his resilience was sexy.

Like a switch was flipped, every time you sniped insults at each other, instead of picturing strangling him with his tie, you imagined blindfolding him with it, tying him to a bed and spanking him with his cane. He had the cutest way of shimmying his shoulders when he was trying to be coy about a secret, and that smarmy little crooked smile he made when he thought he was winning used to infuriate you, but now it caused an aching between your thighs.

After weeks of this, he cornered you in an empty hallway. “Do not think I haven’t noticed you are here far more often than you need to be. You didn’t even talk to Will Graham the last two occasions you paid a visit. What is it, then? What’s your angle? Keeping an eye on me for Crawford?”

“Isn’t it obvious?,” you scoffed. “I want to fuck you.”

“Huh,” he vocalized with detachment.

You’d expected him to be flustered by the bold declaration, or to jump on you immediately. Not to coldly look you up and down like you’d handed him a strange puzzle piece to analyze.

It must have been a long time since he’d been intimate, considering his reputation as a Grade A piece of shit. But apparently he wasn’t that desperate.

To be honest, you weren’t even sure what his orientation was. You may have been completely off base.

“Fascinating, really. For someone who called me… what was it? A ‘morally corrupt assclown,’ you must be in a dire state to consider propositioning me. You know, as a respected psychiatrist, I can recommend some literature on sexual dysfunctions.”

A cold, satisfied smile spread over his thin lips and you realized if your attraction was one-sided, he held all the cards. You made the mistake of delivering him a massive advantage over you, and you were going to make a fool of yourself. He was relishing the power.

There was still time to backtrack on the vulnerability you’d accidentally exposed while he was still trying to figure out if you were joking. But you were around profilers, psychiatrists, and investigators with hidden agendas all day, and you grew weary of conversations having ten layers of meaning and obfuscation.

The honest truth was, it would be nice to get laid.

“Well? Are you interested or not?” You dropped your voice and stepped closer to him, inches from his face. He smelled so clean, like hospital antiseptic and spicy aftershave. His breath hitched as your leg brushed the inside of his thigh—that’s it, that was the reaction you wanted. “Do you want to fuck me, Dr. Chilton?”

Oh, he did.

A barely audible whine rose from the back of his throat, and his hands were around your waist. “I suppose so,” he said, still a little too clinically, though a hard bob of his Adam’s apple betrayed him. His eyes met yours. They were the color of an ocean wave crashing on the beach; an honest, North Atlantic wave that you might find at Chesapeake Bay—not some perfect crystal-blue wave from a tropical paradise. “It couldn’t hurt to let off some steam.”

“Precisely,” you nodded. Just two adults doing the logical thing. That’s right. No squishy vulnerable feelings that could be used against you. Just relieving tension.

He grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you hastily into the nearest unoccupied space. The door to the cramped supply closet clicked shut, and he leered at you with eyes that seemed to glow with hunger in the dark. You felt pleasantly like a small animal trapped with a wolf about to be devoured. A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine and sent heat rushing between your thighs. Before you knew it you were flipped standing with him pressed against your back, pumping into you with muffled moans—as frenzied with desperation as you’d fantasized he would be—as you braced against a metal shelf crammed with pens and packs of post-it notes.

He was strong. You had expected his suit to hide the flaccid body of a sedentary academic, fragranced of old books, but when he pulled your hips into his your body moved.

After finishing inside you with a ragged, tortured breath (barely choking back a too-vulnerable moan), he hastily zipped himself back into his pants and left you to clean yourself up on your own, without so much as a nod to ceremony or pleasantries. That was the end of that, you figured—exactly what you asked for, no more no less. Little did you know, Dr. Chilton had no intention of leaving things off at one quickie in a closet.

Before you left, he pulled you into his office and provoked you with lewd remarks about fucking you on his desk—so you knocked the clutter off it onto the floor to make room. He shrieked like a toddler as his very important papers and very expensive office décor went flying, having neither thought through the actual consequences of desk-sex nor expected you to call his bluff. His beautiful seawater eyes went wide as you pushed him back on the broad mahogany surface and climbed on top of him. Then you were riding him, chasing your climax with his well-manicured hands kneading your ass cheeks, pulling you deeper and deeper with each stroke of your hips. And still you wanted more. You wanted to fuck him into next week.

And then you were in his unreasonably lavish home, in his unreasonably, decadently oversized bed, his mouth feverishly working your heat, and you repaying him by making him come over and over until it was torture, until he could no longer hold back the whimpering sobs of pleasure as he fell apart, and he passed out from fatigue. You collapsed next to him on the bed, panting, sweating, and shaking with over-stimulation.

For a moment you considered the snoring body of an unsavory man you had exhausted into submission, lying naked and leaking fluids onto two-thousand-thread-count sheets, and briefly considered calling a cab. Then you went to the bathroom for a towel to wipe him off before curling yourself around him under the covers.

*****

Morning found you nestling in his soft light brown chest hair, tracing your fingers along the raised red scar that divided a third of his torso like an autopsied cadaver. He flinched a little when you touched it, but remained impassive. A reservoir of sympathy swelled up within you.

“You pity me. That is why you wanted to sleep with me all of a sudden,” he said, deciphering the meaning of your look. “I’m not complaining. Apparently, to be fortunate in bed requires only that one be tragically disfigured. You are drawn to wounded birds.”

The corner of your lip screwed up like you swallowed something bitter. It’s… probably not healthy to desire someone purely out of pity, but he was right. You never felt anything for him until you felt sorry for him. But that wasn’t all there was to your relationship… was it?

“The instinct to nurture and the instinct to hurt are both strong human emotions. They’re primal,” you speculated.

“Trying your hand at psychoanalysis? I would leave it to the professionals, darling.”

“Would you?” You tilted your head innocently. “Then how come you’re still practicing?”

He clutched his chest and feigned being wounded.

Grinning, you buried your face back into his hair. “Arguing with you was always exciting… trying to land a stinging blow. Now I see you hurt, and I feel the need to protect you, too. You tickle my instincts, I suppose. Like cold ice cream on hot pie. What can I say?”

“Hmm, a plausible hypothesis,” he nodded idly at the ceiling, one brow lifted. “I’m not sure that that is any better, but as previously mentioned, your motivations are not of particular interest to me.”

“Charming. Let me phrase it another way, then: You have a very punchable face, but since you’ve already been eviscerated, it takes the fun out of it.”

“Well, and I was going to offer you breakfast…”

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Raúl Esparza #Hannibal #my writing #very excited to start the sequel sooooon!

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frustratedpoetwrites · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans Potter Additional Tags: Morning After, Goodbyes, Sharing a Shower, reluctant goodbyes Series: Part 2 of The Marauders Pub Soho Summary:

The morning after a night of passion Lily has to leave a soundly sleeping James, but she doesn't want to.

Lily lay staring at the skylight, and watched the patch of sky turn from black to indigo. She just gazed without moving, hardly even blinking as it gradually grew lighter and lighter. She had not been able to find any rest for more than a few brief snatches, as tired as she was. Her whole body zinged with electricity, her brain abuzz with everything that had happened last night and had continued to happen throughout the night. She glanced over towards the body sleeping soundly beside her, the sheets pooled around his waist showing his toned back. He had acquired some new tattoos in the six years since she had last seen him. When she’d remarked on the delicately detailed Lily that was now inked on his right side sweeping across his ribs, he had quipped back that it marked the spot where she had stuck her knife in him when she’d left him to pursue her career. That remark had stung more than she wanted to admit, even though she did deserve it.

She had told him last night she never wanted to leave his side again, and she had meant it. Especially at that moment, standing in the bar he basically built, surrounded by the memories of their childhood. Engulfed by the overwhelming scent of James himself. At that moment it had been so easy to say yes to all of his questions, say yes to coming here to his place instead of going back to her hotel as she had planned. She wished she could stay in this moment, with the old day finished and the new not yet begun. In this bed with this man forever. But all too soon she would have to leave. She needed to get on a plane in a few hours. If she didn’t, then any dream she had to live in London permanently would be gone.

She glanced around James's attic room trying to see if he even had a clock. She was amazed that he still lived like this. There was a rail for his clothes and a bed so low it was almost like the mattress was on the floor. That was it. She hoped he didn’t live like this all the time, but she suspected his life and energy was spent at the bar.

It had looked so beautiful, the large dark polished oak panels and the brass rail, the small stage with the piano sitting proudly. And all the pictures on the walls of their schooldays. It had always been his dream to run a bar, and the four Marauders had made it a successful reality, but she knew who had been driving it from day one, and she was incredibly proud of him for that.

She reached for her clutch bag and fumbled in it for her phone. It did not light up when she tapped the screen. Her battery must have died.

Fuck.

She glanced over at James, still sleeping soundly, and contemplated waking him, but she knew he was exhausted. She had wiped him out, she thought to herself, suppressing a giggle, it had been a wonderful night. He had not forgotten any of the things he used to do to make her whole body hum, and he had learned a few new things too she had discovered. His strength and stamina had greatly increased. Not that she had expected him to hold himself chaste for her, but she still had a pang of jealousy at the thought that other women had touched him, had been with her James. Had they asked about his tattoo? She always thought of him as hers, even though she hadn’t exactly expected to ever come back to him that day she had left. Any time before now when she had considered it she talked herself out of it because she was convinced he would be with someone else.

She rolled over onto her back again, and looked up at the skylight.

What time was it?

She’d hoped she wouldn't have to do this but she slid off the edge of the bed and took James’s phone out of the pocket of his jeans and opened it, shaking her head at the stubborn distrust for technology that meant he still used an old flip phone. Although at the moment Lily was grateful because she didn’t have to worry about unlocking it.

She tapped in the digits for her assistant's number as she crept into his ensuite, slipping on the dressing gown that was on a hook behind the door.

The phone rang just once before she heard an unsure “Hello?”

“Hey, Jess it’s me…”

“Lily!” came the scream, causing her to jump and nearly drop the phone. “Where the fucking hell have you been? I’ve been calling you all night. Your meeting has been moved up, you need to get to the airport right now!”

“What? Oh, fuck!” Lily took a breath and closed her eyes as her assistant kept rambling over the phone, talking so fast Lily could hardly understand them. “Jess, Jess, Jessie!” She tried to speak urgently and sharply without making too much noise. “I need you to bring me my bag and my suit, the green one. Put an extra pair of underwear in my bag.”

“I’m sorry, Lily, but your overnight bag won’t be enough, I've had to pack your suitcase, you’ll be staying for a week. They’ve sent a whole itinerary, but when we left Hong Kong I didn’t think to pack any of your formal wear. I’ve arranged for the concierge to book a fitting for after your first meeting, once you’ve checked in. Where are you anyway? I need to let Terrence know where we need to come and get you.”

Lily went to answer then realised she had no actual idea of the address. It wasn’t far from the bar, she didn’t think. But she had been interested in other things besides looking out the car window to notice what neighbourhood they were in. Lily looked up as the door to the bathroom swung open gently, revealing a conscious James leaning against the frame wearing only his battered looking jeans, his tousled hair framing his tired-looking face and his glasses perching on the end of his nose, as if they were mere moments from falling off.

She let the phone fall from her ear slightly as he continued to stare at her, a wry smile reaching only the edge of his lips.

“Something tells me you aren’t staying for breakfast.” His tone was light but she heard the resignation behind it. As she looked over at her childhood sweetheart, an idea struck her.

“Jess? You still there? Pick me up outside the Marauders’ Pub in Soho. Yeah? And Jess? I'm gonna need another plane ticket.”

“Well, okay boss but they are sending you a priv…..” Lily did not hear the last of her assistant’s words as she closed the flip phone and tossed it back to him.

“I can't believe you still use that antique.” He caught it deftly in his left hand and dropped it into his back pocket.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you dick around with my life again,” he replied, barely even trying to mask the disappointment.

“As much as I'd love to have this argument again, I really need you to pack yourself a bag. Do you have a good suit that fits you?”

He shook his head and blinked at her as she brushed past him to his rail of clothes and started looking through them. He still had some nice attire here, a lot of it she remembered from their life before.

“Lily, wait,” he called after her but she took no notice. She had no time. Already, in her head, she was mapping out what she needed to do. A whole week with these people. The one day originally planned would have been torture, but this... If she had back up maybe she could make it work. “Stop.” He placed a hand on hers as it rested on the next coathanger. She looked up into his gorgeous eyes as they shone with all the colours as his emotions played out across his face. He was always so expressive. “What are you doing?”

“I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You’re your own boss, you could take the time off. It’s not like you’re the only one in charge. What about Sirius? Or Remus? Or even Pete?” She paused, “Is Pete doing okay? I thought he wanted to go in a, erm, different direction but I saw his name up there with the rest of you?”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Pete is a silent partner, he helps out when he can but his wife made him join their family business, he helps by keeping them away.” His hand dropped to his side. “Lily I can’t afford to just drop everything, everybody else has other responsibilities, I’m the only one left to run it and I won't let it fail. My staff depends on me.”

“James, this is me telling you I don’t want to leave you again. I don’t want to go on this trip without you by my side, I could use someone in my corner. I could also use a devilishly handsome, charming, charismatic–” he raised an eyebrow at her seductive tone but didn’t stop her putting her hands on his chest, tracing the antlers that spread across them.

“My tattoos aren’t very corporate,” he murmured, his voice sounding deep and throaty. she shrugged in reply,

“You’d be surprised what people hide under their suits these days.” She told him with a twinkle, sobering when his lips thinned. “Please James. I need you.” She hadn’t realised how true those words were until she had spoken them to the universe.

“I’m sorry Lily, but my staff need me more. They rely on me.”

“So you’ve never taken a day off? Never had to call in sick?” Before he could answer her questions an idea struck her. “What if I pay your staff for the week? How much would that be?” He stood for a moment apparently stunned then started laughing and stepped away from her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She tried not to look upset at his reaction to her suggestion. She stood watching him and waited for his mirth to subside.

“Oh, you are actually serious? You want to pay me so I will spend time with you?” He shook his head as his mirth still rippled through him. “This isn’t Pretty Woman and I’m not some, some...rentboy you picked up off the street.”

Now he sounded angry. James’ phone started buzzing in his back pocket. She had not thought that offering to pay his staff would equate to her hiring him as an escort service. Her brain hadn’t gone that way at all. She let him answer his call, as she rushed back to the bathroom for a much needed shower and tried to clear her head.

James may have skimped on bedroom furniture but he hadn’t skimped on his wet room. The shower was a walk-in style and big enough for four people, the naturally textured tiles on her feet were warm as she walked in, the large slabs of highly polished sand-coloured stone on the walls were so neatly fitted she couldn’t even see the joins.

Turning on the shower filled the room with hot steam and the reassuring splats of water droplets peppering the tiles. Stepping into it, she gasped at the pressure. It was like standing in a tropical rainstorm. She just stood there unmoving, letting the water rush over her enjoying the sensation as it beat down on her head.

“That was your PA on the phone. I gave them this address so you can leave from here.” James said as he stepped into the bathroom like they did this kind of thing all the time. “Thought you might want to have some fresh clothes to wear.”

“You really won’t come?” She asked, trying one last time. She forced herself to keep her eyes forward when she realised he was joining her by the sound of his jeans hitting the tiled floor.

Despite their recent intimacy, or perhaps because of it, being this close to his naked body turned her core white-hot. She tried very hard not to react as she felt his naked skin brush up against hers. His arm reached past and grabbed an unlabelled metal bottle from the small alcove. Then his fingers were in her hair and her nostrils were filled with the scent of an English summer garden.

“Is it okay that I join you in here? Thought it would save some time.”

“Yes, okay, it’s absolutely fine,” she tried to keep her voice as neutral as his but even she could hear the breathiness.

“I told your assistant I can’t, it’s not my scene at all,” he told her conversationally, as if he wasn’t standing butt naked behind her in the shower. He was trying to calm her down, trying to talk about what needed to be talked about. The fact they were taking a shower together didn’t seem to phase him at all. Determinedly, she tried to follow his lead.

“This is not me running away from you. I need you to understand that.” She hummed in pleasure as his fingers massaged deeper into her hair. “I’m sorry if I offended you, offering to pay.”

“I’m still not sure if I find it more funny or offensive,” he began. “I can’t say I’m not tempted to run away with you, but you know as well as I do how much of a distraction I would be. You need to be at your best. I will be fine, I’ll just have to trust you’ll come back. That you're not making me the poor jilted lover once more.” He told her. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to worry, wanted to say all the things that she had agonised about saying as she lay awake beside him in his bed, but no words could adequately explain how she was feeling. So she turned and reached for him, pushing her fingers up across his stubble studded cheeks into his hair and kissing him soundly. Breaking the kiss he tilted her head back as his lips dragged kisses across her throat. She didn’t need to ask where his mind was right now, she could feel his arousal pressing against her stomach. All too soon her brain caught up with her and soundly put on the brakes. “Not that I don’t enjoy where this is going, but we need to stop.” She took a few quick breaths as his hands continued to soap her breasts. “I don’t have the time and I’m a little tender.”

“You were the one who started things, Evans. I was just helping you wash,” he said innocently, amusement dancing in his eyes. But he did take his hands off her body and even though she had asked him to, she mourned the loss of contact. “In all honesty, I don’t think I have it in me right now to perform at my best anyway.”

“Let’s just put this on pause for now then shall we?” She told him, giving him a gentle kiss, hoping he understood how much he continued to mean to her. Lily dipped her head to rinse the bubbles out of her hair. It felt like silk as she combed her fingers through it.

“What is that shampoo? It’s amazing!”

“It’s a prototype. Remus’ company makes it, the only thing that’s come close to making my hair behave. He’s made it his personal mission to tame it. He gives me a new formula just about every week.” He pointed to the small bathroom cabinet above the sink. “The conditioner’s in there, it's one you have to leave in. I put towels on the hook.” She stepped aside once she was rinsed, letting him have the full force of the shower.

“Does he always make it smell like flowers?”

“Yup.” She expected him to elaborate but when he didn’t she just let it go and stepped out of the shower. She found the small spray bottle in the cabinet simply labelled conditioner and scrunched some into her hair as she watched James wash his. The bubbles slid down his frame in ways that made her wish she could just step back in there with him.

Lily wished she could continue to stare at him but her logical brain was kicking in to tell her all that she still had to do. Moving back to the bedroom, she twisted her hair up out of the way while she looked for anywhere he would store things. There wasn’t even a cupboard in the bedroom so she padded her way through to the living space. She barely remembered it from the night before, and she was stunned at how minimally he lived.

It was a beautiful apartment, the exposed red brick looked amazing with the warm honey-coloured wooden floor. The living space was a good size for London, the kitchen looked brand new with a wooden worktop that matched the floor and clean white cupboards. She spotted the coffee machine, and hunted in the cupboards to see if he had any beans, suppressing her irritation when every one was empty.

The more she looked around his place, the less it felt like he lived here at all. There was a giant modular brown leather sofa taking up the majority of space in the living area, a coffee table that looked like it was made out of granite, and a giant tv on the wall.

“What is this place to you James Potter?” She mused as she looked around. She was tempted to start rummaging in drawers (if there were any) but it felt like possibly a step too far for now.

The intercom buzzed impatiently making her jump guiltily and nearly drop her towel. As she stared at the white box on the wall and wondered how to operate it James came striding out of the bedroom holding a hand towel around his waist, hair still dripping. He lifted the receiver then buzzed to let the person come up. “It’s your assistant.” He explained before vanishing back to the bedroom.

Lily stood looking through the peephole until she saw her assistant's blonde head appear from the stairs.

She opened the door and ushered them in quickly. Taking the bag from them awkwardly with one hand.

Jessie looked around and hummed appreciatively. “This is nice, you could do a lot with this place. When are they moving in?”

“I don’t know,” Lily replied quietly. “I’m going to go change. Can you play nice with James, please? It would be great if you two get on.”

“Well I’ll behave if he will,” Jessie swept an invisible strand of hair out their face before relenting to Lily’s reproachful look. “Alright, alright. When we spoke on the phone they were pleasant so I can be too.”

“Great, I’ll be super quick,” as she made her way back into the bedroom James stepped out wearing that same pair of jeans he seemed incredibly fond of and one of his many black Marauders Pub t-shirts. He put out a hand to stop her as she tried to slip past him.

“I’m going to get out of your hair,” he said quietly. She could tell by the tone he didn’t want to be here when she left, didn’t want to be the one left waving by the door. She understood that in an instant, saw it in his sad eyes, and the hesitant touch he placed on her arm.

“Okay.” With a glance at her assistant she walked him back into the bedroom. “This was not how I wanted this to go,” she said, keeping her voice down once she knew they were alone.

“Saying goodbye brings back bad memories,” he told her shuffling his feet and running a hand through his hair. “I want to believe you're coming back this time.”

“Of course I’m coming back. I’ll call you, every day. But could you do something for me?” She asked, reaching to snake her arms around his neck.

“Can you get yourself a new phone so we can video chat?”

“Yes, Evans I think I can manage that,” he told her, leaning down to kiss her goodbye for the last time.

#jily #james potter #lily evans #barman james #business boss lily #tj writes #jily fanfiction #jily fic #slightly mature #there is a shower scene #but no smut

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freddiesaysalright · 5 years ago

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Just Like a Woman - Part 10

A Roger Taylor x Reader Story

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 4.3k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @rrogerchxrm, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronewritesthedust1, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless, @flick-ofthe-wrist, @johndeaconshands, @rogerandhiscar, @queenmaracasandlove, @sunflower-ben, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99, @scorpiogemini, @kiainspace, @itsabenthing, @bookandband, @makemeyourwife-loveofmylife, @grazessa, @borhapqueen92, @theonsasheart, @vektorivittu, @chanti-frn, @brianssixpence, @dancingcoolcat, @xviiarez, @irepookie, @lnnuend0, @rogerxmeddows If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Okay so I didn’t proofread the smutty part of this I’m sorry but I get lazy, y’know? I hope you still enjoy. Just ignore any typos lol

Warning(s): Smut in this chapter! It’s romantic and stuff ;)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Part 10 here we go!!!

Your jaw dropped as you watched Roger walk up to the stand and take his oath. When had he agreed to testify? And for the defense? Was he really so desperate to have his say that he would undermine the whole case? You shot daggers at him with your eyes.

“Mr. Taylor,” Glen began. “Can you tell us a bit about what your father was like?”

“Objection!” you interjected. “Relevance.”

Judge Walsh gave Glen an annoyed look.

“You’ll see what I’m getting at, your honor,” he said.

“Speed it up,” Judge Walsh instructed. “Or I will hold that objection sustained.”

Glen looked back at Roger.

“Mr. Taylor, your father was an abusive man, was he not?” Glen asked.

“Yeah, but I don’t see what that has to do with Dominique’s case,” Roger returned, frowning.

“I think it could have everything to do with her case,” Glen retorted. “You and your ex-wife, did you ever fight?”

“Sure we did,” Roger said. “Like any other couple, we had our moments.”

“Ever get physical?” Glen asked.

“What?!” Roger cried.

At the same time you stood up and repeated, “Objection! Move to strike!”

“Overruled,” Judge Walsh said emphatically. “Counsel, you can’t object to questions only because you don’t like them!”

“Your honor, I want it on record that I object to this witness, I object to this line of questioning, and I object to opposing counsel’s being a complete and unmitigated ass!”

“Counsel!” he scolded, banging his gavel. “Sit down and let Mr. Harrington finish! If you raise one more objection today I will hold you in contempt, do you understand me?”

Cheeks red with anger and hatred, you scowled at him. Bill forced you back to your seat. You folded your arms across your chest and once again glared at Roger, hoping he could feel the heat of your rage.

“To answer your question,” Roger began again. “No, any disagreements between Dominique and myself have always been resolved with words.”

“Until you had to bring lawyers in,” Glen remarked.

“That’s not fair,” Roger said. “When it comes to issues of money -”

“And the cheating?” Glen pointed out.

“I cheated,” Roger admitted. “Dominique was faithful until that day she went on this date. But at that point, our marriage was effectively over.”

“You didn’t like that, did you?” Glen asked. “The fact that she had a date?”

“Who would?” Roger replied. “It was a pretty harsh reminder that my marriage was done.”

“Did it make you angry?” Glen pressed.

“Yeah, a bit,” Roger said, rolling his eyes.

You squeezed yours shut. If the jury didn’t think Roger was taking this seriously, it would look bad. You saw where this was going, and you knew it would only make him angrier.

“Angry enough to behave like the late Mr. Taylor?” Glen asked.

Roger stiffened. His jaw clenched. You could hardly look at him. You saw the hurt and fury slowly overtake his body. But he was remaining impressively calm. He took a deep breath and then looked icily at Glen.

“No,” he said.

You could tell how much will power it was taking for him not to spit at Glen in that moment. You felt the same. Angry as you were with Roger for doing this, you hated Glen right now more than his client. He turned and looked at you, a slimy smile on his face.

“Your witness,” he said.

Bill looked at you questioningly. You composed yourself and nodded, letting him know you had this. You stood up.

“Mr. Taylor, have you ever once put your hands on your wife or any woman?”

“Never,” he said.

“No further questions.”

You sat back down.

After Roger’s testimony, you were released for lunch. The trial would continue the following day. You and Bill stormed out of the courtroom, each on one side of Dominique. You didn’t bother to wait for Roger, but he jogged up to you anyway. You retreated into a chamber down the corridor.

“I can’t believe you!” you shouted at Roger as you slammed the door behind the group. “I told you yesterday that you aren’t a relevant witness! Why would you agree to testify for the opposing side?!”

“I wanted an opportunity to stand up for Dom, I didn’t know he was going to ask me all that!” Roger shot back.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?!” you cried. “All the jury needs is a little bit of doubt to find him not guilty, and you’ve just given it to them!”

“Oh, please, my alibi is totally secure,” he returned.

“We wouldn’t have to even worry about it if you didn’t get your dumbass on that stand in the first place!” you almost shrieked, completely exasperated. “You’ve hurt us, Roger, you could at least be sorry for it!”

“You’re the one who wouldn’t let me testify on our side!” he yelled.

“Because I was doing my job, you daft -”

“HEEEEEEY!” Bill bellowed, banging his fist on the table.

You and Roger looked at him.

“Everybody calm the fuck down,” Bill said. “This was a setback, but we still have a strong case. What Glen did in there was a desperate, Hail Mary attempt to throw us off. We still have Dominique’s amazing testimony, Miss Thomas’s, and all the forensics. So both of you just relax, alright?”

You shot another harsh glare toward Roger and then took a seat. The shock of Roger’s testimony left you winded, but you were also terrified. If the jury now had a doubt that Nick was the culprit behind the attack on Dominique, you knew Roger would never forgive himself.

Just then, Glen burst into the room.

“What the fuck was with that witness?” he demanded. “Calling me ugly? Are you just trying to make me look stupid?”

“Hey, don’t you come in here making demands like that after what you did!” you retorted, jumping to your feet again. “You called Roger up just to try and frame him when you know that was rubbish!”

“God, you’re sexy when you’re angry,” he replied, tone softening. “Sure I can’t convince you to ditch blondie and grab a drink with me?”

“Alright!” Roger intervened, stepping closer.

“We are in the middle of a trial,” you said to Glen. “Could you act like a grown up?”

“Believe me, after seeing your legs in that skirt, my thoughts are entirely adult,” he said. “I actually started to get jealous of blondie since he gets to put his face between those gorgeous thighs every night.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that he’d gone too far, but Roger lunged past you, going for Glen. You and Bill each grabbed one of Roger’s arms, yanking him back.

“Roger!” you cried, incredulous.

“He crossed a line!” Roger bellowed. He glared fiercely at Glen. “Don’t you EVER talk about her like that!”

“HEY!” Bill interjected again. “Roger, settle down. Glen, get the fuck out.”

“I still want to know about that witness,” Glen said.

“She was the one who found Dominique, how could we not call her to the stand?” Bill argued. “Lucy Thomas is just a cold bitch by nature, we can’t help that.”

Roger was still glowering, breath heavy and chest heaving.

“Alright, I’ll go,” Glen. “But I’m not going to take any more of that nonsense.”

“Oh, but you expect us to tolerate yours?” you retorted.

“Y/N, that’s enough, we’re not doing this,” Bill said.

“Bloody ridiculous,” Glen muttered as he swept out of the room.

The door swung shut behind him. You rounded on Roger.

“What’s got into you?” you cried. “Are you trying to make this worse?”

“I was defending you!” he argued.

“OH MY GOD BOTH OF YOU SHUT IT!” Bill interrupted once again.

All eyes were on him.

“Emotions are running high right now,” he continued. “I’m going to get some lunch. Y/N, you’ve got the rest of the day off. Roger, do whatever the hell you want.”

You blinked. “You’re sending me home?”

“Yes,” he said. “You’re riled up and snappish and frankly, I don’t want to talk to you for the rest of the day.”

You flared up, offended, but he stopped you from speaking with a look. Then he turned to Dominique.

“Dom, can I get you some lunch?” he offered.

“Throw in a drink, and I’m there,” she said.

She took his arm and they left together. The door snapped closed once again and you looked at Roger.

“I appreciate you defending me, but after the argument he made in there, you can’t act like that, Rog,” you said, as calmly as you could. Inside, your emotions were swirling around like a hurricane.

“What I did was human,” Roger replied, voice also steadying. “All I want to do is defend the people I love.”

“Well, don’t,” you said sharply.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I won’t, then.”

From the look on his face, you knew you’d struck a nerve. Roger had never looked at you with so much disappointment and anger in his eyes. Not even during your worst fights. This was a new level. It made your heart sink. But when he went for the door, you didn’t try to stop him. You watched him go, feeling like a bad lawyer and an even worse girlfriend.

You walked home from the courthouse. All your frustration was gone by the time you opened the door. You half hoped that Roger would be there and you could both apologize and make up. But he wasn’t. Your flat was as empty as you felt. With a heavy sigh, you set down your work things and went to go change. Only, when you got to your bedroom, you had no energy to do so. You kicked off your shoes, flopped face down on your bed, and let out a sob. You cried yourself into a deep sleep.

You woke a couple hours later to a knock on your door. Brushing your fingers through your surely mussed up hair, you forced yourself from the bed and went to answer it. You knew who you hoped it was, but you couldn’t be sure Roger would be standing there. You left things so tense.

To your shock and pleasure, it was him. He looked rather like a dog with his tail between his legs as you opened the door. You felt the same. You had behaved no better, in your opinion.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly.

“Hey,” you returned.

A beat passed.

“I’m so sorry,” you said in unison, and you both chuckled a little bit.

“Come inside,” you offered. “We should talk.”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

He came in and you went to the kitchen. You made some tea and handed it him a cup before sitting down across from him.

“I’m sorry I testified for them,” he said. “Glen called me and asked me if I’d be willing to tell my side of the story. I had no idea he would go that direction.”

“You can’t trust opposing counsel,” you said. “Especially the likes of him.”

“Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson,” he conceded. “The last thing I want to do is hurt Dominique’s case, I just…”

“I know you want to protect people, Rog,” you said, reaching over to take his hand. “That’s your natural instinct. And I admire that about you. Few people are as selfless as you are. But you can’t always be the one in the ring, okay?”

“I know,” he said. “And again, I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” you returned. “And I’m sorry too. I just got scared because Dom means a lot to me too and I don’t want her to go through all this only to lose.”

“I get it, I feel the same way,” he said. “I think we both forgot ourselves today because we care so much.”

“I told you having me might backfire,” you joked.

He smiled. Another pause passed between you.

“About Glen,” he said. “I’m also sorry I exploded like that. But I won’t apologize for defending you, he -”

“No, I agree he crossed a line today,” you cut across him. “That was way too far. Especially since we haven’t….y’know…”

“I know,” he said. “And when he said that today...just talking about you like that - even him thinking of touching you - it made me absolutely mad with rage. Because that connection we had...even back in the day...it was practically sacred to me, Y/N. To hear him say that, and make a mockery of it….I just couldn’t take it.”

You looked down to hide your blush. The sex was that meaningful to you as well, but you never thought he was so sentimental about it.

“D’you remember when we used to?” he asked. “How you’d look me in the eyes?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The memory made heat stir in the pit of your belly.

“Yeah,” you said, finding the courage at last to look at him. “Of course I do.”

“No one else has ever looked in my eyes, y’know, during,” he said. “I felt like I could….I dunno, see your soul or something. I’ve had sex with plenty of women. But I’ve only really made love to one.”

You were certain your cheeks were redder than cherries at this point.

“Roger, I….” you trailed off. “I don’t know what to say. I had no idea it all meant so much to you. Especially with the way you left.”

He hung his head. “I know. But I hope you believe me.”

“I do,” you assured him. “I just wonder what made you think of all that?”

“Glen’s comments today were a part of it,” he said. “But also, a few weeks ago, you said we couldn’t because my divorce wasn’t final. But, it’s final now, and I’ve been thinking about being with you ever since I signed that paper.”

Your blush impossibly deepened.

“Plus, seeing you in that courtroom is incredibly sexy,” he added with a laugh.

You laughed too, relaxing you a bit.

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” you admitted. “I’m just nervous.”

“Why?” he wondered. “By my memory, we were very good.”

You smiled. “I think I’m just afraid that if we try, then what we had before might not be there. And then what?”

“Y/N, it’s gonna be there,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I love you and you love me. That passion is there. Which is especially clear after today.” He took a deep breath. “But if you’re not ready, we can wait.”

You didn’t reply right away. Honestly, seeing him leap to your defense the way he did had turned you on, though you didn’t want to admit it. And every time he kissed you, you remembered how good it felt to go further with him. But your fear was real. What if it wasn’t the same as it used to be? There was only one way to find out.

“Roger?”

“Yes, love?”

“Kiss me.”

He almost jumped out of his chair to come around the table to take you up in his arms. He lifted you to your feet and claimed your lips in a tender embrace. He moved slowly, giving you the opportunity to stop him if you wanted. But you wanted the opposite.

You opened your mouth against his, and he reacted immediately, slipping his tongue between your lips. The kiss was heavy with the pent up desire you had both been feeling. Your mind was fuzzy, like getting drunk, but you were acutely aware of his hands sliding up your sides. His thumbs brushed your ribcage, just barely touching the underside of your breasts.

You whimpered into his mouth and reached for the buttons of your blazer. He helped you shrug it off your shoulders and it fell to the floor. Beneath, you had just your plain white tank top and pencil skirt. He stopped kissing you to look over your body in the form fitting clothes. You saw the hungry look in his eyes and bit your lip.

Your lips already itched to feel his again. All of your skin was tingling with the desire for his touch. You watched him observe you, chest rising and falling with your deep, desperate breaths.

When he met your gaze again, you couldn’t contain it anymore. You crashed upon him. Pressing into him to be as close as possible. His arms snaked around your waist to hold you there, his eagerness to be close as evident as yours. Then his hands made their way south and he gripped handfuls of your ass.

You gasped and let out a husky breath, pushing even further into him. He groaned and you felt his hardness pressing into your lower stomach. You stopped kissing him to catch your breath and reach for the buttons of his shirt.

“Fuck that,” he panted, and he pulled it over his head while you giggled.

When his shirt had joined your jacket, you had your turn to admire him. You ran your fingers delicately down his torso. His skin was warm.

“I guess we should be matching,” you teased, and you tugged your tank top off as well.

Roger’s eyes on you as you reached back and unclasped your bra had you reeling. That was what you missed about making love to him. No one else had ever desired you so passionately.

With your breasts free, he took direct action. He cupped one in each hand and squeezed gently, massaging them before tweaking each nipple between his fingers. Your head fell back with a groan as the sensation sent more heat straight to your core. He attached his lips to your neck, whispering into your skin.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, love. God, I’ve missed you.”

You whined in returned, arching your back toward him. He pulled you close again. The heat of his body sent a chill up your spine.

“Wanna move to the bedroom, love?” he asked.

You nodded. He scooped you up and carried you in there as you giggled. You yelped with surprise when he tossed you on the bed and crawled up to join you. The next kisses were fervent and needy. You moaned again.

Roger’s fingers moved down your front and nimbly popped the buttons of your skirt before tugging the zipper down. You did not wear panty hose. You liked the way your legs looked without them, and you knew you could distract an opposing male lawyer if need be. You played dirty too sometimes.

You pushed your thong down your legs as Roger worked off his jeans. He groaned at the sight of you bare before him, sprawled out and breathless from his kisses. You smirked at him with cat like playfulness as you sat up. You gently pulled the waistband of his boxers down, slowly, watching his face as you went. Beads of sweat formed at his hairline from your torturous pace.

“Fuck, baby, I need you,” he sighed.

With a grin, you swiftly removed his boxers, and he kicked them off the bed. Then, you took hold of his hips, rubbing soft little circles into the slightly protruding bones. He hissed with anticipation.

Then, you gave him what he wanted. You licked a stripe up his cock. A loud groan came from his throat. You swirled your tongue around his tip before wrapping your lips around him and taking him down. He let out such a delicious moan your mouth watered around him.

You began with a slow pace. Dragging your mouth forward and back, teasing him. His short, eager breaths egged you on. You saw him trembling trying to maintain control, but after you hollowed out your cheeks and really sucked, his hips jerked forward. You almost gagged, but held back.

“Sorry,” he choked out. “God, it feels so good.”

He buried his fingers in your hair and pulled you off of him. That was typical. Roger preferred not to cum in your mouth, and he refused to finish before you had gotten one or two orgasms of your own. Usually more.

You licked your lips and looked expectantly at him. He took your shoulders and lay you back. Your legs fell open for him. He got onto his knees there, but didn’t settle on top of you. Instead, he kissed you again. He teased your lips with his tongue, and you opened up. He explored your mouth, getting you all hot again, before pulling away.

He nipped and sucked along your jawbone and down the soft skin of your neck. He trailed across your collarbones, down your chest - briefly stopping to suck on each of your nipples - and then made his way down your stomach. He slowed down the closer he got to your pelvis. Roger was not an explorer trekking out into new territory. He was coming home. He recalled every sensitive spot on your body. What made you moan, sigh, and giggle. He exploited this knowledge to the full extent as he made his way down. It made your whole body light up with excitement and need. Finally, you whined impatiently and pushed your hips up.

With a cocky chuckle, he took his tongue to your folds. You gasped sharply as your back arched. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked lightly, just how you liked it.

“Oh! Roger!” you cried, heels digging into the mattress.

He moaned into you, the vibrations sending an extra thrill all the way up your body. You’d almost forgotten how extraordinarily well he used his tongue and mouth. He was zeroed in on your clit, making you writhe around as you released pathetic whimpers and soft cries of his name.

The pressure was building inside you as he worked your core with his mouth. Your voice raised several octaves and your legs quivered as you hurtled toward the sweet release. When you were on the cusp, he sank a finger into you. You groaned so deeply you felt him smile against you. He curled his finger toward himself, pushing on your g-spot with expert precision.

“Rog - oh fuck!” you nearly sobbed.

He added a second finger, stretching you just slightly. Your walls clamped down around him as he drove you further toward the edge.

“Please, please,” you begged, panting.

He sped up, knowing just what you needed. Between the flicks of his tongue and the thrusts of his fingers, you were there. Your legs stiffened, your back arched high off the bed, a scream tore from your throat as it hit you. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, and Roger did not relent as you began to come down, shaking with the sensation of it all.

He eased you down, slowing his pace before removing the contact. Your body quivered. He smiled, pleased with himself, and he crawled back over you again to help with the shivering. Hot as you were during, you were always cold after an orgasm, so he held you a moment.

You were panting too hard for him to kiss you properly, so he peppered your face and neck with pecks. When you giggled, he knew you were okay.

His hips settled between your thighs, and you gasped as his cock brushed your entrance. Then you moaned.

“Ready for more, sweetheart?” he asked, running his finger along your jaw.

You nodded. “Please, more.”

You didn’t even worry about sounding pathetic. You could be anything with Roger - strong, weak, pathetic, needy, vulnerable, bitchy, sweet, sexy - all of it. Any side of yourself was accepted and loved by him.

He rested on his forearms, cupping your face between his hands, and he slid into you. It was like magic. He fit so perfectly inside you - with just enough stretch to make you whimper with need. You both took a moment to revel in being together again. Being completely united.

You locked eyes. You understood what he meant earlier. Your souls met behind your irises. You had never felt more connected to him. And from the soft look in his eyes, you knew he felt the same.

“I love you so much,” he sighed.

“I love you too,” you returned.

You turned your face and took his finger into your mouth, a weakness of his. His eyes fell closed and his hips rutted forward, deeper into you. You squeaked with surprise and then chuckled, moving to match him.

You fell easily into a rhythm together. It flowed as naturally as the tides. Roger filled you with each thrust, and you climbed slowly together back up to the edge. His name escaped your lips as he rocked into you. Delicate declarations of his love and your beauty swept off his breath. You didn’t hear them, but you felt them.

He sped up and it was like coming out of a fog. Each snap of his hips shook you and you clutched onto his shoulders for dear life. Your moans rose in volume and octave as you found yourself clenching around him again.

“Oh - Roger - Oh God -”

“I’m so close, baby,” he grunted. “Please, one more for me.”

He removed his hand from its proximity to your face and slid it between your bodies, finding your clit as if it were magnetized. He rubbed tight, fast circles on it, and your vision began to blur.

The second one hit you harder and more suddenly. White exploded behind your eyes as your walls fluttered around his cock. Roger cried your name once more and spilled into you, slowing down his thrusts as you peaked together. You twitched against him as he guided you back down steadily. He slowed to a stop and watched you panting beneath him.

He inched himself out of you. You still winced at the feeling. Once he was able, he rolled off you and you crawled into his arms. You needed his warmth.

“Mmm, Rog,” you hummed, pulling him closer.

“Good?” he asked.

“Incredible,” you replied.

“I don’t wanna speak too soon, but I think we’ve still got it,” he teased.

You smiled lazily. “We do.”

“What do you need now, love?”

“Sleep,” you said through a yawn.

He chuckled. “Of course you do.”

He kissed your forehead and you both drifted off. All worries about your relationship and the trial were forgotten. For now, you could just be.

226 notes · View notes

sleephyjhs · 5 years ago

Text

You Cut Your Hair Short (REACTION)

[ requested / masterlist ]

a/n :: my schedule has slowed down a bit due to mental health and mock exams, but i’m getting around to everybody’s requests!

KSJ

The oversized hoodie that hung loosely around your figure was chosen specifically for your quest that day. You’d yet to reveal your new appearance to your partner, Seokjin, and although you were sure he’d like it, there was a risk factor involved.

You weren’t reliant on his reaction. The opinions of others had never really played much heed in your life choices, but this time it mattered. The man you’d dedicated so much of your love to had to love your new haircut, otherwise you weren’t too sure where to turn.

The sitting room you expected him to be waiting in laid by the front door. Inside your ribcage, your unseated heart pounded with both adrenaline and fear. Pulling the drawstrings around your head tight, you opened the door in one swing to avoid further hassling.

Seokjin, placed in his usual seat at the end of the couch, turned his head to greet you, “You were gone a while, I was beginning to worry you’d gotten lost.” He smiled as you traipsed around the maze of a room to sit beside him, “Tell me you didn’t walk home with your hoodie that tight.”

“I didn’t,” you chuckled, crossing one leg over another, “I was gone for so long because I made a drastic change. And I really hope you’ll love it as much as I do.”

His eyes widened at your explanation. As you reassured yourself he would like it, you untied the drawstrings and pushed the good back to reveal your shorter hair. The freshly cut tips of your hair just grazed your shoulder, which was an extreme change from the hair that previously extended past your ribcage.

“Oh wow, Jagi.” Seokjin gawked at your dramatic reveal, before chuckling a few huffs, “I honestly prefer this! I didn’t know you became hotter woth short hair.” Jokingly, you hushed him before escaping upstairs to experiment with styling.

MYG

Over a year ago, you’d made a pact to yourself to grow our your beyond damaged, frazzled hair and redebut your short hair, but much healthier. What seemed a lifetime of hair treatments and avoiding the peroxide (which was harder for you than perhaps normal) later, and you had finally booked the long-awaited snip.

Your boyfriend, Yoongi, was eager to join you in the salon. He’d seen you struggle with the process of regrowing your hair from the get-go, and had, more than enough time, helped you search high and low for the right hair products for you to get the results you so desperately wanted. Now, he was just as excited as you for the fresh start with healthy hair.

“How short are you going again?” Yoongi asked, swinging your holding hands back and forth to keep your walking pace. As you’d already cut wispy bangs into your hair, length was something that took you a while to think about, but you couldn’t ruin all the surprises for him.

“You’ll find out soon enough!” You insisted before pushing the salon door open and entering.

Yoongi watched intensively as your hair was snipped shorter and shorter. It took most of an hour, and yet he remained focused on the length of your locks getting closer and closer to your head. You couldn’t help but find it endearing how invested in you he was.

“And there we go!” the stylist announced, using a smaller mirror to show you the back of your hair. The fine tips only just levelled with your jawline; it was perfect. You stood from the chair and turned to face Yoongi, who had perhaps the toothiest grin you’d ever seen spread from ear to ear.

“How does it lo-“

“Phenomenal, just phenomenal.” He interrupted, reaching into his pocket for his wallet and rushing to the counter before you got there.

“No, Yoongi! What are you doing?”

“Treating you. Let me do it, please?” Knowing you’d lose any argument you had with him, you reluctantly allowed him to pay for your new hair. You’d find a way to repay him somehow.

JHS

“I’ll have a surprise for you when you get home tomorrow,” you announced to your boyfriend, Hoseok, who was 9 hours away in Europe on album promotions, “It’s not much but I’m hoping you might like it.”

“Well I’m flattered you want to run me a rose petal bath with candles, I really am.” He giggled. Although you knew he was only joking, you reminded him it could easily be arranged, “No, I’m kidding. I’m excited for whatever it is, baby.”

Later that day, you fled your high-rise apartment building to visit the hair salon for the first time in the new year. As cheesy as it was, you were always a firm believer in ‘new year new me’, and making a choice as bold as cutting your hair was definitely new for you. Ever since you were little, your hair had always extended far down your spine, and although you weren’t ready just yet to cut it up to your ears, your shoulders was a large enough distance for you to feel a new kind of empowerment.

By the next morning, you’d already fallen so deeply in love with your new look, you couldn’t help but wonder why you hadn’t done it before. The choppier locks framed your face much better than your previous pin-straight hair. Even if Hobi didn’t like it, you felt a lot more confident in yourself, which meant it was definitely worth it.

“Hello? I’m home!” A sudden voice called out, leading you out from the kitchen and into the hallway to meet Hoseok. As his eyes came up to meet yours, a smile spread across his face.

“Is this your surprise?” He beamed as you stepped closer. When you nodded, he stepped forward to run his fingers through your cropped hair, still presenting a glowing smile, “It looks so good on you! My angel looks so beautiful.”

His constant nicknames for you never failed to make you blush, “Thank you. I’m so glad you liked it,” you stepped forward to take a hold of his hand, “but if you come now, I’ll run you that bath you were talking about.”

KNJ

Whenever they completed a concert, you liked to facetime your partner, Namjoon, to catch up on your days (considering he wasn’t flat out exhausted). When you were apart for so long, just watching him eat or ramble about his clumsy mishaps was enough for you. Every morning, you hoped that he would still be awake by the time you rang.

Especially that day. It wasn’t easy to surprise Namjoon when he was home; he was too intuitive to be oblivious to everything around him. However when he was halfway across the world, it was easier to pull of smaller gestures for him that often ended up meaning more.

Your sudden difference in hairstyle wasn’t so much a gesture, just a change you had been holding back to make. Short hair had always appealed to you for many reasons. Less hair product, quicker drying, arguable easier to style? You’d take that any day. On top of that, you’d picked a paler latte colour to drench your hair in, contrasting your previous chestnut hue.

As you awaited Namjoon to answer, you made the snap decision to cover the webcam with your thumb and tease the curiosity out of him. Sure enough, when he sat down to talk to you, he couldn’t help but knit his brows in confusion, “Why are you covering the camera? Oh no, what have you done? Is the house still standing?”

You chuckled at his brief panic, “No, silly. I have something to show you. A good thing!”

“Right..”

You edged your thumb away from the screen only to watch in pleasure as Namjoon’s face ignited with surprise, “I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this. I love it so much!”

“Thank you, Joonie. I kept it just long enough for you to still play with though!” You blurted, resulting in a rosy blush from your distant partner.

PJM

As Jimin ran his fingers through your freshly dyed hair, your mind searched for why something didn’t feel right. You weren’t ever satisfied with your appearance, but this time you felt even less comfortable. You loved your platinum hair endlessly, but the same old long, wavy style was starting to get old.

“Jiminie, do you think I’d look good with short hair?” you questioned, looking up from your position on his chest. Jimin had always been able to give you fashion advice, but you’d never asked about your actual appearance before.

“I think you’d look incredible with any hair,” was the stock answer you were expecting. Although there was perhaps some truth in what he said, Jimin was also unlikely to say no, “why? Are you not feeling long hair anymore?”

“I’m not sure. For some reason I feel like I’d suit it better, you know?”

“Well I say go for it. It grows back anyway.”

Within the next 10 minutes you’d had you appointment booked for later that day. Now that you’d convinced yourself, it was better to get it done immediately so you couldn’t talk yourself out of it.

Jimin waited for you in the car just for you to be able to keep the surprise element to your new pending look. As you approached the car with your shoulder-length fresh cut, you watched through the rear mirror as his eyes met yours.

His beaming smile was already spread across his plush cheeks as you sat down next to him, your grin almost matching his, “I don’t know about you but this is maybe the best decision I’ve made in a long time.”

Jimin chuckled, reaching out to twirl a lock of gently curled hair, “It certainly is, beautiful.”

KTH

Since you were a young teenager, trimming your hair ends every few weeks had become routine. Only recently had you been tempted to turn a trim into a new look. Most of your fashion ventures came in the form of clothing, but for a change, you had decided to make a more permanent choice.

Part of the reason you decided to make an adventurous change was to surprise your boyfriend, Taehyung. You never thought you’d meet somebody who shared your exact fashion taste or who found a lot of expression in their hairstyle. In many ways, it helped you bond at the start of your relationship and so became something you both enjoyed more.

While he was away filming for a new comeback, you made it priority to visit the salon. Your once rib-length hair now just scraped your shoulders. The longer bangs that once framed your face now feathered at your brows. Not even an hour into your new appearance and you were already obsessed.

Later that evening when the door to your apartment slammed shut, the pending excitement that you’d built up finally climaxed. Looking over to your left, you were greeted by a shocked Taehyung, who tried to hold his boxy smile back, “Sorry, I must have the wrong house.”

You giggled at his small joke as he edged closer to the sofa, “What do you think? Does it look okay?”

“Incredibly, truly. I’m a little surprised you didn’t colour it too.” He knew you so well, but already you were a step ahead of him. Of course, he was your best fashion adviser.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d help me pick a colour to dye it?” Taehyung nodded eagerly as you opened the sample book lended to you by your stylist. The hardest task was picking a shade you hadn’t experimented with before.

JJK

As somebody who likes to learn all the skills he can, Jungkook quickly picked up your hairstyling tricks after you began to date. Purely out of his own curiosity, he asked you to teach him how to braid in multiple different ways and you had been more than happy to do so.

Since then, Jungkook had found a form of therapy in playing with your hair and braiding random ropes of your hair after a bad or stressful day. In many ways, it was just as calming and settling for you too. Knowing that Jungkook actively tried to avoid knotting your hair was more comforting than it seems.

One of the necessities for hair braiding is of course, long hair, which you had spotted through most of your teen years and into your early 20s. And although he claimed to prefer you for you rather than your physical feautures, you were aware that your hair was one of his favourite parts about you.

The day you decided to cut it was the day you realised all of those therapeutic hair styling sessions were a thing of the past. You hadn’t even briefed Jungkook on your plan, or yourself for that matter. It felt right in the moment, and as much as you loved your new look, it was a problem that was on your mind all day.

Since returning from the salon, you’d waited desperately for Jungkook to come home. Any second, he was due to walk through the door, and although he didn’t know it, he was about to put his skills under a quickfire test.

As soon as the front door had shut, you rushed into the hallway to eagerly greet your man, “Woah, your hair! Where’s it gone?”

“It’s on a salon floor somewhere. But quick, you need to see if you can still braid it.” Your rushed answer ignited his desperation to test his braiding skills on your new hair. Jungkook’s eyes widened as he waddled behind you into the sitting room, where a couple of hair bands had sat waiting for him.

Despite him tugging on your hair a few times more than usual, his focused silence transmitted good news to you, “I can still braid it!” He exclaimed, wrapping the hairband around the finished product. You stood up to look in the mirror at your boyfriend’s work, “I think my braids look cuter when your hair is shorter!”

^ im really sorry you had to wait this long. not only do reactions take me the longest but i also struggled to come up with different scenarios so i really hope this is all okay for you! thank you so much for your patience <3

283 notes · View notes

yellowocaballero · 5 years ago

Text

Small Joke Story Bc I’m Not A Coward

“Everybody shut up, we only have three hours to detail the greatest conspiracy theory of our time,” Melanie said severely, uncapping her marker. Jon perked up. “You don’t get a fucking vote, Jon.”

“Why not?!”

“Because this is the greatest trick the devil ever pulled,” Tim said seriously, moving to stand on the other side of the whiteboard from Melanie and uncapping his own dry erase marker. “Convincing the world that he was from California.”

Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead.

Under her breath, Sasha muttered, “Not this bullshit again.” At Basira’s flat look, she explained, “Every single solitary time Tim has a few margaritas too many at our favorite Tex-Mex place he goes on about this stupid theory he has. He’s been convinced since, like, our first month of working here.”

“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously.

“My Buzzfeed background has made me perfectly suited towards collecting evidence and making neatly formed lists,” Melanie said. She drew a T-chart on the whiteboard and wrote on either side ‘PROBABLY CALIFORNIAN’ and ‘DEFINITELY A BODY STEALING PURITAN GHOST FROM THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS’. “I reached the inevitable conclusion independently of Tim, and we worked together to put together this rhetorical argument. I know by the end of it all you’ll agree with us that Elias Bouchard is an evil ghost.”

Hm.

Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him.

TMA American AU, made as a result of four hours of increasingly inane text messages between myself and @lazuliquetzal. Every time we bring this show further from Britain it is brought further into the light.

Read the rest of it under the cut!

The timing had to be exact.

They had agreed to wait for the 55th Annual Historical Salem Convention to roll around. It was the closest thing they had to security while working at the Usher Foundation. After a while you really did get used to eyes constantly watching you, all the time, never feeling quite safe in your own skin, but it never really hurt to be careful. Especially when it came to Elias Bouchard.

Personally, Martin really didn’t see what the big deal was. Of course there was a mysterious, malevolent entity always watching you, judging you, finding you wanting, and finally condemning you to eternal suffering. God existed.

Still, it seemed to bug the others, so Martin bribed Rosie with a loaf of his trademark sausage and cheese loaf to let him know when Elias excitedly left for his favorite event of the year. When he got the text from Rosie, Martin stood up from his chair, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Bouchard has flown the coop!”

On the turn of a dime, everyone stopped pretending to work. Tim threw down his pen, Melanie jumped up and ran to go wheel out the whiteboard, Basira tossed her book over her shoulder and pulled out her secret legal pad, Daisy logged off her favorite website GunShoppersUSA.com, Sasha spat out her chewing tobacco into the tin on her desk and put her boots back on the ground, and even Jon emerged from his office with a grim expression.

“It’s time,” Tim said grimly. “It’s time that we all find out the fuckin’ truth.”

“I keep on telling you, you’re over-reacting,” Jon insisted. He dug his hands in the pockets of his Harvard hoodie, scowling. Martin fastidiously arranged the plaque on his desk (“Your Life Is A Gift From God: What You Do With That Life Is Your Gift To Him”) as he imagined ripping it off him. Best not to be inappropriate during work hours. “Why put forth all the effort for such a stupid lie?”

“It’s hardly his first lie to us,” Basira said, seemingly bored and watching Jersey Shore on her phone. “He also lied about not being an omniscient serial killer.”

“This is different!” Tim said, slamming his fist on his desk and Melanie rolled the whiteboard in. “That’s a matter of common sense. Who wouldn’t lie about being a serial killer?”

“If I was a serial killer I wouldn’t lie about it,” Sasha said with a straight face. “I’m not a pussy.”

“I am a serial killer,” Daisy said, bored.

“You guys are fucking freaks,” Tim said.

“Jesus christ, just say y’all,” Sasha said, yet again. Martin nodded fastidiously.

“All’a youse be quiet,” Jon muttered. He walked forward and sat down in the chair next to Martin’s desk, which made him flush. Martin quietly pushed over his big candy bowl full of fudge, which Jon absently took and stuffed in his mouth seemingly without realizing it. “What’s alla this ‘bout, then?”

“Wow, he really must be tired,” Basira muttered to Daisy, who looked strongly as if she was pretending not to mark down whenever Jon’s hilarious accent jumped out.

“Why not?!”

Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead.

“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously.

Hm.

Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him.

Sasha, from where she was sitting across from him, noticed the action. She smiled reassuringly at Martin. “Don’t worry. I kinda...I kinda get Tim about the Elias secretly being British thing, but there’s no way there’s any witchcraft going on here.”

“I just heavily disapprove of witchcraft,” Martin said haltingly. “And I really don’t think it’s something we should joke about -”

“We know,” everyone said.

“You tried to exorcise Jane Prentiss,” Tim pointed out.

“She was of the Devil! So sue me!”

“She was definitely of the Devil,” Sasha agreed. “I’ve seen hordes of insects that big plenty’a times, and they’re definitely Devil work. One time, I saw this spider the size of a dinner place eat a bird -”

“Shut up about the bird spider,” Jon screamed, “I am sick to death of the bird spider -”

“She was of Portland,” Basira said flatly.

“What’s the difference?” Daisy asked.

Basira fixed Daisy with a cold, beady stare. “Unless you want everyone in this room to know exactly what place you got in the Miss Kentucky County Fair Pageant -”

“Second,” Jon said, “it was humiliating.”

Daisy took out her hunting knife the size of her forearm, which Basira quickly wrestled from her, and it took another twenty seconds for Sasha to call the room to order. Martin stared longingly at the gun cabinet they kept in a corner of the room underneath a big pile of boxes, which everybody had a key to but Jon.

“Okay,” Tim said loudly, after the room had returned to relative order. Mostly through Martin feeding Jon the toffee fudge that kept his mouth glued shut for at least the next few hours. “To recap. Our evil boss, Elias Bouchard, is a well known douchebag asshole cuntface. He is gnarly as fuck. He is uncool.”

“Mfmf,” Jon said.

“No, it was pretty fresh how he framed you for murder. Let’s cover what we know of his background.” Tim rapped the whiteboard. “Pothead rich kid from San Diego. Now, everybody knows certain things about people from San Diego. Rich! White! Hipster! Dope on the waves. But not as dope as me. Really rockin’ zoos. San Diegoans are cool dudes who are great to hit a vape with.” He rapped the whiteboard again, much more empathetically. “Elias Bouchard is none of these things but rich and white!”

“That’s all you need,” Basira said flatly.

“Vaping is really bad for you, you know,” Martin said reproachfully.

Melanie took out her vape threateningly, making Sasha throw the stuffed alligator she kept on her desk at her to knock it out of her hands. “No sources of ignition in the archives, Mels!”

“Now, let’s go over my evidence,” Tim said loudly. “In the interest of fairness, I will list reasons that Elias may actually be from California.”

“Are we going to go over his means, motive, opportunity, anything?” Jon asked, seemingly bored, having finally swallowed his fudge.

Tim’s eyes locked in on Jon’s. Jon quailed. “I’m sorry,” Tim said pleasantly, “are we going to actually stop and wonder about why someone would, hypothetically, want to do something stupid before accusing them of it and, perhaps, stalking them to their homes?”

“Massachusetts isn’t a stand your ground state,” Daisy whispered to Jon. “We’re in coward territory, you can take him.”

“If you call the North coward territory one more time, Daisy -” Basira said threateningly.

“Anyway!” Melanie said loudly, as she wrote on the whiteboard. “It’s possible that he is from California because he’s rich and white.” She wrote down ‘privilege’ in big letters on the board. “However, as we know, there is rich ethnic diversity in California. Do you know where else rich and white people live? 17th century Puritan England.”

“I have a reason why Elias could be from California,” Sasha said seriously.

“You have the floor, hun,” Tim said.

“He’s an asshole.”

Melanie silently wrote down ‘ASSHOLE’.

“Pretentious,” Jon called.

“Big talk from the Brooklyn Boy,” Sasha called back. “Gentrified Gentleman! Colombia Copycat! Big Apple Asshole!”

“I oughta kill youse,” Jon hissed. “Disrespect the boroughs in my house again and I’ll show you how 84th street boys do it -”

“You and what square mileage?!”

Melanie, who was the most emotionally honest out of all of them, wrote down ‘PRETENTIOUS’ anyway.

“Now, let’s move onto the real arguments,” Tim said, clapping his hands to restore order. “Let’s review. Mels, make sure you get this down. One time, I saw him parking in December, and he drove well in the snow. He’s a natural at it.”

Silence bore down over the assembly. That was, by far and away, extremely incriminating. Californians couldn’t drive well in the snow if you held a gun to their head - Daisy had checked.

“Moreover,” Tim continued. “I tried sharing my korean-ecuadorian-french-thai fusion food truck take-out with him and he refused. Can a Californian refuse the siren call of food truck fusion cuisine?”

“That is suspicious,” Jon said grudgingly.

“Tim and I experimented,” Melanie volunteered, as she wrote down ‘EATS LIKE AN OLD PERSON’ on the whiteboard. “We tried cranking down the temperature in his office to - get this - sixty degrees. He didn’t even notice.”

“I haven’t heard him complain about winter once,” Tim pointed out.

“Winters in this infernal land fucking suck,” Sasha groused. “If it’s below 100 degrees it’s too fuckin cold.”

“Bood,” Daisy said.

“Agreed,” Martin said. “I had to figure out what snow chains are.”

“I can’t drive,” Jon said proudly. Martin patted his hand.

“Moreover!” Tim said. “I asked him his opinion on reality TV and he said that he didn’t watch it. I asked him what his favorite outdoors activity was and he said ice fishing. Every summer he goes to Maine with his shitty husband to go ice fishing. It’s bullshit.”

“Elias is gay?” Jon, Known Worst Gaydar In The Fucking World, said in surprise.

“Put that down in the pro-California column,” Daisy said. Melanie wrote down ‘GAY RIGHTS’ on the board.

“I hope you don’t let the fact that Elias is gay influence why you righteously hate him,” Melanie said to Martin seriously. “Gay rights are important, Martin. I believe this very strongly.”

“Aw, bless your heart,” said the guy who had been thrown out of his small Oklahoma town and excommunicated when he was eighteen. Not that anybody knew that. Martin didn’t believe in oversharing. Everyone took one look at the bolo tie and Precious Moments desktop calendar and assumed heterosexuality. What if he just liked bolo ties? What if Precious Moments was cute and sweet?

“Okay, back on topic,” Tim said, as if they had ever actually been on topic. “I have a finishing blow for all of you. This’ll blow your socks off. It’s really the coup d’tat. That’s a little something we say in California to show that we really got this sucker on lockdown. One time, Melanie saw him eating Taco Bell in the cafeteria -”

“ - and enjoying it,” Melanie said viciously. “Then I walked up to him and went, hey boss, what’s that you eating? And he said -”

“Just having some Mexican food,” Tim spat.

Everybody sat in silent observance of this crime.

Finally, Jon rubbed his chin and said, “I just don’t get it. Why would you pretend to be from California? It’s a mediocre state.”

“Say that to my SoCal beach bum face -”

“It’s to hide the fact that he’s the ghost of a 17th century Puritan witchfinder bodyhopping in order to feed his infernal god of paranoia and suspicion,” Melanie said, with a straight face.

Cautiously, Basira said, “And you got to that conclusion...how?”

“By using the investigative skills I learned at Buzzfeed,” Melanie scoffed. “Duh.”

But now Basira was actually looking thoughtful. “I mean, there is the fact that the Usher Foundation is built on a sacred Native burial ground and is precisely located on the ancient site where witches were sentenced to death, constructed using the wood from their holy pyres?”

Everybody thought hard about this.

“If he pretended to be from Florida I would have caught him out in a second,” Sasha said finally. “Man looks like he’s never seen a spider bigger than a saucer.”

“Shut up about the fuckin spiders -”

“I’ve seen the rats in NYC, they look like they could do my taxes -”

“That’s their prerogative, James!”

“I’d be able to call him out in a second if he pretended to be from Jersey City,” Basira said thoughtfully. “And, come to think of it, I have heard him call a trunk a ‘boot’ before.”

“I heard him call an elevator a lift once,” Daisy volunteered.

Everybody chewed over this new piece of information.

“God,” Sasha whispered, looking sick. “I can’t believe an English scum has been among us this entire time. It’s terrible. I never thought I’d be forced to interact with those fuckers.” She muttered something else under her breath in Spanish, which made Jon roll his eyes.

“You’re scared of Englishmen, of all things?”

“It’s their legs,” Sasha shivered. “Too many legs.”

Finally, Jon turned to Martin. “What do you think, Martin? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Martin sighed. Martin carefully drank some of his world famous peach sweet tea. Martin took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.

“Of course he’s a heckin’ seventh century puritan body hopping ghost,” Martin said finally. “I’ve known that for, say, since I was hired.”

Everybody stared at him.

“Why the fuck haven’t you mentioned that,” Daisy said flatly.

Martin shrugged. “Y’all done never asked.”

Jon took a second to gather himself, clearly two seconds away from flying into sheer Brooklyn Rage.

Thankfully, Melanie was squinting furiously at him. “What makes you say that?”

Martin just shrugged again. “So I was interviewin’ wit’ him, right? And I wanted ta make a good impression, so I just said, oh, the Lord provides for our meetin’ and all that. Then he said some Bible quote at me. Then I was like, oh, I can totally work this angle. Then I quoted the New Testament back at him, and I guess we got into a sorta competition? This happens in the South. But I ain’t never met someone who can out Bible quote me. So I figured, oh, he must be a body hopping evil Puritan ghost from the 17th century.”

Everybody stared at him.

“He called me a nice young God fearin’ boy,” Martin said. “Only Puritans and Southern Baptists do that, and he ain’t no member of my church. Plus, you know, when were fightin’ over him framing Jon for murder and how dangerous that was, he’s the only person I ever met who could use cherry picked Bible quotes as effectively as me in order to win an argument. So...really, it’s just logical.”

Slowly, Basira said, “You figured he was evil because he was an expert in your tactics?”

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” Martin said wisely.

“Fuck this shit,” Jon said, standing up abruptly. He threw on his coat over his hoodie, frowning down at everyone from his unfair height. “I’m going down to the deli and getting me a pastrami on rye. Martin, c’mon, I’ll spot ya a Pabst.”

He had never been more in love. Martin shot upwards, throwing on his own coat and hat. “Alcohol is of the devil -”

“Just drink the beer, Martin.”

Well, there were some benefits in being excommunicated. Martin saluted everyone, eagerly linking his arm around Jon’s. “Saints keep all y’all! See you after lunch!”

“Honestly, Martin, just say youse.”

“I would really rather die.”

#the reason why sasha is alive is because she is from florida #in case it's not obvious in the story martin is from oklahoma tim is from socal melanie is from LA basira is from jersey #daisy is from kentucky and jon is a brooklyn boy #DONT @ ME WE ARE SOUTHERN AND CALIFORNIAN #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #tma au #tw gun mention #TMA but if everyone knew how to shoot a gun #my writing #this is the fault of so many people

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years ago

Text

Stark Spangled Banner Ch51: Captain America -Homecoming

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist

(Special thanks to @the-omni-princess for fact checking my limited knowledge of the US education system!)

Bruce needed a day to calibrate the computer and systems to the right configuration to use with Scott’s Quantum Tunnel (which was, amusingly yet completely unsurprisingly in the back of his ugly brown van). Katie took the chance to head into the office to catch up and then inform Soraya she didn’t know how much she would be available in person over the coming week. It wasn’t an issue, the department was well structured and pretty much ran itself, plus she was capable of working from anywhere given the level of connectivity she had but still, she felt like she was abandoning her post. It was silly really, after Jamie she had been away for almost a year but this felt different.

They had another day before they were due to collect Emmy from the train station, her five day trip to Philly was drawing to a close and when they had spoken to her last night she had been equal parts excited to come home and fed up that it was ending. But she would be back at school soon, and she had an important few weeks coming up as she was studying for her end of year exams. Katie and Steve had agonised over whether her going to Philadelphia was such a good idea so close to her tests, but when they had seen her stressing out over revision Katie had told Steve how crappy she had found it, so they had agreed that a break would do her good. Plus, Emmy had said she had found the trip useful in that she had found out a lot more facts she would be able to use for her history paper. That, and she was a complete brainbox. Although she was only a freshman, she was taking APs in Human Geography and Psychology (having told her parents she wanted to be a Therapist) and was already being touted by her tutors as Harvard potential. But she was expressing an interest in going to the UK like Katie had done, which scared the shit out of Steve, his daughter being the other side of the Atlantic. But he knew he had to let her make her own decision. And they’d cross that bridge when they got there.

For the time being, the only bridge Steve wanted to cross was the one he and Natasha were currently planning on making to reach out to the remaining original Avengers, Thor and Clint.

��Thor should be easy, surely?” Nat asked, swinging her feet up onto the table as she sat back in her seat. She looked to Steve for confirmation, but instead he sighed and shook his head.

“Has Katie not told you?”

“Told me what?”

Steve scratched at his chin “He had a row with one of the Elders about 6 months back. From what Valkyrie told Katie, there was a bit of a disagreement over the rebuilding of their army and the elder took a shot at Thor, saying he wasn’t fit to lead any kind of battalion as he had failed to keep them safe from Thanos.”

“That’s harsh.” Nat frowned.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve said “I think it was more anger speaking than the guy actually thinking that, but it sent Thor into another downwards spiral and he’s ignored Katie’s attempts to reach out to him again so she’s given in.” “Ok, so, a little harder than we anticipated…” “Least we know where he is.” Steve sighed “Any luck on Barton?”

“Rhodey thinks he’s targeting a gang in Hong Kong.” Nat sighed, “But I won’t know for sure until he arrives.”

Steve, nodded “Ok, well when we find out where he is we can scramble a jet and…” “No.” Nat shook her head “Not we, me. I’ll go alone.” “Nat.” Steve frowned “Clint, he’s been leaving a trail of utter carnage behind him, I don’t think you-“

“He wouldn’t hurt me.” She shook her head.

“It’s not him I’m concerned about, more the people he’s taking on.” “I can handle myself” she said firmly, looking at him. Her eyes were sparkling with that Black Widow venom Steve had to admit he had missed over the past few years. He took a deep breath and against his better judgement conceded.

“Alright. We’ll do it your way.”

Natasha frowned, and smirked “really? That’s it, no argument?”

Steve raised an eyebrow “You want an argument?” “Not really” she shook her head, smiling.

He gave a chuckle and then they were cut off by an incoming call springing up in front of Natasha. She swiped to her right and the hologram form of Rocket appeared on the desk.

“Hey Nat.” he nodded, turning “Cap.” They both greeted him.

“We’re wrapping things up on that latest lead, then we have to nip to Contraxia as I need a few things…” he said, looking the red head “Should be with you day after tomorrow lunchtime, ish” “Rocket, you were close to Thor right?” Steve said, an idea coming to him.

“Kinda.” the animal spun to face him “why?” “We need him.” Steve said “He knows about the stones, but convincing him could be a bit of a task. So I was thinking maybe you could help and go with Katie to New Asgard.” The animal pondered for a while before he shrugged “I can try.”

“That’s all any of us can do.” Steve nodded.

The raccoon nodded again “Alright.” He turned to Nat. “We’ll see you soon.” and with that he disappeared.

“Who’s that?” Jamie asked as he pointed to the photo in the album that his Mom had open on her lap.

“That’s your Uncle Sam…” she smiled at the photo of Steve and his best man at the reception of their wedding “You know you get your name from him, well one of them…”

“Where is he now?” Jamie asked.

“He err…he went away” Katie said, trying to figure out how to explain this “You know how daddy has told you about his friend, Uncle Bucky?” “Yeah.” “Well, a few years ago, before you were born, The Avengers, well they had a fight, with a nasty man, and your Uncle Bucky and Uncle Sam, and one of our other friends, a lady called Wanda…they had to go away afterwards.”

“Was Uncle Tony in the fight?”

“Yeah, he was.” Katie nodded

“And Auntie Nat-Nat?”

“Yeah. And Thor. There was a lot of people involved?”

“Did you and daddy fight with the Avengers?” Jamie asked, his eyes wide.

At that point Katie looked up and saw Steve hovering in the door way. He swallowed and walked into the room.

“A long time ago buddy, yeah.” he said.

“Did you know Captain America?”

“I did yeah.” Steve nodded, kneeling down in front of his son “But he gave up fighting.” Jamie pondered something as Katie looked at her husband. “Not for much longer though…” she said, locking eyes with him.

Steve took a deep breath and swallowed once more. He wasn’t sure he’d ever hold that shield again.

“Maybe.” he said, shrugging, before he stood up and settled on the couch at the other side of his son.

Jamie made to turn the page in the album and the next photo was one of Steve’s favourites and one they had a large framed version of on the mantle piece. It showed him and Katie at their first dance, heads pressed together, huge smiles on their faces as he held her close.

“Momma you look pretty!” Jamie smiled and Katie dropped a kiss to his head.

“Thanks Baby.” “Your momma always looks pretty.” Steve smiled “She’s the most beautiful girl on the planet.” “Charmer.” Katie looked at him as he stretched his arm over the back of his son and pulled her in closer.

“Only for you.” he winked, dropping a kiss to her cheek.

****** Tony stood at the sink, rinsing down the dishes from dinner whilst Pepper settled Morgan down for the night. He’d spoken to Kiddo earlier, she’d told him they were running the first Time Travel trial the day after. He’d managed to push it out of his mind for most of the afternoon but now, as he stood alone, he kept thinking about it over and over again. He knew Bruce was clever, but this really wasn’t his area… but that wasn’t his concern.

What if something went wrong? Not his problem.

His grip on the attachment to the tap slipped and it jerked out of his hand, spraying water all over the place. With a sigh he turned it off and grabbed the tea towel, mopping up the water from around the sink and then the shelf which it had squirted all over. He glanced at the photos, and paused for a moment at the frame that was placed just to the right of the one which held a picture of his dad. He took a deep breath as he wiped the water off the faces- him and Peter Parker holding the fake Stark Internship Certificate upside down, each one pulling peace signs behind the other’s back. He swallowed.

“We can snap our own fingers. We can bring everybody back.” Natasha said.

“Or screw it up worse than he already has”

“I don’t think we would.” Steve shook his head.

But they were going to risk it. He knew that. And they could, probably would, fuck it up without him.

“Damned it Rogers.” he mumbled, placing the photo down and heading into the dining room.

Two hours later Pepper was out in the greenhouse as she often was later at night and Tony was talking to FRIDAY, with whom he had been brainstorming a number of ideas for the past hour and a half. He looked the holographic model in front of him and tapped at the pad on the table.

“Look at a mod inspiration, let’s see if it checks out.” He said, watching as the image changed in front of his eyes. “So…” he pressed a few keys again “run one last sim before we pack it in for the night.” he clapped his hands together and paced round the side of the table “this time, in the shape of a mobius strip, inverted, please.”

“Processing. “ FRIDAY replied as Tony crossed his arms and watched.

“Give me that Eigen value” he reached out to spin the image with his hand “That, particle factoring, and a spectral decomp,” he grabbed the bottle on the side of the table to take a drink of the smoothie he had made, “that will take a second.”

“Just a moment.”

“Model rendered.”

The red words “Model Successful…” with a rating of “99.987%” flashed in front of his eyes and Tony felt his mouth drop open, utterly bewildered by his discover. He fell back into his chair, looking up at it and his mouth flew to his hand. He’d figure it out. He, Tony Stark, had figured out how to do exactly what Lang had proposed. He’d sussed out how to safely travel time.

Despite himself, he felt a certain level of pride and smugness, and he threw his arms out to his side, “Shit!” he almost laughed out.

“Shit.” a voice spoke from behind him, followed by a giggle. He paused, and turned to see his daughter was sat on the bottom stair, grinning at him.

He held his finger to his lips and shook his head “What are you doing up, little miss?”

“Shit.” she repeated again.

“No, we don’t say that. Only Mommy says that word.” She coined it, it belongs to her.”

“Why you up?”

“Cause I got some important shit going on here,” Tony jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the hologram “What do you think?”

Morgan shot him a frown and he took a deep breath, when she pulled that face she looked ridiculously like her Auntie. ”No, I got something on my mind. I got..I got something on my mind.” he explained in a softer tone.

“Was it Juice Pops?” Morgan asked, hopefully.

“Sure was.” Tony said, looking at the other side of the room before he turned back to his daughter “That’s extortion. That’s a word. “ He stood up, “What kind you want?” he said, taking her hand and she stood up. “Great minds think alike. Juice Pops, exactly was on-” he looked back to the model then turned towards the kitchen “-my mind.”

A little while and a juice pop later Morgan was back in bed, demanding a story.

“Once upon a time, Morgoona went to bed. The end.” Tony grinned.

“That is a horrible story.” Morgan looked at him with a glare.

“Come on, that’s your favorite story. I love you tons.” he said, making it clear that was the end of the conversation. He kissed her on the forehead.

“I love you 3000.”

“Wow.” he said, quietly as he smiled at her. His daughter had an ability, very like Kiddo, to say things that sideswiped him, and made his chest burst with love, and this was one of those moments. He contemplated that for a moment before he stood up and turned off her lamp “Three thousand, that’s crazy.”

He walked to the door, and closing it behind him, still grinning he told her “Go to bed, or I’ll sell all your toys, night night.”

By the time he reached the living room Pepper was back inside, sat on the couch reading a book.

“Not that it’s a competition-” Pepper looked up at him “-but she loves me three thousand.”

“Oh does she now?” Pepper smiled.

“You were somewhere on the low 6 to 900 range.” Pepper laughed and turned back to her book. Tony, still chewing on the juice pop stick looked back to where the model was still projecting over his table.

“What you reading…” he asked, although he wasn’t particularly interested. His mind was racing once more.

“Oh, it’s just a book on composting”.

“What’s new with composting?” his eyes were still on the image. “Interesting science…” she began, but he cut her off.

“I figured it out, by the way.” he looked back at her, removing the juice pop stick from his mouth.”

“And, you know, just so we’re talking about the same thing –“ Pepper looked up at him.

“Time travel.” he whispered.

“What?” she asked as Tony glanced back at the hologram, arms folded. “ Wow…” her gaze dropped down slightly “That’s amazing, and… terrifying.”

“That’s right.” he dropped down besides her, his left arm hanging over the back of the sofa.

“We got really lucky” Pepper said, stroking his arm.

“Yeah, I know.”

“A lot of people didn’t.”

“No, but I can’t help everybody.”

“Well, it sort a seems like you can” she pressed again.

“Not if I stop.” he shrugged, and Pepper gave a small huff of a laugh “I can put a pin in it right now, and stop.”

“Tony, trying to get you to stop has been one of the few failures of my entire life.”

Tony gave a soft laugh and his right arm gently rubbed the hand that was laid over his left arm.

“Something tells me I should put it in a locked box and drop it at the bottom of the lake, go to bed.”

There was a pause, before Pepper looked at him again, her eyes soft and her face rearranged into a knowing expression.

“But would you be able to rest?”

He didn’t reply, he didn’t need to. They both knew the answer was no. *******

“Alright, Emmy, remember what I said?” Katie looked at her daughter who was sat on the couch in the living room of their old quarters.

“Yeah, I can’t leave here until someone comes to get us.” Emmy nodded

“No matter what…”

“Yeah mom, I got it. We’ll be fine, wont we Jamie?”

He nodded, grinning up at his mother “Yeah, fine.”

“Ok, love you both.“

With one last glance back at her kids, Katie made her way back to the hanger.

"Breakers are set. Emergency generators are on standby.” She heard Steve call out as he strode back towards the computer. Katie couldn’t help but admire his ass, he looked pretty good in a pair of black denims, light blue shirt as always tucked into his pants, belt circling his toned waist. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow with a smug smirk as he caught the expression on her face and she shrugged.

“Good, coz if we blow the grid, I don’t wanna lose Tiny here in the 1950s,” Bruce said through gritted teeth, jerking his thumb at Scott, only his comment wasn’t quite as quiet as he thought. Scott, who was stood in his suit, fiddling with something on his helmet heard perfectly.

“Excuse me?” Scott glared at Banner as Katie and Steve exchanged a glance. .

“He’s kidding!” Natasha said in an play-full voice, shaking her head as she tapped on the tablet she was holding which would be used to track Scott. She looked up with a smile, which Katie knew perfectly to be false and laughed “You can’t say things like that.” she said to Bruce.

“Yeah, sorry, it was…just a bad joke.” Bruce smiled as he looked at Scott. Scott nodded once as he walked back to the van.

“You were kidding right?” Katie looked at Bruce.

“I have no idea!” Bruce hissed. “We’re talking about time travel here, either it’s all a joke or none of it is!” He looked away from Katie and flashed Scott the thumbs up “We’re good.”

Steve crossed his arms and let out a breath as Scott pulled his helmet on. He gave Bruce a double thumbs up and Katie smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

“Perfectly not confusing.” Scott shrugged.

Ok so now Steve was nervous. He took a deep breath and looked at the man stood by the back of the van, his hands dropping to his hips.

“Good luck Scott. You’ve got this.” He refrained from adding I hope…

“You’re right. I do Captain America.” Scott said, proudly, as Bruce hit a button, sucking him into the tunnel.

“On the count of three-“ Bruce called, and Steve dropped his hands, his fists clenching, mouth open slightly as he watched . At the other side of Bruce, Katie and Nat shared a nervous glance “Three… two…one…” Steve breathed a sigh of relief as someone appeared but it was short lived as he realised the person in front of them could be no older than Emmy. Katie frowned as did Natasha, confusion etched across her face and next to them, Bruce adjusted his glasses.

"Guys, something doesn’t feel right.” The boy informed them nervously.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, as Bruce set about pressing a load more buttons. “Hang on…”

“Is that Scott?” Katie’s eyes grew wide as she looked at Bruce, who ducked down to hit something on the console, her eyes locking with Steve who looked as utterly perplexed as she felt.

“Yes, it’s Scott!” the boy exclaimed.

Teenage Scott was sucked back into the tunnel, Natasha watching Bruce as he straightened up and the four of them looked back to the tunnel to see another person thrown out, this time an elderly man.

“Ow, my back!”

“What is this?” Steve asked

“Can I…I need a little space!” Bruce said, moving to his right.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Steve hastily moved out of the way and going to stand in between his wife and Natasha. “Can you bring him back?“

“I’m working on it…” Bruce hit one of the screens. Katie, Steve and Nat shared another panicked look as Old Scott was yanked back in only to this time reappear as…

"That’s a baby.” Steve deadpanned.

“It’s Scott!” Bruce defended.

“As a baby!” Katie snapped as the infant looked up at them wide eyed.

“He’ll grow!” Bruce said, attempting a joke.

“Bring Scott back!” Steve instructed sharply.

“Nat, when I say kill the power, kill the power!” Bruce called and Natasha ran off to the breaker at the side of the hanger.

Katie and Steve watched as Bruce jabbed more buttons, before he yelled out “Kill it!”

Natasha pulled the lever down and Bruce slapped a large red button. This time Scott Lang returned exactly as he had been before he left.

“Somebody peed my pants.” he said loudly, standing stiffly still “I don’t know if it was baby me,.or old me. Or, just… me-me.”

“Time travel!” Bruce beamed excitedly, throwing his hands out to the side as Katie, Steve and Natasha looked at him. “What? I, I see this as an absolute win.”

“I think we should take a break.” Katie took a deep breath. “Nat can you check the kids, I’m gonna…” she jerked her thumb after Steve and Nat nodded.

“Hey.” Katie said, her hand gently falling to his elbow. “Honey, we knew it was a long shot…” “I know.” he sighed, looking at her “But I thought it might have worked, you know. That we might have had a chance to…”

He was cut off as a deafening noise rose in the distance. They both looked out over the compound to see a familiar Audi R8 speeding down the drive towards the hangar. Katie and Steve exchanged a glance as the car pulled up to where they were stood, but overshot their position slightly. Steve followed the car with his eyes as it backed up and Tony rolled down the window and looked at them both. Steve raised his eyebrows, looking away.

“Why the long face?” Tony asked, directing his question to Steve “Let me guess: He turned into a baby”

“Among other things, yeah.” Steve said, an edge of frustration in his voice as he looked back at Tony “What are you doing here?”

Tony opened the car door and climbed out, walking to the back, completely ignoring Steve’s question as he spoke.

“You did.” Steve deadpanned, not in the mood for a lecture.

“A fully functioning Time-Space GPS.

At this Steve let out a genuine smile as he realised Tony was here to help. Tony returned it with one of his own

“I just want peace.” he made the sign with his fingers “Turns out, being angry and bitter is corrosive, and I hate it.

“Me too.” Steve nodded softly, recognizing this for what it was. An apology for the other day, and he was happy to provide his own.

“So do we Tony.” Katie implored “Our kids…”

“Nothing we do can jeopardise them” Steve dropped his left arm round Katie “Any of them.”

“Yeah, and maybe not die trying will be nice.” Tony shrugged.

Steve smiled and held out his right hand “Sounds like a deal.”

Tony shook it, before he smiled cheekily and headed to the trunk. Steve looked at his wife and she shrugged, before the two of them followed him, Steve watching curiously. He lifted something out, turned it upside down to dislodge the teddy bear sat on it and Katie’s hand flew to her mouth as she saw it was Steve’s shield. Steve hesitated, taking a deep breath.

“Tony… I don’t know..” he swallowed, the nerve twitching in his jaw. He wasn’t worthy of that shield, not anymore.

“Why? He made it for you.” Tony held his gaze “Plus, honestly I have to get it out of the garage before Morgan takes it sledding” Steve looked at Katie, who was fighting back her tears and she gave him an encouraging nod. He lifted his arm and Tony slid the shield straps over his shirt and Steve looked down at it, taking a shaky breath. It felt like slipping into a familiar pair of sneakers. Tony looked at Katie who was wiping her eyes, and he gave her a smile which she returned.

“Thank you, Tony.” Steve looked up at his brother-in-law, his voice choked.

“Will you keep that a little quiet? Didn’t bring one for the whole team.” Tony hesitated for a moment “We are getting the whole team, yeah?

“We’re working on that right now.” Katie nodded, before she heard a yell behind her.

“Uncle Nee!” Jamie shot by her and launched at his uncle.

“Hey sport!” Tony grinned, picking him up “What you been up to?” “Me and Emmy were colouring and making dinosaur models.” “Wow!” Tony said, turning to Emmy who was walking towards them.

“Mom?” She said, her voice a whisper as she spotted what Steve was holding. “Dad’s…” “Yeah.” Katie smiled at her, dropping an arm round the teenager’s shoulders as she glanced at his shield. Never one to miss anything Jamie glanced at his Sister, then his dad and his eyes widened.

Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder “Alright, I’ll leave that one with you…time to go see what a mess of my compound Brucie has made.”

He walked passed Emmy, dropping an arm round her shoulders “Walk with me kid, tell me about Philly…” he shot a glance at Katie who smiled as he steered the teenager back to the compound whilst she began excitedly telling him about her trip. Steve turned to look Katie, his eyes glistening with emotion.

“Still suits you.” she smiled to him and he gave a little chuckle.

“Daddy!” Jamie insisted, tugging on his trousers, annoyed at his question being ignored.

“Sorry pal,” Steve crouched down, shield still on his arm. “I have a shield like Cap because I was Cap.”

“You were Captain America?” Jamie frowned. “When you fighted with the Avengers?”

“Yeah” he sighed, running his hand through Jamie’s golden hair “I was.”

“Are you now?”

“I dunno.” Steve glanced back at his shield.

“I think you are” Jamie cocked his head to one side as his hand reached out to touch the shield. “Because Cap’s a hero and you’re my hero”

“Daddy?” Jamie mumbled against his dad’s shoulder, where his head lay.

“Yeah?”

“You got a helmet too?” Jamie pulled back to study his father’s face as Steve gave out a soft laugh

“Yeah buddy. I do.”

“And a uniform?”

“I have a few…”

“Can I see?”

Steve looked up at Katie and she smiled, nodding.

“Sure… come on.” Steve stood up, Jamie easily lifted in his free arm.

“You coming?” he stopped at his wife’s side as she reached up a hand to smooth down Jamie’s jumper which had ridden up slightly.

“I think this is a hero to son moment, don’t you?” she smiled, standing on her toes so she could give his lips a peck. “Besides, someone’s gotta stop Tony creating havoc in there.” “Good luck with that” he muttered, giving her another kiss before he carried Jamie into the compound, striding through the hangar doors and across to the corridor. Katie waited for a moment, composing herself before she headed back inside.

**** True to their word, Nebula and Rocket arrived the following lunch and it wasn’t long after that Katie and Rocket headed off to New Asgard, along with Banner. They knew Banner and Thor had shared a lot during the events leading up to Thanos attacking the Asgardian ship and Katie was hoping that together they stood a better chance of convincing the God to help. Katie sat in the passenger seat of the truck belonging to one of the Asgardians who had come to greet them. She couldn’t help but smile as they rolled past the sign at the side of the road WELCOME TO NEW ASGARD, PLEASE DRIVE SLOWLY. They stopped at the small port, and Katie hopped out of the truck, thanking the man, whilst Bruce and Rocket climbed out of the back.

“Kind of a step down from a golden palace for an Avenger highness and whatnot.” Rocket mused, looking around.

“Hey, have a little compassion, pal.” Bruce said “First they’ve lost Asgard, then half the people. They’re probably just happy to have a home.”

Katie spotted Valkyrie who smiled at her, and then her face rearranged into surprise as she saw Bruce.

“You shouldn’t have come!” She warned as they approached her.

“Ah, Valkyrie! Great to see you, Angry Girl.” Bruce smiled.

“I think I liked you better either of the other ways.” she almost chuckled, taking in his appearance.

“This is Rocket.” Katie gestured to the raccoon.

“How you doin’?” He greeted her.

Valkyrie nodded at him before she turned to Katie “He won’t see you.

“Still that bad, huh?” Katie folded her arms.

“We only see him once a month, when he comes for... “ she looked over to the pile of kegs on the side of the port “… supplies.

“It’s that bad.” Bruce mumbled.

“Yeah.”

“We have to try.” Katie bit her lip, looking round before she turned to Bruce and Rocket, “Come on.” She led them down the side of the harbour and they walked up the small, cobbled street towards the fishing hut Thor was living in. She paused, and tried the handle. It opened and Rocket stepped in first. Instantly Katie was hit with a smell that made her nose wrinkle. It was a combination of dirty clothes, stale beer and old take-outs.

“What the… Woo!” Rocket grimaced “Something died in here.”

“Hello? Thor?” Bruce called.

Thor’s voice rumbled through to them from another room. “Are you here about the cable?”

“The Cinemax ran out about two weeks ago, and the sports are all kind of fuzzy.” he grabbed a beer from the ice bucket and Katie looked at Bruce who was frowning. She gave him a sad nod.

“Thor?” He asked, his voice disbelieving.

Thor turned and took a moment to look at the three of them, before his face cracked into a smile

“Boys!” He laughed out “Little Stark! Oh my God! It’s so good to see you!”

He crossed towards Rocket, trying to hug him, his knuckles rubbing the raccoons head “Come here, you little rascal!”

“No, I’m good. I’m good. That’s not necessary.” Rocket groaned, wriggling away.

“Hulk, Little Stark, you know my friends, Miek, Korg, right?”

Miek and Korg were sat on a couch, the Rock creature in a Hawaiian shirt, play station controller in his hand playing what looked to Katie like Fortnite- one of Emmy’s favourites.

“Hey guys!” Korg raised his hand in greeting.

“Hey!” Bruce smiled. “Long time no see.”

“Noobmaster.” Thor growled out as he spun round. Miek threw a piece of pizza towards the TV in disgust, giving a little click.

“Yeah, Noobmaster69. Called me a dickhead.”

Thor stomped over to Korg, took his headphones and spoke loudly into the mic.

“Buddy, you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine! Why, don’t I look all right?” Thor frowned.

“You look like melted ice cream.” Rocket crossed his arms, but despite his joke Katie could tell he was concerned.

Thor simply laughed and looked at them all. “So, what’s up?

“We need your help” Katie said gently “There might be a chance we could fix everything.”

“What, like the cable?” Thor burped “Cause that’s been driving me bananas for weeks.”

“Like Thanos.” Bruce spoke and Katie saw Thor’s smile slowly disappear. He put a shaky hand on Bruce’s shoulder and pointed at him.

“Don’t you say that name.”

Behind Thor Korg stood up, taking off his headphones. “Um, yeah. We don’t actually say that name in here.”

“Please take your hand off me” Bruce’s tone was quiet as he brushed away Thor’s grip on his shoulder. “Now, I know that… guy might scare you…”

“Umm… Stormbreaker?” Korg offered.

“No, who was swinging Stormbreaker?” Thor shot back.

“Thor.” Katie started gently “I get it, we all get it. You’re in a rough spot right now-”

“I’ve been there myself.” Bruce picked up from her “You wanna know who helped me out of it?”

“I don’t know…Natasha?” Thor snorted and Katie rolled her eyes.

“It was you. You helped me”.

“We think we can bring them back.” Katie looked at him.

“Little Stark, please stop. Stop, okay?” He pleaded, opening a packet of M&Ms. “I know you think I’m down here wallowing in my own self-pity, waiting to be rescued and saved. But I’m fine, okay? We’re fine, aren’t we?”

He looked at Korg and Miek eating pizza and playing once more on the Playstation.

“Nah, all good here, mate!” Korg nodded.

Katie looked back at Thor as he stared up at her. “So, whatever it is that you’re offering, we’re not into it, don’t care, couldn’t care less. Goodbye.”

“We need you Thunder God.” she said gently. ”Please.”

Thor shook his head and ignored her.

“There’s beer on the ship.” Rocket said, crossing his arms.

Thor paused, and without looking up he spoke again, this time his words softer “What kind?”

Tags

@the-omni-princess @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @icanfeelastormbrewing @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal

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blarrghe · 4 years ago

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Lavellan Bros pt. 2

The other side of the Lavellan Bros au, where Theo ( @serphena ) is the Inquisitor and Taren has remained First of their clan. The two grew up together, but drifted apart as Theo's work took him away from the clan for long stretches. Now, he's supposed to lead an army and save the world, and it's a lot to handle. A visit from an old friend helps, a little.

AO3 Link or read more under the cut!

Theo sat perched on a high branch over the soldiers’ encampment, just outside the great gate that marked the entrance of the village of Haven. He shuddered, hearing the familiar clash of steel on steel, but he remained in his hidden spot, watching. He was supposed to trust these “former” Templars with his life, now, and he wasn’t about to do that without at least watching how they trained.

Because of his unusual choice of vantage point, it took the messenger who ran from the Chantry at Josephine’s order some time to find him, and when she did, calling up to him with hesitant deference, he scowled at her. But, Theo obliged the request, nimbly hopping down to a lower branch and then hanging from that, his tall frame closing the distance between the lower branch and the ground so that he had only to let go, and drop the remaining few inches onto the ground.

He did not enjoy spending time in Josephine’s office, and attempted to do so as little as was possible. It wasn't her fault, of course, but it still made his skin crawl to be around her, and anyway, whatever she wanted him for probably had something to do with appeasing snotty shems. So, he took the long way around Haven before arriving at the Chantry, putting at least twenty minutes worth of time between receiving the message and actually walking through her door - not to mention however much time the messenger had wasted looking high and low for him, before that. For this reason, when Theo did finally discover the reason for his being summoned, he was suddenly filled with a palpable sense of guilt. For there, sitting straight and proper across from the ambassador, holding a tiny porcelain teacup and laughing with a light, jingling, laugh, was Taren Lavellan: First of his clan.

Shit.

“Taren?” He balked at the way Taren seemed to have made himself eminently comfortable in the small, dim office, carrying on in easy conversation with the Inquisition’s ambassador. “What are you doing here?”

“Aneth ara, da’len.”

It was funny, Taren still calling him da’len, he had long since outgrown the other elf, and he was far from a child. It being funny was the reason Taren had never ceased using the term. That, and endearment. And right now, he was in desperate need of both the love and humour that came with an old friend. He just wasn’t about to show it.

“Keeper Deshanna sent me,” he explained, taking Theo into a quick embrace before continuing, “she thought someone should check on you.”

Taren smiled, rising from the chair and placing his teacup delicately on Josephine’s desk with a grateful little bow, and jumped into the quick speech of his people - another welcome sound.

Theo looked away, cheeks flushing slightly. Of course. “Don’t you have better things to do than come all the way out here, First.”

Taren shrugged, ignoring his mood, “couldn’t think of any. So, are you going to give me a tour?”

They exited the office into the body of the small chantry building, now converted to house dining tables and crates of supplies for the villagers and Inquisition forces. Taren thanked the ambassador as they did, turning to offer her words of gratitude in formal human speech, as she attempted poorly to return the gesture with broken Elvhen. Theo tried not to roll his eyes.

“I like her.” Taren commented as they walked out of earshot, and this time Theo really did roll his eyes at him. Of course he did, Taren liked everybody.

“Why did Deshanna really ask you to come? Don’t tell me you’re here to take over.” He said it with a bitter pride that he hoped sounded confident, but secretly some part of him hoped that he was here to steal away the position. Taren had leadership experience and patience, two things that Theo always felt himself distinctly lacking when he tried to tend to his duties.

“No,” Taren replied, frowning, “I’m only here to help. I can’t… I can’t stay very long.”

Theo tried not to show any disappointment at that, he was still pretending to be annoyed at him, after all. He crossed his arms and kept walking, silently leading them out of the Chantry and stopping to look over the village from its steps. “Well, this is Haven.” Beside him, Taren sighed.

“First we hear that you’re their prisoner, and something about being responsible for...that.” Taren gestured at the gaping hole in the sky, swirling with green energy and terrifying blackness. The rift was not a pretty thing to look at, and Theo did not follow his gaze. “Then, you’re the herald for their goddess,”

“Prophet.” Theo corrected, grimacing.

Taren continued, “and apparently you’re doing magic now.”

Theo shook his head, and held out his marked hand. “This thing’s magic, not me.” He muttered.

Taren took a long look at it, deep lines of concern nestling between his brows. “Either way,” he said finally, “the Keeper - I - was worried about you.”

He couldn’t help but finally soften a little at that. He hated to admit it, but it was nice to be cared about. “You should meet Varric.” He offered, gesturing to the spot down the stairs a ways where Varric stood chatting amiably with some villagers. Varric was by far the friendliest of his new companions, and that seemed a good place to start.

Varric was more than happy to answer Taren’s many questions, and Taren was beyond enthralled by tales of the dwarf’s personal relationship with the Champion of Kirkwall, but soon he was looking curiously out toward the other buildings in Haven, and asking, in quick Elvhen, if there weren’t any other of their own people around.

Theo decided to introduce him to Solas, and almost immediately he regretted it. He had to all but tear Taren away from the mage, as their intellectual conversation on topics of various arcane arts shifted toward the subject of Dalish traditions, and threatened to grow tense.

“Well, he’s…” Taren reached searchingly for a word as Theo led him away.

“Smart?” Theo offered, Solas struck him as impossibly wordy, but interesting enough.

“Yes,” Taren agreed, genteel, “but also… sort of arrogant.” It was as close to an insult as Theo had ever heard from him, and he almost laughed.

That was about as much of a tour as Theo felt like giving, he didn’t particularly feel like seeking out either the Templar Commander or the Seeker, and he felt almost protective of Taren, wandering around as an elven apostate mage in this place full of mistrustful humans. Unfortunately, it seemed that avoiding Cassandra wasn’t in the cards, as she came angrily stomping up to them from the Chantry, another lecture ready on her lips.

“Herald!” She stopped him, irate. “You cannot continue to simply take things from the Chantry without asking.”

Taren shot Theo a curious look, and stepped slightly off to the side.

Theo knew already what this was about; the pastries. He’d taken a large pile of them from the kitchens to distribute among some of the hungrier looking village children, and it had been one of the only pleasant experiences he’d had in days. He returned her glare.

“I didn’t take them for myself,” he protested, “they were for the kids.” And the elven servants, too. But he didn’t expect a shem to understand that bit.

“There is food enough for everyone in Haven,” Cassandra continued her lecture, finger wagging, “but those were set aside for Josephine’s meeting today. She has important people to entertain, securing aid for our cause.”

Theo did not appreciate the explanation. To hell with important people. “It’s food, Cassandra! What is a Chantry even for if not helping the hungry?”

Cassandra was midway through scolding him again when Taren cautiously interrupted. “Josephine? You mean the Antivan ambassador I met when I arrived?”

Cassandra blinked, seeming only now to notice the other elf standing beside him. How like a shem, to ignore the people right in front of her. “Yes.” She said quickly, composing herself, but still huffy.

Taren made a thoughtful sound and offered her one of his gentle, crooked smiles. “When we were speaking earlier, she told me that she once convinced a baron to donate a large sum of his fortune over a game of Wicked Grace and some sour ale. I’m sure she’ll be fine without, uh, pastries.” He remarked, “she seems a very competent woman.”

Cassandra stuttered, apparently unsure how to refute this argument without also insulting Josephine. “She is, but -”

Theo took the opportunity, “- you aren’t implying Josephine’s nobles needed pastries more than children, are you, Cassandra?”

Cassandra huffed again, shaking her head at Theo. She returned to Taren, looking now slightly offended. “And you are?”

“An emissary from Theo’s clan,” Taren introduced himself cheerily, not dropping that lopsided smile, “Taren Lavellan, I am the clan’s First.” He said it like he assumed she should know what it meant, and Theo could tell from the look on Cassandra’s face that she was embarrassed that she did not. “Tell me, do all visiting diplomats receive pastries upon arrival, or just the important ones?” Theo snorted as Cassandra stuttered again, introducing herself in turn while her face grew red, and quickly excusing herself.

As she walked away and Theo continued to chuckle, Taren let out a long whistle, and elbowed Theo in the ribs.

“What?” Theo asked, noting that the amusement on Taren’s face was now more directed at him, than at the Seeker.

“Nothing, da’len.”

“What?” Theo demanded.

“You like that one.” Taren remarked teasingly.

“She’s a Seeker.” Theo refused the remark, “near as I can tell, that’s like a Templar, only even more high and mighty.”

Taren nodded in agreement, but he was giving him a look; the kind of look that only Keepers and Firsts can give, that says “I have known you since you were knee high, and you cannot keep your secrets from me - not even the ones you don’t know you are keeping.”

Theo grumbled something about disliking shems, and changed the subject. “Come on, there’s a tavern.”

“You don’t drink.”

“I do sometimes.” Theo muttered. He didn’t, not really, but the accusation made him feel young and immature, and he wanted to see Taren’s reaction to Sera. There, finally, would be a person that even Taren would dislike.

Sera was just as disdainful as he expected her to be, reacting to Taren’s face full of elaborate swirling tattoos and speech that was heavy with the affect of Elvhen. But, she somehow knew already about the argument over pastries, and she laughed - long and loud - while doing an impression of a flustered Cassandra, and Taren joined her.

“I love her.” Taren commented when she went to the bar for another round of ale.

“She hates elves.” Theo pointed out in surprise. Taren shrugged.

“I don’t think she knows any elves.”

Taren stayed only a few days, but he was helpful, as promised. He ran countless errands, helping to craft potions and aiding sick villagers while Theo made his frequent escapes out into the forest, and by the time he left he had forged a lasting friendship with Varric and managed to have at least a couple of civil discussions with Solas. Varric sent him off with a signed copy of his Tale of the Champion, and Sera admitted that he was “pretty alright”, which was high praise for a Dalish elf, from her. He had kept his distance from the Templar, and from the Circle mage, Vivienne, but Theo couldn’t blame him for that. And even they, at his parting, offered friendly farewells.

He was sad to see him go, knowing that Haven would be that much lonelier once he became the only Dalish elf to inhabit it again.

“If you need anything, anything at all -” Taren offered, hugging him once more as he stood by the village gates. The offer should have been given the other way around, Theo was the one amassing an army, after all.

“I’ll write, don’t worry. I can do this.” He doubted it, really doubted it, but he still wasn’t ready to reveal all of that uncertainty to his First.

“I’ll visit again, when I can.” Taren promised, “next time though, I want pastries.”

----

[BONUS SKYHOLD VISIT]

(Theo technically isn’t in Skyhold yet, but when he gets there Taren visits again, and meets a new fascinating mage...)

“A library? You have your own library?” Taren asked breathlessly, his excitement written all over his face.

“You absolute bore, yes.” Theo rolled his eyes at the elf. Taren had come to visit Skyhold following the exodus from Haven, and he was dutifully giving him another tour. Taren had already met and appreciated a number of new people, though he looked a little less comfortable in the large fortress than he had seemed at Haven some months before.

Theo showed him to the library, leading him up the stairs past Solas’ study space. Luckily, Solas was sleeping. Taren looked around wide-eyed and open-mouthed as they entered the large, circular room lined with shelves of ancient texts. “I’m never leaving.” He joked, a grin spreading over his face.

“Can you even reach the shelves?” Theo joked back. It was nice to see him again, after everything.

He spotted Dorian, leaning intently over some tome with a look of deep concentration, and figured he should be a gracious host and offer an introduction.

Dorian introduced himself with his characteristic charm, and Theo saw Taren twitch at the mention of Tevinter. But he was also looking at the mage with an expression of something else; fascination, maybe. Dorian took Taren in with a long look and a coquettish tilt of his head. “You’re related to Theo? This Theo?”

“Not by blood.” Theo answered, “we were clanmates.”

“I am the clan’s First.” Taren explained, and Theo wasn’t quite sure why he was flaunting the position.

The reveal got Dorian’s attention. “A First? That’s in line to be a Keeper, right?” He wasn’t aware that Dorian knew anything about how clans functioned, but he was always reading. Taren nodded. “Fascinating!” Dorian was suddenly excited, “so that means you’re a mage, doesn’t it? I’ve never met a Dalish mage, there’s so much I’d love to -” He stopped. Was Dorian blushing? He didn’t know Dorian could blush. “-sorry, I’m being too presumptive. I should let you settle in. But if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps sometime during your stay here you and I might look through some of these texts together? There are some elven ones which I can’t decipher, and to have the insight of a real Dalish mage would be just...incredible.” He offered, sounding shy. Another thing that Theo wasn’t aware Dorian was capable of.

Taren was stuttering when he answered, his cheeks growing awfully close in colour to that of his hair. “Of course, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to look through artefacts belonging to our people.”

Theo led Taren away to the next stop on his tour - the Tavern. Varric had asked about him more than once, and he had been storing up jokes to make once he had the small elf standing next to the Iron Bull since the day he had learned Taren was coming. As soon as they were out of the library, Theo let out a long whistle, and nudged Taren in the shoulder with his elbow.

“What?”

“Nothing, little brother.” Theo smirked.

“What?” Taren demanded.

“You like him.” Theo remarked, teasingly.

“He’s from Tevinter.” Taren protested, his cheeks still flush, “do you know how they treat our people there?”

Theo shrugged. “Supposedly, he wants to change all that.”

Taren glanced back over his shoulder toward the library, curious. “You trust him?” Hopeful, and more than a little eager.

Theo nodded, and Taren smiled.

#theo lavellan #taren lavellan #clan lavellan #dai #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age inquisition fanfic #dragon age fanfic #other peopels ocs #my writing #bros bros bros bros bros #family fluff

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thedirtpreferences · 6 years ago

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Preference #2 - Fight (Request).

Mick: Mick was always quiet. Seldom did he ever let his real emotions trickle through to the outside. Tonight, however, it was nearly impossible. Furthermore, the only thing that he could think of was his beautiful wife to be and how he had hurt her. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, the whole entire argument had formed from a misunderstanding. Things just simply got out of hand. Mick knew it was minimal, he knew it was something that would be forgotten the moment he saw you again, but for some reason he couldn’t shake the fact that this was the first concert you had ever missed. Consequently, the anxiety that swirled inside his head made it nearly impossible for him to convince himself that this was merely just a blip on the radar. When Mick made his way back to the hotel, he prepared what he was going to say in ten different ways inside his head. He had to make things right or he was going to lose his fucking head. Swiping the card through the door, Mick hesitated to open it knowing that confrontation was awaiting before him. But he had to make things right. Not just for his own sanity, but for you. So, he opened the door. And upon opening the door, a chuckle left his mouth relief washing over him in tremendous waves. You were fast asleep, snores leaving your mouth as your chest moved up and down steadily. Mick knew he should have trusted his gut when his gut told him the disagreement was no more than just that; a disagreement. Walking over to his side of the bed where the nightstand was, he was shocked to see a note that read: “I’m sorry we argued. I’m not mad, I’m not upset. My only request is that you cuddle me when you get back in here because this hotel room is fucking cold and I don’t know how to set the thermostat. I love you to Mars and back. PS, I laid your medications out. Don’t forget to take them.” Mick’s heart warmed as he saw the assortment of pills for his ankylosing spondylitis. How did he get so lucky to have someone who cared for him as much as you did? He was so grateful. Downing the pills, Mick turned off the bedside lamp and followed your instructions as he pulled your back to his chest and tangled his limbs with yours. “Welcome back.” You muttered half asleep, and Mick grinned into your hair.

Tommy: It was absolutely unbearable. Tommy couldn’t get the image of your face out of his head the entire concert. Your bottom lip quivering, your fight to keep the tears from overflowing from your eyes, the way you turned your back before he slammed the hotel door in complete rage. It was your very first fight and for Tommy’s general welfare, he was hopeful it was the last. “She probably wants her space anyways, bro.” The guys were trying to convince Tommy to stay for the after party concert, but he couldn’t get his mind off his girlfriend who was currently alone and sad in their shared hotel room. Even though Tommy loved to party, he loved his girlfriend that much more. “I don’t know Y/N is pretty pissed at me. Think I’m going to go make up with her instead.” Tommy reasoned as the elevator dinged on his floor making his heart sink to his stomach. He had thought about you his entire concert, yet he was so completely nervous to see you now that the time was finally here. “Catch you later bros.” Tommy grimaced as he waved slightly at them and made his way down the hall. As he walked down the hall he couldn’t help but to feel nervous not knowing quite what to expect from you. Furthermore, all he wanted was for your fight to be over. Approaching the door, Tommy let out a huge exhale before swiping his card and walking in. When he saw you, his heart stopped. Wearing one of his oversized t-shirts that fell just above your knee, with a messy bun and no makeup on, Tommy swore you had never looked so beautiful. That is until he saw your puffy eyes and your red nose. “Baby…” He frowned as he walked over to the chair you were curled up in. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he reached his hand out to stroke a piece of hair behind your ear before stopping himself. He wondered if you were still mad. Suddenly answering his unasked question, you reached out and grabbed his hand and placed it to your cheek rolling your face into his palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t support you tonight.” You uttered as Tommy smiled sadly in response. “I’m sorry I was an insensitive asshole.” You smiled at his apology, as you slid to the edge of the chair, wrapping your legs around his waist and locking your arms around his neck. “Consider us even then?” You asked, squealing when Tommy suddenly stood up lifting you up in the process. “We’re even.” He leaned in and kissed you sloppily on the lips.

Nikki: He felt bad. Not the type of bad that left you feeling guilty for a few minutes, but the type of bad that robbed you of your happiness for hours on end. Nikki had never raised his voice at you in his life. Truthfully, he felt incapable of ever being able to do so anyways. Furthermore, you were Nikki’s rock. And how could he disrespect or demean his rock? His other half that kept him feeling strong and secure? Apparently very easily. Nikki had already been running late for the show due to the fight that had been slowly escalating between the two of you for the past few hours before, so finally he had to make a choice when the time came: resolve the argument and swallow his pride, or leave on bad terms and go to the concert. Unfortunately, he had made the wrong choice by going to the concert. And he paid the price because the entire time he repeatedly fucked up. Be it between accidentally messing up the chords or playing the wrong thing at the wrong time, Nikki could not pull himself together to focus. In addition, he simply felt bad. And he still felt bad even as he watched you smoke on the balcony of the hotel room long after the concert ended. You didn’t know he was back as he watched you, studying your motions. Truthfully, he was trying to think of the right words to say so that you would be aware of how sorry he truly was. That all ended, however, when you caught him from the corner of your eye and turned to face him. You had been crying, it was evident in your features. Nikki somehow felt worse. Finding the courage to walk towards you, he pulled back the sliding door and stepped out into the cool spring night. It was silent for a few seconds as you both stared at each other with complete regret and and total sadness swimming in your eyes. Nikki wanted to say something, he wanted to scream to the world how sorry he was but he couldn’t. Furthermore, the lump in the back of his throat obstructed him from uttering just a single, solitary word. Little did he know you felt the exact same feeling. A few more seconds passed before you finally launched yourself at your boyfriend. Wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, he lifted you up and swung you around in a circle. “I’m so sorry.” He choked as you stayed locked in your position, the both of you unwilling and incapable of moving. The grasp was incapacitating, and you were powerless to your boyfriends tight hold. “I’m sorry too.” You whispered. Sometimes the quietest apologies were the most sincere and in this case actions certainly spoke louder than words.

Vince: Everybody could see a noticeable difference in his performance. Vince was typically a high energy performer, darting from one side of the stage to the other and never once standing in the same spot. Tonight, however, he was completely and totally different. Even the audience noticed it as they fed off his lack of energy. This show had been a complete and total bust. The band knew it, the audience knew it, Vince knew it, but you didn’t. You didn’t because you weren’t there. And that was the problem. You should have been there. You were always there, but tonight you weren’t. And Vince had no one else to blame but himself. He had been the one that had picked the fight and pushed you to the point of staying at the hotel. He had been the one that made you feel uninvited and unwanted. And you weren’t the one that had to live with that feeling, he had to. And, boy, did he ever. In fact, he had felt so guilty throughout the concert that the second their last song ended, Vince was practically sprinting to get off the stage so that he could go back to the hotel and speak to you. But little did he know he had fucked up once again. Because he was so antsy to get back to you to make things right, he had left his hotel key in his dressing room at the stadium. Shit mistake. “Well, fuck!” He shouted as he kicked the wall behind him. He couldn’t believe that he had forgot the stupid card! As he turned back around to knock on the door, his heart jumped as he saw you resting against the door frame the hotel card between your middle and index finger. “Forget something?” Your voice was mischievous, a slight smile pulling at your lips. “How’d you guess?” Vince muttered, snatching the card from your hand and taking a deep breath. He wasn’t pleased with your general delight to see him frazzled, but he was happy to see you not as angered as you were before. “I’m guessing you had a rough night.” You grimaced crossing your arms across your chest as Vince pushed past you with frustration. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I should have never spoke to you that way, it was completely uncool.” Closing the door behind you, you sat on the bed as Vince paced. “I needed you tonight, Y/N. I really fucking needed you there, I felt like I couldn’t be myself, the concert blew completely. I never realized how important it was to have you there, but it’s super important...And I’m sorry, okay?” Even though you were still mad, your heart softened at his words. You couldn't believe how much it meant for him to have you there and it was definitely something you needed to hear. “Vince!” You cut him off as you stood up, stopping him in his tracks. “I’ll never leave you again, okay? I’m sorry too.” Vince stopped in his tracks and stared at you for a second before suddenly scooping you in his arms and holding you tight. You melted into his tight grasp as he held you there, knowing that all had finally been forgiven. After a few seconds went by you felt Vince’s lips at your ear whispering,”Wanna show me how sorry you are?” And you knew it was going to be a long night.

#the dirt #the dirt imagines #the dirt imagine #the dirt preferences #the dirt blurbs #the dirt one shot #the dirt one shots #douglas booth #daniel webber #colson baker #mgk #iwan rheon #the dirt fanfiction #the dirt fanfic

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alphawave-writes · 5 years ago

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Evil actions and good intentions final chapter: ‘Gravitationally locked’

Synopsis: In the aftermaths of the final battle, Harold reflects on the future of himself, Overwatch, and the world.

Read it here or find it on AO3. You can find me on twitter @alphawave13 or on my Sigrold discord server.

It’s been a wild ride writing this. This story didn’t turn out the way I initially planned, but I think that’s a good thing. Change, I think, is the biggest thing about this story, especially in how Sigma and Harold grow as people. I’m probably gonna stick to one shots from now on while I recover from long fic fatigue.

It really means the world to me that you guys supported me as much as you did throughout this journey. I got fanart, and more fanfics, and a Sigrold week, and a lot more smut than I expected, and I’m so glad I contributed as much as I did. It’s not goodbye, just a farewell for now. So thanks for reading, and thanks for all the space dads. In Harold Winston’s famous words: Never accept the world as it appears to be. Dare to see it for what it could be.

For many different reasons Overwatch doesn’t put Harold on missions. His leg still needs time to heal, that is the most immediate excuse, but in truth the mission to Horizon had made some things complicated. Namely, the fact that Dr. Harold Winston is legally dead for the second time in a row. And honestly, Harold has had his fill of excitement for the time being. Action-packed fighting and running is all well and good, but he’s not built for it. Still, there's no way he can't be involved, so Winston convinces him to becomes a handler during the missions. If he’s honest with himself, he’s good at it. He keeps calm under pressure and he’s able to pick out the little details in the grainy surveillance data. Surveillance work like this isn’t too different from the work he did decades ago in Horizon. The difference is that it'll help the lives of many, rather than a few gorillas and some uptight Horizon scientists.

Siebren insists that being a handler is Harold's true calling, and he wants to agree, but he’s sure sooner or later he’ll feel that itch, that desire to help people more directly, to be there with the other Overwatch members in the thick of it. Until then, he’ll stay here and do what he's good at.

With a few exceptions, Siebren doesn’t go on missions either. He’s continuing his research into gravity and the nature of his powers, which has now expanded to include wormholes. Symmetra is helping him out on that matter in the hopes that perhaps his work could be incorporated into her hard light teleporter. It is a little bit of a shame he doesn’t go on more missions, because Harold always likes the way Siebren looks in his armour, especially the way that harness of his digs perfectly into his thighs. Then again, given the choice, he’d vastly prefer Siebren not wear his sexy armour and stick around the base. Who else is going to push his wheelchair and dote on him?

From the outside, there is the impression that Watchpoint: Gibraltar is having one of its slow days. An insider like Harold, however, knows that it’s never not busy. On his end alone, he’s been reading and re-reading his original research into his nanobots, searching for ways to improve the design. If he’s not doing that, he’s souping up his wheelchair with Torbjörn and Reinhardt to make it fly, and if he’s not doing that, he’s doing physical therapy with Mercy and Genji. And on the few instances he has free time, it’s usually spent with someone else. Often times it’s with Winston or Siebren. Occasionally it’s with Tracer or Mei or Sojourn.

Today, however, he’s expecting someone else. Someone he’s spent a lot of time tracking down and a lot more time convincing to come over.

At the edge of the base, a mech in the shape of a sphere rolls over, moving to a sudden stop in front of Harold. Siebren is holding onto the bars of Harold’s wheelchair, shaking his head incredulously while Winston laughs happily. The top of the mech pops open, revealing a large hamster wearing a small vest. The hamster waves.

“Hammond, it’s good to see you,” Winston says.

Hammond makes a series of squeaks. After seeing the blank stares from Harold and Siebren, he rolls his eyes audibly, and then punches something on the console of his mech. “THE HAMSTER IS HAPPY TO SEE YOU ALL TOO.”

Harold grins proudly. “I’ve heard you’ve been up to some trouble while I was gone.”

Hammond makes some discontent squeaks, eyebrows rising in surprise and shame. He crosses his arms and turns his head to the side with a huff.

“A pity," Harold smirks. "I’ve been looking forward to see what kind of trouble you can make with us. What do you say, little guy?”

Hamond makes a questioning squeak to Winston, who nods his head. His little cheeks bunches up into a wide smirk as he makes a series of confident squeaks. “THIS SMALL MAMMAL WILL SHOW YOU WHAT KIND OF TROUBLE HE CAN GET UP TO.”

Siebren is still shaking his head. "This little rascal is going to be the end of me."

Hammond proves himself to be a rebellious little creature, and has a lot of fun messing with others while he’s not in his mech. Aside from Siebren, Harold, and Winston, no one else seems to have caught on that the pilot of Wrecking Ball is a genetically enhanced hamster. When he’s not working on his mech, he revels in pranking the others. His favourite victim is Torbjörn, moving things around in his workplace and modifying his gadgets so they work differently. No one questions the strange ball mech becoming a new member of the reformed Overwatch, and no one ever asks about Wrecking Ball’s true identity. Soon, Hammond becomes a member of this strange interspecies family, albeit a rebellious one who very much doesn’t like to be showered with affection. In other words, typical behaviour not unlike that of a human teenager.

If Siebren has any opinions about suddenly being a father figure to a hamster and a gorilla, he doesn’t say anything. Privately, Harold thinks Siebren is beginning to like the strange new relationships he’s forming, not that he’d ever say it out loud.

Overwatch expands over time. New operatives from unlikely places arrives to join the fight. Hanzo, Genji’s brother, arrives to quiet fanfare, and keeps mostly to himself, taking his time to warm up to his new comrades and to his new life under Overwatch. Much louder and much more destructively is the arrival of Junkrat and Roadhog, whose explosive entrance made more than a few people question why Winston allowed the criminals to work under their banner, even if they were trying to go "legit". Symmetra and Mei were both especially vocal against Junkrat’s stay in particular, but while Mei continues to remain icy to the Junkers after their first meeting, Symmetra has slowly warmed up to the pair, to the surprise of everyone.

Orisa and her creator, Efi, both don’t show up in person as they are still protecting Numbani, but they are also made Overwatch agents through a long-distance call. Pharah pledges her allegiance and offers her support, but says she has an obligation to lead her own team in Helix first and foremost. Baptiste arrives suddenly one day with Sombra, making snide complaints about the lacking facilities like it’s an average day for them. Their reasons for joining are purposely vague whenever they’re questioned, and Harold suspects they’re ultimately self-serving, but they help with their respective talents and don’t push too many buttons.

One day, when he’s sure she’ll least expect it, Harold hands Sombra a framed photo. Her nose scrunches up.

“What’s this?” She asks.

“You asked me to get you some pictures. Turns out I had some photos in the data I retrieved up there. It’s old, but hey, you wanted a photo from space, right?”

For once, Sombra is silent, cradling the photograph gently like it’s made of the most fragile crystal. She observes the graininess of the photo, the pitch black of Space and the shimmering blue Earth, big and wide and beautiful.

Her lips thin. “I was joking, you know.”

“I know. But I found it, and you asked for it, so I thought, why not?”

Sombra smiles softly, a rare warm look that makes her look more youthful and vibrant. Like the flash of a camera, it's there for only a second before her warm smile turns into a colder smirk. “Things like this,” she waves the photo, “are why men like you get killed.”

Harold shrugs. “I came back from the dead twice now. And that's not counting all the other times I've nearly died in the past few months already. I almost used up all of my nine lives.”

Sombra snorts. “You’re not a cat. And this is a boring photo, you know. I’m not in it.”

“It’s a picture of the Earth. Everybody’s in it. Everyone's together.” He smiles. "That's the best thing about looking at Earth from the moon, I think."

Tracer will later ask Harold why Sombra is acting so nice for the rest of the day. For Sombra’s pride, he fakes ignorance. No one else needs to know.

As the nights grow longer, Harold finds himself retreating to his bedroom more often. Siebren is often there before him, helping Harold into bed before curling up next to him. He remembers those little moments in their past when they used to have playful arguments about who gets to be the little spoon. The good thing about being handicapped is that he gets first preference. Soon, warm, hairy arms surrounds his midsection, a hooked nose presses into his neck. A soft sigh breathes onto the sensitive flesh, making him shiver.

“Heard you had a fun day with Reinhardt,” Harold smirks.

“Don’t remind me,” Siebren groans. “My arm is sore from that arm-wrestling contest. Look at it.” He dangles it in front of Harold’s face. Harold lightly pushes it away.

“It’s your fault for accepting that challenge when Brigitte told you not to. She literally said that Reinhardt's super competitive and he doesn't hold back.”

“You say that after it is easier to look the cow in the ass,” Siebren mutters. “He was bragging to everybody about how he beat me so easily. It’s not my fault I do not regularly participate in such childish competitions of physical strength. If I used my powers, I could’ve won easily.”

“Sore loser.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Showoff.”

Siebren laughs. “Cute.”

“Handsome.” Harold chuckles when he lifts his arm, reaching behind to rub Siebren’s head. Siebren makes a sound in between a purr and a sigh, which makes Harold think of that time he worked with an animal shelter back when he was young and fresh out of university. Bony fingers crawl underneath his shirt, smoothing over his stomach. Harold can’t help but smile a little. “Siebren,” he warns.

“I’m not doing anything. Not tonight. I just want to feel you.”

Harold giggles incredulously. “You do realise what that sounds like in English, right?”

“You know what I mean,” Siebren scoffs. “I just…I need a reminder every now and then. To know you’re here. Even after everything we’ve gone through, you being by my side feels like a dream.”

“And what if it was? How’d you dream I’d end up here?”

“In my dreams, you wouldn’t end up here. We’d be together, have been together for a long time now.” Siebren smiles indulgently as he gazes up at the ceiling. “You wouldn’t have your accident, and neither would I. We’d be healthy and happy and content. We’d still be conducting research, but our progress will slow over time. We’d have a home somewhere far away from the hustle and bustle, with its own workspace for us to do any projects we so choose. Knowing you, you’d have convinced me to let us have a pet or two, or seven, or fifteen. I would not be surprised at all if our home turned into a literal zoo by this time.”

Harold giggles. It does sound like something he’d do.

Siebren continues, “I’d like to think we’d be married by that point. We’d have beautiful wedding rings and a photo album for the entire ceremony. I do not know if we’d have children—you care far too much about Winston and Hammond to not consider them as such—but I don’t think I would have disagreed if you desired to adopt or not. You would have worn me down by that point.”

“Funny how life goes,” Harold whispers. “Is that what you want?”

“Children? At my age? Absolutely not. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think that’s possible anymore if we take our current circumstances into consideration.”

“Not that. I’m talking about marriage.” He takes Siebren’s hand away from his stomach to the bed, entwining their fingers together. It’s impossibly warm and a bit sweaty. His eyes glance down to Siebren’s ring finger. “Given the chance, would you ever marry?”

Siebren gulps, trying to grasp the individual words—or perhaps even sentences—that came out of Harold’s mouth. His throat sounds dry. “I…m-marriage? It...it’s impossible, Harold. You’re legally dead for the second time in a row and I do not dare find out whether I'm officially alive or not. And even if we had rings and a ceremony and guests…” He trails off, no doubt fantasizing about what such a ceremony would be like. Harold tries to do the same, but can only imagine Winston in an ill-fitting tux and Hammond in a strangely fitted three piece suit. Suddenly, Siebren clears his throat loudly. “You and I, it’s…it’s not possible anymore.”

“I never said if it was possible now, or if it was with me. I’m saying, if you had the chance to marry anyone, and I mean anyone, right now, would you?”

Siebren slowly turns Harold to the other side so they’re facing each other. His smile is gentle and soft, in stark contrast to his sharp features. His piercing blue eyes look at Harold like he’s the most fascinating thing to ever exist in the world. Like he’s stardust, and complex mathematical equations, and the complete musical works of Erik Satie, and the secrets to gravity, all wrapped up with a bow on top.

Siebren smirks. “You already know the answer.”

Harold smiles bashfully. “You want to know my answer if you asked me that question?”

“No need,” Siebren chuckles. He presses a soft kiss to Harold’s jaw. “I know the answer to that too, my treasure.”

A nervous chuckle bubbles out of Harold's throat, a crimson blush overtaking his cheeks. His head is swimming and his body feels like Siebren's used his powers on him, making him drift higher and higher in the air. From anyone else it’s just a statement, but from Siebren that’s as good as a confession, a hidden promise of things to come or things he wishes would come. It’s hard trying to imagine how they’d be like if they were married because as beautiful as it might be, it doesn’t seem real. His reality is here with Overwatch, helping them travel across the globe to fight terrorists and save people. A peaceful life with Siebren by his side is out of his reach, not that he cares anymore. Reality is often better than fantasy, after all.

Siebren’s smiling at him. “You’re thinking again.”

Harold puts his hand on Siebren’s cheek. His eyes are focused on the space between their bodies. “Would you change anything about your life? Anything at all?”

Siebren’s lips fall as his gaze goes glassy. He thinks, seriously thinks, for several seconds. “There are things I wish did happen. I wished I didn’t lose my mind in my accident. I wish I didn’t have to hold the fragile pieces together. I wish I didn’t spend years mourning you when I thought you were dead. But I wouldn’t change anything. The law of entropy and the cosmic censorship hypothesis suggests that my current circumstances are the most optimal path my life could take.”

Harold smirks. “Just admit it. You like this, being the hero, saving people and fighting off the bad guys.”

Siebren rolls his eyes. “Perhaps I do.”

“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive.” Harold quotes without thinking. “I wouldn’t change anything at all. If I did, I wouldn’t be alive. Literally and metaphorically.”

Siebren nods. “Dr Harold Winston is dead, just as Dr Siebren de Kuiper is dead. We’re different people, taking on their forms, living on with their faces but not their lives.” He runs his hand over Harold’s cheek, trailing over the catheter. “I’m Sigma, and you’re Charon. Let Dr Winston and Dr de Kuiper be the star-crossed lovers they were meant to be, up in the dark realms of space. Let us dare to see the world for what it could be.”

Harold smirks. “Should I call you Sigma now? Are you going to call me Harold?”

“I don’t care anymore. You should ask yourself those questions.”

“What, should I call myself Charon now?” Harold says incredulously.

“If you want to,” he replies. “You know who you are. And I can assure you, names do have power. Whatever you choose to call yourself, that will affect who you are and what you become.”

It’s easier said than done. It’s harder for him to let go of Harold. It is him, or at least a part of him, and it’s hard to think of himself as a different person or a different entity. He’s changed, he knew from the beginning that he has changed, but it wasn’t enough. That’s what he thought, but then it only takes a few little changes to become a different person. The man in front of him right now is a prime example of it. Is it possible that it applies to him as well? Can he be a different person, even when so much of him still feels like Harold?

Siebren is staring at him. “Well?”

Harold’s eyes lower. “Do you think I’ve changed enough?”

“What do you think?” Siebren asks.

For an instant Harold sees his reflection in Siebren’s glimmering eyes only to find himself staring at someone else. It’s not Harold Winston that Siebren stares so lovingly at. It’s a different person. A better person.

The corner of his lips quirks upwards. “You know what?" He says, "I think I finally have.”

The Orca drops down like butter in front of a desecrated Ayutthaya. The buildings that line the streets are old and crumbling and the streets are wide and filled with people. Stalls in the local market have been abandoned alongside the many vans and pick-up trucks. Many people are hiding in the ruins of the buildings. Others are trying to lead others to safety. In the distance, near the tourist traps and the temples stands a massive omnic, red lights scanning the horizon, hundreds of smaller omnics surrounding it.

The doors to the Orca open and four step out, the Overwatch emblem standing proud on their person. Tracer’s voice leaks through the comms.

“Alright chaps, we’ve got us a big ol’ Omnic. Government wants to preserve the temples so we gotta lead it away to the forest nearby. I’ll try and do it from the ship but you guys gotta be prepared to take this thing down yourselves.”

Sombra’s voice chirps in. “You know I could hack this thing, right?”

“So why aren’t you here?” Tracer grumbles.

“Ay, it's too hot there. You go have fun in Thailand."

Tracer’s eyeroll was practically audible. “You ready, Winston?”

“I’m ready.” He turns his head. “What about you, Hammond?”

“THE HAMSTER WANTS TO GET THE BALL ROLLING ALREADY.”

“Sigma?” Winston asks.

“Sigma present,” he declares.

“Charon?”

He fiddles with the ring on his hand, his eyes glancing at Sigma’s neck, where an identical ring rests on a simple chain necklace. It took a lot of people by surprise that morning, waking up to find the rings on their person, sipping coffee side by side. There was no grand ceremony, no big reveal. One day they were just two people. The next, they have decided to considered themselves married husbands. It's not official, and the rings are cheap and symbolic, but as long as they believe it, that's all he cares about.

It’s still a bit weird to consider Sigma his husband. Until that word doesn't taste so strange from his tongue, he'll say it again and again, and even when it does taste sweet, he'll say it some more. It's weird in so many ways, but it feels so right.

As perfectly right as being in this moment is, with his new found family, despite the danger.

“Charon here, ready and waiting for someone to get themselves injured.” He glances mischievously at Wrecking Ball.

“DIAGNOSIS: I PRESCRIBE YOU WITH WHINY [REDACTED] DISEASE.”

Charon smirks. “And here I thought I brought you up to be a polite little boy.”

“ANALYSIS: YOU MADE THIS SOFTWARE. CONCLUSION: DEAL WITH IT.”

“Settle down, you two,” Winston says. “We have a job to do. The world needs us heroes.”

Sigma scoffs lightly. “Do we count as heroes?”

"What, don't think we're heroes?" Charon asks.

"I'm not saying that at all. I'm just confirming how much collateral damage we obliged to make today," Sigma says.

Charon lets the back of his hand brush over Sigma's hand. This close, Harold can feel the strings of gravity tug at his fingertips, eager to pull him into its orbit. Inside his bloodstream, the nanobots activate, coursing through his body. He closes his eyes, savouring the sticky humid air and the thundering steps of the giant omnic and this feeling of completeness, being so close to his loved ones. He opens his eyes, dark brown irises flickering into gold. The last traces of Harold Winston leaves his body, and in his place Charon emerges.

By his side, everybody readies their weapons. With practiced hands he checks the jet injector and the backpack on his back filled with golden serum. He lets out a quiet gasp when he feels something grab onto his hand. Gloved fingers wrap around his, squeezing tightly before letting go. The man it belongs to nods his head towards the omnics and smiles. Are you ready? Sigma asks.

There's no doubt in his mind. Charon nods, smiling proudly. I'm ready. Silently, the four of them leave the ship and approach the Omnics, ready to fight and save the city.

He's dared to change himself for the better. Now, it's time for him to do the same for the world.

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.

Haruki Murakami – ‘Kafka on the Shore’

#Overwatch #Sigma #Siebren de Kuiper #Harold Winston #Sigrold #Oh my god I am so glad this is over #I mean I'm sad but also kinda relieved #This is my baby and now it's gone off for greener pastures #It's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders but I miss the weight?#I hope you guys like this story I've crafted. It really has been a journey

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rahirah · 5 years ago

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Okay, I KNOW you've reblogged that "DVD commentary" meme at some point in your life, so: would you like to do DVD commentary on the opening scene of "My Baby Is A Centerfold"? (Or less detailed commentary on the whole "My Baby Is A Centerfold"?)

My Baby Is A Centerfold DVD Commentary

I wrote this story in 2004, fifteen years ago, so fair warning, I don't recall a lot of the minutiae that went through my head when I was writing it. However, I will do my best!

This was one of the first short stories I wrote set in the same universe as my novel series. I wrote it for the Summer of Spike community over on Livejournal – Summer of Spike was, I believe, the first of the "seasonal" fic communities, and inspired a lot of imitators (including Seasonal Spuffy and Summer of Giles, which are still going to this day) but it only lasted for a couple of rounds. Anyway, someone had recently asked me what happened to the Trio in my 'verse. I already knew that the Trio had started their careers as criminal masterminds while the events of Necessary Evils were going on, and that after NE ends, Warren would try enslaving Katrina in pretty much the same way, Katrina would end up dead, and Warren would try to frame Buffy. Buffy being in a very different frame of mind by this point in my 'verse, while she initially panics at the thought that she accidentally killed someone, Spike and Dawn are able to convince her to investigate first. And of course they discover that Katrina's been dead for several hours, so they call the police and that's when Terminal Line takes place, and Buffy makes first contact with Detective Nguyen, who becomes a recurring NPC and eventually the captain of the Sunnydale PD and is instrumental in Buffy's plan to bring the supernatural out in the open and ANYWAY.

For this story I wanted to do a lighthearted buddy cop sort of thing with Spike and Dawn, and it occurred to me that the Trio would have had to have set up their spy camera system, but since they all got arrested after the Katrina incident, they never had the chance to do anything with the footage. And in my 'verse, some of that footage would have been pretty racy. So what would happen if Buffy and Spike found out about it? The story pretty much wrote itself from there.

I could tell something was wrong the minute I walked in the door. The house had that too-quiet thundercloud feeling about it, and it wasn't just because of the blackout curtains. Buffy was still at the rink, Tara was at her summer job, and Willow was probably asleep (she's not as much of an early riser as Spike is). Normally this means an afternoon of bad TV and junk food with Spike, but the TV wasn't on. Spike always has the TV on.

So this story takes place between Necessary Evils and A Parliament of Monsters, when Spike has moved in with Buffy and Dawn, and Willow and Tara are renting the Summers's basement. It always bugged me that the characters on the show only had to worry about work when the plot required it. When the writers get bored, Buffy can suddenly support a dozen people on a starting school counselor's salary. So while I try not to make a huge deal of it in my 'verse, I do a lot of thinking about how everyone supports themselves. Especially people like Tara, who's sure as hell not getting any money from her family. And with Buffy I wanted to give her a day job that A) she would enjoy, and B) would be flexible with regard to slaying. Which is how she became a skating instructor.

When Spike moved in there was a whole big reshuffling thing, like musical chairs with bedrooms, and Spike ended up getting my old room as an office for Bloody Vengeance Inc., the demon-hunting business he and Anya started. I figured he was probably holed up in there downloading porn or something. Never overlook an opportunity to collect blackmail material is my motto. I dumped my library books on the couch and snuck upstairs with super-Slayer's-sister stealth, which wouldn't do me any good at all if Spike was actually, like, paying attention to his super-keen vampire hearing. Which apparently he wasn't, since I got all the way upstairs without a single physically impossible threat bellowed in my direction.

I had an argument about this with another fic writer once – she felt that Spike threatening Dawn with physical harm was abusive and horrible, and Dawn would be traumatized for life. I pointed out that A) it's canon that Spike does this when he's worried about Dawn's safety, and B) even if you're not a soulless vampire, it's really common for fear in a de facto parental unit to express itself as anger, C) does anyone seriously believe that Spike would ever follow through on any of those over the top threats? Seriously? And D) Dawn canonically blows off said threats and does not appear to actually feel threatened in the slightest. We ended up agreeing to disagree.

Spike was in the office, all right--I could see his hair glowing in the light of the computer monitor. I couldn't see what he was looking at, but whatever it was, it must have been really good, 'cause his eyeballs were practically SuperGlued to the screen. Or maybe really bad, because he looked horrified, not turned on. OK, what horrified William the Bloody? Besides the prospect of squiring Buffy to "Fantasy On Ice?" This I had to see. I rounded Spike's desk and peered over his shoulder. "Hey, mister, you got feelthy pictures?"

If it was Willow? Two clicks of a mouse's tail and whatever was in that window would be closed, password protected, PGP-encrypted, and accessible only through an FTP server in Outer Mongolia. Spike's way better with technology than some vampires I could name, but when he's taken by surprise he still resorts to more primitive methods. He scrambled around in his chair with the panicky flail of a cat falling off a windowsill and slapped a hand across my eyes. "Don't look!" he ordered, about half an octave higher than usual.

This story is full of early 2000s-computer jargon. It's not quite as dated as the show itself, but I give it the ol' college try.

Which meant it was a moral imperative for me to put some of that self-defense training he'd been giving me into practice and kick him in the shins--oh, come on, you'd have done it, too. "Fuck!" Spike yelled. He grabbed for his ankle, overbalanced, and banged his head on the edge of the desk as his chair rolled out from under him. He crashed to the floor, leaving me with a free-and-clear view of the computer.

For someone who's been accused of writing the Everybody Loves Spike Show, I sure have him behave like an idiot a lot.

Now, I want to make it real clear that I'm a sixteen-year-old of the world. I know all about the birds and the bees and the vampires. I've even done a little buzzing myself. And of course I know that my sister and Spike have--well, 'having sex' is way too tame for what they do. Anyway, I know all about The Sex in theory. I also know how sausages are made, in theory. That doesn't mean I'm panting for an up-close at the gooey details of either process. Especially when it involves a grainy RealPlayer file of my very naked sister bouncing up and down on my very naked best-friend-and-platonic-lust-object in Barbie's S&M Playhouse.

I may have written this whole story just to have an excuse to use the term "Barbie's S&M Playhouse."

I may have said something. It may have been 'gleep.' Luckily for my retinas, at that minute Spike lunged up over the edge of the desk and put his fist through the screen. The monitor exploded in a shower of pretty green sparks, and Spike stood there glaring at it all clenchy-jawed and snarly, breathing hard through his teeth. He turned the glare on me. "I swear by all that's unholy, Bit, the next time you sneak up on me like that I'm going to put you in a two-by-three box without benefit of hacksaw!"

Monitors! With! TUBES!!!

I glared right back--no way was he going to make this my fault. "How was I supposed to know you were watching Vampire Pervert Theater 3000?" I snapped. "I thought you were just watching NORMAL porn! Jeez, Spike, if you and Buffy are gonna to videotape your stay in the Satellite of Love, at least--"

I had another discussion with a beta about whether or not Spike would download porn. My argument was "He's a guy."

Spike vamped out and hurled the monitor clean off the desk and into the wall with a roar (and when I say 'roar,' I don't mean 'loud yell,' I mean 'roar') of "WE DIDN'T BLOODY WELL TAPE IT!"

Wow. I never knew monitors were made up of that many pieces. "You mean you taped it without telling her?" I squeaked.

"NO!" Spike flexed his computer-punching hand (bloody knuckles, shards of glass, v. sexy) and shook off the lumpies. "Someone soon-to-be-departed did! I've never seen the sodding thing before in my life!" He looked really bewildered underneath the homicidal fury.

It's really very interesting to go back and compare Early Barbverse Spike to Late Barbverse Spike in terms of what progress he makes (or doesn't make) in controlling his temper over the course of the series. Hopefully I make the progression believable.

"OK, where did you find it?" I asked. I didn't exactly want to say so, but it occurred to me that maybe Buffy had taped it without telling him. Buffy may play it all Sandra Dee on the outside, but on the inside? Pure Gypsy Rose Lee. She had to keep it all bottled up during The Angel Years, and during The Riley Years she had to be really careful not to break him, and now, well--Exhibit A, currently lying in ten zillion pieces on the floor. "Was the file just sitting on your hard drive, or...?"

Spike looked super-guilty all of a sudden. His head ducked down between his shoulders, vampire ninja turtle style. "Mighthaveclickedonalinksomethin'boutSlayers," he mumbled.

"In other words, you were surfing for Slayer porn?" I folded my arms and settled in for some primo foot-tapping. "Don't you get enough of that at home?"

The interesting thing about the Buffyverse is that the supernatural ISN'T really a secret. Tons of people know about it. It's just no one admits to knowing about it. Which makes my Buffy's job a lot easier when she decides to drag it out of the closet. Which is a roundabout way of saying, if you know where to look, of course there would be Slayer fetish websites.

"I was not! I just...happened on it, like, looking for something else!" Spike is the world's second worst liar (Willow is the winner and still champeen) and he could see I wasn't buying it. "And anyway, it's a bloody good thing I did! Christ knows how long that's been out there for any spotty little deviant with their mum's credit card number to--" His eyes went Inuyasha-huge as fresh horror overtook him. "How long has it been out there?"

Barbverse Dawn is a Sesshumaru fangirl for sure.

"I'm more worried about who the cameraman was," I said. Spiders walked up my spine for a second. "I mean, that was your bedroom, right?"

Two seconds later we burst in through the door of Mom's old room, now Buffy and Spike's House of Ill Repute. I dove for the closet and Spike ripped open the door of the big old mahogany wardrobe he'd dragged over from the crypt. (But he didn't go inside, because as everyone knows, it's very foolish to shut yourself inside a wardrobe.) I stared at the crush of cute tops and kicky boots, ooh, I bet Buffy won't miss this one, she hasn't worn it in weeks... "How many shoes does she OWN?" I pulled a box free and the whole Leaning Tower Of Gucci collapsed on me.

My fic is usually a game of Spot the Narnia Reference

"Stop larking about," Spike growled, grabbing my feebly waving hand and yanking me out of the sea of footwear. "By the angle it's got to be around here somewhere..." He did one of those effortless vampire leaps and chinned himself on the top of the wardrobe, peering over the facade of wooden curlicues on the top. "Got the bastard!" He snaked one arm over the rim and jerked something small and black free, and dropped back to the floor with a thump. "What the hell...?"

It was a tiny, palm-sized camera with a little antenna sticking out of the top. Witness the creepiness. "I'm freaking out here," I said, plopping down on the bed. "Someone actually broke into our house and hid that up there!"

Spike snarled and closed his fist, and the camera joined the monitor in Electronics Heaven before I could yell, "Wait, that's evidence!"

"Not any more, it's not."

"It could lead us back to whoever planted it," I said impatiently. "We could have woken Willow up and had her...I don't know, do something technical."

This is why Spike needs Dawn around. She's the criminal mastermind in the family.

"Point." Spike shoved his lower lip out and scowled. "If there's one, there may be more. In fact, there's got to be."

I blinked. "How can you tell?"

He looked guilty and embarrassed again. "Ah, well, you see, the web site said...

For a guy supposedly unable to feel remorse, Spike does guilty and embarrassed very well.

*****

"Oh, as they say, my God." Xander stared at the tiny repeating clip with sick fascination. "'The Hottest Slayer in a Century Meets The Coolest Vampire Ever, and Guess Who Gets Staked! Sizzling Action With Cold, Dead Seed!' And this is just the teaser. You can order a whole DVD, only $49.99. Hours of fun for the whole family."

I am pretty sure that Jonathan got Andrew to write that advertising copy.

"Well, I must say both of you have excellent technique," Anya said with an approving nod. "And Spike has a large and well-formed penis, though personally I prefer circumcised men. But I can certainly understand why you're upset if you're not getting your rightful share of the profits."

"Spike, could you cool it with the growly noises?" Willow asked, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "It's distracting. OK, there's definitely more cameras... six at least. The Magic Box, the skating rink, Spike's crypt...this one's dead... Directory, directory, who's got the root directory...hah! Xander, hand me that Unicode list."

I actually researched what all Willow would have had to do to hack into and take over the camera network. I've forgotten it all now, but for about five minutes there, my skilz were l33t.

"What I still don't get is why someone bothered to break into our house and plant cameras," I said from the opposite end of the dining room table. I was staying as far away from follow-the-bouncing-Buffy as possible. "Especially considering Spike would have ripped their heads off if he'd caught them, and Buffy would have gotten REALLY mean. If you want to make a sex film, why not just go over to one of the frat houses on campus and hire a couple of college students?"

"I hate to say it, Dawnie, but I don't think they were making a porn film." Xander tore himself away from Willow's laptop. "This is surveillance camera footage. Someone's been spying on Buffy, and the porn film is just a happy byproduct."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Willow muttered. She picked up one of the larger camera fragments with a pair of tweezers. "Look, it's all dusty, and the battery pack was dead. This hasn't worked for weeks, maybe months. Do we have any toner cartridges we could break open? I think we could use the toner as fingerprint powder, and if whoever installed these left any prints, and if Spike didn't smudge them all up with his macho camera-crushing..."

This was back when printer cartridges had loose toner in them. I had just come off working for a place where we bough giant bags of loose toner and refilled our own cartridges because it was cheaper, and by God, that stuff got EVERYWHERE.

"Oh, right, blame the victim," Spike groused. "Christ, I need a fag." He stomped over to the kitchen door, and I got up and followed him out to the back porch, which was in shadow at this time of day. He lit a cigarette and stood there puffing furiously, all formal and stiff, and it weirded me out. I mean, Spike doesn't just walk or stand or sit. Spike struts and lounges and sprawls and tucks his thumbs in his belt all "Hi, I'm Spike, and this is my crotch!"

On the other hand, somewhere underneath Spike, Vampire Sex God, is still a guy who grew up when ankles were an erogenous zone. "Spike...are you OK?"

"Didn't want you to see that," he said at last. "Not right. Not proper."

He looked absolutely miserable. Any other time I'd have patted his shoulder, but I figured I'd better roll my eyes instead. I leaned against the side of the house, ultra-cool and sophisticated and untroubled by the certain knowledge of Naked Spike a mere two layers of cloth away. "It's OK. Honest. It's not like I've never seen a naked guy before--"

So in my verse, as in canon, Dawn had a crush on Spike. And she knows perfectly well that Spike's in love with her sister, and doesn't see her that way. And she loves her sister, and wants her to be happy, and she doesn't want to be (as she puts it in another story) "pathetic" about it. So she's tried very hard to squash her crush down and pretend it doesn't exist. But sometimes...

That was a mistake. Spike went yellow-eyed, achieving zero to over-protective in six seconds. "And just who the hell--"

"You and Xander, dope, when we all went skinny dipping after that clambake. Get your mind out of the gutter." Of course vague glimpses of guy-parts decently veiled by darkness and ice-cold seawater and didn't quite, uh, measure up to, well, let's just say I'm going to be comparing my future boyfriends to Spike in more ways than one, but you know, I wasn't going to let this be weird. Spike is a total hottie, and maybe, just maybe there have been a few daydreams. Detailed daydreams. With a sound track and special effects. But there are hotties all over the planet, and not all that many guys you can talk to about important stuff like whether or not you really existed before two years ago, and whether the monks that created you remembered to add a standard-issue soul to the mix, and how incredibly annoying older sisters can be. "On second thought, I'm deeply traumatized. I think I might get over it if you talked Buffy into letting me get my navel pierced."

Spike stared at me, various bits of him twitching. "Dawn--"

I patted his shoulder, because I could. "You're gonna be inhaling filter in a minute. Let's go inside."

When we got back inside, Willow had bit and pieces of camera wired up to the laptop. "Curiouser and curiouser," she said. "The server this camera was supposed to send information to doesn't exist any longer, or at least, it's not turned on. The web site's on a regular commercial server, and the domain name's registered to Horatio Hellpop--pseudonym much? Good news, it looks like the site's only been up for a couple of days--" She broke into a triumphant grin. "We're in!"

"What're you waiting for, then?" Spike doesn't usually use his sire-to-minion voice on Willow, but he was using it now. "Take it down!"

It's not relevant to the tale at hand, so I don't belabor it here, but this Willow is a vampire with a soul. It's a long story.

"Patience, Grasshopper." Willow typed a few more cryptic strings of symbols into the laptop. "Bad news, it's going to take me a few hours to find out who the owner really is. I'll have to hack into Paypal to get his bank account info and track IP addresses and stuff."

I did not research what it would take to hack into Paypal. I have my limits.

Spike began pacing back and forth, tense and borderline vampy, looking like he really, really wanted to kill something. Or someone. "And in that time this berk could run off a hundred more copies and pass 'em out to friends as door prizes."

"Or keep them and sell fifty-seven of them to the list of people I'm downloading now," Willow said. "OK. I've disabled the site and changed the passwords, so no one will be able to order any more." She cracked her knuckles. "Give me six hours and I can clean out Larry Flynt Junior's bank account, ruin his credit history, and send anonymous tips to Donald Rumsfeld that he's a terrorist child pornographer." Willow's a little less scary without her magic, but really? Not by that much. She looked around. "Not that I would ever do anything like that."

I mean really. "Hacker" may be a 90s cliche, but I still wouldn't want one mad at me.

Spike snatched the list of names and credit card numbers off the printer and squinted at it. "Bloody hell. There's addresses all the way from Juneau to Key West." He looked at the list again, and smiled. Need I say it wasn't a very nice smile? "I think it's time to pay a visit to the locals. Could be some of them have an idea who they're ordering from. Harris, you want to take out the rest of those cameras, and--" He turned to Willow. "Will, when Buffy gets home, for God's sake don't let her suss out anything's wrong. If she finds out about this..."

My Spike still needs glasses, but is too vain to wear them. I have a number of canonical justifications for this headcanon.

All of us shuddered in unison. If Buffy found out there would be an explosion of thermonuclear proportions. Spike grabbed his motorcycle jacket and blanket and headed for the front door, and I leaped to my feet and ran after him. "Wait up! I'm going with you!"

He scowled at me. "I think not. You're going to stay here, and distract your sister like a good little minor."

"Uh-uh." I used all of my hey-Dawnie's-tall-now height to advantage. "Look, Spike, all this stuff getting out does to you is make you mad. If Buffy finds out, she's going to be..." I floundered for a minute. " Humiliated, and nobody humiliates my sister except me. I'm gonna go with you, and we're gonna find out who did it and...and... kick their butts with pointy-toed shoes."

Spike glared, but it was the old I-disapprove-on-principle-but-you're-all-right,-Niblet glare, and I knew he'd be caving in ten, nine, eight... "Move yer girly arse, then," he said with an unconvincing growl. "We've got villains to apprehend."

I scooted for the DeSoto before he could change his mind. Maybe he thought that it would be a good idea to have someone soul-having around when he was this mad, just in case. Or maybe, and I really prefer this version, he just wanted a partner in crime because it's more fun that way. Spike flung the blanket over his head and copied my dash for the car, and we flung ourselves into the DeSoto's dark interior just as Spike was beginning to sizzle. "You come along, you mind what I tell you, yeah? I say stay in the car, you stay in the car. I say you run, you run. I say you take that fucking pathetic excuse for music out of the CD player and toss it out the window--"

"--and I ignore you like always," I said cheerfully, turning up the Jennifer Lopez.

"Fine. If anyone dies tonight, it's on your head. Some things are beyond any self-respecting vampire's endurance." Spike slammed into reverse and backed out of the driveway with a screech of tires. I grabbed the door handle. Driving with Spike is always a character-building experience, and today was no exception. "First on the hit parade?"

I scanned the list. "Vernon Blakely, 1583 East Beechwood. What are we gonna say to Mr. Blakely when we get there?"

Spike gazed out through the little clean space in the windshield, obviously pondering which limb he should rip off first, and peeled out like there was a mob with torches after us. "Improvisation is a virtue, Bit."

I had absolutely no idea how they would get the DVDs back. The next several scenes are just me letting the characters take the reins and do whatever the hell they wanted to.

**********

Spike was smoking gently beneath his blanket when the shade-deficient door of 1583 East Beechwood opened to our urgent hammering, and a middle-aged guy with thinning red hair and freckles and a pot belly opened it and blinked at us. He looked like Mr. Weasley gone to seed. "Mr. Blakely?" I said with my brightest, shiniest smile.

The Blakely looked from me to Spike, and the contrast seemed to produce some kind of cognitive dissonance on his part. "Can I... have we met?"

"Only in spirit." Spike leaned heavily against the doorframe, with a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring, but which made him look like he was sporting fangs even when he wasn't. Spike isn't a big guy--in fact, he's on the smallish side, but he's got, you know, muscles. And this air of being able to rip your liver out. Also did I mention the muscles? "I'm given to understand you made a purchase recently from...ah..." He glanced surreptitiously at the paper in his hand. "...Mad Genius Productions?"

Mr. Blakely looked at me, dubious, and at Spike, nervous. "What of it? If I'd done anything like that, which I didn't."

"We're from the, uh, department of quality control," I chirped. "The DVDs are..."

"Radioactive," Spike put in. "Rot your goolies off just like that. " I gave him an elbow-jab.

"Defective," I said firmly. "Glitches. Pixelization. It's criminal the kind of shoddy merchandise we put out. We're recalling them and giving you a replacement at absolutely no charge!"

Spike held up a jewel case and flashed it under Blakely's nose. "Director's cut. Added scenes. 40% more filth for the price."

Suspicion was gathering in Mr. Blakely's watery blue eyes. "Hey, you're that guy from the video," he said.

Spike heaved a melodramatic sigh. "All right, all right, as you've twisted my arm, I'll autograph it for you."

I honestly did not expect him to say that, but somehow there I was, typing it.

The watery eyes brightened. "Really?"

Five minutes later we were dashing for the car again, with the confused Mr. Blakely waving us goodbye. "So what's he going to do when he discovers he's been suckered for a bootleg copy of J-Lo's latest?" I asked, as we tore away from the curb.

"Long as it's got some bint with her tits hanging out on the cover, I doubt he'll notice the difference." Spike grinned. "There'd just better be some hitting involved in the next one."

**********

"I don't believe there's any such thing as a Department of Quality Control," Mr. Angusson said, looking us up and down. "What the hell kind of scam are you pulling?"

"All we want to do is to replace--" I started.

"Look, missy, I bought that DVD nice and legal, and I don't give a crap if whatever goombah and his girlfriend put on plastic fangs to do it is having second thoughts now. So you and your boyfriend just toddle off and--"

"HEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPP!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "HE'S SHOWING ME HIS THING! IT'S ALL GROSS AND PURPLE AND--"

I didn't expect Dawn to do that, either. And yet!

Angusson disappeared and reappeared in two seconds flat, chucking the DVD at our heads.

"Better," Spike said as we tore out yet again. "But I'm still feeling a lack in the hitting things area."

Mr. Fishbein retreated a step from the threshold. "I'm not giving you anything, and I'm not letting you in," he quavered. "What do you think I am, stupid? You're a vampire!"

Honestly, it's Sunnydale. SOMEONE has to get it.

Spike rolled his eyes. He's learned from the masters. "Oh, bollocks, you don't really believe--"

"Oh, yeah?" Fishbein challenged. "Step through that door!"

I stepped through the door, grabbed Fishbein's hand and gave him a good hard yank, right across the threshold and into Spike's waiting fist.

"What was that?," Spike caroled, drawing back for another punch. "Come on in and have a cuppa, Spike? Better repeat it, I'm a touch deaf in that ear."

"That was unnecessarily bloody," I said as we hopped into the car and stepped on the gas, one DVD richer.

"He'll live," Spike said dismissively. "Probably. Next?"

**********

I figured I had to give Spike SOME violence, or he'd get mopey.

"Can you see--?" I hissed, trying to get a better view through the front window. It was getting dark, and I was out of practice at sneaking around not-really-abandoned buildings. Spike shushed me and crept around to the door. I peered through the sad straggly thevetia hedge, cupping my hands against the dirty glass. The place was just crawling with innnnnnteresting monsters, all huddled around a crappy old black and white TV. There's some law against demons watching flatscreen color, apparently.

"Oh, my God, are they really...you know....doing it?" The Gorthesch demon bumped a couple of Fyarls further down on the couch and plunged a scaly paw into the bowl of popcorn as they all stared at the flickering screen. "With a Slayer? I mean, I heard about it, but I didn't think even a vampire could sink that low."

"Real vampires don't," the lone vampire in the crowd protested, voice dripping disgust. "Maybe great big Slayer-whipped pussies do, but--"

"Shut up!" came a chorus of squeaky, growly, and croaky voices. Despite the complaints, everyone seemed to like the show. There were tongues hanging out. At least, I hope they were tongues.

"Yeah, it's just gettin' to the good part," a Syvithis demon whispered.

"Oooh! The one with the pommel horse?"

"No, where the Slayer goes down on him in the graveyard and he--"

I actually wrote a PWP detailing all the scenes in The Spuffy Sex Tape. An edited-down version eventually got incorporated into A Parliament of Monsters, when Angelus gets a hold of one of the copies that Spike and Dawn aren't able to track down in this story.

The front door imploded with a crash, splinters flying everywhere, and Spike strode into the room over the wreckage, a gleam in his eye and a really, really big axe slung over one shoulder. He surveyed the assortment of demons with a grin almost as big as the axe and about twice as vicious, ran his tongue over his teeth and and tucked his free thumb in his belt loop, fingers splayed over the merchandise. Just like old times. "Looks like you're right, mate," he said. "We are just getting to the good part."

**********

"OK, I take it back," I said as we headed for home. "THAT was unnecessarily bloody." It was after midnight, and we'd collected twenty-two DVDs, broken and entered fifteen houses and/or lairs, killed or maimed eight demons, broken five human fingers accidentally-on-purpose, and signed two autographs. Spike had definitely achieved his hitting things quota, and it was a safe bet that no one in Sunnydale would be mentioning Spike and Buffy's brief but eventful movie career in public any time soon.

"All right, p'raps the railroad spike was a bit much, but a bloke gets nostalgic." Spike stretched, all luxurious and satisfied, and lit up a fresh cig, trailing smoke out the window. He had a black eye and a split lip and a scrape right across the place where his cheekbone goes all knife-edgy, and the stretching made things creak inside that probably weren't supposed to creak, but he was in a much, much better mood. "He'll grow a new head."

Where did Spike get a railroad spike on short notice? I have no idea. He's just resourceful that way.

"If you say so," I said, a bit dubious. "Doesn't that only happen when you cut the old one off?"

"So it'll take a bit longer." Spike bounced a little in his seat, all hepped up on the old ultra-violence. "Still haven't found the bastard who's selling the things, though. Must be a bleeding criminal mastermind if--" I Wanna Be Sedated beebled from the cell phone in his pocket. (Like I said, a lot better with technology than some vampires I can name. He can even program it, though considering the songs he picks, sometimes we wish he couldn't.) He grabbed the phone one-handed and didn't slow down even a bit as he zipped through freeway traffic. (Well, he is evil.) "Yeh? You must be joking. You must be--fuck. That little--I'll tear his soddin' head off! Yeh, I know. I'll just bruise him a little." He clicked the phone off and stuffed it back in his pocket, spun the wheel and zigged across four lanes of traffic towards the off-ramp, leaving a chorus of screeching brakes behind us. "After I tear his soddin' head off."

"Where are we going?" I yelled.

Spike hunched over the wheel, eyes grim. "Off to see the wizard."

We pulled up in front of one of the cruddy lease-by-the-month apartment buildings over by the UC Sunnydale campus. Maybe it was the same one Dad and I stayed at when he came down from L.A. to take care of Buffy's estate that time she was dead--the second time, I mean, not the first time. Some of the grease spots in the parking lot looked familiar.

It just struck me as I was describing the building that it was almost identical to the one I'd described in Necessary Evils, so I thought I'd better lampshade it.

"Apartment 42B, Will says." Spike sucked in his cheeks and narrowed his eyes, scoping out the disintegrating stucco overhead. "There at the end." He slapped his hands together and bounded towards the stairs like he was scaling Everest. I followed like I was scaling a rickety stepladder. (Hey, lack of supernatural stamina here. I was getting pretty darned tired.) The lights were on in 42B, and we paused outside the door, which was painted in barf-making 80s turquoise. Spike pounded on it with one fist. "Open up! Land shark!"

I heard some rustling and thumping noises inside, and a crash like a bookcase falling over. "Go away!" a strangely familiar voice yelled. "You can't get in here anyway!"

"Yeh? Maybe not, but I can stand out here till you starve to death. Or set the building on fire, or...uh..." Spike paced the catwalk for a second, smoking like a fiend, which I guess is appropriate. I was pretty sure the fire thing was a bluff, since Spike's not usually one for indirect mayhem. He's got the whole hitting things fetish, after all. Then his eyes lit up and he grinned. "Maybe I can't walk through your door, but there's nothing says I can't kick it down and send in my terrible mute minion, Paco." He whirled around and unleashed one of his shitkicker boots at the door. BANG! The whole building shuddered (which sounds impressive, but considering it was probably made out of pressboard and Kleenex, isn't so much). WHAM! A hinge sprung and the doorframe cracked. I buffed my nails and waited--obviously Spike was holding back.

I don't know why more vampires don't do things like this.

"I'm gonna lose my deposit!" the voice inside wailed.

"My heart bleeds. Oh, wait, no it doesn't. Open up, or--"

The door flew open, or tried to (Spike had knocked it kind of cattywompus, and it stuck halfway.) A face peered out, pale and pear-shaped and nervous under slept-in dark hair. Behind it was a barren little studio apartment littered with pizza boxes, comic books, and boxes of DVDs and padded mailers. There was practically no furniture except a mattress and a desk with a pretty sweet computer and home studio setup.

My hand shot out and I grabbed Pasty-face by the ear and pulled, hard. "Jonathan?!" I yipped. Jonathan squirmed and batted at me, but I dug my nails in. "YOU'RE the criminal mastermind?"

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!" he yelled. "Let me go, don't let him kill me, I didn't mean to, it's not my fault!"

"Oh, for God's sake, quit whining," I snapped, letting go. "Spike hasn't even touched you."

Spike took a drag on his cigarette, peeled himself off the railing and sort of glided over, all slouchy and menacing, with the angle of the floodlights leaving black caverns where his eyes should be. Jonathan squinched in on himself. "You just don't learn, do you?" Spike asked, soft and pee-your-pants scary. "How long've you had those cameras on us?"

Jonathan backed away with a panicky shuffle. "They're not mine! They were Warren's, and they haven't worked since the police confiscated all his computer stuff! Honest! I just happened to have some files I'd saved for, for--"

"Wanking material?" Spike asked, excessively sarcastic.

"Research!" Jonathan reached the wall and sat down very abruptly. "I didn't mean anything by it! All I wanted was to raise some money so Warren and Andrew could get a better lawyer! Someone who knows about demon-related cases, like Goldberg & Osbourne, or Wolfram & Hart. I didn't think you'd ever find out, and I'm really, really, really sorry, please don't kill me, please, please, PLEASE don't kill me--"

Goldberg & Osbourne is a real law firm in Phoenix, AZ, known for being sleazy ambulance-chasers. A joke that only I ever got.

"Didn't mean anything by dragging a lady's reputation in the dirt?" Spike roared (and again, by roared, I mean, well, roared). He grabbed Jonathan by his Robotech jammies and hauled him up nose-to-nose--Jonathan's one of the few guys Spike can look down on. "Well, maybe I won't mean anything when I rip your balls off and stuff them in your eye sockets, how's that?"

"Why?" I asked, grabbing Spike's arm. I realized I'd been wanting to ask that question for a long time. "Why, Jonathan? I mean, I get Warren and whatsisface--they had grudges against Buffy, but you used to be--" Well, not her friend, not really. "She saved your life! You gave her the Class Protector award! She let you off the hook when she turned Warren over to the cops--you were an accessory to murder, Jonathan, and she let you go! I don't get it. Why are you helping them?"

Jonathan yanked his pajama top out of Spike's grip and pulled himself up like he'd taken a dose of Insta-Spine. "Because they're my friends," he said, very simply, meeting Spike's yellowing eyes head-on. "And I know they're not much, but they're all I've got. Whatever else happens, you've got to stand by your friends, right? Or what's the point?" He sighed, squared his shoulders, and looked up at Spike with a little smile. "It's a fair cop. I guess you'd better do whatever it is you're going to do."

I wanted Jonathan to redeem himself a little bit, kinda?

Spike stood there looking at Jonathan, head cocked in the His Master's Voice pose he gets when he's trying really, really hard to figure out the motivations of the souled. And I knew what was going through his head. Spike was looking for a reason not to kill him.

See, Spike doesn't have a soul. He doesn't do good stuff because it's right. He can't. He's not wired that way, as he puts it. But he can do good stuff if there's a reason--like if it helps him somehow, or makes someone he loves happy. Or if it makes him feel, for a minute, like he's a man and not a monster, which is a feeling he really likes. And that's the cool thing about Spike, the thing I really love about him, and I think probably the thing Buffy loves too: not the cheekbones or the attitude or the mad combat skilz or what's under those jeans, but that he does like that feeling, and so Spike looks for those reasons. Looks real hard. Harder, I think sometimes, than some people with souls.

I'm just sayin'.

"Right," he said at last. And he hauled off and punched Jonathan right in the nose.

"YEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOW!" Jonathan fell over, clutching his face, and gore splattered everywhere. "By dose! You broge by dose!"

But still, well, evil.

"Just be glad that's all I've broke," Spike said. He wiped his knuckles on his t-shirt instead of licking the blood off, which was a pretty big compliment, really. Congratulations, Jonathan, you've graduated to Not-Food! "Christ, where's the fun in beating the shit out of a pathetic little wibbling sod like you?" He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket (that's another moderately cool thing about Spike: he carries pocket handkerchiefs) and tossed it to Jonathan. "Grab the goods, Bit. It's time to call it a night."

Jonathan sat there snorfling blood into the hanky while I ferried the DVDs and Jonathan's hard drive out to Spike--I figured Willow could check it out for contraband and return it, so we weren't stealing it exactly. As we started down the stairs with the last armload, Spike turned back to Jonathan, almost amiable. "Word to the wise. I don't forget what your friends put Buffy through. If you want to do your pals a real favor, maybe you ought to remember that while I'm out here, and they're safe in stir, no one's likely to get eaten accidental-like, eh?"

Now this! At the time that I wrote this, I had NO IDEA that Warren would come back and cause trouble later, and that Spike would, in fact, end up eating him. Indeed, by the time I wrote "The Lesser of Two Evils," I had completely forgotten that I'd written this line, and when I stumbled upon it when re-reading a couple of years later, it was this totally serendipitous piece of foreshadowing. Sometimes writing is so cool!

Jonathan stared at him, and nodded a little. And we left.

**********

It was past two o'clock when we got home. We locked the DVDs in the trunk of the DeSoto, which had been the closet for a lot of other skeletons in its day, and after a short consultation on how to best avoid Ordeal By Buffy, we strolled into the house as if we were coming in from a late patrol and nothing in the universe was wrong.

Willow was still tapping away at her laptop in the dining room. "I'm just tracking down the copies on eBay," she whispered, "and sending out fake cease and desist orders from Mad Genius Productions. Buffy's in bed. She doesn't suspect a thing." She noted our alarmed glances and added, a bit huffily, "Don't worry, Xander took care of the the subterfuge part. Did you get him?"

"Yeh, he's got." Spike rolled his head and rubbed back of his neck. "Battle of the ages. Christ, I'm glad that's done with." He eyed our crumpled list of victims thoughtfully. "Wonder if I could fake a business trip to Juneau."

"Don't press your luck," Willow said drily.

"Someday I'm going to sire someone with a minimum of respect for their elders," Spike growled.

Willow grinned, smug. "And they'll bore you so much you'll stake them inside forty-eight hours. Shoo. Buffy's waiting for you."

So we headed for the stairs, and as I put my foot on the first step, I heard Spike heave a big sigh behind me. "Thanks, Bit. Couldn't have managed without you." When I looked back, he was staring at the toes of his boots, all awkward and embarrassed. "I just hope this hasn't... hasn't..."

"Spike, I'll always think of you as my brother." I waited two beats, and added with a perfectly straight face, "My brother with the enormous schlong."

I got three whole steps before Spike came after me and chased me all the way upstairs.

This story is the second of three I wrote ("The Road to Byzantium" and "A Dark and Stormy Night" are numbers one and three) which has Dawn moving on from her crush and into a more grown-up friendship with Spike as a major theme, and hopefully it works. And they all lived happily ever after, at least until I got another idea!

#btvs #fic discussion #thenewbuzwuzz #spuffy #fan fiction #dvd commentary

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