#but what i find most endearing is somehow the wheels sound different

[parme-san]

i picked up a couple of the pixar's Cars cars that have been floating around toy aisles near me 👍 actually really impressed with how detailed they are

[vienrose]

Why was he surprised to see Sprinkle startled, he didn't know. With the way he behaved for the past what... Ten minutes, maybe less and even during their first meetings he felt he was already immune to this strange behaviours. Yet he did a similar jump, maybe just less obvious before gripping the wheel a bit tighter. He could do this. "Yeah, I guess, lots of cars, huge traffic, not something that screams nature friendly, huh?" he gave the other a glance, somehow finding such gesture endearing. Sprinkle not only looked the kind type but he definitely was as well. "I was told it was stupid to get a car here since during rush hour it probably takes longer to drive somewhere rather that walking but... I'm not the type for walks I guess." he was. He just didn't have that many friends to have them with and explaining it that way sounded less miserable that admiting he was lonely. Sometimes. Okay, most of the time. That's why he drowned himself in work to keep his mind busy with different things and get what he lacked all his life. Money. Luxury. An easy life. And he had all of that now. Becoming just a little bit too greedy. "Yes, clothes, um... I try to get my hands on latest collections that's the... Most simple way I can explain it." and he loved what he did. "What about you? Any job or..?"

"Little cold, okay, let me-" he mumbled, pressing a few buttons to turn the heat on, not putting it on max but enough to keep it nice and cozy for the both of them. The least he wanted was to sweat on their first date, that wouldn't be ideal. So when he had everything fixed he focused on the road again, letting Sprinkle chat his ear off about a topic he seemed to be very interested in. Cute. He found it cute. And that alone made him shake his head a little and clear his throat to rid of the smile that threatened to split his lips. Evren always said that he didn't do feelings. Hence the contract. He figured it was an easy escape, not only was it a financial gain but he would end up with someone... a win, win, right? Yes, feelings were probably needed to maintain a healthy relationship, but he figured he could deal with that later. Sprinkle, despite being an oddball that he was, he was... Evren didn't even know how to describe it. It felt, good. Right. "They don't get oxygen?" Evren suddenly burst into a short chuckle, head turning to give Sprinkle a look before his eyes were on the road again. He wasn't sure why this statement made him react like that all of a sudden, but guess it just... wasn't something you heard from people so casually. Or at least they would word it a bit differently? "Um, not too long, well... I moved here two... almost three years ago I think.." he didn't have much to add because most of the time he was traveling anyway. Be it abroad or in different states. He didn't get to do much sightseeing like Sprinkle did. It was one fashion week after another. "But it's nice, yes," he added, agreeing with the male on that end. Back home he was pretty much nothing and here... he was everything he wanted to be. Or so he thought.

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Is This On?

Also on Ao3

Muggle things weren’t that complicated. If Potter could master them, then so could Draco. Refrigerators were a godsend and whoever invented the telly was a genius. He had figured out the function of a light bulb instantly, it was the electricity itself that he still hadn’t fully grasped. Where did it come from? How did it know when to work? Some things, however, didn’t make any sense no matter how many times it was explained to him.

The internet.

Draco didn’t understand where it began, where it was located or how it worked. All he knew was that he could ask questions to the phone Harry gave him and it would answer back. Sometimes the lady trapped in the phone would send him to the internet to provide information or other times to a little telly inside the phone too.

Which led him to his current predicament.

Harry sometimes used the internet to talk to Granger. There was a little camera on the computer. At least that’s what Harry said but hadn’t really ever showed him much more than that. Could he use it to talk to Harry?

Draco poked the little camera several times, trying to get it to work. He typed in the password that Harry wrote down hoping that would help. When he was met with a photo of the two of them, he tried not to be endeared. Potter would be such a sentimental sap.

“How does this work?” Draco muttered to himself as he stared at the little icons. He couldn’t remember the steps Harry had taken to talk to Granger. Would it even work if he had remembered? He didn’t want to talk to Granger, he wanted to talk to Harry.

“Internet show me Harry.”

Nothing happened.

Draco huffed. It had been a long shot anyway. Reluctantly, Draco pulled out his phone and hit the button that brought out the lady inside. “How do I call on the internet?”

She repeated his question to him as if that was going to help somehow before he was brought to a list of options.

“Skype.” Draco wrinkled his nose. That didn’t sound familiar. He set his phone down and opened the same icon on the computer that his phone had brought him to and typed in Skype.

The first thing that popped up was a little telly. Harry called them videos, but Draco liked that they were little tellies and didn’t care what Harry said. The little telly was boring and showed him too many steps to follow. What drew his attention were more little tellies that he could select from. Some were about Skype too, but others were about all kinds of things.

Make-up. Music. Food. Books. Sports.

There were too many to choose from. So he watched several different little tellies. A lot of them were boring and he ended up either leaving for another one or skipping to the good stuff. Some people weren’t the actors that they thought they were. Honestly, where was the charisma? The charm? He could do it much better.

Draco paused, thumb over the mouse as he thought about it.

He could do it better than most of the people in the little tellies. He had the charisma that they didn’t, he had the charm, the looks, the better smile. And his life was much more interesting than these people. Those with boring lives shouldn’t talk for an hour unless their aim was to put people to sleep. Oh, that was another thought. Were there little tellies to fall asleep? There were little tellies for everything. He rather liked the internet, even if it made no sense.

Draco watched a few more little tellies before he figured he knew enough to do it too. It wouldn’t let him make a little telly until he created an account, which he thought was kind of rude, but it was their rules. A lot of people didn’t use their real name, so he chose not to either. It took him longer than he wanted to find something that suited him.

Slytherin’s Heir.

Finding out that Harry and his idiot friends thought that he had been Slytherin’s Heir had been flattering. Oh, they hadn’t thought that, but they didn’t realize the kind of compliment it had been. What he wouldn’t have given to be Slytherin’s Heir. That kind of power and social status would have made him untouchable.

With his name chosen, it wanted a photo, but Draco didn’t have any photos of him on Harry’s computer. So he didn’t do anything, let the internet do a blank one. Draco’s foot tapped a few times as he realized his account was complete. Now all he had to do was make a little telly.

It took a few times to find the right succession of buttons to find the live option. He didn’t really understand what being live meant, but he did know that meant that he didn’t have to have a little telly already made, that he could create one right there.

“Is this on?” Draco asked, lips pursed as he poked the camera. “I’m not really sure if this is working. Honestly, I was trying to talk to Harry when I decided to make a little telly. Harry’s my boyfriend. Hi Harry.”

Draco waved at the camera with a small smile. He wished he could see Harry’s face.

“Harry’s actually mad at me right now. He’s an annoying prat who likes to think he’s right all the time.” Draco paused; one side of his face scrunched as the thought about what Harry’s reaction would be to his little telly.

“Maybe mad is an exaggeration,” Draco sighed, one hand pushing through his hair. He hadn’t slicked it back in a few days, too out of sorts to feel up to it. His hair fell into his eyes which was an annoying reminder of why he liked his hair slicked in the first place. “He’s more disappointed.”

Draco grimaced as he remembered the last time he had seen Harry.

“He loves me,” Draco whispered, hating that his cheeks were warm. “He says it all the time. At least he used to.”

A long-suffering sigh escaped as he slumped in the chair with wheels that Harry insisted on using even though Draco thought it was a safety concern.

“When I say all the time, I do mean all the time,” Draco grinned. “He didn’t hear that growing up at all and I think he says it so much because he’s trying to make up for lost time. I don’t mind. I like hearing it. Makes me melt a little bit to know that he loves me so much.”

Draco frowned, sitting up straighter.

“You better not tell him that though. That’s embarrassing.” He waved a finger at the camera in what he hoped was a threatening manner.

“I didn’t hear I love you growing up either. It was rare to hear my parents say anything even hinting at love. But the thing is, I’ve always known they loved me. I could see it in the things they did. When my father would show me a new spell or help me with my hand movements. My mother would bring home my favourite sweets whenever she went out. They would stay up later than was presentable with me and listen to the radio.”

The smile on his face was bittersweet. As much as he knew that his parents loved him, it would have been nice to hear it more than they did.

“I guess I picked up their habit,” Draco winced. “I tell Harry I love him… sometimes. I try to tell him more, but the words don’t come easy to me. My parents knew I loved them, and they certainly didn’t need me to say it. But I try to show Harry too!”

Draco’s hands had begun to move in the beginning but were now thrown in the air.

“I make sure whenever he’s on a case to keep his plants watered, even if the one Neville gave him has it out for me and tries to kill me. When he’s having a bad day I make sure his duvet smells like mint because I know he’s going to collapse on our bed and not move for longer than is healthy and for some reason mint is his favourite smell. I don’t really know how to cook that well but the lady in my phone helps me order from Harry’s favourite restaurant and I do that when he’s feeling sad and sometimes when he’s really happy too.”

Draco’s lips turned downward the longer he talked. It bothered him that Harry couldn’t see that he was loved.

“I’m not a people person but I willingly go with him on what he calls adventures around London. Adventure is accurate because wherever Harry goes, trouble follows. Last month we had to run from people with sticks on horses. Harry said they were the law, but I feel like if you were lawmen then you should dress better but that’s beside the point. Then there was this one time we got kicked out of a library. That was more my fault, but Harry was the one who didn’t tell me that the books didn’t talk or yell. Who wants to go to a library with silent books? That’s like going to a gallery where the paintings don’t talk. What’s the point?”

Muggles were weird, honestly. There were a lot of things they did that were smart, and he wished that Wizards would adopt too. But a large amount of what Muggles did was boring. They lived boring lives and he felt bad that they didn’t have Magic to spice it up.

“I try to show with actions how much he means to me, and I thought I was doing a good job at it, but I guess not.” His eyes closed as he remembered the hurt expression on Harrys’ face.

“He told me he wished I would tell him I loved him more. I told him there was no point. Which in hindsight, I’ll admit was a mistake. I don’t take it back, mind you. But I wish I had explained better before he left. I meant there was no point in saying it more if I could tell him through actions. Which I have been doing since I realized I loved him. I thought he knew. I thought he could see how much I love him.”

Draco swallowed around a lump in his throat. He wasn’t worried about their relationship, not really. Harry sometimes needed a few days to cool down when they argued. Only usually, it was anger that was the parting goodbye and not a heartbreaking sadness.

He looked back to the camera, hating that his eyes were wet.

“I love him, so much. I could talk about all the things he does for me that I love. Like the way he looks at me, the way he makes me feel loved and whole. The way he holds my hand too tight, like he thinks I’ll pull away. As if I ever would. Or the way I feel like I’m high on liquid luck whenever we’re together. But those are selfish to point out. I don’t want to talk about me when I bring up what I love about him. That’s conceited.

“I love the way he throws a fist in the air when he gets an answer on the telly right. I love his stupid hair that has to be sentient at this point, never lying flat. I love the softness in his eyes when he’s happy, the way they shine so brightly. Almost as bright as his smile. I love how kind he is. I know I give him shit for that, which I should, but there’s a goodness to him that isn’t common anymore, and I love that. I love how much he cares about other people.

“I love how hard he works—puts every ounce of himself into whatever he’s working on no matter how big or small. I love how smart he is, even if he doesn’t see it himself. He thinks of the world in ways that others don’t—a genius to him that fascinates me. I love how much he loves. He loves with everything that he has. He loves people in general. Wants to see the best in them, has a faith that never wavers. His friends are his family, his family is his world and the love he has for all of them is another extension of himself that is everlasting.”

Draco blinked through the wetness as he sniffled.

“I’m honoured to be part of that love. To know that he could care about me a fraction of what he feels for others is overwhelming. I know he loves me; Merlin knows that I do. How could I not? He doesn’t just say it, he shows it. And I just wish that he knew how much I loved him too. I know I don’t say it enough, and I try, I do, but I had hoped that he could see it. Maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I didn’t show it enough, maybe I didn’t try harder. Maybe I should have done more.”

Draco wiped at his cheeks hating that he let his emotions get the best of him. Especially on his first little telly!

“What hurts the most is that I don’t know how else I could have showed him,” Draco laughed bitterly. “I really don’t. I give so much of myself to Harry, perhaps that’s not healthy, but it’s true. I love him so bloody much and I hate that he doesn’t see that, that he doesn’t know. How could I not love him? Harry, how could you not know that I love you?

“I love you…”

Draco took a deep breath, wishing it wasn’t as shaky as it was as he twirled in the chair. That had to be the reason Muggles had such dangerous chairs, so they could twirl.

“My first little telly wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Draco smiled wryly as he placed his chin on his palm. “I was supposed to charm you all with my good looks and witty personality. And what did I do? Cry over my relationship issues. Like anyone wants to see that. Maybe I’ll tell you the story of how Harry and I fell in love next time. Or maybe the first time we met. Something happier than my tears. Pansy always said I’m an ugly crier—the jealous bitch—so no sad topics next time, I promise.”

Draco leaned forward; lips pursed as he tried to figure out how to turn it off.

“I’m not sure anyone is going to see this. Maybe that’s for the best. I just know I look like a cross between Doxy droppings and Weasley on a good day. I hope you all are having a better day than I am. I’m going to go as soon as I shut this off.”

Draco frowned, clicking a few buttons before he gave up and shut down the whole computer. The simplest solutions were for the best. He spun in the chair one more time facing the rest of their flat, wishing not for the first time that Harry hadn’t taken his happiness when he left.

——

Watching his little telly back was a painful experience. His charm and charisma were there, but it didn’t look as polished as some of the other little tellies he had seen. He’d just have to keep trying.

Draco was about to start a new one when he noticed that there were a lot more numbers than there should have been at the bottom. It had been two days since he had made it, and he expected there to only be his replay.

Not the 819,543 that stared at him. And every passing minute the number grew by the tens of thousands.

Draco double checked that he was on his little telly and not someone else’s before he covered his mouth. Did that many people see him cry? Merlin, what did he do? While the thought was horrifying, what truly scared him was that there were comments.

There were comments.

Oh no.

Draco groaned, already blaming all of this on Harry. And the internet, the internet could take the blame too. With one eye closed, he scrolled down.

NamelessHope 1 day ago Anyone else find this endearing? He’s like an old grandma that doesn’t know how the internet works.

Sorrymum 5 hours ago He’s so cute. Why can’t you be single?

Michael the Sexual Taco 2 minutes ago His partner is trash. It’s so obvious he’s in love. How could Harry not see it?

Bleach 2 days ago First!!!

CubesAreTriangles 13 hours ago Go bottom go!

Potatoes for Life 7 hours ago Nooooo don’t cry! If you cry I’m going to cry

Draco squinted at the comments. Why were Muggles so fucking weird? And what did they mean bottom? Did people just assume things like that? He liked to fuck and be fucked, thank you very much.

Meaty Meat 10 minutes ago Y r u gay

Draco snorted. Okay, maybe Muggles were entertaining.

Casey J 1 day ago I can’t tell if you’re just ranting or want advise. If it’s the former, then ignore me. But maybe Harry does know you love him. I think it’s obvious that you do, so he must know that. Maybe he needs it said too.

Randy Rants 8 hours ago You need couples therapy not the internet

ParsleySnips 2 days ago I totally cried

Pearl’s Pearly Pearls 2 days ago I want to be loved like you love Harry.

SwiperNoSwiping 1 hour ago If you two don’t break up you should do another video with him.

Draco scowled. They weren’t going to break up. A touch of hesitancy filled him at the thought. It had been 6 days since he last saw Harry. Not their worst fight, and he would’ve tried to find Harry and talk to him if it had been completely silent. But Harry sent a Patronus every morning that nuzzled him awake. The Patronus didn’t speak a message but the love he could feel was a message all on its own.

Karla S 1 day ago Am I the only one who caught that he said spell? Is your father a devil worshiper?

Gigi’s my Daddy 2 days ago Little tellies. That’s so cute. That should be our fandom name when you blow up.

Gay4You 20 hours ago I’ve never been invested in someone else’s love life this much. If you and Harry don’t make up I’m going to riot.

Draco looked through several more comments before he pushed away from the computer. There were a few rude ones and a lot more supportive ones, but all of it made him nervous. He didn’t like that so many people knew about his feelings. It was his own fault for making the little telly, but he didn’t think anyone was going to see it!

Part of him was panicking. He could delete it, probably, if he asked the lady in his phone how. But did he want to? Draco bit his lip, unsure what to do. If he deleted it, all those people who saw it would still remember it, so he’d only be stopping new people from viewing it.

Before he could go over the pros and cons of either option, the front door slammed open, causing him to yelp and jump out of the chair.

Hands raised, Draco glared at Harry, who was staring at him intently, chest moving rapidly.

“What is wrong with you?” Draco sneered. “I nearly came out of my skin. If you’re trying to kill me, you almost succeeded. Merlin don’t do that a—”

Draco cut off when Harry marched toward him, eyes still intense. His mouth was still open, ready so say something, but nothing came out when warm hands cupped his cheeks.

“Draco, I’ve always known you loved me.”

Oh no.

He closed his eyes tightly. Harry watched his little telly. How? Why?

“Hey,” Harry whispered, thumbs moving in a gentle caress. “Look at me.”

Draco shook his head. He didn’t want to.

“I’m sorry.”

That had his eyes opening before they widened. “What?”

“We’re so different,” Harry began with a wry chuckle. “Everything about us is different. And for some reason I forgot that. I assumed that our love language was the same. But the beautiful thing about languages is how different they are. I expected yours to be the same as mine and I was wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Draco hated that his voice wavered.

“You’re right, I do say I love you a lot.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Draco hurried to explain. “I didn’t mean it to sound—”

“I know,” Harry shushed him, a thumb placed over his bottom lip. “I say it because I don’t want you to forget that I love you.”

Draco shook his head, wanting to tell Harry that he could never forget. How could he? But he didn’t want to interrupt.

“When I was little, I didn’t just want to be loved by my relatives, I wanted to love them too. But they hated me, and the feeling was mutual. I wanted to love someone just as much as I wanted to be loved. And I guess I say it so much as a reminder to never forget that. I love you, Draco and I can’t help but say it over and over again.”

“I know,” Draco parroted as he pressed a kiss to the thumb still over his lip. “I love that you say it so much. I don’t want you to stop. Lately, you’ve been saying it less.”

Harry’s eyes closed briefly. “I’m sorry. You don’t always say it back and that hurts. I thought you didn’t want me to say it. I thought—”

“No,” Draco shook his head again, this time more violently. “Please no. I’m sorry. I want to say it more, and I promise I’ll try but please don’t stop saying it if I can’t.”

Harry shushed him again and if he wasn’t so close to crying, he’d probably have hexed Harry for treating him like a scared child.

“You do show me that you love me,” Harry said, eyes soft and full of the love that Draco wasn’t sure he could live without. “All the time and that’s your love language. You show me through actions, and I needed the reminder.”

“I want to give you the love you deserve,” Draco whispered, blinking rapidly, willing himself not to cry. “You deserve to hear it just as much as you give it. And I’m sorry I don’t do that.”

“I don’t need it,” Harry argued, eyes narrowed. “And don’t you dare presume to know what I deserve. I get to decide that, and I’ve already given you my heart. So it’s up to you to keep it safe.”

Draco inhaled sharply. Harry’s love was special. “I want to love you vocally too. I want to love you the way you love me.”

“The way you love me is exactly what I need.”

Draco’s nose wrinkled. “I feel like you’re settling.”

“Not your decision.”

“Harry—”

“Draco,” Harry began, flicking him in the forehead. “If you want to say it more, I won’t object. I’m just telling you that I don’t need it like I thought I did. We’re in love and it doesn’t matter how different we show it. The love is still there.”

“Okay,” Draco sniffled, wiping his nose on Harry’s shoulder when he was pulled into a strong embrace. After days of no contact, he basked in their combined warmth. A feeling he had missed more than he thought possible.

Draco turned his head, mouth near Harry’s ear as he whispered,

“I love you.”

If Harry held on tighter, and Draco felt a wetness on his neck, well that was no one else’s business.

~Fin

———

Short Extra

“Hi little tellies!” Draco waved at their new camera, one that Harry now manned, taking in Draco’s new hobby in stride.

“I had planned an intro like all the rest of them do but that’s so boring. Over here we’re better than everyone else. So I said fuck it and tossed it away. Let’s just get to the good stuff. You’ll never guess what Harry did yesterday. It was so embarrassing.”

“Do you have to embarrass me to so many people?”

Draco grinned, nose scrunching at Harry’s glare. He knew his followers wanted to see Harry, but Harry didn’t want to be in the little tellies like that. Plus, Draco kind of liked that it was just him.

“What do you mean?” Draco blinked, adopting an innocent expression that had stopped working on Dobby when he was three. “I’m just telling my friends.”

“Yeah,” Harry snorted, eyes on the subscriber count that was rapidly increasing. “All 3 million of them.”

It still blew his mind that so many people wanted to hear him talk about his life. He had known from the beginning that he could pull it off. Had always known he had more charm than everyone else on the internet. His little tellies were clearly superior.

And to think it all stemmed from his love of Harry.

-----

This is a story for @rieraclaelin who I know has been having issues reading fic lately so please don't feel like you have to read this at all. I just wanted there to be a gift for you whenever you do feel like readings stories. I adore you!

[behindyourbarrette]

Star Light, Star Bright

summary: The team goes camping on a long weekend. Turns out, it’s really easy to tell someone how you feel when you’re under a starry night sky. 

pairing: spencer reid/reader

category: fluff, start to finish

warnings/includes: mention of food, a mild burn

work count: 4.1k

a/n: this is my fav thing i’ve written in a HOT SECOND. enjoy! pls reblog if you feel inclined, it helps me out a ton!

check it out on ao3

---

You’ve never found chicken pox to be more of a miracle.

In truth, you are a little saddened that Jack’s Boy Scout troop all got sick and their camping trip had to be postponed. This does not change the fact that you’re elated at the opportunity to nab Hotch’s campsite reservation. The team jumped at the chance for a vacation, the promised long weekend only truly promised in places without cell service.

You pick Spencer up early, the first of many people you’ve offered to drive out to the mountains. After tossing a very heavy-sounding duffel bag into your trunk, he clambers into the passenger seat. He strikes you as a little nervous—he won’t quite look at you as you wind your way out of D.C and towards the countryside.

“I’ve never been camping before, actually.” He says it quietly, mid-conversation about Boy Scouts and the safety of camping with children. There’s a 5-mile radius around Quantico where work is the only thing you can really think about. As you turn onto the highway, hands flexing against the wheel, you’re glad to be free of the office.

“Really? Never?”

It makes sense, the longer his sentence sits on your tongue. Vegas isn’t the most hospitable environment to camp in. You make a mental note to thank your parents for raising you on the East Coast, where the forests are frequent and the soil is actually fertile.

“Yeah. I’m not sure, I’m, uh, really suited for it.” You look at him now, the slight sadness in his eyes, and there are a thousand things you’d like to say. Instead, you reach across the center console, squeezing his hand in yours. Before he can say anything, you’ve returned your hand to the wheel, eyes fixed on the horizon. 

---

You’ve lived in Virginia for a few years, but somehow you’ve never found it this breathtaking. You have no idea how you got roped into driving, given that Derek and Emily usually take the wheel, but you’re far from complaining. As you wind through the forest, the canopy of leaves casting a filter of sunshine over the ground, you’re left speechless. The trees part in favor of the dirt road, and you find yourself absorbed in the surplus of green and foliage as you drive.

“There’s over 15,000 acres of this. It’s the largest protected land preserve in the tri-state area.”

You turn your head to watch Spencer murmur, still absorbed in a book. For the first time, you notice that he’s wearing a polo shirt and a beanie that Penelope knit him for Christmas. The whole sight is so...un-Spencer like that you’re torn between finding it endearing and concerning. You gulp down everything you want to tell him, swallowing all of the unidentifiable feelings in your throat.

“I’m excited. I love camping. My dad used to take me here all the time.” He perks up at this, and closes his book. You nod, pursing your lips into a smile. You steal a quick glance at the backseat, where Penelope and Derek have fallen asleep.

“Can you keep a secret?”

You have Spencer’s attention now. He nods so vehemently you laugh, tearing your eyes away from his in favor of focusing on the road.

“I wanted to be a park ranger when I was younger.” You’re only a little embarrassed of this; the jump from environmentalist to federal agent is just laughable enough to warm your cheeks. Spencer’s eyes widen.

“Really? How did you—I mean, when did you decide to be a—actually, I take it back. Hugging trees is beneficial for your health, after all.” He smirks, and you reach out to punch him on the arm. He rubs the spot absently, a grin forming on his face as your blush deepens. You try to portray yourself to the team as someone who’s a little tougher than the little girl who cried when she found out that people litter in National Parks. With Spencer, it’s different. Still, you can’t bank on what he will or won’t tell Derek.

“If you tell anyone, I will kick your ass. Forget it.” You get the sense that you are not going to live this down. To your advantage, it’s Spencer who blushes this time, his cheeks warming a delicate pink.

“I can’t forget it, actually. I have an eidetic—ow!”

---

The campsite is glorious.

Or, as Penelope would put it, rustic. It’s the perfect happy medium between the forest and the lake nearby, with a trail leading to the beach just a few feet from the site. The trees filter out just enough sun so that it’s pleasantly warm out. There’s ample space for a few tents, and a bear locker. You’re seated at a picnic bench with the girls, unloading the food and cooking supplies as the boys attempt to put together tents. From what you can see and hear, it sounds like Derek is muscling his way through it, much to Spencer and Hotch’s chagrin.

“You’re glowing. What’s got you in such a good mood?” Emily nudges you in the side, a sly smile on her face as she screws the propane line into the campstove. You flush, and shrug your shoulders.

“I love camping. I’m just excited to be here with you guys.”

Penelope reaches across the table to hug you. She’s dressed perfectly for the occasion: you don’t think you’ve ever seen bedazzled hiking boots before, but there’s a first time for everything.

“You know, I’m surprised Spence came. He normally skips out on these kinds of things.” JJ looks back at you from the bear locker, where she’s stacking cans of soup and Hotch’s cooler. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, but you look towards Spencer before she can say anything else. He’s managing to put up his tent surprisingly well; he’s only struggling with the final few posts as he stumbles around the uneven ground. You turn back to JJ, shrugging.

“I mean, I think he can appreciate the outdoors. He’s probably read Walden.”

Emily laughs, and you feel as though the conversation has finally let up. JJ has a point, but as soon as you had asked Spencer if he was coming, he had agreed. He doesn’t look particularly out of place, either. Over the course of the past hour, he’s somehow inherited a pair of sunglasses and a red flannel. You look away, pursing your lips.

“Okay, I think we’re done.” Derek calls, waving his arm to catch your attention. There are now five small tents, only a little crinkled and trampled over. Emily nods in approval, nudging one of them with the tip of her boot. It only shakes a little.

“Good job, guys. They look...structurally sound.” Hands on your hips, you bend to inspect the guys’ handiwork. Spencer winces as you tug on a tent’s zipper, and it whines in protest. You shrug, smiling as you straighten.

“We should check out the lake.” Derek gestures to the blue expanse of water in the distance, and Penelope squeals. You hear the sound of metal clinking together, and turn.

It’s Hotch, holding what you assume to be a fishing pole. While this should be very surprising, you can’t come up with anything funny to say. Emily makes a joke about the catch of the day, and Hotch doesn’t laugh.

“Are there canoes involved? I didn’t bring a suit.” JJ asks, arms crossed over her chest. You nod, pointing to the rental shack on the eastern side of the lake.

“You guys ready to get some sun?”

---

“You look cute in hiking boots, princess.” You should not find this as funny as you do. Maybe it’s the fact that Derek definitely had Penelope apply some sort of oil to his biceps while they were in a tent; there’s no way that he just naturally glistens like that. You squint up at him, shrugging your shoulders. While your outfit is a little unorthodox—you remembered to bring a bikini, but forgot water shoes—it’ll work just fine. Spencer enters your peripheral vision, wrinkling his nose in Derek’s direction. You resist the urge to smile at this.

“Spence.”

You get his attention, catching up to him in just a few steps. The beach is pretty, lacking in sand but perfectly cool and sunny. He’s wearing too-big sunglasses and, surprisingly, Bermuda shorts. You trudge along the rocky path, handing him a bottle of sunscreen.

“Come on, I need your help. Sunscreen me.”

He seems shocked, fiddling with the bottle. You turn your back to him, raising your arms as you walk backwards, waiting to hit him before you stop.

“Is sunscreen a verb?” His voice is a little hoarse, and you smirk.

“Would you prefer lotion? Massage?” You tease, and you can practically feel him tense up.

“N-no, I wouldn’t. Hold your hair up.”

You oblige, and it takes everything in you not to sigh as he rubs the cool sunscreen into your back. He has really, really big hands and nimble fingers. Biting your lip, you conjure a mental image of them. You feel a little silly for imagining his hands when he’s right there, but you don’t want him to stop touching you. He coats your skin, movements deft and purposeful. You turn, reaching for the bottle.

“Take off your glasses. Your turn.” You like being a little bossy; he flushes as you reach up to spread the lotion across his cheeks, dabbing gently. He exhales slowly, relaxing into your touch.

“Let’s go. You’re my canoe buddy.”

His mouth falls open in surprise, and an evil part of your brain wonders how it would feel to kiss it. The thought is gone before you can act on it, though, and you wave him towards the shore. He stands still, lingering by the campsite.

“I was going to read on the beach, actually—”

“Nope. Come on! I need a partner.”

—-

The lake is cool, and you make yourself busy by being a very unhelpful canoeing partner. Spencer is rowing surprisingly well, scooping water from below and propelling the boat forward. You, on the other hand, are focused on stretching out in the boat. The sun is deliciously warm on your skin, and the occasional splash of water is heaven to the touch.

“You know, there are two sets of oars. We’d get the most momentum if you rowed, too.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll row. I’m not any good at it, though. That’s why I needed a partner.” You pat him on the shoulder affectionately, reaching for the other oar. The motion tips the canoe forward a little, and panic flashes across Spencer’s face.

“Don’t do that again. I do not want to end up in this lake. Do you know how many bacteria are in most man made lakes? You don’t want to know.”

You are many things, but you are not a quitter. Testing the waters, you lean forward again as you row, a little out of sync with Spencer’s strokes.

“Please don’t capsize,”

Hotch calls out from the shore, and Spencer shoots you a look as if to say listen. You shrug, continuing to row and occasionally shifting your weight. The look on his face is worth it.

“You know how to swim, right?”

You ask, voice low and as inconspicuous as you can manage. This backfires—Spencer turns around to shake his head, unbalancing the boat. He lets go of his oar, tightening the strap on his life vest. You cling to the sides, laughing as you try to steady the canoe.

“Not funny. You know, boating related accidents are incredibly common.”

His voice drifts off as Derek and Emily’s boat passes by. Their sportsmanship is admirable; they’re working as a perfect unit, quickly propelling their canoe forward with quick rowing and a lot of effort.

Spencer is scolding you half-heartedly when you get caught in their wake. You couldn’t have steadied the boat if you tried; and before you can react the canoe is upside down and you’re cast into the cool blue.

“I’m going to contract a brain-eating amoeba.”

Spencer coughs, bobbing to the surface. You emerge a few moments later, laughing, and reach for him.

“Worth it. You have plenty of brains to be eaten, genius.”

You watch him try to contain his smile the entire way to the shore.

---

You’re drying off as the sun sets, splashes of pink and purple coating the sky. It’s incredible; over the lake you can see the entire expanse of fields and forest, laid out like a painting.

“You guys brought food, right?”

Emily calls out from the picnic bench. She’s toweling off, sunglasses in her hair as she jokes with Morgan. You nod, turning back to Spencer.

He’s thoroughly drenched. You feel a little guilty for tipping the boat over; he’s spent a decent amount of time wringing out his clothes, and as night falls a chill builds in the air. After pulling a jacket on, you toss him a towel.

“That was fun.”

Your eyes widen a little, genuine surprise lodging itself in your throat. He takes in the look on your face, smiling lightly.

“Better than reading on the beach?” You offer, but this is too good to be true.

“Marginally.”

You frown, suppressing a smirk as you catch the scent of propane drifting through the air. You both head in the direction of the camp stove, where Hotch is fiddling with the gas tank.

“That looks...unsafe.” Spencer mutters, brow furrowed.

Hotch shoots him a look, and you both back off in favor of finding Morgan and Garcia, who are attempting to start a bonfire.

You don’t expect this to happen.

Spencer is arguably your best friend. He’s been there for you through thick and thin. For better or for worse, you’ve had each other. This trip was supposed to be unifying, and a small part of you had even hoped that maybe, just maybe, it’d give you the bravery to say what you’ve been thinking for a while.

“I cannot believe you intentionally burn your marshmallows.”

Spencer is looking at you like you’ve committed a crime; you are very familiar with this expression, but being on the receiving end of it is new. Thankfully, you’re ready to defend your stance to near-death. A somewhat maniacal grin on your face, you stab another marshmallow onto a skewer and shove it directly into the fire.

“I’m with Pretty Boy on this one. That’s just cruel. It doesn’t even heat it all the way through.” You scowl in Derek’s direction, turning back to your now on-fire marshmallow. You pull it out of the flame, watching it sear as the group murmurs in distaste. It only took three hours to start a fire, and by that time Emily had managed to heat a can of soup on the campstove. Spirits were relatively high, all things considered.

You watch in wonder as the marshmallow curves, melting just how you like it. Before you can stop it, it falls straight down onto your leg.

“Shit. That’s like, on fire.”

You say, your voice rising in pitch and volume as it becomes increasingly clear that not only is the marshmallow very, very hot but it is not coming off. The group springs into unsure action, voices loud and panicked as you push away from both your chair and the fire. The physics of melting sugar be damned, Derek manages to scrape it off with his skewer, and you’re left with a very attractive hole in your pants and a patch of tender skin.

“How do you love camping?” JJ asks, eyes wide as she watches you brush yourself off. Stabbing another marshmallow onto your skewer, you shrug.

“It’s all part of the fun.”

This time, you don’t set your marshmallow on fire. You mimic Spencer, who is carefully rotating his marshmallow. There has to be a system for what he’s doing; he’s laser-focused on the fire, his entire face lit up by the flickering red and orange light. You lean in, and before long you fall into a rhythm of roasting a marshmallow to golden-brown perfection, then pressing it into a graham cracker. Emily is incredible at assembling s’mores, and by time the fire is just a few crackling embers everyone has a little chocolate smeared over their faces.

“I’m really glad we did this.” JJ’s voice is just above a whisper. She’s leaning against Emily, the two of them sharing a blanket as the fire slowly fades. Hotch nods sagely, a rare smile on his face.

“It’s nice. A break. Some fresh air. Trees.” You gesture to the forest around you, unable to contain a sheepish grin. When you look to your right, Spencer’s smiling too. Penelope squeezes your hand. As you watch the last log burn into ash, you wonder how you got so lucky.

---

Later, everyone is too tired to stargaze.

This fact wounds you deeply. Stargazing is your favorite part of camping; there is absolutely nothing that parallels the experience of driving away from the city and looking up into the constellations. To your dismay, everyone is in their tents by the time it’s dark enough to see the winks of light overhead.

You begrudgingly get ready for bed; stepping around the campsite, it’s clear to see that everyone has mostly turned in for the night. Derek and Penelope’s tent is dark. Emily, Hotch, and JJ are all snoring at varying volumes. Spencer’s light is on; you can see his shadow, leaning over to peer at a book. You brush your teeth, swatting bugs away as you stumble towards your tent.

You manage to spend thirty minutes in your tent before you lose your patience. This entire camping trip has been a dream; no work, no cell service, and the people you care about. You’ll be damned if you let it pass you by without checking absolutely everything off your list. You step, a little wobbly, towards the front of your tent. You tug the zipper open, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

On shaking legs, you tug your hiking boots on, the evening cold nipping at your ankles. Despite your attempts to lessen the noise, you watch Spencer’s shadow waver.

“Spence!” You stage-whisper, praying to every deity you can think of that he’s awake and the rest of the team isn’t. To your immediate relief, you watch him tug the zipper of his tent down and emerge, swatting at a few lingering mosquitoes. He looks a little cold; his cheeks are pink and he’s rubbing at his arms. The sight of him in a hoodie and flannel pajama pants is more endearing than you’d expect, and you exhale to clear your head.

“What’s going on?”

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and you point to the sky. He takes a cursory glance up, and you watch his jaw fall slack as he takes in the starry skies.

“Come on. We can see better from over there.”

You wave him towards the beach. You know exactly where you’re headed; while you’ve never camped in this specific spot, you know how to reach your favorite place to stargaze. Spencer looks at you with something between curiosity and admiration as you lead the way with a flashlight. The forest is still awake and responsive at this hour, crickets chirping and leaves rustling as you step through the greenery.

You find it quickly; the boardwalk is unmistakable. It’s a field, like the ones you’ve been surrounded by all day. Spencer identifies the leaves as rhubarb plants as you step onto the wooden pathway. While any field would work, this one is ideal; the sky opens up as far as the eye can see, the trees parting to admire the world above.

“Here.” You turn off your flashlight, allowing your eyes to adjust to the low, blue moonlight. Spencer follows you as you crouch, laying with your back to the boardwalk. This is what you came for.

“Oh my God.” Your face splits into a grin once you hear Spencer’s voice, low and gravelly against your ear. The sky above is endless; all you can see is the expanse of the stratosphere, stars bright and darkness vast over your heads. You tear up a little; you always do. It feels like the universe is leaning down to meet you in the middle, pressing its face to yours.

“Tell me what you see. I know that you know what we’re looking at.”

You scoot a little closer, trying to absorb a little of his warmth. Eyes still fixed on the sky, Spencer begins.

“There’s so little light pollution. I...I’ve never seen this many stars at once.” His eyes narrow a little, and you watch as he absorbs the world above him.

“That’s Orion.” He points to a collection of stars to your left, a few brighter than the others.

“Those three in a row, that’s his belt. You might be able to see his bow, too, to the right.

The brightest one is six hundred and forty light years away. Betelgeuse.” His voice has dropped to a whisper, and you follow his every word. You can see the warrior above you, the stars winking at you as Spencer describes them.

You fall quiet after a few minutes, and the only sound is that of your slow, synced breaths. You feel as though Spencer has peeled the sky open and revealed it to you; with him, you can see another world entirely.

“We’re looking into the past right now.”

You turn to look at him, a laugh ready to bubble past your lips. You look back up at the sky, where he’s pointed to the Big Dipper.

“That’s Dubhe. We’re seeing light from before we were born.”

You nod, a tear sliding down your cheek and cooling before it reaches your nose. There is so much you would like to tell him before you are both light, visible in this moment from somewhere far away.

As you stare up into the starscape, you gasp. There’s a shooting star, dragging across the Pleiades and heading towards the western skies.

“Make a wish,” You breathe. Before you lose your nerve, you reach out to Spencer, lacing your fingers together. Turning your head, you watch as he grins up at the sky. His features are softer when drenched in moonlight; the slope of his nose, the arch of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw all bathed in a dreamy quality.

After the shooting star winks out, trailing across the dark and blinking into nothing, the silence feels heavier.

“What did you wish for?”

You’re sure that he can hear your heartbeat. The steady thrum of your heart against your ribcage is a drum, urging you forward. You watch his brow knit in consideration, before his gaze finally meets yours. His eyes are more hazel than you’ve ever noticed, each fleck of gold striking you as a star.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

His voice is soft, laced with something solemn beneath the surface. You nod, stealing a glance at the sky before you swallow your fear.

"I wished for you." You say quietly.

You don’t know who moves first, only that there’s a brief shuffle before you’re holding each other. He reaches to cradle your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before finally reaching your lips. Your hands ghost over his jaw, trailing down his neck as he laces his fingers into your hair. You can’t quite breathe, nor think, only repeat a simple refrain over and over, a prayer passing over your lips and into the dark.

Spencer.

---

The sun rises lazily, pink and orange brushstrokes against a blue sky. You’re awake early—to put it lightly, Spencer’s tent is cramped—and it feels good to breathe in the morning air. The team is still asleep, a few yards away as you stretch and take in the cool dawn.

You think maybe, this is all a dream. You’re not sure how else this would exist, so perfectly and wholly true. The universe is a benevolent thing, after all. There is no other explanation for Spencer Reid, the man the world got right.

“You have pancake batter in your hair,” You say, a little mournfully but still laughing. Still layered in jackets and hats, you feel as though you’re being warmed from the inside out. Spencer’s eyes widen, and he reaches up with a batter-covered hand to feel his hair. You laugh again, a little too loudly this time, and he shushes you between chuckles.

The campstove is quiet, the gas running blue as Spencer flips a pancake over. You neglected to tell him that folding the pancake mix in slowly would prevent...explosions. If you had warned him, you wouldn’t have the chance to kiss the flour off of his face, smiling against his cheeks. With a mittened hand, you brush the powder off of his eyelashes.

“Chocolate chips, right?”

You smile, nodding. He remembers how you like your pancakes. Turning away from him, you rifle through a storage bin for something you packed.

“Are you looking for syrup? It’s over here.” He calls, his voice soft against the hushed sounds of morning. The birds have begun to chirp, calling to each other in alternating duets. You shake your head, and present him with a contraption.

His eyes light up, and he looks at you with something a little wild and entirely resembling devotion. You reveal with your other hand a bag of coffee grounds from the coffee shop near your house, grinning up at him.

“I can’t believe you brought me a French press.”

You grin, turning your face as your cheeks burn. Maybe you had hoped this would happen, in slightly different words. After you both tuck into your pancakes, leaning over a plate on the same side of a picnic bench, you watch the sunrise. A bundle of puffy jackets and intertwined hands, you press your back into Spencer’s embrace.

As you watch the moon recede into the horizon, you hope that your past is standing hand and hand, gazing at you fondly.

[chibichibisha]

Are you ever going to tells us how ermine and deuce first met/how they fell in love, and possibly headcanons?

*CRACKS KNUCKLES* Thanks for indulging me in my ship 💖😭

Disclaimer: This is based on my own universe so some of the stuff mentioned there are part of the cards I'm doing for them, it's full of headcanons too for sure even if I try to stick to canon material as much as I can. The romantic relationship of my oc's are not actually implied or appear directly on cards, so this is me sharing what actually happens outside that! It's quite long lmao

Deuce and Ace first see Ermine at the welcome party the first years have after the ceremonial entrance. They later meet him better on Heartslabyul chapter, as he is still at Riddle's side during the dorm incident, and they do not talk personally or directly. It's when Trey tells them about Riddle's situation and Ermine's first year at the school that they understand that Ermine is just behaving how he is supposed to behave, and it's not the real him. They are the ones that save him, along with all the other residents as well, from Riddle's tyrannical reign and it's when Ermine drops the facade and really shows how he was hurting.

They later have the opportunity to see how Ermine is outside the dorm duties, and they realize Ermine is not at all cool: he looks stressed and panicking all the time, and running everywhere. He also seems very scared of certain students that seem violent. One of these times is when he sees Deuce revert to his delinquent side and lose his cool and since then, Ermine gets terrified of him.

On Ermine's Gym uniform card, Ace mentions Ermine always runs away when he sees Deuce outside the dorm, because of this, and Deuce seems to feel a bit guilty because he really didn't want to scare him off. From then, he tries to be polite and nice with Ermine to show that he is actually a nice guy.

The moment they start to approach a bit more is when an unbirthday party approaches, and Deuce needs to get better at maths, or he won't be able to attend the game nor the party (The story of their dorm uniform cards). Riddle lends him one of his notebooks for study, and Ermine tutores him to help him, because he sees it like part of a dorm obligation at first. Deuce gets happy about it since it's a good opportunity to show he can be a good student and not a scary guy, and he is able to make Ermine behave more like he truly is, and not the "perfect attendant" persona he picks up there.

He respects and holds Ermine in a very good opinion since then, and them, with Ace, start to hang out more too. So it's a natural process of them becoming friends, honestly. The first who falls for the other is Deuce, definitely, and he doesn't even realize first. It has to be Ace the one that jokingly tells him "you surely likes Ermine-senpai more than what you realiza, huh?" which makes Deuce think for a moment, and react with a "Maybe" while Ace jolt surprised. Deuce naturally accepts it in a way. He never fell in love before, he cannot even talk to girls and at first, Ermine didn't even approach him, so he didn't know how it was supposed to be. If the case is that he may like Ermine more than a friend, he is good with it. He is pretty positive, honestly.

But Deuce is not experienced in this, so whenever he tries to make a step, he becomes too embarrassed and Ermine doesn't understand anything, he tries him as he is being an idiot. Fortunately, Deuce is best when he doesn't think too much about stuff, so he ends up being very smooth and flirty when he doesn't intend it. Since Ermine keeps tutoring Deuce because they work well together, Deuce may comment on stuff in a sweet or endearing way that makes Ermine embarrassed. He will stare at him unintentionally or mention that he looks cute that day, just for Ermine to get red and kind of annoyed because he is not taking it seriously, but it's affecting him.

Ermine only starts to consider something like this when Deuce gets used to getting giddy about being with Ermine, showing that off, and admitting, confessing, that he indeed likes him for real. And that makes Ermine reject any type of feeling he might start to have knowing this, because he had always been very dishonest about what he really wanted, and this is no exception. Deuce may say he likes him, but Ermine is not gonna let it happen. Also, he doesn't have very good self-esteem, and Deuce is definitely a good guy, it wouldn't even work.

That doesn't mean, though, that he doesn't think about it, and starts to fall for Deuce' sweet side as well.

The first moment he begins to accept it a bit is during the VDC and the culture festival. Deuce spends two weeks preparing for that and Ermine realizes how different it feels without having Deuce around, which makes him longer a bit for the feelings. He is a bit busy himself so he tries to not think much about it. But when he hears from Riddle that Deuce broke the rules and got out of campus with Epel, he panics a little bit because he doesn't know anything. It's really the only moment there is a misunderstanding between them, because Ermine feels bad during all that, until he is able to talk directly to Deuce, and he does, of course. For the first time he has the courage to really ask him if Duece got tired of the thing they might have, whatever it is, because Ermine is always backing up from that, and if it's the case, he should be saying him clearly. Deuce doesn't understand at first, but when Ermine mentions Epel, he kind of gets it, even if Ermine is not explaining himself clearly. He apologizes because he should have talked clearly to Ermine earlier, but didn't know how to do it. It's okay because Ermine actually trusts Deuce after all that, and that is when it is still a bit unresolved, but they somehow know they like each other.

The flirty shenanigans keep going, with Deuce telling Ermine that he will do his best if Ermine ever let him, until the Star Sending happens and Ermine knows how work Deuce works for the festival to happen, protecting the tree and the stars and practicing hard for the dance, that Ermine realize he really fell after all for Deuce. Looking at him like that makes him feel kind of proud and he finds him cool, he is drawn to him. At this point, he doesn't want to run away anymore from it, he just wants to be with Deuce. So after the festival, when everything is over, he approaches Deuce with the intention to tell him something, he doesn't know what exactly tho. But instead of that, he just kisses Deuce for the first time and tells him he did a really good job. It leaves Deuce speechless, but seconds later he is just too happy about it.

Some dating Deumine headcanons:

Their dates are mostly study dates, to be honest. None of them see this as a problem because, actually, they like to hang out alone, and just talk. Deuce wants to get Ermine into dates outside campus though, and give him magical wheels rides.

He actually did this on Ermine's birthday.

Deuce is definitely more open about it. Once he passes the questioning phase of him liking someone (and a guy, but that's not exactly that important) and that makes him feel embarrassed, he is the type to talk about how cute his partner is and how happy he is around him, because he is really an honest guy.

Ermine on the other hand, is much more introverted about it and even if he is pretty much in love with Deuce, he is still embarrassed and running away from those praises. He doesn't do well with them.

Also yes, Deuce is the more touchy one. He hugs and kisses Ermine most of the time, while Ermine is the type to lean in against Deuce or pull his sleeve. He gives Deuce shy kisses and is much more cuddly as well if he is in the mood.

Ermine finds it endearing that Deuce likes lil chickens and eggs. Yuu told them that there's a festivity in the world where they come from where people believe a rabbit brings colorful eggs to kids. It sounds too crazy for Ermine but Deuce loves the idea.

Deuce is sometimes the intense guy type, and he will mention that he would marry Ermine in a heartbeat, which makes Ermine to call him an idiot, but it affects him.

Everyone in Heartslsabyul knows they are dating because they never intended to keep it a secret. But that just leads to some embarrassing moments of Cater mentioning them being a couple.

Deuce always wants to show how he is able to take care of Ermine whenever he needs it, and how is okay with Ermine being the way he is. He wants to be seen reliable and as cool as he sees Ermine, so that just fuels his goal of being a honor students more. Ermine supports him, of course.

Deuce talked to his mom about Ermine and she can't believe her son is dating someone, she definitely wants to meet him. From Ermine' side, he just told his big sister, and she is also supportive. On the future, Deuce's mom and Ermine's big sister are the ones who helps them the most.

They are the most sweet and lovey dovey when they both are alone.

[xnchxntmxnt]

𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑛𝑎, 𝑓𝑖𝑥𝑒𝑑

𝐵𝑜𝑘𝑢𝐴𝑘𝑎 𝑋 𝐺𝑁!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑛𝑎 : 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡

a, can you tell I'm bad at naming things? This took me an hour b, I make this sound so much cooler than it really is lol it's just bokuto and akaashi being cuties

this is another req from tumblr that I'm excited about--also thank you to @sugasfanfics (on ao3, instagram & tumblr) for helping me with some ideas with this! Love you bro!/p Go check out her stuff! It's really good!

Anyway, enjoy!

TW//CW: minor cursing

Reader info: GN!Reader, third year student at Fukurodani, Bokuto Kotaro’s childhood best friend

Word Count:

Ao3 Link

“Akaashi! Did you see that spike! Did ya see it? Did ya?”

“Yes, I did, Bokuto.”

“Wasn’t it killer?!”

“Yes, Bokuto.”

“My shoulder hurts a little from that!”

Now that you thought about it, your shoulder hurt a little just watching him. You grew up with Fukurodani’s team captain, Bokuto Kotaro, and you welcomed Akaashi Keiji into your friendship the year prior. Now it was the beginning of your third year and Bo invited you to stay and watch practice so he could walk you home. What a gentleman.

Most of why you immediately let him join the two of you is because he and Bokuto figured out early on they were soulmates. It was great to meet them so young, but you had to admit, you were a little jealous. Especially because Bokuto had it pinned in his mind that there was someone else. All he had was a few scraped knees and/or elbows that he nor Akaashi remembered getting to go off of. Typical Kotaro making a mountain out of a molehill. You’d been dealing with his dramatic streak for a long time, though, and found it endearing.

He was endearing. You’d had a crush on the captain for a while, now, but since he and Akaashi found each other...well, it was better not to spoil their fun.

You hadn't wanted to admit it for a while, but you had a bit of a crush on Akaashi too. There was something about both the boys—very different things, of course—that drew you to them. Bokuto was loud, emotional, and so caring where Akaashi’s intelligence and natural charm were fascinating.

You didn’t have the guts to confess to either of them nor did you want to ruin what they had. They already found each other, so what was the point? It’s not like having two soulmates was unheard of but it was on the rarer side and you doubted you’d be so lucky.

“Nice one, Bo!” you yelled over to him. Today was Friday so you were planning on walking home with Bokuto from his practice. The two of you had spent Friday evenings together for as long as you could remember, rarely ever missing them. You helped him with homework when he needed it, you two played video games or watched movies. Most of the time you ended up staying overnight because neither of you wanted to move from the comfortable couch.

He turned and waved to you, a smile plastered on his face. “(Y/N), wasn't that awesome?”

“Yes, it was,” you laugh, turning back to your homework you decided to work on while at practice (that way Bokuto could have your full attention when you got home—he needed it in school sometimes). “You got this, dude!”

You heard him cheer—he was so energetic today. Someone so positive (unless he was in one of his moods) was hard to come by. Especially someone who felt all of his emotions so strongly like he did.

The end of practice came sooner than you thought it would and you offered to help the boys clean up. They graciously accepted, per usual, so you followed Akaashi around, helping him find all the volleyballs that had rolled around the gym floor.

“Any fun plans for the weekend?” you asked, hoping to start a conversation with him. Usually, he wasn’t the type to start talking to anyone, so you wanted to break the silence.

He shrugged. “Bokuto offered to go to the movies with me tomorrow night, so there’s that. You?”

“Just the usual.”

He mumbled something, but before you could ask what it was, Bokuto came skipping over. He swung around behind Akaashi, wrapping his arms around his waist. “What’re you two talking about?” he asked energetically, a smile plastered on his face.

“Just this weekend,” you reply, trying to match his energy. It was a little tough when Bo was (unintentionally) making you a third wheel.

“Awesome, awesome, awesome! Hey, I gotta steal Akaashi real quick, But I’ll be ready to leave in a sec, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” You turned to walk back to your bag, going to put away the book you had out. However, the boys’ conversation had you intrigued, so you walked slower and listened in.

“One time, Akaashi! Last time, I promise! I just wanna see-”

“Or you can just wait and find out.”

“Ugh, but thats boring! Please, please, please?”

“Fine, fine--you want me there?”

“Yes please!”

“Alright…”

You sighed, wondering what Bokuto was up to this time. Whatever it was, at least it was legal and safe enough that Akaashi agreed to it.

***

“(Y/N), hey, (Y/N)!” Bokuto yelled for you, running out of the club room with Akaashi in tow. You laughed as he glared at him, being dragged along by the wrist. “I have something I wanna try on you. Works on akaashi, I wanna see if you fall for it.”

“What is it?”

“You gotta trust me on this.”

You laugh. “I’m scared, is this safe?”

“Just humor him, you won’t die or anything.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine! Hold your arm out.”

You follow his directions and you do, rolling up your sleeve. He does the same.

Before you know it, there’s a painful stinging sensation on your forearm, but you realize you weren’t hit. Bokuto slapped his own arm, which was now slightly red where he hit.

“Did you have to hit so hard?” Akaashi complained with a sigh. “That hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry--(Y/N)?”

“What the hell?” you asked, eyes wide in shock. “Did you just--”

“It worked! Oh--Akaashi it worked! I was right! Yes! Aren’t you glad you said yes!”

“We could have just asked them to the movies Saturday…”

You listened to the two of them go back and forth for a moment, staring at your arm. It didn’t hurt anymore, but a moment ago it had. But you weren’t hit. Bokuto was. How did you--

“Is this how you broke your arm when you were seven and somehow I managed to at the same time??” you exclaim, shoving his shoulder. “When did you figure this out? How did you know? What?”

“Well, I kinda had an idea a little while ago, but I wanted to try it out…” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “But isn’t this awesome? You--wait, you like us, right?”

You roll your eyes, putting up your best deadpan face. “No, Bokuto Kotaro, I despise you and Akaashi with every fiber of my being.”

“Really?”

“No, stupid, I’ve liked you for months I just didn’t say anything!”

“Why not??”

“Cause I didn’t wanna ruin what you guys had!”

“If it helps, (Y/N), we both did the same thing,” Akaashi added. “So, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, do you wanna come to the movies with us?”

You not, still unbelieving that this was an actual reality. Bokuto grinned and hugged you, spinning you around in his excitement. “Bo, put me down!” you squeal, hanging onto him tightly.

He set you down and kissed your forehead. “Sorry, sorry, I got excited. But you’ll come, right??”

“Yes, I’ll come to the movies with you guys.”

“Awesome!”

“I’m glad.”

You took one of Bokuto’s hands and offered your other one to Akaashi, which he also took. So your first ‘date’ tomorrow would be interesting, but you couldn’t have been happier about it.

Hope you guys enjoyed! I love these guys so much, specifically Bokuto (but I tried to write them both aaaa I'm no good at Akaashi but I tried). If you have any reqs for me, let me know either here or my inbox on tumblr!

Drink some water and stay healthy! Sending love! <3

-𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

some kind of loud, attention grabbing noise that lets you know ITS FIC TIME, BABYYYYY you could start here, but the context... the build up.. the hours of worldcrafting, you'd miss it all... so start here, instead, then circle back.

These last two weeks have actually been nice. She and Adam had both mutually agreed that, despite not being the kind of person either of them would intentionally seek out on their own, Beetlejuice (she still has a hard time believing that’s what BJ stands for, but okay,) is fun. Not just fun, but funny, and seemingly often in the mood to laugh, in that overblown, Vincent Price horror movie way he does, which earns him multiple shushes in the library.

Drama club has gotten better. Barbara has a private theory that what most people need is to just get used to BJ, to spend enough time with him that he stops looking like an outsider, and it’s coming true, slowly, but finally. BJ had mentioned off-handedly he played ukulele, and when the other kids had expressed interest, he’d brought it with him the next day... Though she’s not quite sure where he kept it, the entire day. She’s seen that mess of a locker he’s got. She doubts it fits in there. And it can’t have been in his backpack, either, because every time he sets it down, she can hear what sounds like glass and rocks settling. She’s even seen him, after school, pick up a rock and shove it in one of the pockets. She has to assume his bag weighs a hundred pounds, or so.

His instrument, almost predictably, was painted with black and white stripes, but he’d played the little thing like a pro. She had never taken him for someone who enjoyed the mellow, soft sounds the ukulele was known for, but clearly, she doesn’t know enough about the boy. Miss Larson, the drama instructor, had clapped, and learned that BJ could read music, too. “Maybe while we’re practicing, you can accompany us?” She’d asked, clearly trying to work a way into getting more participation out of their newest member. BJ had been flustered, but had agreed, easily.

The wildest thing had been hearing him sing. They’d moved from being in the drama room, most days, to being in the auditorium, working on lines and practicing their singing. No one’s been officially cast, yet, but it’s mostly to get used to being on stage. Miss Larson had insisted that BJ sing a few lines for them, and he’d sort of made a face, ducked backstage, and had appeared with his ukulele in hand. Barbara didn’t even know he’d put it back there.

“Uh, so, sing what?” He’d shuffled awkwardly, and Miss Larson had smiled. “Whatever you feel,” to which BJ just snorted, and rolled his eyes, but then he plucked a few notes on his ukulele, and started to sing.

“There’s a camp, there’s a camp, by the frozen lake, wa wa ooh. With every belly starving and every finger numb, but up on the hill there’s a red, red rum, somebody’s always cooking something in the lean-to.”

It wasn't a song she’d recognized, but it was clearly morbid. She shouldn’t have expected anything different. The real focal point was his voice, his strange, scratchy pitch, because despite sounding like he gargles sandpaper and nails, he’s got a strong, clear tone, one that carries well, and as he sings, he doesn’t hit a single sour note. She also noted that his enunciation is much clearer when he’s singing, oddly enough. He sang as much as he decided he needed to, and clung to his ukelele as he finished, like a lifeline. “So. Yeah.” He’d said, and then flinched when the clapping started, from all members present, but especially her and Adam. He’d stood looking around at them all, utterly baffled.

“You didn’t tell us you would sing!” Jeremiah, the student director, was the one who looked the most enthused, and BJ balked. “Didn’t think it mattered. M’just gonna be a stagehand.. Right?”

“Maybe he could play the dentist?” Miss Larson had looked at Jeremiah, and they’d begun talking amongst themselves, ignoring him, as he strummed nervously at his instrument.

“Oh, wait, check this out!”

And he sings again, another verse from that same, oddly morbid song, which she’d started to pick up is definitely about cannibals, but his voice is.. Different. The grit is gone. It’s like he’d ran his vocal cords under some hot soapy water, and washed all the grime and gravel out of them, because he sang like an angel, like a normal person, and then, suddenly, devolved into a hacking cough, doubled over.

“Sorry, can only do that so long. Hurts my throat,” he said, after a moment, all the grit back in his voice. He waited. There had been a soft laugh, and then it grew louder, coming from each of the members watching him in turn, because the idea that speaking like THAT somehow hurts, and his normal tone doesn’t, is just so outrageous and silly, and he’d stood there proudly, grinning in that way he does, because his joke had landed, and he might, for the first time since he was forced into their club, be enjoying himself.

So, yes. The last few weeks have been good. Very good.

All that club progress aside, looking back makes her a little flustered, because at this point, she’s gotten the hint that he’s not gay. What he is, is incredibly flirty, not only with Adam but with her, and she finds herself... enjoying it. He keeps his ukulele tucked into the bottom of the cart in the library, and sometimes, when he’s certain he won’t be interrupted, he grabs it and sings little songs about them, laying on top of the cart like a drunk lounge singer on a piano, as she or Adam wheel it along. The songs are made up on the spot tunes that often start dirty, and end sincere, like he can’t even help it. It’s embarrassing, and endearing, and just very… Beetlejuice.

There’s just the problem lingering overhead, the one she’s desperate to solve, of Kevin. BJ doesn’t talk about him, abruptly changes the subject when she tries, or just goes silent, and gives her a hard glare with those amber eyes, which is the worst of the three options, because silence on him is unnerving. He can do this thing where he goes deathly still, and she swears he doesn’t even breathe, just stands there, totally unmoving, like a corpse.

She thinks if she could just go to his house, and talk to his mother, she might get a better understanding of the entire situation, but despite him inviting them, he’s never followed up, and both Adam and herself are too polite to push.. Directly. But then, he doesn’t show up that day, not for library duty and not for drama club, and she makes the decision for him, that today is the day they’ll be coming over. She gets his address out of the guidance counselor, easily. “It’s so sweet you two want to go check up on him,” Mrs. Birch says, sliding his address across her desk to Barbara. “I knew the drama club would be a good fit for him! He’s already making friends!”

Adam’s mom is nice enough to drop them off, and Adam, adorable, sweet Adam, stares delighted at the house, as they walk up the front steps. “It’s a tudor!” he tells her, and she sort of nods, not really knowing exactly what that means. “I’ve never seen one painted black and white, before. Usually those accents are a natural wood color,” and she rings the bell, as he goes on. The outside of the house matches BJ’s stripes, and she wonders if that’s coincidence, or if his parents just really, really love him. The door swings open, and then a chubby blur jumps away from their line of sight, startling her from her thoughts. “Beetlejuice?” Adam calls, concerned, and it takes a moment for their friend to reappear in the doorway, with a croaked out, “Sup?”

He looks terrible. He always looks a little terrible, as mean as that is to say, too pale and with purple spots under his eyes she chalks up to exhaustion, but he looks worse, today. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d actually be sick.

“We just wanted to come by and see if you were okay,” she tells him, and BJ cocks his head so far to the side, he looks like he might fall over. “Why?” “Because.. We’re your friends,” Adam says, cautiously, which causes BJ to stare down at the checkered entryway tile.

“Oh.” He packs a lot of emotion into that little noise.

“Can we come in?” She asks, and he doesn’t look sure, rubbing at the back of his neck, but then next to him, in the doorway, appears what must be Mrs. Deetz. She’s on the tall side, slim, with blonde hair past her shoulders, and she’s wearing all black with lace accents. Even her stud earrings and the rings on her fingers are that same dark hue.

“Well, hello! BJ, invite your friends in!” She urges him, and then, to them asks, “You kids hungry? We’re just sitting down to dinner. It’s grilled cheese tower night,” and then she turns, and leaves them there, like that needs no explanation.

BJ fidgets a moment, but relents. “Come in, I guess,” he moves aside, and Adam and Barbara take a collective step into the Deetz household. The house is dark, not for lack of light, but for lack of color. The walls are paneling which Adam, delighted, says must be original, but they’ve been stained a dark shade of coffee, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. When she does, she takes in how strangely eerie the place is. It’s less like someone’s home and more like a haunted house ride.

“Oh, you guys haven't taken down the Halloween décor, yet?” Adam asks, noting a cracked vase full of black roses on a side table as they follow BJ further in, and BJ snorts. “That crap? It's up in th’ attack. This is what passes for normal around here.” Barbara stops to stare at a picture of a distorted figure cannibalizing a smaller one. “Saturn Devouring His Son,” BJ says, briefly putting on a voice like a tour guide, high pitched and peppy, and both she and Adam wince. “What’s with you and cannibalism?” she asks, which only earns her that haunted laugh in response.

The kitchen, at least, looks a little more normal and bright, but Barbara learns quickly that’s not to be trusted, because sitting on the counter is what looks to be a lasagna made from sandwiches and sauce. “You guys are here on a night Emily had to cook. Bad luck,” BJ tells them, and it takes her a moment to realize he’s talking about his mother. Does he use her first name?

Emily, or, Mrs. Deetz, her mind corrects politely, busies herself with dishing them both a plate. “So, you kids must be.. Adam and Barbara,” she says, knowingly, and BJ, perhaps embarrassed, shuffles his bare feet at nothing. He’s been talking to his mom about them… aww. She notices then that he’s in his pajamas, which are, like everything else he wears, eccentric. He looks cute. She realizes she’s staring, and BJ catches her eye, and wiggles his eyebrows at her. Oh, god.

“We’re sorry for dropping by unannounced, Mrs. Deetz,” Adam says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Mrs. Deetz waives that off. “It’s totally fine. BJ’s never taken a sick day, before, I bet you probably thought he was faking. You kids can call me Emily. And that, of course, is Lydia.” She gestures to the nine year old scrutinizing them from the kitchen table.

“Hello again,” Barbara says, and Lydia gives her a smile, at least, but it's wary, it’s very, “I’ve got my eyes on you.” It’s strange to see from a little kid.

They all sit down to eat, all five of them, at the kitchen table, she and Adam settled across from BJ and Lydia. Adam squints, trying to read what’s on the other boy’s shirt. “What does that say?” he asks, and BJ glances down, and pulls the top taught, to make it easier to read. “Least exciting hole I’ve ever been in,” both boys say, at the same time. “Grand Canyon National Park.” Barbara and Adam both blush at that, and Mrs.. Emily, Emily just laughs. Lydia looks annoyed. “No one will explain to me what that means,” she tells Barbara, leaning closer to her, and almost looking hopeful. Barbara avoids that look. “It’s a dirty joke,” is all she says, and Lydia, clearly not satisfied, just takes a bite of her grilled cheese abomination. “Chuck hates this shirt,” BJ tells them. “Chuck?” “Chuck, Chuckster, Chuckles, Charles.. My dad,” he grates out. Barbara can’t imagine calling her father by his first name. She’d be in a world of trouble for being “disrespectful,” if she tried. “Is Mr. Deetz home?” Adam asks, and Lydia is the one to reply, mouth still a little too full.

“He’s at the office. He’s always working so fucking late,” Lydia says, and then lets it settle in the air, like she’s waiting for something. Barbara balks, and it feels like her eyes are bulging out of her head, because she’s never heard that kind of language from a nine year old. She glances at Emily nervously, waiting for her to blow up, to be angry, but Emily just seems to be in deep thought.

“I dunno about that one, Lyds,” Mrs. Deetz finally says, and Lydia puffs up her chest and tries again. “He’s always working so god damn late?” She looks to her mother, and Emily, finger on her chin, nods. “Yeah, alright. I hereby decree that Lydia Deetz, at the age of nine and a half, is allowed to say god damn.” Lydia pumps her fist and then takes another huge mouthful of grilled cheese casserole. “Bout fuckin’ time,” BJ grunts. Barbara thinks the Deetz family might all be whack jobs. there's more, a lot more, but tumblr can't handle it all, so read this chapter in full over on Ao3!

[ashyblondwaves]

Backseat Driver

@ecstaticrevrie sent me a message requesting number 14 on the smutty one liners prompt list. Here you go, hon!

Sentence: “Later you will definitely need to tell me where you learned this.”

Summary: Wanda and Vision go for a drive through the lush backroads of Upstate New York. Of course, there’s a pitstop. 

This is rated explicit. Obviously.

The world around Wanda was a blur of green trees and a warm earthy breeze filtering in through the opened passenger side window as I Get Around by The Beach Boys played low on the radio. It felt so nice to get away from the Avengers Compound, even if only for a few hours. 

“Tony must really like you,” Wanda said, glancing over at Vision behind the wheel. Broad shoulders filled the empty space around him. “He’s letting you use one of his cars for a drive you wouldn’t tell him anything about.”

“I didn’t want us to be followed,” Vision said simply, pressing on the gas. The engine gave a loud roar as they zipped up the empty street. “Besides, he’s one of my dads. Of course he’d let me use the car.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. The Tony Stark is one of Vision’s dads joke was something the two of them played up often. They were only ones that seemed to find it funny. 

“Would you rather have brought Tony on this joyride?” Wanda asked, faking a pout. “We can go back so you can get him, if you want?”

“Oh no, darling,” Vision’s low cadence hit Wanda low in her belly. He turned his head to sneak a quick glance at her. “Mr. Stark has no place in what I have planned for us today.”  

Wanda smiled triumphantly. He hadn’t even told her what the plan was. All he said was he wanted to take a drive with her and to dress comfortably. But his tone; she’d heard that tone before. And when he used it, it always ended in them tangled together with nothing between them. Sometimes in bed, other times they got creative when the others were out. 

The kitchen sink was Wanda’s favorite. It was a night she thought about often. The unexpectedness of it, the spontaneity. It never failed to make her ache remembering how Vision came up behind her and pressed his hands to her shoulders, dipping his head into the crook of her neck and pressing a kiss there before whispering in her ear, “We’re alone, sweetheart.” 

He stepped up closer then, pressing the front of his body flush with Wanda’s back. She felt his erection against her ass instantly. She wiggled a little to tease him. She wanted to hear the moan she loved so much. That low growl under his breath that rumbled his chest and sent a jolt of pleasure straight between her legs. 

They didn’t have much time. Someone could’ve come back at any moment. It was that thought alone that made their tryst even more thrilling for Wanda. 

Luckily, she’d worn a skirt that day. Vision’s hands snuck under the flowing fabric and pulled her panties down, letting them drop down to Wanda’s ankles. 

“Stay put, love,” Vision said, giving her ass a squeeze and taking a step back. 

Wanda glanced over her shoulder and watched him go through the motions. Unbuckle the belt, unbutton the top button and unzip the jeans. She could just make out the outline of his cock through his boxer briefs. She wanted to turn around and help him; reach beyond the band of those underwear and  grab hold of him, pump him with her hand a few times before getting down on her knees and finishing him off with her mouth. 

But Vision had a plan so she stayed put, rising up on her tiptoes in anticipation. She heard the foil wrapper of the condom and snuck a glance again, watching Vision roll the prophylactic down his length. Neither of them were sure if they needed to take the precaution. The science told them no, but there were quite a few things that Vision could do that he wasn’t supposed to be able to. At the rate his systems were evolving, they didn’t want to take any chances. 

And all at once, they were ready. Vision closed the space between them again and grabbed Wanda’s ass, coaxing her back to her tiptoes. She gripped the sink to help her balance until she felt Vision at her entrance. 

“Ready?” Vision asked, teasing her with the head of his cock. Running it between her wet folds. If she wasn’t so ready to feel him inside her, she may have laughed. She could just see how he was positioned to accommodate their height difference. While she stood on her tip toes, Vision had to bend at the knee to reach her. But the humor was lost when all she felt was the aching between her legs and the memories of Vision’s cock teasing her. 

“Ready.” 

That was all Vision needed to hear. He pushed into her, eliciting a relieved moan from Wanda as she pushed back against his cock, desperate to feel all of him inside of her. With both hands on her hips, Vision pumped into her, the rhythm impossibly delicious.

They were as quick as they could be about it. Wanda was on the edge of orgasm, wavering between bliss and frustration when Vision reached around her front and slid a hand between her legs. The tips of his fingers gently toyed with her clit as he pounded into her and it was exactly what Wanda needed. She came with Vision’s name pouring from her lips, her walls clenching Vision’s cock with each spasm. He wasn’t far behind. As he came, he hunched over Wanda, pressing his chest flush with hers as he kissed her neck and whispered his love for her. 

She still smiled to herself every time she went to the sink. 

"We’re here.”

Wanda jumped. She’d almost forgotten she was taking a drive with Vision, the memories of their coupling at the sink feeling so real in that moment. She smiled and sat up looking out at the empty clearing in front of them. 

“Are we having a picnic?” she asked, looking at the bag Vision had packed before they left. 

“I wouldn’t call it a picnic,” Vision said, taking a moment to think. “Well, I suppose you could call it a picnic if we’re using euphemisms. But it’s not a picnic in the traditional sense of the word.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes at Vision. “What are you up to?”

“Let’s get our of the car and find out,” Vision challenged. “I have to get it set up for us.”

Wanda vacated the car quickly, eager to find out what Vision was talking about. 

“I asked Mr. Stark for a car with a backseat,” Vision explained as he moved the passenger seat as far up to the dashboard and flipped the seat forward. “That way we could use it.”

Wanda gasped when she realized what Vision was talking about. “You want to have sex in Tony Stark’s car?” 

“The fact that it’s Mr. Stark’s car has nothing to do with it,” Vision corrected her. “I wanted to try this and it was the only way I could secure a car.” 

“Tell me more about your plan,” Wanda said, smiling from ear to ear at Vision’s forethought to set this up. 

“There isn’t much more to say,” Vision shrugged, ensuring one more time that the passenger seat was moved up as far as possible. “If I tell you more then it won’t be very erotic.”

Wanda smiled to herself. Vision tried. He tried so hard to bridge the gap that his analytical system created during normal conversations. But the harder he tried, the more he reverted back to sounding more like a computer than a human. It was a fault that was endearing to Wanda. She moved toward him quickly. Gabbing him by the collar of his sweater, she pulled him down into a kiss. As she let go, she ran her hands down his chest, coming to a rest at his hips. 

“You’re always asking me what I want,” she murmured. “Now it’s your turn to tell me what you want.”

Vision nodded, tangling a hand in Wanda’s wind blown hair. “But I want you to be ready for this as well.”

“Can I tell you something?” Wanda asked, grabbing hold of Vision’s hand. “I’ve been thinking about that night in the kitchen. Remember that feeling? Knowing that ten minutes after we both came the team was in that kitchen cooking dinner? How did that make you feel?” 

“Salacious,“ Vision said as Wanda guided his hand between her legs. He sucked in a breath before finishing his sentence. “But in the best possible way.”

“Exactly,” Wanda said. She felt Vision start to massage her through her pants. “I carry that night with me and the mere thought of it has me ready for you all over again. Now, tell me, Vis. What do you want?”

“I’d really like for you to take your pants off,” Vision confessed. “I want to touch you without the restrictions of clothing.” 

It wasn’t the sexiest delivery, but by now Wanda recognized it as Vision’s own brand of sexy. It worked for him. 

Wanda looked around. They were as secluded as they could get, so she shimmied out of her pants, kicking them off into the grass below them. Vision took her by the hand and pulled her closer to him, admiring her standing there in just her tank top. 

“Every time after I’m with you,” Vision started, sliding a hand back between Wanda’s legs. He gently toyed with the soft hair there. “I always think I’ve felt as much as I’m ever going to feel. But somehow, I feel even more every single time. Things I’m probably not supposed to feel. Things my systems were never designed for.”

“Does that scare you?” 

“What I feel when I’m with you will never scare me,” Vision said, maneuvering two fingers between Wanda’s wet folds. “I’m just grateful to experience it.”

At that moment, all talking ceased. Vision guided Wanda closer to the car, silently instructing her to prop her leg up on the sill so he could reach her easier. He easily slid his fingers inside Wanda, gently pumping them in and out at first, gathering wetness and finding a rhythm before he curled his fingers and searched for the rough spot inside of her that made her squirm the most. 

With the tips of his fingers pressed against her most sensitive spot, Vision pressed down and rubbed the area with strong and steady movements, never breaking the pace. The last thing he wanted to do was break the pace.

He’d learned early on not to stop, no matter how much Wanda writhed and cried out. Her reaction to his fingers on this spot alarmed him at first. She almost looked pained and he stopped to make sure she was okay. Never stop. It was all for good reason, she’d told him. He was not hurting her. 

Even now, as Wanda’s orgasm hit her and her knees buckled, Vision was almost alarmed by the intensity of it. She muttered obscenities with each clench of her walls around his fingers and gasped for breath. But when he looked at her, she was smiling. 

Breathlessly and holding herself up with an arm over the open car door, she spoke. “I love when you do that.” 

She was so beautiful after she came. Rosy cheeked, a slight sheen of sweat at her brow and a smile that Vision never saw any other time. He took pride in knowing that he was the one that put that particular smile on her face time and time again. 

Vision stepped forward, cupping Wanda’s face in his hands. “Are you ok to continue?” he asked. “We don’t have to.”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of showing me what you’ve been planning that easily,” Wanda said, wrapping her arms around Vision’s neck. “I’m ready for whatever you have planned next.” 

Vision nodded and broke away from Wanda, quietly going to the bag he had packed. From the bag he took out a towel and a condom and made his way back to Wanda who was eyeing the towel in confusion.

“This is probably disappointing to you,” Vision said, waving the towel in the air before laying it down on the backseat of the car. “But I’m not particularly fond of the idea of having to explain to Mr. Stark how his backseat ended up soiled, so I had to prepare. And I didn’t want to just walk out of the compound with a towel in my hand.. so I put it in the bag.”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh. She was far from disappointed. Knowing how many times her own bedsheets ended up as a casualty of their coupling, the last thing she wanted was to have to explain what happened to Tony’s backseat to Tony himself. 

“I don’t really know how to approach this next part,” Vision admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I think I took too long, now it feels disjointed.”

“We can always fix that,” Wanda said, moving in closer and pressing a quick kiss to Vision’s lips. “Don’t overthink it.” 

It was all Vison needed to hear. 

He pulled Wanda close to his body, kissing her deeply and with purpose. Their hands explored together. Vision, moving to the soft exposed skin of Wanda’s ass as Wanda decided to go for the bulge at the front of Vision’s jeans. She kneaded and massaged his cock until he could do nothing but groan against her mouth. 

It was time. Vision pulled away and quickly undid his jeans as Wanda watched in anticipation as he pulled them down and stepped out of them. Without fanfare, he got into the backseat of the car and held Wanda’s hand as she clambered in in after him. 

“You’re going to sit on my lap, but with your back to me.” Vision explained, stretching his legs out in the space he’d created by moving the seat up. 

Wanda nodded, swinging a leg over Vision’s body and getting in place. She leaned forward, pressing her hands against the back of the passenger seat. 

“Later you will definitely need to tell me where you learned this.”

Vision stayed silent as he grabbed Wanda’s ass in one hand and squeezed, lifting her up just enough to gain access to her. With his other hand, he rolled the condom down his length then grabbed hold of his shaft and guided his cock to her entrance, slipping the head in teasingly. 

What Vision didn’t plan for was Wanda taking the reigns on top of him. She pushed back against his teasing, sucking in a breath as his cock fully slipped into her. She rose up, letting him slide out just enough before she came crashing back down, their bodies making a satisfying smack as they collided. 

They moved together, finding a satisfying flow. Wanda would raise up, and Vision, now holding her ass with both hands, would pull her back down onto him, lifting his hips to drive himself in deeper. They were hitting all the right spots and Wanda, still stimulated from her first orgasm, didn’t need much before she was coming again. She stilled as the orgasm washed over her, allowing Vision to take over completely, pumping his hips while Wanda’s walls gripped him tightly, driving him over the edge. 

He came with Wanda’s name on his lips and her ass in his hands. And even though Wanda had finished minutes earlier, she couldn’t help but moan back just listening to him come. 

They decoupled in silence, Wanda stepping out of the car to grab their pants as Vision pulled off the condom and put the car back in order. 

As they made one last check to make sure everything was as it should be with the car, Wanda started to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” Vision asked, getting into the drivers seat as Wanda curled up on the passenger side. 

“It’s just that I can’t believe,” Wanda stopped to laugh again before she continued. “I can’t believe we just had sex in Tony Stark’s car.” 

[thepoeticfirefly]

Always You (Chanyeol x Reader// Baekhyun x Reader) Two

Summary: She never intended to fall in love with her best friend knowing that doing so will hurt what they already have. But what she never wanted was to hurt them both in expense of her feelings (to edit if i think of a better summary than this crap)

Genre: Angst/Fluff; high school to college au; chanyeol & baekhyun x fem!reader

Disclaimer: this story is mine and any stories with a similar plot is a coincidence. this is story is purely my imagination; moodboard is mine, i really worked hard doing it and I know it's not that good but it was my first time doing one but it was fun😆

Warnings: some profanities mentioned

Word Count: 1.8k+ agaaaain

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Chanyeol sat on a chair by a food truck, rocking back and forth as he waited for his friends and Mi Soo to arrive. Chanyeol giggled to himself at the thought of meeting up with Mi Soo on a Saturday, though his friends will be there, he was still excited at the mere thought of Mi Soo.

He found himself reminiscing the first time he ever met Mi Soo, biting the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling to not get judged by the passing strangers.

It was the Halloween of their 9th grade and Chanyeol has dressed himself as Iron Man. He was greatly pleased with his appearance, even more when he saw the expression of people gawking at him. He had kept it secret from Y/N and Baekhyun and Chanyeol felt pleased with himself when Y/N and Baekhyun couldn’t stop ogling at him.

Baekhyun dressed as a Mummy that almost beat Chanyeol’s Iron Man while Y/N wore a Slytherin uniform from Harry Potter. Though amazed at the scale of Baekhyun’s and Chanyeol’s costume were, Y/N couldn’t help but jokingly complain how plain she looked beside the overly dressed and very much efforted costumes of her two best friends.

“I was very excited to show you guys my costume but damn did you beat me” YN bellowed, laughing as they walked to their classroom. On their way, Y/N kept on praising the school for finally having a fun event after not having any events at all. Chanyeol and Baekhyun had heard Y/N go on and on about this Halloween party for months now but they couldn’t help but agree. It was an event the three of them have been looking forward to, and they could only hope for the day to be perfect.

When they did reach the classroom, Y/N and Baekhyun laughed at Chanyeol who couldn’t sit in fear of breaking his Iron Man costume. At first, Chanyeol found it funny too but as time passed, he couldn’t find it funny anymore as Chanyeol felt himself going numb and tired from hours of standing.

Not wanting to waste his precious costume, Chanyeol forced Y/N and Baekhyun out of their seats and dragged them around the campus. Chanyeol felt proud when students stopped and gawk at him, sometimes even asking for pictures. Y/N and Baekhyun only found this amusing. After taking pictures here and there, the three of them decided to rest under their usual spot.

“Aw, poor ChanChan” Baekhyun teased causing a boisterous laugh from Y/N. The two of them have been teasing Chanyeol not stop and Y/N could almost collapse from laughing, wiping away her tears every once in a while.

“You two are just jealous I’m more awesome than you guys” Chanyeol said pettily causing them to laugh even more.

“Yeol-ah, you look cool but-” Y/N laughed again, unable to finish her sentence. Chanyeol huffed, not in the mood anymore because of how tired he was. All he wanted to do was sit, maybe even lie down. But he was determined to not break and enjoy his time as Iron Man.

Chanyeol began to walk away and Y/N stopped from laughing, standing up “Yeol-ah, where are you going?” Y/N asked worriedly, beginning to feel bad about laughing at him.

“I’m gonna buy food” Chanyeol replied without looking back. He could still hear Baekhyun laughing in the background, making him feel upset. Suddenly, he stopped when he felt someone hold his hand, stopping him.

“Are you mad?” Y/N asked, looking up at Chanyeol worriedly. Chanyeol felt a bit guilty at making her worried so he gave her a comforting smile and said

“I’m not, I’m just hungry. I’ll come back, don’t worry” Y/N nodded, squeezing Chanyeol’s metal Iron Man hand before letting go. Y/N went back to Baekhyun whom she smacked in the head, reprimanding him that they crossed the line.

Chanyeol fall in line in a Crêpe shop, people looking at him in awe. Chanyeol felt better again as people continued to gawk at him. The person in front of him suddenly turned around, both of them gasping in surprise when they saw each other. The person was dressed as Kaonashi from Spirited Away and Chanyeol couldn’t help but feel slightly scared when he saw the person.

After calming down, the person suddenly spoke “Woah, so cool~” The person cooed with a voice of a girl. Chanyeol felt himself blushing from the girl’s compliment.

“T-thanks” He stuttered, clearing his voice to appear more manly. The girl removed her mask and Chanyeol felt himself freeze when he saw how beautiful she was.

“My name’s Mi Soo, Han Mi Soo, how about you?” Chanyeol gulped, removing his Iron Man mask to greet her properly “I’m Chanyeol, Park Chanyeol” Mi Soo grinned at him, taking his hand to shake it.

Chanyeol giggled to himself as he remembered that moment. He just couldn’t believe it. He was finally going to a date with Mi Soo, though with his best friends. When she rejected him years ago, telling him that she already had a boyfriend, Chanyeol was devastated. But somehow got to move on with the help of his friends. But talking to her again after years and actually becoming friends, Chanyeol’s forgotten feelings somehow crept up his heart once again.

Chanyeol was snapped out of his trance when he felt someone tap him from behind. Turning around, Chanyeol’s face turned red when he saw Mi Soo standing there, with her white dress that made her look modest and elegant at the same time.

“Hi” Mi Soo said timidly, Chanyeol replying an almost breathless “Hi” back. However, their moment was broken when he heard someone shout his name. Turning to the source of the sound, he saw Baekhyun and Y/N running towards them.

When they reached them, Y/N and Baekhyun stood beside Chanyeol making him stand between them. Rather than on Chanyeol, their attention laid on Mi Soo who fidgeted under their intimidating stare. Chanyeol felt himself getting nervous as to what his best friends would do.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce us to your lady friend, Yeol-ah?” Y/N asked teasingly. Baekhyun glanced at her and his eyebrows flicked up for a second before letting his eyes go back to Mi Soo.

Mi Soo’s lip twitched, intimidated and a bit annoyed at Y/N, but told herself to not judge yet as she didn’t know her yet.

“Ah, right” Chanyeol cleared his throat, walking to Mi Soo’s side that made them both blush “This is Han Mi Soo, my...friend” After their introductions, they finally went to the amusement park.

Han Mi Soo is something. She was weird yet endearing and lovely at the same time. She was kind and Y/N hated herself for hating such a nice person. If they were in a different situation, Y/N would have totally liked her. But no, Han Mi Soo held the heart of the person Y/N yearns most of. And for that, she could not like Han Mi Soo.

Despite not liking Mi Soo, Y/N did try to act nice. Mi Soo wasn’t a bitch so Y/N had to be nice. Y/N felt pathetic. All she could do was watch as Chanyeol and Mi Soo be lovey dovey, and glare at them from the back and wished she was the one in Chanyeol’s arms instead.

It was night time and the four of them were in line for the Ferris Wheel. Chanyeol and Mi Soo was in front while Baekhyun made sure to stand in between them and Y/N, trying to block Y/N’s view. It made him sick. It was sick that Chanyeol didn’t know he was hurting Y/N. It made Baekhyun so sick that he can’t even look at any of the three of them.

“Baekhyun! Baekhyun!” Chanyeol whispered-shout gaining Baekhyun’s attention. Chanyeol made a sign saying that he and Mi Soo would go ahead and that Baekhyun and Y/N should stay behind.

Baekhyun gulped at this, looking at his back to see Y/N on her phone. When he looked back to Chanyeol, he and Mi Soo had already went ahead and got on one of the pods. Baekhyun turned to look at Y/N who has also noticed too. Y/N was about to run but Baekhyun held an arm to stop her, shaking his head as she pleaded him with her eyes.

The Ferris Wheel started rotating again and Y/N swatted Baekhyun’s arm away from her, whispering painfully “Why?” Her eyes held tears in them and he felt his heart break with hers.

“Baekhyun-ah...what...wha...” Y/N stuttered, a tear falling down her cheeks. They heard the conductor call for them and they went into the pod without exchanging any words.

The Ferris Wheel start to rotate again and Baekhyun and Y/N refused to meet each other’s eyes. The atmosphere was heavy that both of them could feel it. How Y/N’s heart shatter and Baekhyun’s heart ache for her.

“I don’t like it” Y/N said, her arms around her legs. Baekhyun looked at her from his seat across from her, silent as he continued to listen to her.

“I don’t like anything about right now” Y/N sobbed as she continued “I’m right here for him, why can’t he see that?”

“Y/N...” Baekhyun trailed off.

“I feel like I’m changing and I don’t like it” She stopped, burying her head in her arms.

“I feel like he’s getting farther and farther away and I hate it”

When they got off the Ferris Wheel, Chanyeol and Mi Soo was already waiting for them.

The world seemed to crumble when she saw their hands intertwined. Chanyeol smiled so wide, raising up their intertwined hands and bellowed “Y/N! Baekhyun! Meet my girlfriend!”

“You like her that much, huh?” Y/N whispered but they all heard it. Oblivious, Chanyeol replied an excited “Yeah!” turning to face his girlfriend, holding her hand to his face to kiss it. Mi Soo blushed and it seems as though the new couple was too lost in their own world to notice Y/N crying.

Baekhyun stood in front of Y/N, blocking her view and blocking the other two from seeing her distress.

“Baekhyun” Y/N huffed out in between breaths. Baekhyun held her face in his hands, wiping away her tears. Baekhyun whispered to her comfortingly, trying to calm her down. Baekhyun has never seen her this broken and at that moment, he promised to himself to never let anything make her cry again. Because seeing her cry make his heart break. All Baekhyun knew was that he didn’t want to see her sad ever again.

Baekhyun took Y/N’s hand and gently led her away from the couple who failed to notice their exit. Baekhyun took her home that night, never letting her hand go until she fell asleep. After he was sure that Y/N was alright, Baekhyun left her room, turning off her lamp on his way out. He bid her a silent good night and then he was off.

A/N

I really suck in writing the ending of a chapter AAAUUGH 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (7/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 4,491

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing

masterlist

a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long, guys.  Let me know what you think!

“Peter!” You groaned as you tried to get the webs out of your hair.  The sticky substance was difficult, and for a moment you were worried that you were going to have to treat it like gum.

To be fair, the boy who caused it was looking mighty ashamed, his cheeks red and shoulders tense. “S-Sorry, Y/N,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

The two of you had been playing around with his suit for about two hours, since he’d never really gotten to before Tony died.  He’d also turned off the training wheels protocol that was supposed to teach him about each function slowly, which is why he had no idea what would happen when he turned on ‘Rapid Fire.’

But then again, what the hell did he expect from a name like that?

“Agent L/N, you have a guest waiting for you in the communal area,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, startling the both of you.

“Were you expecting anyone?” The fifteen-year-old asked curiously.

Your brows furrowed as you continued to pick at the webs in your hair, heading for the door.  “No.”  The rest of the team wouldn’t be announced as a guest, and they’d just find you.  They wouldn’t wait in the communal area.  But then again, it’s not like you really knew anyone that wasn’t a part of the team.  “Peter, stay here.”

“Absolutely not,” he retorted, running after you.  “What if it’s a bad guy?  I can’t leave you alone!”  He must’ve caught the look in your eyes, because he added, “N-Not that you can’t take care of yourself!  I just… I wanna make sure you’re safe.”

Sighing, you motioned for him to follow you, knowing there was no way he would leave you alone now. In the two weeks since the Fourth of July barbecue from Hell, he’d been over almost every day.  He’d said that it was prep for his trip to Europe in August, but you knew better.  If it was any other teenager, you’d have found it annoying, but because it was Peter and he was so sweet and sincere, it was rather endearing.

It made you wonder if it’s how Natasha felt about you, even though she’d never gotten to see you at fifteen.  She’d gotten out of the clutches of HYDRA at that point, joining S.H.I.E.L.D. in the process.

But maybe that’s how Bucky had seen you.  After all, he’d first started training you at that age.

“Y/N, this is the Winter Soldier,” Madame B said as she stood behind you, her hands resting on your shoulders.  At just fifteen years old, you’d proven yourself to be the most promising of all the girls in the Red Room.  You were deadly with any weapon—a gun, a bow, your body—but you were exceptionally good with your knives.  Perfect, even.

Just that morning you’d sunk your knife into one of the older girl’s necks with just a flick of your wrist.

You would’ve felt bad, except she knew what she was getting into when she challenged you.  She’d been so close to graduating and had figured that choosing a girl three years younger would make her seem much better than she was.  But the fight was over the second it started. You’d simply pulled out your knife—the only weapon allowed in hand-to-hand—and threw it at her. Everyone in the room had watched as she fell to the ground, clutching at her throat while you stood there, looking pristine as ever.

The sound of her blood gurgling in her throat still rang in your ears.

The man in front of you was stunning.  It was really the only word you could think of that was appropriate.  His long chestnut hair fell in waves around his face like some kind of rogue from the fairytales the older girls whispered to the fresh arrivals when they cried into the night.  Even though his lips were chapped from the harsh Russian cold and his eyes had dark circles underneath, he was beautiful.  Ethereal. Like a God of the Dead, coming for his spoils.

“Soldat, this is Y/N,” Madame B said, shoving your forward.  “Your trainee.”

You stumbled but somehow managed to catch yourself, finding yourself almost chest-to-chest with the man.  Heart pounding, your eyes slowly traced up the black Kevlar covering his chest to lock with his.  As good as you were at hand-to-hand, you knew that this man could snap you in half without so much as blinking.  Girls had heard the stories of him from when he’d trained Natalia.

And now he was here for you.

“Hello, Soldat,” you said, voice wavering as you tried to find your courage.

“Come,” he rasped, his tone leaving no room for argument as he turned on his heel and led you through the door.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., you didn’t let a potential threat in, did you?”

If an A.I. could be indignant, she certainly was.  “Of course not, Agent L/N.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, though you knew it wasn’t really the time as you power-walked down the hallway.  “Sorry, Fri.”

“What are you doing here?”

You frowned as you heard Peter’s tone, rushing forward.  In your day dreaming, the boy had gotten ahead of you and had found your mysterious visitor first.  “Peter, that’s—”  You broke off as you saw her sitting there on the couch.

Peggy Carter-Rogers.

The elderly woman immediately stood, clearing her throat.  She daintily wiped her hands on her pants and it disgusted you.  “Hello, Y/N.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, though you made a point to not be so aggressive as your favorite Spider-Boy.

It was a little adorable how he still insisted on standing in front of you, puffed up like a chihuahua. “Y-Yeah, what she said!”

“I just want to talk,” the Brit said, her lilting voice soothing you, even if you didn’t want it to.  There was something so relaxing about her presence and it drove you insane.  “Without my idiot of a husband mucking it all up.”

You couldn’t help but snort as you crossed your arms over your chest, but you didn’t immediately dismiss her.  “He does that a lot.”

Her lips—perfectly painted red, as usual—stretched as she tried not to grin.  “Especially when it comes to talking to women.”

Well, you had two choices. You could turn her away and go back to sitting in Tony’s lap with Peter and consistently wonder what she was going to say, or you could listen and maybe get some closure.  As fucked as it was, you really didn’t want to go with the latter.  It’d be so much easier to just go back to the lab and pretend like she’d never come.

But you knew that it wasn’t the right decision.

“Peter, you can go back to the lab.  I’ll be there soon,” you said, your eyes never leaving Peggy.

He seemed ready to protest but thought better, taking a deep breath in.  “Call if you need me,” he said, before disappearing back down the hall.

“Sorry about him,” you said as you stood in place, watching her cautiously.  “He’s—”

“Protective?”  She laughed, sounding like bells that rang a death march.  “It’s alright.  I assumed as much when he glared at Steve for the rest of the Fourth of July party after you left.”  Peggy motioned to the couch as she sat, and it struck you how odd it was that she was the one inviting you to sit in your own home.

Either way, you sat gingerly on the edge of the couch, your hands delicately placed in your lap.  You weren’t sure what to do with them, what to say. “He’s a good kid.”

She cleared her throat as the awkwardness hung in the air, the both of you trying to find where to start. “I am sorry,” she said suddenly, her brown eyes flashing over to you.  “And not just about Steve.  I was the one who told him it’d be okay to not call ahead.  I wasn’t thinking about how it might make you feel.  I just knew how badly he wanted to see everyone.”

“It’s alright, rea—”

“No,” she interrupted, reaching over to take your hands in hers.  You fought back the urge to yank them away, knowing that you were going to have to give a little.  “It was inconsiderate.”  Her eyes searched your face for a long moment.  “You remind me of myself, you know.”

Startled, you shook your head.  “What? No, I—”

“You’ve been fighting war after war for years,” she said, her voice shaking.  “You have the same look in your eyes that I’d see in every soldier back in the forties.  Steve has it. Bucky has it.”  She let out a weak laugh, looking down at your hands, young and supple against her own.  “Sometimes I forget how young we all were.  Hell, sometimes I forget how young you are when Steve tells his stories.”

Heart leaping in your chest, you tried to keep your cool even though you felt like you were going to vomit.  “He talks about me?”

“Of course, he does,” she said, sadness seeping from her pores.  It clearly distressed her that you thought he wouldn’t.  “You mean the world to him.”

“You have to forgive me for not really believing that,” you said as you took your hands from hers.

Peggy nodded, drawing her bottom lip in between her teeth.  “Like I said, Steve doesn’t understand women at all.  Or how to communicate with them.  But he really does care about you.”  She smoothed down her pants slowly.  “When he… When he first came back to me and he told me about you…  I admit, I was jealous.  You were this brilliant agent, good enough to join the Avengers at just eighteen.  You had him for over eight years.”

“But he still chose you,” you reminded her, tears pricking your eyes.  Desperately blinking them away, you hoped she didn’t notice.

And she couldn’t argue against that.  “I suppose the point I’m trying to get at is that even though it might not feel like it, he loves you.  He always has.”  She swallowed thickly, her hands moving more and more as she spoke.  “He’d tell me about all the different missions you went on and how you can hold your own against him and Bucky, even though you’re not a super soldier.  How you rebelled against the United Nations and became an international criminal.”

And it hit you that she felt just like you did.  Even if she’d had years to get over it, she knew exactly how you felt.

But in her case, you were the untouchable one.

“He carries this picture of you with him,” she said, taking you by surprise once again.  “He put it in the compass that has the picture of me in it, knocked out the glass bit.  Said it’s so he has both of us close to him at all times.  It’s…”  Peggy cleared her throat and it somehow still sounded ladylike.  “It’s this photo of you in his shirt.”  The air felt thick around the two of you as she chuckled.  “When I first saw it, I wanted to rip it up.  Burn it.  Eventually, though, I understood.  At least a little bit.”

“How?” You asked, knowing how weak you must’ve sounded.  “Because I’m trying to understand, and I just… can’t.  Anytime I try, I just feel abandoned.”

“To be quite frank, sometimes I still don’t.”  The older woman’s fingers were fiddling together, and your eyes focused in on the slightly chipped red nail polish.  The one thing on Margaret Carter Roger’s exterior that wasn’t perfect.  That reflected her anxiety as she picked at the polish.  That she wasn’t as perfect as you had thought her to be.  “He says your name in his sleep sometimes.  Cries and thrashes around.”  She blew out a huff of air, not meeting your gaze.  “Sometimes it’s nightmares of you dying.  Sometimes it’s just you telling him you don’t love him, and it’s enough to cause him to panic.”

You blinked slowly, trying to take it all in.  “I…  I didn’t realize.”

She sniffled, a sad smile on her lips.  “It’s better for him to explain exactly what he was thinking, but…  I didn’t think you’d listen unless I talked to you first.”  She shook her head, turning back towards you. “Not that you have to listen to him. Lord knows that he doesn’t deserve it. But I think it might help, if you knew why he did what he did.”

“Do you…”  You cleared your throat, trying to figure out how exactly to ask your next question.  “Do you want to stay for lunch?”  You knew that this was big, this was an olive branch you were extending to her.  “We’ve both heard so many stories about each other, I think it’s only fair that we get to know each other without all the sugar coating.  We both know Steve tends to… exaggerate his stories a little.”

Peggy seemed to light up at the suggestion, standing up and following you towards the kitchen.  “That would be wonderful.”

“Y/N?” Bucky called as he walked into the lab, frowning when he only saw Peter and Bruce poring over a hologram.  Neither of them looked up when he walked in and he cleared his throat.

Nothing.

He coughed, raising his eyebrows.

Nope.

The super soldier sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest.  “Y/N’s been kidnapped.”

Both of them immediately looked up, panic written all over their faces.  Peter looked ready to take down all of New York City as he pushed his stool back with a creek and Bruce was starting to look a little green around his neck.

“What the—”

“What happened to—”

“So all I have to do to get the two of you to pay attention is to say something’s happened to Y/N,” Bucky said, tapping his temple as though to demonstrate that he was making a note of it.  “Great.”

Bruce glared at him, huffing.  “So Y/N wasn’t actually kidnapped?”

“No.”

Peter looked utterly betrayed.  “Mr. Winter Soldier, you can’t do that.”

Bucky sighed, raising his hands in surrender.  “Fine. I’m sorry.  That was a low blow of me.  But have any of you seen Y/N?”  He looked around the lab, as though he might find her playing a game of hide-and-seek that he didn’t know he was a part of.  “She told me she was gonna be in the lab.”

“Oh, M-Mr. Rogers’s wife—uh—Mrs. Peggy is here,” the teenager said, shrugging at his confused expression.

The hundred-year-old man felt his age as he stormed out of the lab.  While he didn’t think Peggy would purposefully hurt you, he also knew that her impromptu visit might not be what’s best for you.  His hands were clenched into fists at his side as he entered the communal area. There were signs of lunch being made in the kitchen, but no Peggy and no you.

He stood there for a long moment, perking up as he heard giggles from down the hallway.  He tiptoed towards the sound, surprised to find it coming from your old room, the one you had shared with Steve.

You and Peggy were sitting on the bed, giggling as you flipped through all the photos you had of the former Captain America.  You were sitting cross-legged and had on one of Bucky’s hoodies that he’d been trying to find for days.

And you were talking about Steve and not crying.

He hid behind the door so that neither of you could see him, listening in with a faint smile on his lips.

“—from the night he asked me on a date,” you said as you held out a picture of the two of you.  “We got lost while on a mission when our comms went out, and pictures ended up in the New York Times because someone recognized him.”

“Steve, I just really think we’re lost,” you said, wincing as you tried to keep up with the super soldier.  You’d twisted your ankle four blocks before and it sent a pang through your entire calf with every step you took.

It didn’t help that your captain hadn’t even thought to slow down for you, too convinced that he knew the way to stop and reevaluate.

He just grumbled, shaking his head.  Turning a corner, he stopped as he realized that going that direction would lead the two of you to a main road, and you were trying to stay out of sight.  He quickly turned on his heel to keep down the path you were originally on.  “No, we’re—”

You yelped as your foot caught on a loose brick of the cobblestone street, sending you straight to the ground.  “Fuck!  Shit! God FUCKING damn it!” You cursed, holding your ankle as tears sprung to your eyes.  It would be your luck to twist the same ankle twice in twenty minutes and you were pretty sure there was no way it wasn’t strained.

The blond was immediately on you, all furrowed brows and panicky hands.  “What the hell happened?”

“If you weren’t so busy insisting you were right, you would’ve noticed that I twisted my ankle ten minutes ago, and now it’s fucked up again, asshole,” you snapped.  You knew that it wasn’t fair of you but you were tired, you were hurt, and all you wanted was a bottle of vodka.  The kind that the Asset snuck for you, once upon a time.

God, that was the good shit.  Smooth.  Expensive. An already half-drank bottle stolen from Madame B’s office.

Steve’s teeth grinded together as he tentatively tried to move your ankle, causing you to hiss and jerk back away from him.  “I’m sorry!”

“I told you it fucking hurts!” You retorted, cheeks red.

“I was trying to make sure it wasn’t broken!”

“I could’ve told you if it was!”

“You don’t know—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I do and don’t know.  I think I know my own body.”

He stood up, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.  “You’re being difficult.”

“Yeah,” you said with an eye roll, grimacing as you scooted over to rest against the wall of the alley.  You could see a few people passing by the entrance he’d been trying to avoid, despite the late hour.  “Because I’m the one who was so sure of themselves that they weren’t paying attention to their partner.”

Steve scoffed as his hands went to his hips, reminding you just how much attitude America’s Golden Boy had.  “Maybe because I know what—”

“No!  You don’t!” You said, eyes squeezing shut as you started to stand up, clinging to the wall and jumping around a bit on your good ankle.  “Stop being such an ass!”

“And to think I thought about asking you on a god damn date,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled the comm out of his ear. Squinting in the darkness, he started fiddling with it, twisting the different parts this way and that.  You knew he’d probably end up breaking it, but you weren’t going to be the one to tell him and piss him off even more.

“I am not doing this right now,” you said, closing your eyes as you prayed to whatever greater being happened to be listening that the others would find you two soon.

Steve threw his comm to the ground, and you were about to yell at him for it, but he went into another rant.  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Taking a step towards him, you ignored the way your ankle shouted in protest.  “It’s not like you were actually going to ask me on a date.”  You needed to make your point and that included trying to take an intimidating step towards him while poking a finger into his chest that happened to be as wide as a fucking football field.

“Yes, I—”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you laughed, your heart twisting with pain.  “For the past year, you’ve done nothing but flirt with me and get close to me, only to push me away.  And you know, at first, I thought it was because I’m only nineteen.  And I would’ve understood that.  But then I heard you telling Tony that age doesn’t matter that much to you, so it can’t be that.”  You ran your fingers through your hair, wishing that you’d brought a ponytail for the umpteenth time.  “I’m not playing this stupid game of, of tug-of-war with you!”  You took another step and immediately started to crumble.

But Steve caught you before you could hit the ground, strong arms wrapping around your waist.  “I’ve got ya, doll,” he said, his breath hot against your face as he helped you straight up, holding you flush against his chest.  “Let’s get you out of here.”

You nodded, already accepting the fact that he was going to ignore your little outburst, your moment of vulnerability. He turned and bent down, coaxing you up so you were riding piggyback.  He smelled like the alleyway, like sewage and trash, but you could pick out the faint scent of his aftershave underneath all of that as you wrapped your arms around him. As you closed your eyes, you were faintly aware of him heading towards the main road on the other end of the alley, but chose not to bring it up as you closed your eyes.

No use even chancing a fight.

The gentle sway of his strides was lulling you to sleep, and you didn’t even register the fact that several people had recognized the infamous Captain America and were starting to take photos.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

There was a long pause, the lights of the main street slowly fading as he carried you further and further away.  Turns out, it was much easier to find out where you were if you had street signs.  “Would you go on a date with me?”

“As long as you stop being an asshole,” you murmured, falling asleep to the deep rumble of his laughter.

“He didn’t even ask me on a date,” Peggy said with a groan, shaking her head fondly at the memory as she looked at the newspaper clipping.  Someone had managed to get a shot of you two while he was carrying you, your face half hidden in the crook of his neck.  “Even when he came back, I had to be the one to ask him out.”

You erupted into giggles, falling back on the bed, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile.  Hearing you laugh and joke about your ex was a major step up.  Especially considering the disaster that was the Fourth of July party.

The older woman hummed as she flipped through more of the photos, smiling as she held up one of you and Bucky that Steve had taken.  It warmed your heart, reminding you of a time that seemed so much simpler even though it most definitely wasn’t.

“I just don’t understand it,” Steve said for what must’ve been the eighteenth time.  He finally put his cards down, choosing instead to sit back and watch.  “I’ll just watch you young whippersnappers play.”

“I’m older than you, dumb ass,” Bucky said with a smirk as he set down one of his white cards onto the pile.

Sam picked up all the white cards, shuffling them as he grumbled.  It had become a new rule that each person had to shuffle the cards before reading them, since Sam wouldn’t ever pick a card that the Winter Soldier laid down.  They were still in that weird ‘we’re friends but only because Steve is our friend’ stage.

Though, being on the run with only each other to talk to was quickly cementing their friendship.

“Alright, who the hell put down ‘the Rapture?’”

“That would be me,” Natasha said with a triumphant grin, reaching over and grabbing the card.  She then snatched a black card, reading, “I got ninety-nine problems but blank ain’t one.”  Standing, she shoved her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie.  “You guys want anything to eat?” She asked as she headed for the hotel room’s tiny kitchenette.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” Sam said as he also stood.

Steve couldn’t help but smile as he watched you and Bucky stare into each other’s eyes, mischievous smirks on your faces. It was nice, seeing how well the two of you got along.  He held up his camera—the one you’d gotten him for his birthday the year before—and snapped a picture, neither of you hearing the soft click.

“Hmmm…,” Bucky hummed as he picked through his cards. “Should I go with ‘Seventy-Two Virgins’ or ‘Erectile Dysfunction?’”

“Oh, ‘Erectile Dysfunction,’” you said as you leaned back against the couch.  You were bundled up in a giant sweatshirt—whether it was Steve or Bucky’s, none of them knew at that point—and fuzzy socks.  You looked so cozy, so warm.  Like you weren’t stuck in a cheap hotel in Norway, thousands of miles from home.

And once again, he was reminded just how lucky he was to have you.

“Steve mentioned that you two have a history,” Peggy said slowly, carefully gauging your reaction.  “From before you even met Steve.”

Bucky bit his lip, as he tried to not make any noise.

“Yeah.  He, uh…”  You trailed off, blushing a rosy pink as you looked at the photo.  You’d gotten it developed after the Snap, wanting as keep every memory of your friends that you could.  “He helped train me in the Red Room.”

The Brit smirked as she nudged you, raising her eyebrows.  “You’re blushing.”

“I…”  You picked at a loose thread in your comforter.  “I had a crush on him back then.  It was dumb.  I was seventeen, it wasn’t appropriate.”

Bucky’s heart caught in his throat as all his feelings welled up.  You were right, it wasn’t appropriate.  You’d been seventeen, about to turn eighteen, when he’d realized he had feelings for you.

And he’d immediately told his handler.  In a subtle way of course, not wanting it to be obvious.  He’d quietly asked him when the next time he would see you was, making sure to emphasize the ‘see you.’  Normally, he didn’t ask anything, but if he did, it was always ‘When am I training again?’

His handler had picked it up immediately, and he’d been wiped.  He’d protected you from himself, not wanting to be the creepy old man preying on a young girl.

Bucky took in a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut before walking down the hall.  He didn’t need to listen to the rest of your conversation.  His heart couldn’t take it at the moment no matter which way it went.

[itsakpopalypse]

Fall Asleep To Wake You Up

Here’s a cute lil fluffy one shot to help myself keep creative. 

Leedo/Reader Fluff  Friends to lovers, 

Leedo falls asleep on a skype call with you, and it leads to an accidental confession.

Warnings : Kissing? Implied Smut but no smut. Mostly fluff and confessions.

You bit your lip while Leedo spoke as you face timed from far away. You were visiting family and he missed you, so here you were, laying in bed on your tummy, feet kicking in the air in your childhood bedroom while he regaled you with tales of daily life without you there, filling you in on the most mundane detail of his day. He found your little wiggle of your toes behind your socks more adorable than he would like to admit, so enamored with your smiles that he could burst.

He was far from ready to let you hang up, but with jet lag and time difference you were fading FAST. He postponed the inevitable for a while, before asking if you’d like to rest. You resisted, insisting you weren’t even that tired and there was much he had left to tell you… There really wasn’t but he would let that slide because he didn’t want to miss a moment of  your face. 

2 days wasn’t long, but it was long for him. It was only a matter of time before you fell asleep on him, and your heavy eyelids certainly did show it fast approaching.

Leedo laughed when your head bobbed, calling you cute under his breath, cheeks feeling hot from his affection for you. The affection you were strictly NOT to know about…

When he started informing you about how a customer had complained about missing a part… that they themselves lost, your little smile had faded and your chin had rested upon your arm, you slowly slipped into slumber, quiet, peaceful, sweet. 

He smiled fondly at the depth of your restful breathing, stared at your eyelashes as they fluttered above your cheeks, truly soaked in the moments he could stare at you without you wondering if he was okay.

He loved to appreciate you for everything you were outside and in, and felt so rarely able to do so without causing you suspicion. 

You still didn't know. You didn't  know that he saw you laugh and it made his heart happier than it's ever been. You didn't know that when you'd drop by with a pizza and a smile that he wanted to invite you in  with kisses and cuddles. 

You didn't know the way your tears tore him apart every time you got your heart broken by someone who didn't deserve you.  You didn't know, and he didn't want you to. 

What you had together was enough, most  days. He got to comfort you on sad days and laugh with you on glad ones. He got to hear things that excite you and irritate you.  Being your closest friend was enough.  It really was…  except when it wasn’t, like just now, when the soft mumble of his name passed through your sleepy pout. It made his heart do flips and his mind race.

What were you dreaming of, really?

His yearning for you overwhelmed him at moments like this.  Or when you'd show up in work clothes and commandeer his tee shirt to get comfortable. Seeing you wrapped in himself was nearly more than he could handle.

He wished he knew how to ask you if friends was all you'd ever be, but feared  his feelings would burden you, take away the freedom you felt to be just so perfectly you in his presence. 

Sometimes you'd climb into his lap and say his chest was more comfortable…. You couldn't possibly know how it made his skin light on fire, the way his heart would jump into his throat in elation.  He didn't want you to know, so you didn't. 

His own tiredness hit, and after glancing  around, he set the phone on bed beside him,  using the second pillow to prop it up so he could roll onto his side and fall asleep with your face in front of his… so he could pretend just once that the soft sound of your sleeping was you being beside him.  

When dreams took him deeper, he didn't hear the click of the door to his bedroom.

-----

Sitting in the airport with his heart in his throat, butterflies overwhelming him, Leedo looked down at his hands to distract himself. Keonhee and Xion had traveled along today, and they were whispering back and forth over a picture on Keonhee’s phone. Leedo squinted, having a feeling the pair must be up to no good. “What?” He finally asked, leveling his gaze to his two friends. 

“I’m just showing Xion here how you slept with Y/N.”  Keonhee was smiling wickedly, tilting his phone towards Leedo so he could see the picture. It was him, eyes shut, on his side facing the pillow that had his phone propped up against it, and there, eyes shut in peaceful slumber, was you, and his arm was outstretched like he was trying to touch you. 

The embarrassment that flooded Leedo’s veins was palpable in air as he tried very hard not to let it turn into anger. He turned to Keonhee and in a too calm voice to say. “We didn’t… it’s not. Don’t make it sound so.. Suggestive.” He tried to convey with his eyes that the subject needed to end there, but something in the exchanged look between the two men made him feel like it must not really be over. 

He didn’t have time to be afraid though, because he heard your shout of his name and a smile was already breaking out onto his face. 

You ran at him, and he was already opening his arms to catch you. You did a little hop of joy into his hug, giggling as he picked you up into the air and swung you gently in his strong grasp. 

When he finally released you, something he was not excited to do, as he was enjoying your warmth and familiarity- you turned to the other two to give out warm hugs and greetings.

All seemed normal as you talked about your family and younger cousins and insisted you had brought little gifts back with you, which kept the flow of conversation going long after baggage check and loading into the car. Somehow, you were all packed in and he was driving you home. 

He could feel your eyes on him as he drove though, you were glancing from him, to the road and back again, the edge of the bottom of your lip pulled between your teeth. He knew all your little habits and what they meant, and this one meant you were hiding something, something you were excited about.

“What?” He asked when your gaze flicked to his for the 10th time in as many minutes.

“Nothing. I just missed seeing you up close.” You said, and it made heat rise to his cheeks and ears with renewed fervor. Surely you had to know how it would affect him right? No. Of course not. You couldn't know. You were just being your usual endearing self.

“Stop.” He mumbled. “They’re going to-”

“I TOLD YOU THEY SLEPT TOGETHER.” Keonhee shouted, pointing up to the front of the car just as your hand snaked across the center console to ghost your fingers over the top of his thigh. You pulled back, startled.  

“What?” You half turned your body to look back at them. “What are you saying?”

Keonhee proudly produces his phone, the picture of Leedo sleeping with the phone, you on the screen as he was turned towards you. “I didn’t catch it on recording but he was mumbling in his sleep too. You guys want to tell us what’s REALLY going on or not?”

Confused, your brow furrowed and you looked back and forth between Leedo, who’s hands now gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles were fully white, and Keonhee, who was smirking and nudging Xion. 

The pair, especially Keonhee were constantly teasing Leedo, and he would normally fight back, so you weren’t sure why this time it seemed to agitate him, jaw working and muscles on the side of his face flexing. This wasn’t normal levels of annoyance…

You didn’t want to upset him more, especially in front of the other two, so you cut a very decisive “Enough.”  Glare and went back to chatting with Leedo as though nothing changed. He still responded stiltedly, but he seemed to allow a little of the tension to roll out of his neck and shoulders.

Satisfied that you could appease him later, you changed the subject

----

He dropped the other two off on the way to your place, insisting it was faster- it definitely wasn't but you weren’t going to question him, he probably just wanted alone time. 

The journey from their place to yours tacked an extra 25 minutes onto the drive, but you filled it with comfortable conversation. It never seemed like it was hard to find something to discuss together. The air was still tight, like the anxiety he carried physically floated between you. You wanted him to feel better.. Anything for him to feel better. 

While he carried your bags up the stairs your hands brushed and you could have sworn he swallowed hard when it happened, before rushing off. That was unusual, normally your touches were so common and more affectionate, why would he behave like he’d been burned?

You watched as he set your bag in your room for you, asking if you wanted it beside the dresser. You replied that it was fine. He stared with his back to you, at the several frames on your dresser of the two of you together, and the one of just him laughing you’d snuck at the park a couple of months back, he was turning over his shoulder to smile at you and when he realized you were taking his picture he’d begun giggling.

“That’s my favorite  picture of you.” You say, smiling softly. He still didn’t turn around. 

“Mine is that one.” He points to the one where he is holding you bridal style and you are laughing so hard your eyes crinkle. He’s smiling too, and gazing down at you. One of the boys had taken it while he was squatting you in some silly dare. 

It was a good day. A bright one. And it had been one of the ones that had dragged you into emotional turmoil regarding your very close friend.  This visit home though, had put the last nail in your coffin. You were fully in love with him. So in love that you could barely stand it. You weren’t sure if you SHOULD say anything, especially with how uncomfortable he seemed to be right now… maybe you should just wait? You’d planned on telling him when you got back but this tension was so visceral. 

You tried to move in front of him to catch his eye, leaning your butt against the dresser as you tilted your head to get him to look at you.

“Hey. Leedo. It’s okay, what they said in the car, you know? It was just a joke and it doesn’t mean anything.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, briefly, sorrow washed across his face, his nostrils flared before he looked at the ground and shook his head. “What if… what if I want it to mean something?” 

His voice was so small, so very quiet that you had to lean in to hear him. After realizing what he said you felt a bit of shock, before a soft smile pulled at your lips…

“It could, if you want it to.” You say back just as quietly, just as gently, trying not to spook him. 

This startled him, his eyes shot to yours, hardened and piercing. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” He began, stepping towards you with intent. 

His face, the expression, it was very different from usual, and it lit  tingles of excitement under your skin, biting your lip to conceal your grin, you shook your head innocently. 

“When have I ever said things I don’t mean, in all the time you have known me? Especially something like this?”

He paused just as he reached you, backing you up until your butt hit the dresser hard, hands locked on either side of your body as he leaned, his mouth centimeters from your own as he spoke in that low voice that stirred warmth within your belly. “If you mean it, then you know what’s coming next?” His voice somehow commanding and gentle at once. You swallowed, his hot breath was ghosting over your lips and his eye contact burned. 

“I know.” Was all you had to say for his lips to crash into yours. Gentle at first, feeling you out, he softly pulled your bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled before releasing. He didn’t press in too far, just held you there, breathing against you with his eyes shut so tightly. His heart was hammering, you could feel it pressed against you. 

You were hungry for more, cupping his chin as you dragged his mouth against yours with more force, introducing your tongue to entice him.

Oh, and it worked. He let out a rumble, gripping your hip on one side as the other hand gripped the hair at the base of your neck, tangling into it as he pulled you in like he’d consume you. The passion of his mouth was so electric. How long had you two wasted time? 

After a frenzied kiss, he pulled back enough to catch his breath, foreheads touching. 

“I love you. Y/N I love you, I have loved you and I can’t stop. Please tell me that this is something more than a kiss to you?” His voice fervent and thick with emotion. 

You forced him to look at you and smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“I love you, while I was away I was struck because I missed you so much… enough to realize that this wasn’t just friends.” 

He swallowed and nodded. “Okay.” was all he said before latching his lips to yours again with renewed passion, gripping under your butt as he deposited you onto the dresser top. His hands worked their way up your body and just under the base of your shirt, skimming his thumbs over the bottom of your bra before groaning into your mouth.

When you cupped him through his jeans he made a sound that you had never heard before, so guttural and animalistic that a shiver ran down your spine. He pulled away from your mouth, looked down at your hand on him and then back up at your face, chest heaving. 

His eyes held the question and you smiled back and nodded. “Yes Leedo, we waited long enough, don’t you think?”

He looked at you as though you were an angel, mouth falling open before he nodded, scooped you up and deposited you on the bed, pushing you down with a devilish little smirk. 

“Too long. We were silly, and I have a lot of orgasms to catch up on for  you.” He winked before sliding between your legs down the bed until he was eye level with your pelvis, gripping your waistband. “Guess it’s best for you to just relax, we’re going to be here a while.” 

You gulped and gasped right before his hands pulled. You knew he’d make it worth the wait.

----

 Soft light of the sun rise made your skin glow and Leedo smiled down at you tucked into the crook of his arm against his bare chest. You were a disheveled, absolute mess, but you were radiant, and so perfectly HIS now, finally. You stirred lightly, snuggling deeper into his embrace before he realized that you had now slept together twice, and waking up to you was the best thing he had done, but that he had plenty more mornings like this ahead. 

The smile that broke out on his face was so large it hurt, but here you  were finally together. 

It had taken falling asleep to wake you both up. 

It had been worth the wait.

[maybeawriter6]

Safe Together (Demon!Valerius x Female Reader)

(This is definitely in the running for the most self indulgent thing I’ve ever written, but eh who cares XD

This is inspired by Julian’s reversed ending but I haven’t actually played it, so forgive me if the world I’ve built here doesn’t work the way it does in canon.

Valerius is a full demon here; basically the human parts of his sprite are gone and both sides match now.)

—————————————————————————————————-

Sometimes, you still wake up screaming. Dreams, memories, what’s the difference, anymore? The visions are all horrific, all tragic.

Gentle claws pull you close, a normally cool voice warm with concern murmuring comfort in your ear. “There, there, Darling. You’re perfectly safe.”

You bury your face in the crook of a familiar neck covered in a medley of scales and fur. Your trembling eventually fades as you lie enveloped in faintly wine-scented warmth.

Valerius brings one clawed hand up to thread carefully through your hair. “We’re safe and together, my love.”

Safe and together. The mantra that’s kept you both sane. As long as it’s true, you can convince yourselves nothing else matters. It keeps the bad feelings at bay.

“I saw… him, again,” you whisper.

Valerius frowns, slit pupils narrowing as he somehow manages to hold you even closer. “Don’t worry about him. He promised to leave us alone, remember?”

Oh, you remember all too well. The Devil’s bargain. Valerius’ choice. Lucio’s death. The meshing of the worlds. The end of life as you’d known it. The fusing of this estate with the Hierophant’s realm.

The sight of chains wrapped tight around the man you love. Chains which you know have only gotten tighter, since then.

“Until he needs something from us. From you.” You caress a scaly cheek. “I wish… I wish I could free you from him.”

Valerius swallows audibly, but his face shows only a dismissive sneer. “And let him hurt you? Let him separate us? Never.”

You nod sadly. He sighs, then brightens a little. A claw lifts your chin.

“Besides, I’d have to give up this form, and all the little bonuses you’ve grown so fond of.” A smirk tugs at his mouth, revealing his fangs.

He has a point. Once you finally convinced him that he’s still attractive, like this, a series of extremely pleasurable experiments had followed. There were, indeed, many advantages to his current form.

You give a tiny laugh and settle against him again. “Good point.”

“Of course, it is.” He smiles into your hair. “All of my points are good.”

You can’t know how long you spend like this, curled around each other. A bubble of contentment in a sea of chaos.

Valerius can know, however. His internal clock is still infallible, one of the more stubborn remnants of his humanity. You’re grateful for the sense of routine it provides, but there are times when you could do well without it. Such as now.

“We should get up,” he mutters regretfully.

You whine and tighten your hold on him. “Nooo…”

“It’s almost noon, my dear. We ought to have been up ages ago.”

You’re tempted to protest that your usual activities can wait indefinitely, but the routine is all either of you have, in this upside-down world.

You sit up with a pout. “Fine, but you owe me another cuddle session, later.”

He chuckles, the sound raspier than it was when he was human. “Naturally.”

Breakfast is on the table, just as it always is. It is summoned by your desire to eat, rather than being manually cooked. As such, it always takes the form of whatever you felt like eating. The only catch is that the food tastes like your memory of the original food, so you can’t taste anything new. And if your memory shifts, so does the taste of this food.

You munch a croissant that tastes a lot fruitier than you think it’s supposed to, while Valerius sips his usual glass of wine.

“We need to sneak out into the city and find some food that’s been freshly baked. I heard a friend of mine is keeping up the habit for old time’s sake.”

Valerius nods. “I suppose we cannot content ourselves with ghost food, forever.”

Your thoughts wander back to the days when you and Asra would stop by the bakery. Things were so much simpler. Easier. You miss your old life. You miss Asra and Muriel and all your other friends.

Most of them are hiding in what’s left of the Arcana’s realms or behind their personal doors. You see them very rarely, and when you do… Well, you and Valerius chose your side. They chose theirs. Julian is the only one who isn’t angry or distrustful of you both, as he claims he’d have done the same thing in your place. And he’s usually busy, trying to help the people cope.

Valerius can easily guess where your thoughts have turned, and does his best to change the subject, but things hang unspoken in the air.

After breakfast, you set out for a turn about the estate in a carriage without wheels, pulled by a pair of giant worms. Housewarming gifts from Vlastomil. You aren’t a big fan of the creatures, but they’re gentle enough, and get the job done.

The carriage ride is quieter than usual. You’re still brooding a little, and Valerius seems absorbed in observing the shifting landscape.

“…A penny for your thoughts, Consul?” Pennies no longer have value, and Valerius is no longer a consul, but your phrase sparks enough nostalgia to draw his attention.

He sighs, staring into his wine. “…It’s nothing. I just… Do you think I made the wrong…” He blinks at you, a rare show of vulnerability in his features.

You take his clawed hand and squeeze it comfortingly. “We’ve been over this, Valerius. We both did what we thought was best. You didn’t want to risk the Devil hurting me, and I didn’t want him to hurt you, either.”

He squeezes your hand back. “…You’re right, of course. Besides, what could we have done? It is arrogant folly to suppose we could have saved the world.”

You both suspect otherwise, but neither of you have the heart to say it aloud. To admit you could have stopped the Devil would be to assume a lot more guilt than your fragile spirits could handle.

The evening- or, rather, what Valerius’ internal clock deems “evening,” is spent reading. One of the few things that survived the fusion intact was Valerius’ library. Thousands of books, generations’ worth of collecting, plus many that you and Valerius have bartered for or salvaged from the ever-shifting ruins of the city. You both find hefty novels to get lost in, reading in companionable silence.

Eventually, your focus shifts to Valerius. His monstrous shape does nothing to dilute the old mannerisms of your lover. Everything from the angle of his brows, to the way he sips his wine, to the feigned annoyance in his golden eyes when he notices you staring at him.

“What?” he demands.

“You’re so cute when you read.”

He blushes, his flustered expression every bit as endearing as ever. “I… Thank you, I suppose?”

You laugh as his confused expression and go to him, sitting beside him on a sofa. “You’re cute all the time, to be fair.”

He clears his throat. “Not as cute as you are.”

You’re the one blushing, now. “Oh, stop…”

He chuckles, tilting your face up. “I shan’t. You are ravishing, Magician.”

You smile, and he leans in to kiss you. His lips feel very different, these days, but their intent hasn’t changed. Even scaly and strangely shaped as they are, they’re still soft enough to caress yours. As much as you sometimes miss the old velvet pillows, you’re more than compensated by the gentle nip of sharp teeth.

You sigh into the kiss, scooting closer to Valerius. His hand travels from your chin to your cheek, claws cool against your skin, while the other settles at your waist. Gentle, reverent. Holding you as if he’s never touched anything so precious.

You lick at his mouth and he takes the hint, his long tongue wrapping around yours as your faces press closer together. You climb onto his lap for a better angle, straddling his waist and pushing him back until he’s reclining against the sofa cushions.

Your hands move up and tangle in his hair. It’s longer and coarser than it once was, but your little tugs cause him to moan into your mouth just as easily as ever. Clawed hands hold you close, very lightly scratching the skin under your top.

“Beautiful,” Valerius whispers, nibbling at your ear. “So beautiful. I can hardly believe you’re mine.”

“I can hardly believe you’re mine.” You tighten your hold on his hair. “You’re magnificent.”

Valerius sighs in rapture, his mouth finding your neck. He’s very aware of how sharp his teeth are, never breaking the skin unless you want him to. Never harming you without your consent. He takes such care of you, his priceless treasure.

You gasp as he licks and bites along your throat. He knows every place that makes you whine, lavishing extra attention to the sensitive spot your neck meets your shoulder. You melt like warm butter into his arms, all tension falling from you.

“I believe it’s bedtime,” Valerius states suddenly.

You look at him with a confused frown. “Already? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“Now now, my dear, who has the better sense of time? If I say it’s time to go to bed, you should probably listen to me.” There’s a smile in his eyes; you suspect an ulterior meaning to his words.

“Very well, Consul. Let us retire to our room.” You turn and stretch out on his lap.

Valerius snorts, catching the hint. He picks you up as he stands, carrying you bridal style in his arms. The added height and strength of this form allows him to carry you easily up the stairs. You wrap your arms around his neck and grin the whole way, earning yourself an affectionate kiss to your temple.

The room you and Valerius call your own isn’t especially fancy. It doesn’t need to be, as you spend most of your time in other parts of the house. The bed is the exception, the result of your combined willpower shaping it. Sheets of the softest cotton, blankets spun of golden silk, pillows stuffed with the fluffiest down. And it’s huge, big enough to comfortably fit you and your demon lover with room to spare.

Valerius sets you down in the middle of the bed and then climbs onto it himself, looming over you with a familiar smirk. You pose seductively on the sheets, blushing but excited by his hungry gaze. His eyes are half-lidded and smoldering as they drag slowly over your body. As if he’s already planning what he’s going to do with you.

“Something tells me your plans don’t involve sleeping?” You tease.

“Well, technically, I only suggested we go to bed. I said nothing about sleep.” He hardly wastes another moment before leaning down to kiss you.

You hum happily, grabbing his shoulder and pulling yourself up. He deepens the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as he supports your back with a clawed hand. His other hand tugs at the fastenings of your clothes, soon assisted by your own free hand. Together, you manage to fumble your clothes off, his fur tickling your bare skin.

Valerius moves down and licks slowly over the nearest nipple. You whine softly, clutching at his hair. He moves to the other nipple after a while, working it with his long tongue and sucking gently, then switches back. He keeps this up until you can’t help begging just a little.

“Please, Consul.” You gaze at him longingly. “I need more. Please.”

He huffs a laugh into your cleavage. “Patience, my darling.” He moves down, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your nipples as he licks a stripe down your stomach.

Your dynamic shifted drastically as he changed. Letting him top used to be a rare treat; now you switch it up frequently. And today, you’re more than happy to let him care of you.

Valerius nips gently at your thighs, working his way up to where you really want him. He waits until you start squirming to finally put his mouth on you. You moan, appreciating how long his tongue is as he delves into your depths. Your hands find his hair and sink into it, tugging him closer. He chuckles, his warm breath puffing onto your sex.

“Do you know what ‘patience’ means, my dear?” He teases, sinking a finger into your other hole and very carefully working it, always conscious of his claws. “You know we technically have eternity to do this.”

You whine, pulling him even closer. “When it comes to you? Even eternity doesn’t feel like enough.”

Valerius moans softly against you, relishing both your words and your hands in his hair. He returns to his prior task, working absolute wonders with his tongue, and adding a second finger as you relax. Pleasure rushes through you in tingling waves every time he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

He eventually pulls away, and you pout at the sudden loss of sensation.

“What’s wrong, ma Chérie?” Valerius’ smirk is back. “Do you need something?”

“You know darn well what I need,” you counter, trying to act angry and not laugh.

“You’ll have to be more specific, darling.” His voice is soft but deep, with the slightest growl running underneath it. It races down your spine and causes your arousal to increase just from the sound. “Use your words. What is it exactly that you want me to do with you?”

You whine a little. “I- I need… I would like you inside me. Please.”

Valerius’ expression is a mixture of lust and adoration, wrapped in smug delight. “I thought you might.”

He moves up the bed, flopping against the pillows, then takes hold of you and flips you onto him so you’re straddling his waist. You give a surprised yelp, then shiver at the feeling of something hard pressing into your rear.

“Do you trust me?” Valerius asks quietly, persona dropped for a second.

“I do.” You run a hand through his hair. “With my life.”

“And you’ll tell me if anything hurts in a non-enjoyable way?”

“I promise. Will you?”

“Of course.”

You always have an exchange along these lines before things get serious. It was a comforting habit when he was human, and now it’s an essential step in the process. Context has made it feel sexier over time, and now you’re that much wetter in anticipation.

Picking up the dominant thread where he left off, Valerius smiles lazily at you. “Disrobe me, then.”

You nod and start undoing the fastenings. Unbuttoning buttons, untying ties. Rubbing your butt against his bulge every so often, earning a little gasp each time.

“It’d be faster with help,” you hint.

The smirk darkens mischievously. “Earn your keep, Magician. Prove you really want this.”

You flush and mutter and your fingers fumble, but you eventually get the robes undone. They fall open to reveal lightly toned muscles, covered in broad swaths of fur and scales. You scoot back a little, feeling both of his dicks poking you. Valerius bites his lip, a blush creeping up his neck and blooming across his sharp cheekbones.

“They should be slicker before we start,” he mutters, trying to compose himself. “Think you can help me with that?”

“I think I can.” You smirk as you move down the bed.

They’re both quite large, longer and a little thicker than his original one was, and sky blue in color. They’re flushed purple towards the head, now. Both have glistening beads of arousal at the tip.

You start with the upper one, running your tongue greedily up and down his length. Your jaw automatically rubs the lower one, and you keep it there with your hand. The reaction from Valerius is so instantaneous, the moan so easily escaping his throat and his hands burying so quickly into your hair, that you know he’s been hiding his arousal all evening. You move very slowly, unable to resist teasing him a little.

“Cunning Witch,” he hisses, pulling your hair. “Don’t try to toy with me. I’m in charge, tonight. Are you going to make me prove it?”

You’re tempted to disobey for that exact purpose, but you’ve been denied so long already… You don’t want to risk him extending the wait.

You pull back long enough to whisper a breathless “No, Consul,” then return to your work with an increased pace. Valerius bites his lip, trying to hide how much he’s enjoying this. You switch back and forth between the two, now, always rubbing the other with your free hand.

Your mouth is watering and it isn’t too much longer before he dubs both dicks sufficiently wet and stops you. “That’s good enough, I think. Come here.”

You crawl over Valerius until you’re face-to-face again. He hesitates a long moment without asking anything else of you, caressing your cheek with his claws.

“…Uh, Val?” You tilt your head in confusion.

“Indulge me for a few heartbeats, Darling. I want to savior you, all flushed and eager, like this. What are our lives, now, but a series of moments and memories? I want to keep this one.”

You smile bittersweetly, and lean in to kiss him. He reciprocates with a sort of tender desperation, and you know that he’s thinking those sad, guilty thoughts from earlier.

You deepen the kiss and tangle one hand in his hair, reaching back to rub him with the other. Trying to distract him. It works, Valerius shivering under you with a hissing gasp.

“I’d like to savior you too, Consul.” You grin at him, your expression and tone a challenge. “Do you intend to let me? Or must I satisfy myself?”

Valerius gives you a matching smirk, his mood visibly rising to meet that challenge. “The only satisfaction you’ll be getting will be at my discretion, Witch.” His hands sneak around to your rear and he resumes gently stretching you, the other claws digging into your butt lightly. “I suggest you behave, if you want to earn it.”

You squirm impatiently, but nod. “I am butter in your hands, Consul. Melt me at your leisure.”

“Your pretty words don’t match your wiggling, my dear.” He chuckles, drawing you closer so warm air ghosts over your neck. “But I’m feeling merciful. You have permission to ride me, now.”

“Both, my Lord?” You blink hopefully.

The title draws an extra lustful gleam to his gold eyes. “Start with the lower one. Slowly, now. Don’t get too ambitious.”

You gingerly lower yourself onto him, moaning at how he fills and stretches you. Valerius growls, the sound reverberating in your chest. He shifts a little so he can more easily nibble and lick at your collarbone.

“Go on,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You raise yourself up and sink slowly back down, whimpering. Valerius’ claws drag along your back and sides, settling on your hips.

“That’s it, keep going.”

You set an agonizingly slow pace, whining at the sensations as well as from his mouth on your throat. His upper length is in perfect position to rub your clit as you move, which you suspect was the idea.

Valerius hardly moves, except when he pulls away to sip from a wine glass he procured from somewhere. He’s clearly expecting you to do most of the work, but he’s more than happy to encourage you. “You’re doing so well, Chérie.”

You bite your lip and speed up a little. He watches you with adoring eyes for a few minutes, then gently stops you.

“Good. Are you ready for both?” He smirks, setting the glass aside. “I’m not certain you can handle it.”

“More than ready. Please, Consul. I’ve been waiting so long.”

The smirk softens as he relents. “Then get to it, Magician.”

You reach back to guide him into your holes. All the preparation is suddenly paying off, as you feel almost no discomfort as he slides into you. Just glorious fullness. You whine, your limbs going weak, and it’s a very good thing Valerius is supporting you.

He hisses under his breath, holding you close. “You feel so divine, my love.”

“So do you.” You kiss him, your hands finding their way up to his horns.

They’re sensitive, you know, so you keep your grip light at first. It’s still enough to make him shiver under you, growling as he rakes his claws down your back just hard enough to sting. You give a strangled cry, your grip tightening as you start riding him in earnest.

The noise Valerius makes isn’t human or even animal, but something otherworldly. A strange growl-whine, like a sound from the bottom of an abyss. He’s a creature of willpower and shadow and hedonistic desires in the form of a monster. And he belongs to you. Craves you. Needs you.

He breathes hot air over a pert nipple, licks firmly over it, delights in your resulting shutter and breathy moan. He loves seeing the effect he has on you.

“Valerius…” you whine, gripping his horns like a lifeline. It feels like your whole body is stretching to fit both of his dicks. You never get tired of the feeling, no matter how many times you’ve taken him.

Whimpering your name, Valerius is looking at you as if he’s never seen anything so beautiful. He can no longer resist thrusting up into you. Can’t help gripping your butt, guiding you to a faster pace. In spite of trying to control the situation, he’s losing himself to the pleasure. His head is thrown back as far as your grip on his horns will allow, eyes squeezed shut as he moans.

You tremble, making high pitched little noises as you get close. So close. You just need a little more…

As if sensing this, Valerius moves to rub your clit, expertly keeping his claws away. You moan, releasing a horn so you can grip a handful of his hair.

“Come for me, my darling,” he growls, the sound setting your nerves on fire in the most delicious way.

You tumble over the edge, crying out as a rush of pleasure crashes over you. You clutch at horn and hair to ground yourself.

This, combined with your walls clenching around him, brings Valerius over the edge right behind you. He roars your name, the sound ringing from every corner of the room, while his claws leave red marks on your skin.

You cling to one another, panting for breath, your combined fluids pooling beneath you.

“Ma chérie,” he whispers, his tone awestruck.

You lift yourself off of him with a whine, then collapse next to him on the pillows. He pulls you close and you run your fingers through his hair as you kiss him.

“You did so well, my love,” he mutters when you stop to breathe. “Such a good girl for me…”

“Remember that next time I’m in charge,” you tease.

Valerius smiles mischievously. “I will try, but you mustn’t be surprised if I misbehave a little. I am a demon, after all. It’s in my nature.”

“Well, I happen to like your nature.” You kiss him on the nose, your playful tone turning affectionate. “You were wonderful too, you know. I’m very lucky.”

He’s beaming at you as if you’re his entire world. “I’m the lucky one.”

Valerius wraps you in his warm arms, fur caressing your skin. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and holds you close. You breathe together. Just breathing. Simply existing. A tiny paradise.

It’s moments like this, when you hold each other this close. When all your senses are consumed with love. With him. These moments make it all worthwhile. All the pain, all the guilt, the state of the world around you… None of it matters, right now.

You’re safe, and you’re together.

And it’s enough.

[quarantineroulette]

Minor Disappointments’ Least Disappointing Releases of 2018

Preamble: I had a bit of a low (not Low, although that would’ve been preferable) period in 2018 that went on for several months. I didn’t really listen to music during that time, and so I missed out on a lot of things. I’m kind of too scatterbrained from holiday hysteria to really take in anything new. So these lists probably don’t designate “the best”, but they’re decent documents of what I wasn’t too distracted or down to take serious notice of.

Secondly, my own band released an album this year, and that occupied a large amount of time normally reserved for listening to other bands. I won’t rank it because I don’t want to be that conceited...but if you want to check it out for yourself, the highlights for me are “For the Rest to Rest”; “Open Up the Ways”; “Screen Test”; and “Suspend Disbelief”. One of my favorite reviews of it described our sound as being a “unique blend of post-punk, brit-pop, indie, and a little post-rock too.” and said we’re “one of the smartest bands to come out of Brooklyn in a very long time.” This is both why people should listen to it and also why they might not.

Thirdly, one of the things I listened to the most this year was Protomartyr’s Consolation EP, but I’m refraining from listing it as it’s not a full-length. That said, I think it’s as good as nearly anything I’ve heard this year, Protomartyr are the best and both of their live sets I caught were my favorite gigs of 2018. TLDR: Protomartyr = good. Most other things on this list = equally good but not Protomartyr. Let’s get started shall we?

10 Songs That Were Good: 

10) Neko Case & Mark Lanegan - Cures of the I-5 Corridor. How has a Neko Case / Mark Lanegan duet not existed until 2018?? No matter the year, something this gorgeous and heartbreaking is always worthy of making the cut.

9) Lana Del Rey - Mariners Apartment Complex . I remember Spencer Krug tweeting something kind of snarky about “Venice Bitch” a few months back, then deleting it, and damn well he should’ve because both that and “Mariners Apartment Complex” are blinders. “Venice” may be the most low-key epic ever, but the way “Mariners” takes hints of Leonard Cohen and Lee Hazlewood / Nancy Sinatra and places them in a pop context is perhaps even more admirable. It’s truly inspiring to hear mainstream music this nuanced.

8) Parquet Courts - Tenderness . I love the jaunty piano, and how Andrew Savage’s vocal take is simultaneously forceful and lax. But most of all I love how all its elements converge to create a sense of hard-won optimism.

7) Iceage - Thieves Like Us . Iceage do a swamp cabaret song and I just can’t love it enough.  

6) MGMT - Me and Michael . Yes, it’s ridiculously ‘80s, but you would have to be a very dour person to not smile whenever that opening synth riff kicks in.

5) Shame - One Rizla . Riff of the year. Hands down.

4) Bodega - Jack in Titanic . One of the great things about 2018 was witnessing Bodega’s success. To me, they’ve always been one of the few up-and-coming indie bands with the  charisma to be actual stars, and it’s been a joy seeing the rest of the world take note of this. From the moment I heard “Jack in Titanic”, I just knew it was destined to show up on a BBC Radio 6 A-or-B list at some point in the near future (and it did!). And yeah, they’re my good friends, but even if they were strangers I’d appreciate the smartness, melodic hooks, and sexiness all the same:

3) Preoccupations - Disarray . Click on that link because the song is really good, but be warned -- the vocal melody is never, ever going to leave you.

2) Protomartyr - Wheel of Fortune . This song has everything: a nerve-wracking stop and start guitar part, an at-once badass and terrifying refrain, Kelly Deal, and the exact sense of urgency that’s needed right now. Powerful, timely, and a rare example of a song that puts its guest star to highly effective use.

1) Janelle Monae - Make Me Feel . This song combines about five different Prince songs but Janelle Monae’s personality is so strong that the end result is something wholly her own. And if the song weren’t a blast on its own, the technicolor video is almost lethally fun: 

10 Albums That I Loved A Lot: 

10) Arctic Monkeys - Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino . I really loved this album but I’m ranking it as 10 just because it’s the Arctic Monkeys and I can’t believe I enjoyed anything they’ve produced *this* much -- especially a lounge album about a casino on the moon. I find Alex Turner overrated as a lyricist and cosplaying a Bad Seed isn’t endearing to me, but he obviously loves Scott Walker a lot so I guess he gets some sort of pass.

9) Moonface - This One’s of the Dancer and This One’s for the Dancer’s Bouquet . The only reason this isn’t ranked higher is because I haven’t been able to give it the attention it deserves. This is a concept album where some songs are sung from the pov of the Minotaur and others from Spencer Krug, and both these creatures are enigmatic are too enigmatic to be given mere surface reads. This all said, I’ve listened enough to glean that, as always, Spencer’s lyrics are awe-inspiring, the marimba is implemented well, the alternate version of “Heartbreaking Bravery” is excellent, and comparing and contrasting its themes with those found on Wolf Parade’s 2017 release Cry Cry Cry is a fun past time if you’re me or seven other people. Looking forward to delving deeper in 2019.

8) Janelle Monae - Dirty Computer . To be honest, I *was* a little disappointed in this. It’s not as cinematic or stylistically adventurous as Monae’s previous full-lengths, but I think Monae herself is extremely talented and I wish she was a much bigger star. Furthermore, when considered against the drek of the general pop landscape, this is still a bold, unpredictable, and intelligent pop record from a true enigma.

7) Luke Haines - I Sometimes Dream of Glue . Like “Kubla Khan” if it had been written after huffing a river full of glue, but instead of Xanadu it’s an English village full of miniature people having a orgy:

6) Parquet Courts - Wide Awake! . No other song better captures the frustrations and anxieties of living in NY in 2018 than “Almost Had to Start a Fight / In and Out of Patience”, and for that alone this album would make the year-end cut. But it also happens to be brilliant start to finish, with the two closing statements, in the form of “Death Will Bring Change” and “Tenderness” respectively, being among PC’s best.

5) Low - Double Negative .  Mimi Parker’s voice emerging from a sonic cocoon on “Fly” is one of the most gripping moments of Low’s fantastic career. This album challenged me the most in 2018, but it’s also one I frequently returned to, determined to crack its code.

4) Preoccupations - New Material . I suppose some would dismiss this as too trad. post-punk, but holy hell - these trad. post-punk songs have got some hooks! And there isn’t quite another singer like Matt Flegel, who somehow manages to channel Bowie and Mark Lanegan at the same time. I’ve listened to this so much that New Material already feels like a well-loved classic.

3) Gazelle Twin - Pastoral . I would argue that Pastoral is the closest anyone’s come to making something comparable to PJ Harvey’s Let England Shake. An electro-pagan examination of Britain’s heritage and history (and the whole Brexit thing) that manages to feel thorough despite only being 37 minutes long, Pastoral moves beyond being just “a record” and becomes something closer to contemporary art. Elizabeth Bernholz’s vocals, whether warped or unconstrained by processing, are remarkable throughout. A mash-up of folk traditions and modern beats that somehow works shockingly well:

2) Idles - Joy as an Act of Resistance . Boyfriend / bandmate James and I have discussed this album more than any other this year, and it’s been a pleasure hearing his love for it and forming my own appreciation of it in the process. What sealed it for me was James’ description of “Idles” as pagan, and how the band’s use of repetition and simple melodies (as well as their bacchanalian stage presence) created an air of ritualism. In their primalness, they even remind me of The Birthday Party - a “woke” Birthday Party, but a Birthday Party all the same. My favorite musical moment of the year may very well be Joe Talbot’s first shout of “UNITY!” in “Danny Nedelko”, primordial, raw, unpretentious, and completely punk. We *need* these guys right now:

1) Suede - The Blue Hour . There is a joke in the TV show 30 Rock in which Jack Donaghy -- Alec Baldwin’s network head character -- says he attended Harvard Business School, where he was voted “Most”. The Blue Hour could be considered “Most” -- it’s meant to be taken as one piece, it’s insanely grandiose and, like its predecessor Night Thoughts, listening to it makes everything in my life seem 18 times more dramatic and tragic. I don’t know how, but this bizarre mashup of Kate Bush, Jacques Brel, Pink Floyd, Scott Walk, Gregorian chanting, classic Suede, spell books and (of course) David Bowie somehow seems bizarrely in step with 2018. Seeing as this top three consists of albums that are arguably “pagan”, and folk horror’s representation in popular 2018 films like Hereditary, The Blue Hour feels accidentally on trend. It’s crazy to think that a band whose first release happened 25 years ago could still be relevant in 2018, but Suede somehow are so please give these dads a hand and then listen to The Blue Hour’s glorious closing trio of songs a lot, because boy are they “Most”.  

[onceuponamirror]

For a prompt: who about some nice Archie/Betty platonic friendship? I think their friendship was the most screwed over by the writers (and the fandom) and I would like to see them as the best friend they’re supposed to be. Maybe a moment of mechanic- Betty helping Archie with that god awful car he bought? Maybe some nice Betty-Archie-Fred moment?

a/n: this is peak angsty betty; i intended to do more of their friendship (because i totally agree about how their friendship got screwed and loved this prompt) but my muse turned this into a post-canon angst-healing. well, semi-canon; i scrapped the archie’s arrest thing. i don’t feel like dealing with all of this plot nonsense

She’s been keeping an eye on the Andrews’ house for a couple of weeks now.

It started when Fred had stormed the crowd still gathering on their front steps, his arms outstretched, and demanded they all go home and stay home. Betty’d been trying that technique for days, but as the very public first victim of her father, Fred Andrews had a bit more credit to his name in this regard. 

She’d felt endeared by it, relieved by it, and ashamed by it all at once, though this would be a series of feelings that she’d become accustomed to in the months following her father’s arrest.

Still; Betty has always liked Fred. 

She still associates him with the warm, bubbly summers that she shared with Archie and Jughead before there words for the dynamic between the three of them, always saw him as some kind of vessel of paternally sage wisdom, untouchably moral and unshakable. 

But she’s seen him shake now, and it’s been months since her father was carted away—and it still feels like her fault. 

And so—Betty catches herself staring out of the window a lot lately. 

She remembers staring out of her bedroom window for a glimpse of Archie wandering across his room; she remembers the wistful, moonish sighs out into the Andrews backyard, and the disappointment she’d feel when it’d be Fred or Mary instead of the once object of her affections.

It’s different now, and not just because she understands the flutterings for Archie were for a concept of a relationship that paled in comparison to the one she ended up having—flutterings that feel so foolish in retrospect, but she still can’t quite fault them, because they paved the road to Jughead.

Now, though, when she stares out the window, it’s because she’s looking for a reminder. The mornings that follow nightmares, the moments where she still feels like she’s being watched, the days where a kind of phantom pain sits at the base of her spine and causes gooseflesh, sometimes the only cure is relief that can only come with seeing either of them out, about, alive—not untouched, not unharmed, but alive all the same.

And it’s on one of those days, where she’s sitting by the window and idly tapping her pencil against the homework that feels horribly banal now, that she sees the two Andrews, together wheeling out some kind of disfigured, scrap metal project gone awry into the driveway. 

She stares at it, realizing its got four wheels and the general concept of an engine, and it dawns on her that this…might be a car. Or it was, in a past life. 

Cracking open her window an inch to the makings of spring and carrying voices, it takes only a few minutes of eavesdropping to put together the picture; they’re trying to salvage this ghost of a car, somehow.

Over the course of the afternoon, Betty’s attention keeps darting down to the driveway, a small smile at her lips when the new tire Fred is attempting to put onto the frame rolls right out of his hands, and Archie chases it halfway down the block. It’s brevity out of a Sunday gag strip, and her chest aches for it, wondering if she’ll ever find that in her own house again.

Eventually, the window is opened all the way, as she’d been pushing it up a hair every half hour or so. But she fidgets there, homework long abandoned, spare texts floating between her and Jughead and then Veronica, watching the two of them attempt to work on this mobile junkyard of a car.

She wonders, if this had happened months ago, if she’d be doing there now, assisting them—or given their current speed, instructing them. Maybe her own father would be alongside her, once upon a time.

He was the one who taught her about cars, taught her everything she knows.

And it’s for that reason that she feels rooted to that window, unable to move, even to offer them advice on the best wrenches, to tell them they’re better off building a new engine than trying to clean the rust off the original one. 

Betty doesn’t notice her mother come in; whereas Alice used to bang open doors and click clack around the house in the heels of a happy housewife, she appears to now float from room to room, gliding in and out like the ghost of herself. And thus, when Betty hears her voice behind her, she nearly jumps right out of her skin.

“Good lord, is that supposed to be a car?” Alice muses aloud, leaning in over Betty’s shoulder to get a better view. It’s the first time she’s sounded quite like herself in a few weeks, and Betty cranes her neck up to rake her eyes over her mother’s sad, tired face. 

“I think so,” Betty says, trailing her attention back down across the yard. 

“Well, someone should go put it out of its misery,” she sighs.

“I think they’re going to end up doing that, whether or not they mean to,” Betty replies, tucking her fist under her chin. “I’ve been watching them. I don’t think they really know what they’re doing.”

Alice lobs a sharp eye onto her daughter, and seems to read between the lines. She exhales then, and straightens. “Come on,” she says, pushing off from the window ledge. She gets halfway to the door when she realizes Betty hasn’t moved, and pivots back around. “You should bring them some lemonade, Elizabeth,” she adds, and at first, Betty thinks it’s an attempt at her old steeliness, but seeing the lines shift across her mother’s face, she realizes it’s a plea.

Perhaps for something familiar. Still something apple pie, in spite of it all.

So Betty gets up, her knees aching from being tucked underneath her all day, and follows her mother downstairs.

And a few minutes later, she’s outside the house, closing the front door behind her, and although there’s no one clambering for a photo now, no stray reporter or sycophant left, her hands still tremble with the tray in her hands. The ice cubes in her pitcher of lemonade rattle louder than her heartbeat. 

Archie and Fred fall silent as they see her approaching; although Fred had been comfortingly forgiving after the fact, Archie has never seemed to fully relax around her since. She knows he doesn’t blame her the way she blames herself, but they fidget around each other in the same way, as if constantly on different ends of the same thought.

“Hi,” she says, unsurprised to hear her voice small. “Thought you guys might want some lemonade.”

“Betty, this is a nice surprise,” Fred says at once, striding forward to help her with the tray. He takes it and deftly deposits onto a rolling work cart, beaming at her in a way that brings both relief and shame, as she often feels. “Let me go get some glasses for us,” he says, and then he disappears back into his own house, leaving her and Archie alone for the first time in months.

“New car?” She asks, gesturing vaguely at the rusted red thing in front of them.

His lips lift, just barely. “Yeah. Traded for it at the junkyard. My dad and I are fixing it up together.” 

“I guessed,” she says, scrambling for something else to say and resisting the urge to apologize to him yet again. She thinks she could say it a thousand more times and feel no different. “That’s nice. I used to do that with my—” 

But she promptly falls silent, and Archie eyes her, knowing what she was going to say, and her face burns hot. His jaw clicks and unclicks, as his gaze turns to the ground, clearly thinking.

“You’ve always been good at this stuff,” he says eventually, and with an overly obvious attempt at diplomacy around the subject. “Got any pointers?”

He stares at her, the width of an olive branch between them.

She has several, glancing at the tool box they have out, and the supplies they’re sorely missing. But everything she knows on this subject, she will probably hear in her father’s instructive voice, and she doesn’t know if she can handle that.

Betty licks her lips, feeling like she understands her mother’s desire for the familiar all the more now. 

Truthfully, all she wants to do is pick up a wrench and take this car apart and put it back together again. Her hands twitch with the desire to fix something, anything.

And then she thinks: they have to take off the engine gasket first, and to her shock, doesn’t hear it in her father’s voice. 

She hears her own. 

Just then, Fred re-emerges from the house with a couple of glasses. She notices a third one for herself, and feels color. 

“Are you staying, Betty? We could use another set of hands,” he says amiably, offering her one of the cups. “Or advice, if you’ve got any,” he adds, with a light chuckle and grinning wryly. “I worked on a car with my old man, but that was longer ago than I might want to admit, and I’m rustier than I thought I’d be.”

Archie glances between her and his father, and then he smiles too. His posture droops, like he hadn’t realized how rigidly he’d been standing, and she thinks, for the first time—  

“Okay,” Betty says, voice rising back into its usual decibel. She smiles. “Okay.”

[freshlyjuicedbeetles]

On the subject of Kandomere/Female prompts: has anyone requested a Meet The Parents?

No, you are the first!

Here you go!

Kandomere and I had been dating for a few months and things were getting serious. We were toying with the idea of moving in together. It felt like I was going to be with this guy for a long time. Both of our parents were needling us to meet our significant other. After putting it off, we both decided it was time.

He met my family first. There was a disparity between Kandomere’s background and mine. I came from a typical, working and middle-class family. We could go on nice vacations and have memorable Christmases and birthdays, but we had to work for those. In my teens, my parents even worked odd jobs; my mother would babysit or give lessons and my dad was the neighborhood handyman. My Kandomere’s family coasted on his grandfather’s wealth, well-paying careers and proper money management. They had simply had the money laying around to do what they wanted.

I wasn’t embarrassed for Kandomere, my snob of an elf boyfriend to meet my family. In fact, I was looking forward to it. I wanted to see him out of his element. I wanted to see his eyes wide with shock as my sister got grass stains on her jeans from playing football with our brother and that our food came from Walmart.

How do middle-class humans celebrate and get together? We cookout. It was the first cookout of the season and my dad was itching for a reason to get the grill going.

Kandomere and I pulled into the drive of my childhood home. Upon opening the door, we were greeted by my family’s young golden retriever named Blue. We adopted him as a puppy my senior year in high school.

“Hi, Blue!” I exclaimed happily as he jumped up on me. I scratched him behind his floppy ears and kissed his head. “I missed you so much!”

He didn’t even care that Kandomere was there. My dad makes comments that he would be worthless guard dog because he likes everyone he meets or simply doesn’t care that a stranger is in his domain.

“Oh my god, she’s really dating an elf.” My sister said in disbelief from the second story landing, looking down upon us in the entryway.

“That’s my sister, Haley,” I said to Kandomere. “This is Blue, obviously.” I had a ridiculous number of photos of the dog on my phone and probably spent a good fifteen minutes showing Kandomere at one point.

“Wait, aren’t you a little short for an elf? Aren’t elves, like, six-foot somethin’?” She asked as she jogged down the stairs.

I sighed, “Haley, get it out of your head that a man has to be at least six-foot-two for you to even look at him.”

“Hey, man,” My brother said, coming from the living room, “I’m Clint,” He said, yanking Kandomere’s hand for a shake.

“Do you really work for the FBI?” Clint asked.

“I do,” Kandomere confirmed, a little taken aback about how many people were talking to him and vying for his attention.

“Oh, sweet, dude! So, do you have a gun? How fast can you shoot it? My brother asked eagerly. “Do you want to find out?” Kandomere asked.

Clint laughed, then paused, then laughed nervously. He snapped his fingers, “I’ll have to keep my eye on you.”

“There’s my girl!” My Dad exclaimed, barreling in for a bear hug.

“Don’t squish her!” My mom teased, close behind him.

My parents squeezed me in a group hug.

When we pulled away, I introduced Kandomere. “Everyone, this is Kandomere. Kandomere, this is my mom Maggie and my dad Bobbie.”

“Hello,” Kandomere greeted, making eye contact with both of my parents.

“Hi!” Mom exclaimed, pulling Kandomere into a much gentler hug. He was a little surprised by the sudden affection.

“Nice to finally meet ya!” Dad said, “Hey, do you know how to make fajitas? Like, really, really, good fajitas?” Dad asked.

“Dad…” I groaned.

“What? I just really like fajitas! Your mother is Swedish and makes damn good meatballs! He’s Mexican, right? You’re Mexican?” Dad countered.

“I was born in LA; my paternal grandparents are from San Salvador. My mother’s side of the family is from Bucharest. So, I don’t know how good my fajitas would be…” Kandomere explained.

Despite the bit of racial profiling, the dinner went well. The conversation flowed nicely and Kandomere had more than enough to talk about with everyone. There were even a handful of hearty laughs.

We were sitting on the deck as the sun starts to fade with my siblings, my parents were in the kitchen cleaning up. Blue was on the lawn chewing on his toy and rolling in the grass.

“She snores, doesn’t she?” Haley asserted.

“And talks in her sleep,” Clint added.

“She once peed on a table at the mall when she was a toddler.”

“She tripped and fell into Garth Brooks last year.”

“She puked on the Ferris wheel once and it hit everyone below her.”

“Have you noticed the little point on her right ear? Maybe she’s part elf!”

“It’s a Darwin’s ear. Completely different.” I clarified. I still blushed at the stories my siblings told, but I expected it.

“I think it’s cute,” Kandomere replied with a small shrug, grinning at me.

With all the conversation, we didn’t notice Blue sneaking onto the deck and grabbing Haley’s sandal.

“Hey!” Haley explained as Blue tore down the steps to the yard.

We all jumped up and hurried after him. It took us at least ten minutes to finally grab the shoe from Blue after Clint cornered him.

Mom and Dad emerged from the house. Dad tossed the football to Kandomere. Kandomere, not expecting the toss, fumbled the ball at first but caught it.

“Get the elf!” Clint cried, pointing to Kandomere.

My dad, Haley, and Clint charged on him and he had a look similar look to a deer in headlights. They tackled him to the ground, only an arm and a leg visible from under my family.

The night ended with him covered in grass stains and with the wind knocked out of him.

“Take care of her,” My dad said, misty-eyed as we were about to leave.

Kandomere gave a small smile of pride, “I will.”

Clint drew a finger across his neck as Haley twirled a metal baseball bat on the wooden floor.

Kandomere nodded to them in understanding.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry for them. I swear, we are somewhat civilized.” I said, my face buried in my hands as we got into the car.

“Nothing to apologize for. I don’t want you to apologize for them.” Kandomere said, peeling one of my hands away from my face and kissing it. “I like them. They have personalities. My parents divorced when I was fourteen. It was a loveless marriage, merely one of convenience. My grandfather arranged it. My father died when I was eighteen. It’s nice to see everyone so lively and,” He paused searching for the word, “happy.”

I smiled, satisfied that one meeting had gone well.

I knew a little about Kandomere’s parents. His father, Angelo was a federal judge and his mother, Éabha was the headmistress of an elite, private finishing school for young elf girls. His paternal grandmother, Theodosia, was a doll maker, whose work was exquisite and sought after by collectors. I would later meet Theodosia who was still as spritely and sweet as ever. For one of our wedding gifts from her, she built and painted dolls of Kandomere and me in our wedding attire. She somehow made me elven while keeping me human. Kandomere was creeped out by it, but I thought it was endearing. We got along great and it’s not uncommon that I stop by her house to help her along. Though she has retired from professional doll making due to her weak and arthritic hands, she frequently restores the Barbie’s and other dolls for the children of her neighborhood for no or little payment from their families.

When we get together, Theodosia teaches me her craft, lamenting that she never had a daughter or granddaughter to pass it down to. In turn, I repair her jewelry and help her make new pieces. One of the few chores Kandomere will do without griping about it is pick up her groceries (via a personal shopper, of course) and cook for her when he visits.

Shortly after Kandomere met my parents, I met his mother. Éabha was a beautiful woman with sharp features. Austere and stern, she spent most of the night looking down upon me. Her eyes were the same shade of icy blue and had the same power to wring the truth from your throat as Kandomere’s. She was dressed in a black dress as though she was mourning the elven daughter-in-law she would never have. She spoke in a soft, quiet voice that made me fear the thought of her yelling.

“Hello,” I said to her, a little intimidated by her.

She said nothing, but gave a small nod, appraising me.

I heard the distinctive pattern and sound of paws on the marble floor. A tall, black dog slowly walked in to see who had arrived.

“This is Dumbledore,” Kandomere said, bending down to greet the dog. “He’ll be twelve next month.”

Dumbledore was an old English Wolfhound. He was slow and gentle in his movements and calm in personality.

“Like the Harry Potter character,” I smiled to Éabha. I was relieved to find some common ground with the woman. I loved the books and movies.

“No, it is an old English word for bumblebee.” Éabha corrected sternly.

I felt like I had just been reprimanded.

She led us into the dining room and we sipped wine before dinner was served.

“Kandomere, whatever happened to Evangeline? I rather liked her.” The smallest smile on her face.

Evangeline. Yep, that was definitely an elf name.

“The girl I dated in high school?” He swallowed his wine, “She slashed my tires when I broke up with her and told the entire school that I sold cocaine.”

“She wasn’t that bad.” Éabha urged.

“Mother, last I checked she was on a 5150 for delusions in Sierra Vista,” Kandomere replied.

“Oh pish, tosh.” She said, with a dismissive wave of her manicured hand.

“She believes she is the long-lost daughter of Gianni Versace. Donatella was afraid for her life!”

“Well, you never know!” Éabha rebuffed.

“Versace was gay.”

Éabha shrugged and took a large swig of her wine. I just sat there and enjoyed the scene playing out in front of me.

Soon dinner was ready. It was some sort of veal dish with a minimal amount of unintelligible sides dotted around the plate artistically. Served by humans, they looked at me like I was an oddity.

“Please, tell me about yourself. Kandomere has told me next to nothing.” Éabha said, more to be polite than actual interest.

“Well, I was born in Ojai.” I explained, “My dad is a history teacher at our high school and my mom is a caseworker for the state. I have two siblings, I’m the oldest. My sister Haley is the youngest, a senior in high school and my brother Clint is a sophomore at Berkley. I went to Savannah College of Art and Design in Savannah, Georgia after high school where I studied jewelry design. Tuition was hefty, so I had a lot of odd jobs. I worked at Leopold’s my entire time there and I sold my jewelry on Etsy since I was eighteen. I worked at just about every place on River Street; the Shrimp Factory, One Eyed Lizzies…”

Éabha looked bored. “That must have been quite a challenge for you,” she said, not looking at me.

I giggled, trying to lighten the mood. “Yeah, I’m just now getting caught up on the sleep I missed.”

“Kandomere here went through quite a quite a rebellious phase when he was a teenager. Wouldn’t come out of his room, listened to god awful, angry music. I’m just now getting reacquainted with his left eye, it used to be covered completely by his hair.” She said as she eyed her son.

Kandomere coughed and choked on the food in his mouth, quickly excusing himself from the table.

“Do you have anything at all in common?” Éabha asked skeptically.

“Well, yeah,” I replied, thrown off by the question. “We like the same books and movies. We have similar values. We like to go for a nice run at the end of the day. I think our differences just make things more interesting.” I replied as Kandomere returned to the table.

Conversation lapsed into a tense pause with only the sound of silverware echoing through the spacious dining room.

“Aren’t human descended from caveman and Neanderthals?” Éabha asked trying to get under my skin, swirling her red wine.

I was caught off guard and it took me a moment to formulate a response. “As far as I know, my ancestors lived in the more habitable regions of the Arctic Circle where they were reindeer herders. You would think that would be a vocation more suited to those of us with pointy ears.”

Kandomere hid a smirk from behind his wine glass.

“You smell like my son,” Éabha asked, seriously. “Strongly. Can I assume that this relationship has been consummated?”

Both Kandomere and I looked like we wanted to melt into our seats. All the places we’ve had sex flooded my mind; my bed, his bed, my car, his car, my shower, his shower, his office, the janitor’s closet in his office building, a few mindful gropes at concerts, plays, or out shopping…

One of our best dates replayed in my mind. We spent the weekend together in his apartment and never left. We turned our phones off and gave everyone strict orders not to bother us. We slept, ate, napped, and having amazing sex. Kandomere dozed off as we watched bad TV and I ended up painting his nails hot pink from a bottle of nail polish I had in my suitcase. It was just us enjoying each other.

“We have.” Kandomere answers, his voice strained. This was the last conversation he wanted to have with his mother.

“Well, there’s no going back now,” Éabha replies, disappointment dripping in her voice.

“Look, ma’am, I know I’m not what you want as a potential daughter-in-law, but let’s be real here. When we get down to it, the only real difference between all of us is pointy ears, sharper teeth and like, ten chromosomes or something. I’m a good person. I’m not going to steal of Kandomere’s money and drop his dead body in the tar pits.”

“But you are not an elf,” Éabha replied simply as though I were an idiot.

She looked towards Kandomere as though he would confirm her beliefs. The tips of his ears were turning red and he was moments away from snapping the stem of his glass, his grip was so tight with contained anger.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Kandomere said to Éabha. “I think that’s enough for tonight,” Éabha said, politely dabbing her mouth with her cloth napkin, standing and striding off.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to piss her off.” I was mortified. I could feel my face turning red.

“You apologize for things that are not your fault. That’s just how she is. Try living with her. Why do think I went as far as Columbia for college?” He asked, a small grin on his face.

Kandomere stood up, “Come on, let’s get you a burger.”

I smiled as I stood up and he wrapped his arm around my waist.

As we walked out, Kandomere sneakily took Dumbledore’s leash off the hook in the hall and attached it to the dog’s collar. “We’re taking him.” He said quietly.

“But what about your mom?”

“He doesn’t deserve to be here, cooped up with that old crone. She has him wearing sweaters and coats. It’s LA for god sake. People can barely stand wearing such clothing without succumbing to heat stroke, let alone a dog covered in fur. Besides, she’s still mad that I didn’t go to either of my proms. What more can she be mad about?”

In later years, I learned to accept that Éabha doesn’t and probably would never like me. She doesn’t hate me, she just doesn’t like me and I can never change that. I am simply not an elf. Kandomere and my family developed a happy friendship and Dumbledore seemed to enjoy living with us much more than Éabha.

[caffeineivore]

Yuan Fen, Part Next

Title: Yuan Fen

Ship: R/J AU

Notes: Yuan Fen: Fateful coincidence; destiny which brings two people’s lives together at some point, often through astronomical odds. “It takes hundreds of rebirths to bring two persons to ride in the same boat; it takes a thousand eons to bring two persons to share the same pillow.” A concept related to karma in Chinese Buddism.

Rating: PG/PG13

In which we learn a little more about J and his past, at long last. And we finally invoke the title of the piece. We’re also past the halfway mark, in case anyone is wondering. (I think.)

Also, dude, I am just spitting this thing out. I don’t know what’s wrong. I mean, aside from my chronic insomnia. But, y’know, no rest for the wicked, right??

As a rule, most of the meals were included in the tour’s itinerary, and it seemed to Rachel that most people were quite happy to take advantage of this particular day’s evening meal-- not included in the tour-- to sample local eateries. But while there’s certainly something to be said for trying street food (Rachel personally considered herself quite the connoisseur of the New York City dollar slice, for example), this would be more easily done had she spoken the language better and not been traveling alone.

And so it is that as they were preparing to leave the last attraction of the day, she stops John before they quite reach the bus in the parking lot. She is quite aware that he’s gone above and beyond with her, personally taking her around all the sites for the last few weeks, and certainly in America her offer would not be considered inappropriate. 

“Hey, John?” By now, too, it seems completely normal for the two of them to call each other by their first names. They’re friends-- maybe not so close and familiar, and yet closer in a lot of ways than she’s wont to be with many people-- after all. “Would you like to go somewhere to dinner with me tonight? I really don’t know where or what to eat-- maybe you could give a few recommendations. And besides, it’s no fun to eat alone. My treat.”

He pauses, and bright blue eyes meet her violet ones. “Mmm, I would love to. Except, I have to be home right after we drop everyone off.”

“Oh.” Well, then. Rachel throws on cool indifference like a cloak. After all, she doesn’t know much at all about John Simmons’ personal life. Spending time with her while on the clock certainly didn’t preclude him from having a wife and a family and... belatedly, she realizes that she didn’t hear anything else that he was saying, and frowns. “Excuse me, say that one more time?”

That familiar grin crosses his face, but now it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, which seem almost nervous as they continue to gaze into hers. “I never actually do this, but... I would like to spend some more time with you, you see. If you wouldn’t think it’s too weird, you could come over for dinner. I don’t stay far.”

“Oh... are you sure?” This is certainly against protocol. But Rachel somehow finds herself shedding what she’d consider inherent New York suspicion, perhaps on impulse, but more likely on intuition. “Okay. If you’d like. And if you’ll get me back to the hotel after.” 

“Of course.” Now, as though they have a shared secret, they both ascend the bus, and Rachel finds herself smiling out the window at nothing in particular even as the other tourists get dropped off in groups at their respective hotels until she is the last one on the bus. 

John gives a few brief directions in Chinese to the bus driver, who laughs heartily and nods, and then the almost-empty vehicle heads out of the hotel district and into what appears to be a small cluster of houses on the outskirts of town. “Home sweet home,” John says with a courtly bow as the bus pulls to a stop in front of a modest frame house, built not too differently from the ancient abodes in old town, albeit on a much smaller scale. “Come on, follow me.”

**

Rachel isn’t quite sure what to expect as she follows John through a small yard planted with vegetables and in through a rickety door, but certainly it isn’t to see an old woman in blue homespun, her iron-gray hair in braids under a colourful kerchief, seated in a wheel-chair by a table. Another woman, perhaps in her mid-forties, is busily cooking dinner over an ancient stovetop, and looks up with a bit of surprise to see Rachel following John inside. 

John says something in Chinese to both, and the younger of the women smiles, replies even as she turns back to what seems to be gigantic pot of noodles, and John returns his attention to Rachel. 

“This is Ms Song, who is the caretaker, and it’s her evening off. She’s just finishing up cooking dinner, and then she will be going home.” His blue eyes land on the older woman, who has turned towards the sound of his voice and is beaming in his general direction. “I hired her to help take care of my former nanny here. Her name is Ms Xu, and she is almost blind now. Type 2 diabetes.” 

Rachel watches as John stoops down in front of the old woman, taking her hands in both of his, saying something low and soft with his golden head bent close to her gray one. Everything in his body language speaks to their bond-- it’s the sort of love between a mother and son. Feeling a bit at a loss and out of place, she simply stands and watches as the caretaker fills three bowls with something that almost looks like Vietnamese pho, with a cutting board in the middle of the table full of ready-sliced meats and vegetables and condiments, before hanging up her apron and taking her leave. 

“Here, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. We picked a good day-- Ms Song made cross-bridge rice noodles. Do you want yours spicy or plain?”

Rachel decides on just a little bit of spice, and stirs in a dash of chili sauce into her bowl. John introduces her to his former nanny, who reaches over and brushes her fingers slowly and carefully over Rachel’s face as though trying to learn her features. It’s a gentle touch that brings a lump into her throat, and she makes herself smile so that the old woman can feel it. 

Ms Xu says something to John, and he laughs as he replies, then turns to Rachel. “She asks me if you’re as pretty as she thinks you are. I told her you’re even prettier than that.”

“Oh, hush,” Rachel turns to her noodles and adds ingredients at random. “So... she was your nanny?”

“Mm-hmm.” John fixes up the older woman’s noodles before attending to his own. “I told you that my father got transferred to China for work, yeah? He used to work at the Chinese consulate in Chicago, back in the day, before he got a promotion. It took us to Beijing. I actually spent most of my childhood and teenage years there, not here.” He watches to make sure Ms Xu is eating her meal, then turns back to Rachel with a wry smile. “You could say I’m originally a city boy just like you’re a city girl, mei nü.” Now, the term seems almost an endearment. 

“Oh? Then how did you end up here?” Certainly, a man of his linguistic skill set could be making quite a bit more money in some place like Beijing, or even America. 

“My parents were always busy, back then, when I was a child. They hired Ms Xu to take care of me. She was the one who gave me my Chinese name ‘Jiang’-- it means ‘river’. She used to pick me up from school, make dinner in the evenings, help me with my homework-- especially Chinese homework, take me to the zoo and other outings on the rare occasions when I was good... you name it,” John smiles a bit sadly. 

“She was the one who gave me the Guan Yin pendant, actually, back when I was still a boy. She’s a widow, and has no children of her own. She’d gone to Beijing to look for work, because there are better opportunities there. She’d always told me it was yuan fen that brought her and me together.”

“What does that mean?” The noodles are spicy and delicious, but Rachel barely pays attention to them. 

“I guess the best translation would be... predestination, the type which brings people into each other’s lives. They have a saying, which states that it takes a hundred rebirths before two people will ride the same boat, and a thousand eons before they share the same pillow. She didn’t have a son, and... when my parents ended up divorcing in my teens and my mom returned to America, I didn’t have a mother any more. But we had each other.”

Rachel’s mother, before she’d passed away from the leukemia, had made her husband promise to always let her own father stay at their home. Now, she wonders whether her mother had known, in her final days, how much her daughter needed that loving, steadfast person who’d always be there for her in her childhood. Rachel is dimly aware that there are tears rolling down her cheeks, but hopes that John can’t see them through the steam curling up from the bowls of noodles as he continues his story.

“Anyway, because I didn’t want to lose touch with my own mother altogether, I went back to the US for school. She’d remarried by then, and because she was happier, it made it easier to go home to her on weekends and holidays while I was at Northwestern. I do love her. But, a few years back, I got word that Ms Xu was ill. My father had let her go, obviously, after I went to college, but he’d set her up decently enough in a small apartment in Beijing, in gratitude for all the years she’d been with us. She wanted to come back to her hometown, though. She’d been born here, grown up here, gotten married here.”

“So you came back, for her,” Rachel murmurs. That type of bone-deep loyalty and devotion, built for years, would mean that he could do no less. “To take care of her. You got a job as a tour guide out here so that you could pay for her to have a caretaker, and so she’d not be alone.”

“Yes, to take care of her, as she took care of me, all those years,” John nods, then reaches across the table and brushes his fingertips lightly over her damp cheeks. “Don’t be sad for me, Rachel. I’m quite happy, really.”

“Are you?”

“Hey, I live in a place named after paradise, and get to spend my days taking walks under blue skies while meeting new people.” Perhaps to try to coax a smile out of her, he winks. “On occasion, I even get to have dinner with pretty, directionally-challenged girls from New York who are a lot sweeter than they’d probably like the world to think they are.”

“I am not sweet! Or directionally-challenged!”

“Mm-hmm,” John chuckles as he finishes his noodles. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anybody.”

They finish the meal soon after, and Rachel watches quietly as John washes the dishes, then helps his former nanny with her evening ablutions and insulin injection with what looks to be well-practiced ease. The diabetes had robbed the old woman of a great deal of her sight and her mobility, but when John helps her into her bed and tucks her in, her wrinkled face is content and serene. Rachel, feeling awkward and somewhat impulsive, takes that day’s flower wreath out of her hair and carefully untangles the stems until she has a small bouquet in her hands, and then fills a glass at the sink and puts the flowers in the middle of the table. At John’s glance, she tries to hide a fidget with a shrug. “Well, all women love flowers. Anyone who says they don’t is lying.”

“I bow to your superior knowledge and judgment. Come, let’s get you back to the hotel. I’ll call you a car. Like Uber, but Chinese.” 

He types something or another into his phone, then the two of them exit the house together. Outside, temperatures have dropped sharply since the afternoon, and Rachel shivers involuntarily for a moment before she feels John drape his jacket over her shoulders. It’s pale blue denim worn to cottony softness and reaches mid-thigh on her, and smells like herbal soap and Pu-Er tea. Off in the distance, she can see the headlights of the approaching “Chinese Uber” and turns back to look at John. 

“Thanks for dinner. And everything.” 

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” John raises a hand and cups her cheek. “One could say that it was yuan fen which brought us together, too.” 

For a wild moment, Rachel thinks that he’s going to kiss her. And for an even wilder moment, she thinks that she just might have let him. But almost before that thought has a chance to flash through her mind, the car pulls up in front of them, and she clears her throat and steps back. 

“Good night, John. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll bring your jacket back to you then.” And then, before she can second-guess herself, she steps into the car and shuts the door. She watches him stand there, watching her as the car drives her away.