#this is going to ruin the tour (the writing games i was tagged in)

[jakes3resin]

I love not being able to read (dyslexia) cause that means if I don't understand my own writing, it's not cause my writing is shit. It's cause my brain is 🧡

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dinkclump Linkdump

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in LA (Saturday night, with Adam Conover), Seattle (Monday, with Neal Stephenson), then Portland, Phoenix and more!

Some Saturday mornings, I look at the week's blogging and realize I have a lot more links saved up than I managed to write about this week, and then I do a linkdump. There've been 14 of these, and this is number 15:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Attentive readers will note that this isn't Saturday. You're right. But I'm on a book tour and every day is shatterday, because damn, it's grueling and I'm not the spry manchild who took Little Brother on the road in 2008 – I'm a 52 year old with two artificial hips. Hence: an out-of-cycle linkdump. Come see me on tour and marvel at my verticality!

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

Best thing I read this week, hands down, was Ryan Broderick's Garbage Day piece, "AI search is a doomsday cult":

https://www.garbageday.email/p/ai-search-doomsday-cult

Broderick makes so many excellent points in this piece. First among them: AI search sucks, but that's OK, because no one is asking for AI search. This only got more true later in the week when everyone's favorite spicy autocomplete accidentally loaded the James Joyce module:

https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2024/02/chatgpt-alarms-users-by-spitting-out-shakespearean-nonsense-and-rambling/

(As Matt Webb noted, Chatbots have slid rapidly from Star Trek (computers give you useful information in a timely fashion) to Douglas Adams (computers spout hostile, impenetrable nonsense at you):

https://interconnected.org/home/2024/02/21/adams

But beyond the unsuitability of AI for search results and beyond the public's yawning indifference to AI-infused search, Broderick makes a more important point: AI search is about summarizing web results so you don't have to click links and read the pages yourself.

If that's the future of the web, who the fuck is going to write those pages that the summarizer summarizes? What is the incentive, the business-model, the rational explanation for predicting a world in which millions of us go on writing web-pages, when the gatekeepers to the web have promised to rig the game so that no one will ever visit those pages, or read what we've written there, or even know it was us who wrote the underlying material the summarizer just summarized?

If we stop writing the web, AIs will have to summarize each other, forming an inhuman centipede of botshit-ingestion. This is bad news, because there's pretty solid mathematical evidence that training a bot on botshit makes it absolutely useless. Or, as the authors of the paper – including the eminent cryptographer Ross Anderson – put it, "using model-generated content in training causes irreversible defects":

https://arxiv.org/abs/2305.17493

This is the mathematical evidence for Jathan Sadowski's "Hapsburg AI," or, as the mathematicians call it, "The Curse of Recursion" (new band-name just dropped).

But if you really have your heart set on living in a ruined dystopia dominated by hostile artificial life-forms, have no fear. As Hamilton Nolan writes in "Radical Capital," a rogues gallery of worker-maiming corporations have asked a court to rule that the NLRB can't punish them for violating labor law:

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/radical-capital

Trader Joe’s, Amazon, Starbucks and SpaceX have all made this argument to various courts. If they prevail, then there will be no one in charge of enforcing federal labor law. Yes, this will let these companies go on ruining their workers' lives, but more importantly, it will give carte blanche to every other employer in the land. At one end of this process is a boss who doesn't want to recognize a union – and at the other end are farmers dying of heat-stroke.

The right wing coalition that has put this demand before the court has all sorts of demands, from forced birth to (I kid you not), the end of recreational sex:

https://www.lawyersgunsmoneyblog.com/2024/02/getting-rid-of-birth-control-is-a-key-gop-agenda-item-for-the-second-trump-term

That coalition is backed by ultra-rich monopolists who want wreck the nation that their rank-and-file useful idiots want to wreck your body. These are the monopoly cheerleaders who gave us the abomination that is the Pharmacy Benefit Manager – a useless intermediary that gets to screw patients and pharmacists – and then let PBMs consolidate and merge with pharmacy monopolists.

One such inbred colossus is Change Healthcare, a giant PBM that is, in turn, a mere tendril of United Healthcare, which merged the company with Optum. The resulting system – held together with spit and wishful thinking – has access to the health records of a third of Americans and processes 15 billion prescriptions per day.

Or rather, it did process that amount – until the all-your-eggs-in-one-badly-maintained basket strategy failed on Wednesday, and Change's systems went down due to an unspecified "cybersecurity incident." In the short term, this meant that tens of millions of Americans who tried to refill their prescriptions were told to either pay cash or come back later (if you don't die first). That was the first shoe dropping. The second shoe is the medical records of a third of the country.

Don't worry, I'm sure those records are fine. After all, nothing says security like "merging several disparate legacy IT systems together while simultaneously laying off half your IT staff as surplus to requirements and an impediment to extracting a special dividend for the private equity owners who are, of course, widely recognized as the world's greatest information security practitioners."

Look, not everything is terrible. Some computers are actually getting better. Framework's user-serviceable, super-rugged, easy-to-repair, powerful laptops are the most exciting computers I've ever owned – or broken:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/13/graceful-failure/#frame

Now you can get one for $500!

https://frame.work/blog/first-framework-laptop-16-shipments-and-a-499-framework

And the next generation is turning our surprisingly well, despite all our worst efforts. My kid – now 16! – and I just launched our latest joint project, "The Sushi Chronicles," a small website recording our idiosyncratic scores for nearly every sushi restaurant in Burbank, Glendale, Studio City and North Hollywood:

https://sushichronicles.org/

This is the record of two years' worth of Daughter-Daddy sushi nights that started as a way to get my picky eater to try new things and has turned into the highlight of my week. If you're in the area and looking for a nice piece of fish, give it a spin (also, we belatedly realized that we've never reviewed our favorite place, Kuru Kuru in the CVS Plaza on North Hollywood Way – we'll be rectifying that soon).

And yes, we have a lavishly corrupt Supreme Court, but at least now everyone knows it. Glenn Haumann's even set up a Gofundme to raise money to bribe Clarence Thomas (now deleted, alas):

https://www.gofundme.com/f/pzhj4q-the-clarence-thomas-signing-bonus-fund-give-now

The funds are intended as a "signing bonus" in the event that Thomas takes up John Oliver on his offer of a $2.4m luxury RV and $1m/year for life if he'll resign from the court:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GE-VJrdHMug

This is truly one of Oliver's greatest bits, showcasing his mastery over the increasingly vital art of turning abstruse technical issues into entertainment that negates the performative complexity used by today's greatest villains to hide their misdeeds behind a Shield of Boringness (h/t Dana Clare).

The Bezzle is my contribution to turning abstruse scams into a high-impact technothriller that pierces that Shield of Boringness. The key to this is to master exposition, ignoring the (vastly overrated) rule that one must "show, not tell." Good exposition is hard to do, but when it works, it's amazing (as anyone who's read Neal Stephenson's 1,600-word explanation of how to eat Cap'n Crunch cereal in Cryptonomicon can attest). I wrote about this for Mary Robinette Kowal's "My Favorite Bit" this week:

https://maryrobinettekowal.com/journal/my-favorite-bit/my-favorite-bit-cory-doctorow-talks-about-the-bezzle/

Of course, an undisputed master of this form is Adam Conover, whose Adam Ruins Everything show helped invent it. Adam is joining me on stage in LA tomorrow night at Vroman's at 5:30PM, to host me in a book-tour event for my novel The Bezzle:

https://www.vromansbookstore.com/Cory-Doctorow-discusses-The-Bezzle

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/23/gazeteer/#out-of-cycle

Image: Peter Craven (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Aggregate_output_%287637833962%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[madaboutmunson]

And I'm sorry you were thinking I would steal your fire

Ao3 Link

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Link to fic overview and all parts

Chapter Summary: The morning after where Steve attempts to process the night before

Author Notes: Songs that were inspirational whilst writing this chapter:

Heart In A Cage - The Strokes Lovefool - The Cardigans

Tags/Warnings for whole fic: rockstar!AU; band; touring; music industry; alternate universe; drug usage; alcohol abuse; performing; enemies to lovers; road trip; stobin; platonic stobin; platonic with a capital P; canon typical violence; angst; masochism; fist fight; smut; fluff;

Word Count: 6.3K

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Steve attempts to open his eyes and manages one. The other is shut tight and stings. In fact, the more he becomes conscious, the more his entire body aches. He makes a mental note to call down for some painkillers. 

As he becomes more aware of his body and his eyes adjust to his surroundings, he finds himself not laid out on his back as usual but curled up on his side. For the first time in maybe half a decade, no one is touching him, draped across him, or snoring in his ear. It's just him and the soft cotton sheets beneath. He shifts his legs slightly and feels a little burn in his thighs but welcomes moving to the cooler area of the bedding.

His mind does a violently quick slideshow of last night. His finger subconsciously runs over his lips, and there is a slight sting when he accidentally brushes over a cut. Mine, he thinks to himself. Though he knows it was probably just heat of the moment, cock-drunk words, alone he allows himself to hold them closer than he should. He knows Eddie could never feel like that about him, not after all the trouble he caused. 

And doesn't that just fucking land the most brutal blow of all?

Steve rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. His reflection is not staring right back for a change, and he can't pick out all his imperfections, but he didn't need a mirror for that game. Most of them weren't visible anyway. At least today, his outsides match his insides. 

Sure, he built Eddie into something he wasn't. He'd ruined Eddie's life and couldn't pursue anything anyway. Not with everything hanging in the balance. But fuck if he wouldn't leap at the chance if he had it. Eddie was right. When he'd walked through the door to that meeting, he'd stopped him in his tracks entirely. Steve didn't really believe in love at first anything, not anymore, but he knew a hot guy when he saw one. Not only hot but talented and passionate about what he does. The way he talked about his ex, he probably loves ferociously, as evident from last night, rage-fuelled or not, he can definitely fuck ferociously, not that Steve had anything to compare him to, only women and the odd blow or hand job from a guy. He can already tell that sitting down anywhere would be interesting today but fucking worth it, he smiles to himself.

He'd never imagined it could be so good. The first orgasm was incredible, but that second time, he actually thought he'd died, completely lost himself for a few seconds, utterly checked out. That feeling was dangerous, addictive, even. Because if there is a sensation Steve enjoyed most, it is not being trapped in reality. This was different, though. The way his body felt so charged, then that blip of absolute stillness, then after how his skin felt like it was humming, and his head was full of cotton candy, and then all he could see, think or comprehend was Eddie.

Maybe that's what made him reach out for him? Like he was a lifesaver that Steve so desperately needed. So he'd copied him, made Eddie taste how he'd ruined him, and called him his own because he wanted it so badly right then and there.

For those final moments to last forever, so neither of them would ever have to go back to before, remember why they were fighting, or have to deal with the aftermath between them or anyone else.

He is struggling to put into words for himself what he's feeling. It's not love. He doesn't even know Eddie, not that that's ever stopped Steve from immediately thinking he was in love before, but he's had his fingers burned many times now. He knows it doesn't work that way, but he knows he wants him. Wants him over and over, more than a drink, more than a line, more than a pill, more than a fat pay cheque. But it's also more than just want. That's too crude, and it's more precious than purely some wanton lust.

And then there was after. When Eddie lay back on him, catching his breath, he looked so beautiful. He completely collapsed in Steve's arms, like he was free of everything weighing him down for a minute. Steve would have loved to have stayed longer in that bubble, but he was afraid of saying something ridiculous and genuinely worried about covering up as much as he could.

A manly fight he could get away with, but a manly fuck, no way. He'd save that thought for Robin later. She might find that funny if she wasn't pissed at him too.

Steve worries he'd show too much of his soft underbelly to Eddie. Showering with him, getting him a warm towel, asking him to stay. Maybe the positive side of that could be he wouldn't have to pretend so much around him? Well, for however long that might be. He just didn't want to be too far from him, that was all, and not in a possessive or horny way, but almost like he needed Eddie near for a little longer. Like Steve had moulted his shell, and he needed Eddie to protect his vulnerable state until a new one grew back. He usually didn't want to wake up alone purely for his ego's needs, for adoration, not safety.

He turns his head to the side, and the bed is empty. He trails his hand over the bedding where he would have slept. He picks up a pillow and sniffs at it, but it doesn't smell anything like him, not a trace of that musky, metallic, woody, leathery scent from sex, violence and cologne. The pillow just reeks of the shared products in the shower.

He holds it against himself anyway and stares up at the ceiling. He hears footsteps approaching and prepares himself for the incoming lecture from someone, slowly shuts his eyes and braces for impact.

"Ah, you're awake. Any idea where the coffee machine is?" Eddie asks, and Steve's stomach drops so hard he feels like the mattress swallows him up and spits him back out.

"What are you doing here?" Steve blurts out, even though he knows that's not what he means. He's trying to get over the fact Eddie actually stayed.

Eddie looks awkwardly around the room, adorably screws up his face, "You, um, you kinda asked me too. You don't remember?" He asks, starting to look a little worried.

Steve swallows nervously and quickly plays it off, "Of course, wasn't gonna make you walk past Buckley on your own, now was I?" He adds an extra detail, an innocent one, to ease Eddie's concerns about him being out of it or high or something. He remembered he asked about him taking anything last night. He hadn't. He was just having the fucking time of his life. 

Steve wonders if it would have mattered how he'd answered that question? If he'd said yes, would Eddie have tried to get away with something wholly debauched, or would he have stopped all proceedings. That thought makes his mouth dry, but he can't decide if the nervousness is from fear, excitement or both.

Steve tries to sit up quickly and immediately regrets it because the pain is incredible, and he's sore in places he never thought he could be. Still, he tries not to show it, just bites his lips together, "We don't make the coffee," and checks the time. It's like five in the morning. The trolley wouldn't be outside yet, but he could call it earlier. "We call for it." He smiles, dials the front desk, requests some painkillers and relays Eddie's order, "Shouldn't be long. They're really the best staff here." Steve enthuses, but his smile fades slightly when he sees the darkened bruising on Eddie's face and neck.

"Eddie, can I just say something?" He asks but doesn't wait for Eddie's permission. He needs to get this out, "I don't expect forgiveness or anything. I just wanna say I'm sorry." He turns his back to Eddie as he talks, "I got obsessed with the photo, and I should never have posted my frustrations publically, but believe me when I say I was stupid enough not to understand the implications of that, and no one told me anything had happened to your business after. I just thought you were busy being successful, like me, and I couldn't work out why you continually didn't want to work with me again. I'm just an idiot, Eddie. I didn't mean any malice." He wraps his arms around himself, "And yesterday, when you said the photo was meaningless, I just lost my mind. I can't explain too much, and this also isn't me trying to make an excuse. I just wanted to give some context. It was just all I had at points. The hope that one person in the universe really saw me. Even though they were a stranger, I had the evidence in print, or so I thought." 

He turns his head to look back at Eddie, who's sitting on the other side of the bed, his back turned to him, too, "I'm sorry, I got that wrong, and if I can in any way repair anything I did, please give me a chance to do that. I know we're not gonna be buddies, but if you're happy to and they let us, maybe we can at least finish these projects civilly? Then we can both leave with something; if not, I have connections. I've got more money than I know what to do with," he laughs awkwardly and, in a panic, quickly adds, "N-not like in a charity way. Not like that at all. I just want to…If you're happy with it, try and fix what I broke."

For a while, there is quiet.

"You think they'll let us?" Eddie asks. Steve can't read Eddie's tone if he's hopeful or wants the label to give him an easy way out of this whole thing. His heart stirs groggily in its cage anyway.

"I don't know, honestly. I think there is enough contractual red tape to make it not worth their time to sift through, but, you know, at least we got some shots, and we did a bit for your book on the plane, right? It's not like we don't have anything at all." Steve forces a laugh, trying to make light of everything, even though he feels like he's collapsing inside, enduring the longest goodbye.

"Yeah. You're right." Eddie agrees. There is another patch of silence, and Steve loathes it because his thoughts are so loud. He really needs to shut off, but he doesn't have anything. He can feel himself get antsy at the prospect.

Steve gingerly shifts his position on the bed to turn to see him. "I don't mind doing a little more now if you like?" Eddie's head snaps to the side, looking slightly alarmed. Steve quickly realises how his words might be misunderstood and turns his head away. "Of the-the interview, I mean, for the book. Your book." he stumbles awkwardly over his words, a little embarrassed.

"You sure?" Eddie asks.

Steve, eager to regain any crumb of his rockstar cred that he can, snorts out a laugh, "Yeah, man, I pretty much have interviews all the time. It's part of the job, you know? Though I'm assuming you don't have any thirst tweets for me to read out?" Steve tries a little humour, and it works.

"Unfortunately not, Ha-Steve. Unfortunately not," Eddie chuckles, and Steve's heart wrestles at its bars because it didn't miss how he'd corrected himself over his name. "Could you maybe go for some background questions? Or is that too personal? I can keep it to just music if you prefer?" 

Steve's brain does prefer that. Stick to now. The music. That's what it said the project was about. It's not an autobiography. They already have two people lined up for that. But, whilst Steve knows all of that is correct, he is completely distracted by his feral withered heart gnawing at its prison, foaming at the mouth to tell Eddie anything, everything, let him know you, see you. 

"Background is fine, but there are some things that I can't tell you, ok? It's label stuff, and I dunno if someone found your tape and leaked it, it could have some real dire consequences for many people." Steve tries to sound business-like, as his mom taught him to do in stressful situations.

There is a gentle knock at the door, and Eddie jumps up to get it, and Steve has to painfully chase him down, "You aren't supposed to be here," he whispers, catching his breath, resists marginally from touching Eddie's shoulder to make him step back, but they both look at his hand braced to do so. Steve briskly turns to the door to open it. 

A uniformed young lady stands on the other side of the trolley. Fuck he should have waited. He leans in the doorway, pops his hip out, turns up the Harrington, lowers his tone and volume, and slows down. "Mornin', sugar," he drawls," Thanks for bringing this up early." He beams brightly and watches her eyes widen, her phone clutched in one hand. He gestures to it. "Do you mind if we don't? Not looking my best." He laughs charmingly, and the girl relaxes. He pulls the trolley into the room but keeps his attention on her, "You got anything for me to sign, honey?" Without tearing her eyes from his, she rolls up her sleeve and extends her inner forearm to him, "Sure thing…." 

"Angela!" She says quickly.

"Oh well, at least that's an easy one for me. You're mostly Angel, right?" He laughs at his own joke and raises an eyebrow, and the nervous, wild giggle that spills out of her is hilarious.

He takes the pen and gently holds her arm. He knows the line enough to get them all excited, not enough that it makes him look like a skeevy letch. He writes her name and repeats it for her again as he signs her skin. That's the kind of thing they like to hear. "There you go, honey. Actually, wait a second," she's busy gawping at her arm, tracing it with her finger. He quickly heads to one of the boxes in the room. He comes back with some merch, "Here you go. Hot off the press program, which is already signed, with some exclusive fan club stuff and a T-shirt they haven't released yet. Not on sale until the first show," She's beaming for a second, but her eyes trace over him again.

"Are you sure everything is ok, Mr Harrington? I could get one of the on-site medical staff?" She asks meekly.

A concern sweeps over him. Pictures will be taken of him and Eddie, both with bruises, and it will be hard to cover up, but he could attempt to get in first. He looks around, his voice falling to a whisper, and he leans in towards her, "Listen, just between you and me. I ran into some people who didn't like me very much. It got a bit physical, but my friend got me out of there, even though they suffered for that too."

"Robin Buckley?" She says excitedly, and that's when Steve knows he's got a real fan on his hands.

"Unfortunately not, if Robin had been there. I know they wouldn't have even gotten one punch in," he gives her another dazzling smile, and she nods affirmatively. "Anyway, I better get these painkillers down me. It was so lovely to meet you, Angela. Hope to see you at the show." He beams and waits for her to walk away before closing the door.

Only to be immediately confronted with Eddie, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, "What happened to I'm not supposed to be here?" he says, worry etched on his face.

"I know, and you aren't, but the thing is, she saw me, and if what you said about my fans is true, that they don't like you, and they see you fucked up too, which they will by the way because this place will be crawling with photographers tonight, then they are gonna put two and two together. Whereas now, we've got in first. So, there will be at least two sides to it. She'll post about all of this now, and it'll go viral. She'll love the attention. She'll get haters and people on her side," Steve says reassuringly, "One side will think you saved me," Steve says, accidentally searching Eddie's eyes for a second before quickly turning to the trolley and pushing it through to another small seating area, that didn't contain his last night events staged area. "Go get your stuff, dude," Steve says, trying to sound impatient, but he doesn't look at Eddie except to watch him leave the room.

Steve takes the opportunity to ease himself into an armchair and grab a coffee and some painkillers. He looks at the breakfast spread of actual food. He can't remember the last time he actually ate breakfast. He pours a coffee for himself and ignores it all for now. He hadn't meant to say it like that, not saved me . He meant stepped in or got me out of there. He thinks about the choice of words and wonders if that is a subconscious thing. Does he feel saved, or at least is he starting to?

Eddie barrels back into the room. With a small notepad and dictaphone at the ready, he gets totally distracted by the trolley and nearly trips over the coffee table. "Jesus, dude, watch where you're going!" Steve exclaims, quickly reaching out and grabbing the back of his t-shirt, stopping him just in time.

They both look at where Steve is holding onto him, and he lets go, "Help yourself to whatever, man. Just don't brain yourself in the process." Steve says it like he's reprimanding a kid. A tingling sensation rushes from his hand that had been bunched in the material up his arm, and his mind flashes to how he'd wound Eddie's T-shirts around his fingers to pull him closer last night. He quickly shakes it off and wraps his hands around his coffee mug instead, waiting for his insides to stop backflipping.

"You not hungry?" Eddie asks, piling some food on a plate, and though he tries not to look, he feels compelled to, like if he doesn't, it might be the end of the world. He shakes his head in a no and then watches Eddie do something entirely mundane, but Steve is completely transfixed, taking in every detail he can, like Eddie's moving in slow motion. 

Steve's watching Eddie's dexterous fingers selectively pick apart the breakfast trolley, like he'd plucked at the worn ties holding Steve together last night, watches him taste small samples with that mouth that trailed over him, made him bend to its will, swallowed up his sounds of ecstasy for its own, and he's desperately trying not to watch it work around a fresh strawberry. Eddie wields his weapons like he doesn't know they're lethal.

"You sure you aren't hungry, man? Is it-Is it because someone normally fixes you a plate?" Eddie looks at him, a little confused, "Do you need me to fix you a plate?"

"Huh? No, um, I don't normally eat breakfast. Buckley usually brings me my breakfast , but it's a little early." Steve says with an awkward smile, air quoting around breakfast. 

Eddie's nose scrunches up, and it's impossibly cute, "Then why do you order the….ohhhh got it. For your guests," Eddie laughs, then goes a little quiet, sits on the floor next to the coffee table and begins wolfing down his food, almost at an alarming rate.

Steve laughs, "Are you worried someone's gonna steal it, or is it just that good?" he teases.

"No!" Eddie says with his mouth full, then dabs his mouth, finishes his mouthful and starts over, "No. I'm just in a hurry because I wanna ask you more stuff, but I'm also so hungry I could eat a mammoth." His hands and arms animate his words, his eyes are wide with exuberance, and Steve adores that completely. Is this him? Is he seeing a genuine part of Eddie now? He tries to keep hold of the moment.

"How about we put the recorder nearer me? You ask your questions, and I can still answer if you're eating. Rather that than you choke to death on….what is that?" Steve says, confused, looking at his plate.

"Well, it's, er, you know, a half pancake, half-waffle, bacon, hash brown, strawberry and maple syrup taco-thing, of course" he pushes out a fake laugh like Steve should know what this is.

"A what now?" Steve says, even more confused.

"It's a piggy-spud-berry breakfast taco," he says with a grin, taking a much smaller nibble.

"Well, first of all, wow, that sounds insane, and second of all, this is all vegan, so it's a non-piggy-spud-berry breakfast taco." Steve corrects, still with a bit of concern in his voice.

"We'll colour me impressed because I did not know this was fake, and the only insane thing about this marvellous creation is the taste. Flavour town population me!" He takes another bite but stops with a smile, "Wanna try it?"

"No!" Steve replies like it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever been asked. He watches the mischief spread over Eddie's smile.

"Oh my god, you so do wanna try it!" He laughs.

"I'm quite happy with my coffee, thanks." Steve frowns and shakes his head.

"Ok, ok. Fine." He presses record on the dictaphone and pushes it in front of Steve, "So I know you were born in Indiana like me, but where did you grow up?"

"Hawkins," Steve answers, and Eddie's head snaps towards him. He frowns at first and then shakes his head.

"No. Not possible," he says, turning back to his breakfast monstrosity.

"What do you mean? Not possible. I was born in Hawkins. I left my first junior year of high school." Steve laughs at Eddie's audacity in telling him his own history was impossible.

Eddie turns to him again, "Because I lived in Hawkins, too! Moved in with my uncle in middle school. Left when I graduated. First time, I might add, which no one saw coming" Eddie raises his eyebrows at Steve, "So you can't be from Hawkins. Otherwise, I would have known you. I had my own metal band. We would have been friends, acquaintances for sure!" He laughs.

"A metal band in Hawkins? How old are you?" Steve asks quickly.

"I'm a year older than you, dude," Eddie answers, "Anyway, I'm interviewing you, so tell me where you really grew up."

"In Hawkins! I just told you that. Wait, wait. We're you in…uh…. don't tell me….Constricted Coffin?" Steve says, wracking his brain.

"Corroded, and how the fuck did you know that?" Eddie says, turning to him again.

"Because I was there! There was a cheer performance, and when we moved up to high school, they would be our cheer squad possibly, so we over dramatically decided all of us had to go to support them because eventually, they'd be supporting us or some bullshit like that" Steve says cringing a little.

"Wait…us… were you a fucking Jock?" Eddie says, his mouth wide open in surprise.

"Yeah, well, kinda, I guess co-swim captain, played basketball," he shrugs.

"Holy shit!" Eddie says, staring at Steve and taking a bite from his breakfast taco, "So ok, now we've established this is absolutely insane. Why did you leave?"

"I got scouted by a modelling agency whilst drowning my sorrows." 

"In your junior year?"

"Yes! I was seeing this girl, she went a bit weird on me," Steve lies, but it's not Eddie's business, that is top secret shit, "I wanted to apologise, climbed up to her window and she was already trying to get it on with this other guy. I'm an idiot, so I stomped to my car and told my friends. They tried to wind me up about fighting with this guy, and then they suggested going out, and the rest is history."

"So you were underage drinking, and a modelling agency picked you up?"

"Yep. That's about it."

"You were a very young man in a bar, and someone much older than you said, 'Hey, wanna be a model?' And you were like, 'Yeah', and they emitted some evil laugh, I suppose and dragged you into the night? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" Eddie asks sarcastically.

"Well, it didn't quite go like that. I got their card, called them the next day, and got signed up," Steve shrugs.

Eddie narrows his eyes and pinches the thumb and forefinger of his hand together tightly, "Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been? Hmmm? That could have been some rapist maniac serial killer." Steve just laughs. 

"Well, they weren't. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, now would I? I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself," Steve says, laughing at Eddie's concern for his past self.

"Says the big boy who won't eat his breakfast," Eddie shakes his head. Now, when he said big boy, that sounded a lot different, at least to Steve's ears and heart rate anyway.

"God, you're such a fucking nag!" Steve pretends to be annoyed and leans towards the plate again, "Go on then, let's try this culinary horror show." Steve makes a show of rolling his eyes, but his heart is pounding being this close again. He hopes it doesn't show. Eddie excitedly starts cutting him up a piece, making sure there is a little of everything and stabs it with a fork.

"Here we go," Eddie says with a huge toothy grin as he moves the fork towards Steve's mouth as if he is going to feed it to him. Steve looks a little confused, and Eddie seems a little nervous.

Steve gently takes the fork from his hand, brushes their fingers together minimally and feeds the mouthful to himself. Eddie watches him the entire time.

"Well? The verdict?"

Steve has been chewing over the sickeningly sweet morsel with the occasional blast of bacon flavour and the odd texture combination tumbling over in his mouth. But his face doesn't show a modicum of disgust because not a metre from his face is a wide-eyed, encouraging, beaming, handsome man making his imprisoned heart pound so hard in his chest it is bending the cage bars with each one. Steve doesn't want to peel his eyes away, but he also can't stare blankly like a maniac, so he pretends to mull over the flavours, pulling faces of thoughtfulness, surprise, alarm, confusion, whatever he can think of, and each one seems to make Eddie smile more until he laughs, and with his prize won Steve settles back in his armchair. 

"I think it might be an acquired taste." Steve smiles into his coffee cup with his secrets, and there is a quiet patch. Steve hates it. He wants to say so many things, wants to ask so many things, none of which he can permit himself to, of course. He hears a click, and his eyes shoot to Eddie's hand on the voice recorder.

"Wanna get our story straight?" Eddie asks, not looking at him. Steve almost blushes and laughs at his wording because whatever they hope to hide with this story, it sure as hell is not straight. 

"Is the interview over, then?" Steve questions carefully. Keeping to the subject at hand, but that isn't really what he's asking.

Eddie pushes the remaining food around his plate and replies, "I figure if we don't fuck up the cover story, they'll believe us, maybe? Then this doesn't have to be over, does it?"

Steve's brain knows Eddie is talking about their respective projects, but his rabid heart is bending back the bars of its cell now, trying to squeeze itself through, clawing at the air towards Eddie, but it can't quite make it. It tuckers itself out and is left panting on the floor of its cage.

"I guess the easiest thing to go for is sports, right? Drunk people fight about the stupidest things. Maybe you slated The Bulls or something?" Steve suggests with a shrug, and Eddie looks at him wide-eyed like he's trying his very best not to burst out laughing but folds his arms instead.

"What could I have said about your precious Bulls that would have instigated a physical fight between us?" he asks with a smile.

"That they were shit last season," Steve says matter-of-factly, and that pulls a low hearty chuckle from Eddie.

"No one is gonna buy that, dude," he laughs, waving his hands in front of himself.

"Eddie, I've been playing this game of hide and very little seek with the label, the fans, and the media for some time. The simpler, the better. Trust me," 

"And what if they grill me on that, huh? Then what?"

"You frown at them like they're complete weirdos and say, I don't fucking know, I was drunk," Steve smiles broadly and quickly turns it down a few levels.

"You seem well-practised," Eddie says, returning to his food. Steve detects a hint of something, surely not jealousy, resentment maybe.

"At lying to people that hate what I am, yeah, at tidying up hotel rooms only to stage a mess, no," that gets him a side glance from Eddie. He leans over and clicks to start recording again.

"So your modelling career is fairly well documented already, but how did you jump ship into music? Has it always been something you enjoyed?" Eddie asks in his best news anchor voice, and Steve ducks his head down to hide his smile before replying.

"Well, here's an exclusive for you. They asked me to join a boyband first," Steve chuckles, and he looks over to see Eddie's mouth dropped wide open in shock.

"No fucking way. There is no way that's true!" Eddie folds his arms, but a colossal smile erupts on his face.

"I swear, dude. I swear." Steve can't help but mirror him this time, and the laughter is spilling out of them both now, and it feels so good. Almost like friends. Almost like two guys that hadn't tried to knock one another out less than twelve hours ago.

"I just can't imagine it, you all like," Eddie makes some vague, robot arm movements, and Steve can't hold back any longer. The laugh that bursts from him is loud, unashamed and unreserved.

"Please do not tell me that is what you think dancing is," he manages to say between laughs, trying to catch his breath, clutching his sides.

"You don't like my moves? Consider me crushed!" Eddie clasps his hands together and punches himself in the chest.

He's a jester, Steve thinks as he barely holds on to his mask. The smile of fondness warming his cheeks, the giggles threatening just behind the surface that he is sure his heart might use as a crowbar if he lets them happen. He swallows them down and clears his throat, quickly turning away from Eddie's newly trailing gaze and pleased smirk.

Clearly, he likes to entertain as much as the next person in his own way. "Insults aside, Steve, what happened with the boyband?" 

"I think they went with someone else in my place after I turned down the opportunity. I can't say too much because of NDAs and the like, but all I'm saying is they've done very well for themselves!" Steve sips his coffee and notices Eddie looking at him with wide wonder. If he'd been on a seat, he'd be on the edge of it right now.

"And then what happened?" Eddie bores the question into Steve's eyes with his own gorgeous, huge brown ones. He'd think they almost looked innocent if he didn't know the truth. It makes him feel unusual as if he has something to lure Eddie in with now.

Steve reclines more in his seat, "And then, they left me alone for a while. Got invited to some awards show I had no business being at. The red carpet question was about secret talents. I said I could play the guitar, and my agent's phone blew up as soon as it aired. So, it's not really the hard work playing dive joints that most rockstars go through. I asked you to, you know, but the money wasn't there, I guess? I know that fucking pisses people off too, but I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere until the fans, like you said, move onto the new thing."

He sees Eddie's expression fall to something like regret, and he knows he's said the wrong thing.

"Eddie, I didn't mean to bring that up like that. I just meant that's just how it goes in the public eye. You ride the wave of popularity as long as you can before you fall into obscurity, and then, if you're lucky, someone uses one of your old tracks in a cover, show, movie, or social media trend, and you get a renewed interest in your stuff and can get back on the surfboard for a while. So many artists have been through it now. It would be madness to think it wouldn't happen to anyone."

Eddie doesn't seem won over by his words, but before he can apologise, there is a click at the door, and Steve freezes in his chair.

"Mr H?" Buckley's voice rings out, and he instantly relaxes.

"Yeah, come in, Buckley," Steve says, and Eddie quickly scurries to standing. He looks terrified, so he lets his old instincts win and moves to stand in front of him, but Buckley glares around him intensely.

"Still here, I see?" She sneers at Eddie.

"Stand down, Buckley. It's ok. It was pretty even. Look at us," He gestures between himself and Eddie, and he doesn't miss the tiny twitch at the corner of Eddie's mouth when their eyes meet for a fleeting moment. Maybe he hadn't totally blown it.

"Yeah, well, it makes me look shit at my job, so forgive me a little annoyance!" She says, setting down the small case that instinctively makes Steve brush the end of his nose and lick his lips discreetly.

He thinks he can already feel the judgement from Eddie, and Buckley is already pissed, luckily most of it seems to be directed at Eddie, so he tries something to appease them both, "Might save that until after we get hauled in, Buckley. I had some actual breakfast this morning," he awkwardly laughs and hopes for the best, as Buckley stops in her tracks.

As she turns, she looks between them, and her expression softens before returning to something tougher again, "Sure thing, Mr H."

"Hey, I should get going," Eddie says, quickly gathering up his things and almost stumbling over the furniture as he retrieves his bag from the other room.

Robin waits until he's fussing out of sight. She gestures after him and whispers, "He stayed? I thought you'd snuck him out somehow."

Steve looks bashfully at the floor and then back up at her, "I asked him to," he says quietly.

"Steve, what is going on? What happened? Oh my god, did it happen? Like it?" She's still whispering but much more animated and getting closer. Steve cannot bring himself to look at her, but the jingle of Eddie's wallet chain breaks him out of his embarrassment and makes her retreat from him into her military stance.

Eddie comes into view, backpack on top of his jacket, and looks between them, "Ah, so yeah, um, I, er, gonna go," he juts his thumb at the door.

Steve notices the cut-up t-shirt in his hand, and something like envy rises in him. Yes, it's Eddie's T-shirt, but he wants it. He made it what it is. He should be allowed one keepsake. It should be his. He can still see clearly in his mind how the blade sliced through it so effortlessly, fell open to reveal the man underneath it, and lost in thought, he finally catches himself staring at it. 

He looks up into Eddie's eyes. He can feel this is goodbye in his bones, which must be what emboldens him because he soon finds himself stepping towards Eddie and taking the t-shirt out of his hands, "I can take care of that for you, man. Don't want anyone getting a shot of you leaving here with that, you know? You said it wasn't sentimental, right?" Steve asks, knowing, or at least hoping, his words send Eddie back to that moment.

Eddie nods and rubs the back of his neck, "Yeah. Thanks. Saves me dealing with it," he half-smiles, "I'll, um, get yours back to you," he looks up at Buckley, "somehow." and with that, he turns to leave, and Steve grips the cotton in his hand tightly, until it hurts, because he needs to put his feelings about this heart-cracking goodbye somewhere. Eddie opens the door but stops dead in his tracks just before stepping through it. He looks over his shoulder at Steve, "I'm sorry," he says and leaves.

Robin closes the door, waits a little while until Eddie's footsteps can no longer be heard, and then turns to Steve. He looks him up and down, "How bad of a situation are we in?"

"Oh really fuckin' bad," Steve says with a half smile as Robin wraps him in a hug.

[samantitheos]

Tag Game Wednesday

Thank you @juliakayyy @jrooc and @skylerwinchester for tagging me. <3

Name: sam.

Age: older than cam, younger than noel—that perfect sweet spot.

star sign: capricorn.

your first language: english.

second language: the education system (and my parents) failed me. i can kinda read latin,  i guess.

favourite lip product: blistex or maybelline baby lips.

the best food dish you can make without a recipe: sicilian meatloaf or this bacon-wrapped chicken breast dish with cream cheese filling.

If you drink tea, what kind?  black tea with a bit of honey.

If you drink coffee, what roast do you usually get? medium.

favourite thing to watch on youtube right now:  nothing? tho i do use it to play the lord of the rings trilogy soundtrack or best of hans zimmer when i’m working. 🤓

favourite thing to watch on youtube in 2012: guns n’ roses music videos probably lol.  

favourite item of clothing right now: since starting to work from home, definitely my mint green sweatpants and fuzzy slippers.

favourite item of clothing in 2012: based on my pictures from that year i wore this electric yellow tank top A LOT.

[please enjoy the super grainy quality and raging phallic energy]

fandom

three movies you recommend: life as a house, gladiator, the girl with the dragon tattoo (original swedish version with subtitles).

your favourite concert: i’m gonna cheat and say warped tour 2004.

have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion? lmaooooo the great mickey crop top controversy of 2019 (yes).

have you ever left a fandom because of the fans? i’ve only really been involved in the shameless fandom, but hearing about the fans in other fandoms (e.g., ofmd) has discouraged me from trying to get involved in them.

the best tv show you watched last year: daisy jones and the six, interview with the vampire, ted lasso.

do you have a fancasting you just can’t let go of? would loved to have seen tom hardy as james bond and would still love to see cam in a live-action hercules.

a ship you’ve abandoned: well this is before i knew what “shipping” was, but kate and sawyer on lost (he deserved better—and got it).

on a scale of 1-10 how willing are you to share your ao3 history? “ok, but just let me explain…”

do you have a fandom tattoo? (do you want one?) no, and if i got anything i would want it to be very subtle. i’ve thought about getting a serif dash on my left middle finger…

what fandom do you wish was bigger? i don’t really wish the shameless fandom was bigger, but i do wish the fic writing community was as big as it was a few years ago.

has a finale ever ruined a show for you? how i met your mother. absolute trash ending.

have you…

swam in an ocean? yes! and scuba certified. i did underwater archaeology for a few years. ever been vegan/vegetarian? no. gone skinny dipping? once. gone skiing? yes, but not since high school. been to a convention? only the boring academic kind.

Tagging @astaraels @crossmydna @deathclassic @darlingian @ian-galagher @krysmiss @lonelygallavich @palepinkgoat @sickness-health-all-that-shit @transmickey @heymrspatel @stocious @callivich @gallawitchxx <333

[forlornmelody]

At This Moment

Tagged by @swaps55 thank you! 

Tagging: @alyssalenko and @himluv if you want to play

TIME: 9:57 pm (at least when I started filling this out.)

FEELING: TIRED. And a little gross, as it's been unusually hot the past couple days.

CRAVING: My bed.

SONG STUCK IN MY HEAD: Big Balls by AC/DC. What a wonderful song to have stuck in there, haha. I regret nothing.

FAVORITE COLOR: More like color combos. N7 colors, usually. Green and pumpkin. Pink and light blue. Purple and lime green. I could go on.

TEA OR COFFEE: Tea. Coffee tastes nice if you add enough stuff to it, but it's a bit strong for me usually. So I go to tea if I need caffeine. Or I'll drink herbal if I'm not fall-over tired.

FAVORITE FOOD: Pizza. Doesn't matter how recently I've had it. If someone mentions it or I see a picture or I smell that savory combo of cheese, tomato sauce, and garlic--I want it. NOW.

SWEET, SAVORY OR SPICY: Savory.

LAST THING I GOOGLED: "Tansy--PMS" so uh...glad I did. Apparently it's toxic unless you're using it for flavoring in food. My niece did not mention that when she gave me a bottle of it. I think I'll stick to eating trailmix when I'm PMSing, thank you. Like, I did make tea with it two days in a row but thankfully didn't suffer any side effects. Got lucky, I guess.

LAST SONG I LISTENED TO: "That Time" by Regina Spektor (it's on my Outlaws playlist.)

LAST MOVIE I WATCHED: Shazam: Fury of the Gods, I think.

LAST SHOW I WATCHED: Titans. No one is surprised.

CURRENTLY READING: Just finished Ten by Gretchen McNeil. It was alright.

CURRENTLY WATCHING: The Flight Attendant. Mae Martin finally shows up in Season 2! I'm interested to see where they take this, and I'm hoping Cassie is still dealing with PTSD cause that would be too easy.

HOBBIES: Writing, photography, gaming. Frolicking. Comic books. Gardening.

DREAM TRIP: I really want to go back to Mexico and meet my girlfriend's dad, and tour the ports and the ruins.

[chuchayucca]

YES PLEASE SHARE THEM! I want to see people’s interpretations of their relationships whether they’re frenemies, best friends, exes, whatever I am here for it!

Thank you, I have more worldbuilding headcanons than character interactions because I’m so curious about these trolls’ backstories. Like they have to come from somewhere and someone had hatch them despite how small their subgenre is. They’re so cool and mysterious, I have to answer questions about them in my brain!

I would love to see a Trolls special only focusing on the Bounty Hunter trolls and what shenanigans they get themselves into. I specifically have two ideas for a special, 1. the Bounty Hunters are force to work with each other and keep messing up multiple time because they’re not listening to each other, they only succeed when they ACTUALLY try. The second one is a someone hired them separately to catch a person and they’re all being very competitive, purposely mocking and ruining each other’s missions.

Now thinking about it, my tag story would be a nice ending for the Bounty Hunter trolls since their subgenre and previous subgenre trolls are finally being recognized and celebrated. I now want that special

I hope soon we can get new content of them, I know Chaz shows up twice in the Tv show and is even a villain in a game. Maybe soon we can expect more content of the other Bounty Hunters too?

Your AU is not goofy, it honestly sounds adorable and interesting. I can see after the ending of World Tour, the Bounty Hunter trolls are forgotten/left out by the main genres again. I guess their sub-genres weren’t big enough to make an overall impact to gain the respect of the main genres (despite them technically helping Branch and Poppy) so they go to Mount Rageous. Veener is struggling with his new freedom, like you said, but also becoming famous again because everyone thinks he’s a phony now.

This is where I will start throwing my own ideas for this AU, if you don’t mind. Veener and the Bounty Hunter trolls meet in a sketchy building then they strike a partnership with each other. Veener will become famous again by the Bounty Hunter trolls being his mentors, also have his image clear publicly because of their partnership and the Bounty Hunter will become famous in the Mount Rageous through Veener's upcoming popularity. Then we see them warming up and becoming friends with each other, talking about their life stories.

I just know I need to draw and write them more!

Sooooo I haven't moved on from the trolls world tour bounty hunters.

The reggaeton trolls and their really cool designs and music....

Hickory and Dickory's entire thing with playing the long haul in trying to get close to poppy to steal her string.......

THE KPOP TROLLS AND THEIR MISSED POTENTIAL AND AND THEIR DESIGNS AND THEY'RE REALLY CUTE AND LOVELY

And CHAZ THE FUCKING SMOOTH JAZZ TROLL!??!??!??!?! need I say more. I mean just look at him.

I am going to start. A fandom. Surrounding these guys. Just watch me.

They are so silly and I love them

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Best Part Of Me || Karl Heisenberg ||

A/n: Now that I know his name, I can actually write about him.   Now that I fought him and read is journal { damn they were sad } I can actually write about him.

This is also kinda tied to my sense’s story with Ethan! cause I love Ethan 

Spoilers for the game: This takes place before and after the events of the game minus me changing a few things.

Prompts Used: “You're the best part of me”

Tagged: @girl-obsessed-with-things. @themagpiewitchescorner, @cookieuwupanda, @luvley-shadow​, @rosariia25​, @screechinginthevoid​, @primusk​, @ceooflovingpizza​, @kbenziepie​, @mrsfullbuster500​, @princessemily129​, @turtl3-warr1or​, @aiko-akina-writes​, @hannahhobnob​, @littlebatsimagines​, @ktcat88mph​.

All he wanted to do was drink, dealing with Miranda and Dimitrescu....well everyone was just getting on his nerves. Leaving the small village was easy enough though he always hated stepping in the city. To many scents tended to hurt his nose.

Slipping into the pub he slipped back into a darkened corner, once he ordered a beer for himself the man was about to settle in his seat until a soft laugh got his attention. Shifting his body, his eyes went wide for a moment as he took your appearance in. Now you were something, perfect body in his eyes and the smile...what a killer. Slowly licking his lips he made his way over to you, now you were different, different than the people of that dinky village so you must be a tourist. 

“Hello...beautiful.”

Blinking you turned your attention to the voice, a lazy smile slipped on your lips as you spotted the man. He was tall, a lot taller than you not to mention the large hat he wore covered his face. Part of you knew he must be handsome and his voice, damn he must sound good in bed. Shaking your head you watched your friend slip out from the chair once they spotted someone else to talk to, the man taking their place.

“Beautiful huh? Got a name stranger.”

Slipping off his hat Karl looked you over, his arms crossing over your chest. “Karl.”

“Karl...that’s it?

“Christ..Karl Heisenberg.”

Laughing you sipped at your drink biting your lip. “See was that so hard?” you teased the man. “Y/n... Y/n L/n.”

“Well Y/n...since you look like a fish out of water, I’d be happy to give you a tour.” Giving you a wink, he placed his hat on your head as you slipped out of the chair. 

“Perfect! I was waiting for a handsome tour guide.”

You never thought a week vacation your turn into you staying with the man for a year. What you thought would be a one night stand or at least a fling turned into something more. You found yourself really falling for the man and while he was cocky at first you could see he was hiding behind a lot of pain.

Karl Heisenberg never thought that he’d find himself falling in love, let alone someone normal, something not like him...not a monster. When he first felt the flicker of something he tried to push you away, god he tried but he just couldn’t. You were the first thing that made him something other than the hate and self loathing. He found himself spending less time with his so called family and more time with you.

So when you told him that you were pregnant he was excited, the man couldn’t have felt more happier. While he knew he had to keep the news away from them, he couldn’t let Miranda find out you were pregnant. He wasn’t going to let that bitch or anyone else take you let alone touch you or his unborn child or else all hell would break lose.

But then of course Ethan Winters had to come in ruin it, he was going to ask the man for help to take the bitch down but you had to walk in. Belly round with his child. He forced himself to not snap at you, you shouldn’t be here. It was too dangerous. 

“Karl...this needs to stop...you need to let him go.”

“But he.” The man snapped turning to face you though his gaze softened as he noticed your cheeks stained with tears. “Y/n..please.” Ignoring Ethan he stepped closer to you. His arms slowly wrapping around your waist as he pressed his had to yours. “This is the only way to keep you safe...our child safe.”

“At the cost of what?.” Pulling out of Karl’s arm you watched as the man you knew as Ethan struggled to stand. “I’m not going to stand here and watch you get yourself killed, stand here and watch you use a child. Tell me...what would you do if you were in his place? Would you want someone using your child..” Letting your arms wrap around your stomach you glanced down refusing to look at the man. “What would you do if Miranda wanted our child Karl.”

Digging his nails into his palm, he took a small step forward then placed his hand on your belly. He didn’t even want to think about that, it made him sick to his stomach on what that woman would do. 

“You're the best part of me” He pressed his head against yours. “You gotta know that...” Sighing he turned to glare at the man, his lips raising into a snarl. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind, but you better hurry cause that bitch want’s your kid...that Rose is fucking powerful Ethan.” Tipping his hat to the man he wrapped his arms around your waist as he tugged you away from the baffled man.

Karl knew that the bolder punching bastard was around and he was positive that the bastard was going to destroy his factory so he wanted to get you out of here way before any of that shit happened. Not looking back the man easily carried you on his back, the man was thankful that one of those idiot agents left a truck behind. Glancing around the man watched as a large tree started to grow in the distance when he stole the damn car driving off, he only relaxed when knew he was far away from that damn village.

“Thank you Karl.” Giving him a smile you rested your hand on your stomach as the other grasped his free hand. 

Snorting, Heisenberg gave your hand a squeeze. “Don’t mention it beautiful.”

Six years, Karl Heisenberg couldn’t believe that six years had passed since all that crap. Now living in the states the man was happy to put his fucked up life behind him. He was a father now and while he may have to hide what he could do from some noisy neighbors, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t entertain his kids. While he hated Miranda for what she did to him he still enjoyed seeing the smile on his children's faces whenever he’d bend a piece of metal.

Relaxing on the couch he glanced over spotting his newborn son sleeping in his playpen. You must have been reading to the twins and he was sure the eldest, his five year old was fast a sleep. Titling his head up he watched you slip out one of the rooms, a yawn escaping your lips as you walked over to your husband.

Smiling you slipped into his arms, nuzzling into his neck. “Is he asleep?”

“Hmm, mean’s we can have some fun if you’d like.” He joked as his hand rested on your hips, you let out a laugh feeling his beard tickle your skin. 

“As much as I’d love for you to ravage me, I’m just tired.” yawning you gave him a lazy kiss.

Returning it, the man gave you a nod as he held you closer to his chest. “Hmp...I’ll let you get some sleep then, you deserve it Y/n.” 

Smiling against his chest, you let your eyes drift closed feeling your husbands fingers run down your back. Sighing Karl let his fingers play with your hair, you really were the best thing that happened to him. Thanks to you he felt happy, thanks to you he actually had a family that cared about him and thanks to you he was still alive because deep down he knew that Ethan would have ended his life.

“Hmp..” his eyes drifted towards the card lying on the coffee table, a picture of Ethan Winters with his wife, along with little Rose and a few other children. “I always knew he was a tough bastard...good for you Winters.”

Closing his eyes, Heisenberg smiled as he let himself fall asleep with his arms still holding you. “I love my family.”

[spiderlilyserendipity]

omg violet you write so well!! if you can, could you write a taehyung nsfw of while on vacation, tae's girlfriend wakes him up early with kisses and promises to do "whatever he wants" if he gets up with her and explores the city and tae holds her to that promise when they get back to their hotel starting with some steamy (private) hot tub sex?

Anon, you are awesome but you have ruined my brain. I got so carried away writing this fic, it is double the size I thought it would be. Many thoughts, head full typa situation. Thank you. This one is titled Only One. Enjoy <3

WC: 4475

Genres: Smut, fluff, angst

Tags: established relationship, anniversary dinners, tae x oc take a trip to Paris

Warnings: dom/sub relationship, dom!taehyung, sub!reader, sir kink, punishment, praise kink, use of the word slut once, colour system as a safeword, insecurity, possessiveness, possessive sex, aftercare, taehyung is very 🥵🥵🥵 in this one y’all

(*Cis female reader*)

“Y/N, Y/N, should we take a picture over there?” Taehyung asks, batting his eyes cutely.

You smile but roll your eyes at Taehyung’s enthusiasm.

Not to be mistaken, if there’s anyone who loves their boyfriend, it’s you. You would live and die for Kim Taehyung, but there’s a special reason for your eyeroll today.

It has been only two weeks since Taehyung got off tour, and at that a world tour. You know Taehyung must be very tired from constantly travelling, hence why you let your boyfriend get his full rest the first week. But the thing is you haven’t seen your lover in a year, and you want to make some memories with him. 

You know he will get too busy once the post-tour lull passes over everyone at the company and everything goes back to regular schedule. Then, Taehyung will get sucked away by album preparations, promotions once it’s out, and inevitably: another tour.

You love that Taehyung gets to do what he loves for a living. You also love how cool he looks on stage. But most of all you like getting to spend time with him. 

To be honest, you were going to go see Taehyung in Paris during the European leg of the tour. It had been your anniversary, and the two of you had plans to get dinner together and enjoy the city. But then life happened and your plans came crashing down, preventing you from seeing Taehyung until the tour ended months later.

But past you had thought quickly, knowing the day Taehyung would return home and shifted your ticket instead of cancelling. So a week after Taehyung got home, you presented him with a second plane ticket to Paris, France that you bought last minute just for him.

You thought Taehyung would agree with making up for your missed anniversary, but Taehyung had frowned instead. “Babe, I seriously don’t want to go anywhere for a while. I’m sick of hotels and planes.”

“But I’ve never been there, baby. It would be so romantic!” You convinced him eventually, your pout winning him over. Taehyung had sighed, then called his manager to let him know.

So excited from Taehyung agreeing, you had leapt up into his arms and kissed him like crazy. “Ahhh! I’m so excited!”

Taehyung had held back a grin. “Okay. But no touristy stuff.”

You pout. “But that’s the most fun part!” When Taehyung pouts back, you try to convince him again. “Baby, I promise I’ll seriously do anything you say if you do all the embarrassing touristy stuff with me.”

“Anything?” Taehyung asked you, arching a brow. 

You took his hand, nodding eagerly. “Anything. Let’s just have fun!”

Taehyung grinned at you. “You better keep your word.”

You had kissed him, grinning at him. He watched you with a fond smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You bet I will.” You vow.

It isn’t until you actually land in Paris that you realize what anything Taehyung is imagining.

For all his great qualities, Taehyung is not subtle about what he wants. Especially when he wants you.

The first three days, Taehyung lets you drag him around under the condition that you both wear disguises to avoid being noticed. You comply, picking odd hours of the day for activities that would be very busy at other times of day. You hit all the touristy spots in early mornings before the crowd, hide away in small tucked away cafes and restaurants with Taehyung during lunch hour, then spend the day browsing vintage stores for jewellery and clothes. 

It’s all fun and games except for the teasing that Taehyung will not stop. It’s hard for you to name a time of day where Taehyung’s big hands hadn’t been resting on your waist or his lips idly pressing a kiss to your cheek in passing. You know very well the game Taehyung is playing. He is slowly working you up, getting you used to his constant touches. Then, he will withdraw them, leaving you needy. 

Despite Taehyung’s teasing, the two of you still have a great time. You buy souvenirs for your friends and things for yourself. Taehyung also buys you clothes and jewellery, loving to spoil you. But what you love the most are the small establishments he brings you to, full of tasty food and where no one knows his name. You know the game Taehyung is playing, but you let him guide you to an isolated table towards the back and feed you food off his own utensils. You let him wipe the corner of your mouth for some smeared sauce, let him lick it off his thumb. Sometimes, you even get a little on your face on purpose. Taehyung notices when you do that, and lets you get away with it. After all, this isn’t a favour he’s doing you. This is your anniversary trip. He can’t be the only one getting away with teasing.

The following three days, the two of you hit the museums. Taehyung shows you around, explaining things he had seen on previous trips to Paris. You listen to him, happier to see him happy than to really look at the art. You take pictures of your boyfriend inside the museum and really anywhere it won’t catch too much attention.

Over those three days, Taehyung’s touches decrease. He reduces it little by little, but you know him well by now. Taehyung isn’t trying to be subtle, rather the opposite. He wants you to notice, to get riled up when his touch is gone. 

You tell yourself you don’t mind it, but both of you know it’s a lie. You ignore the smirk on Taehyung’s face every time you intertwine your hands or wrap an arm around his waist to guide him through the back roads. You will get back at him at dinner tonight.

After lunch on the final day, you tell Taehyung to head back to the hotel on his own. You say you are going to buy a new dress for your dinner date tonight, and that you want it to be a surprise for him. Chuckling, Taehyung just passes you his blackcard and tells you to have fun.

You buy a dark green coloured gown, Taehyung’s favourite colour, and a matching necklace and earrings set of emeralds. You smile at the sight of your ass being cupped by the silky material. This is sure to drive Taehyung mad. After all, tonight is the final night. Both of you know exactly how tonight will end.

You catch a cab to the five star Taehyung made a reservation at. You pay the taxi driver excitedly, getting out in your all new outfit, new heels, and even a new purse! You were sure to impress Taehyung.

You walk into the restaurant, telling the waiter who you’re here with. He lets you in, guiding you upstairs to your table.

You frown as you see your table. From this angle, you can’t see who, but Taehyung is talking to a woman. You approach quietly, catching neither of their attention. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, they’re talking loudly. You don’t speak much French but you don’t need it to deal with this woman. You hear her mention the word “model” and a woman’s clothing brand. You hear her repeat “model” a second time as she blatantly roams her eyes down Taehyung’s figure, then up at him. That’s the part that makes your blood boil. You know she is aware of your presence. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of relationship you and Taehyung have.

But she still challenges you anyway, openly eyeing your man in public. If you could speak more French than basic small talk you would rip her a new one. 

Fuck it. You think, making your way across the room. Who needs to know the language?

“Oh, baby.” You say in a sweet voice. They both look over at you. The woman looks visibly irritated, pursing her perfect lips in annoyance. What a shame you like to flirt with other women’s men. You think, slightly in awe at her beauty. I’d like you in any other situation. “Is this a friend?” You ask.

You see a hint of a smile before Taehyung bites it back. “No, Y/N. We just met tonight.”

You smile pointedly at the woman. She frowns at you. “Ah, I see. Well, it was nice meeting you. We haven’t had dinner yet, so.” You say, pretending to be apologetic for cutting the conversation short. All three of you know you’re not, but it’s the thought that counts. Or doesn’t. You couldn’t care less.

“Colour.” Taehyung asks the minute you’re back in the hotel room. 

“Green.” 

“Poor baby. Got so angry that I took my eyes off you, huh?” Taehyung teases, hooking his fingers in the band of your underwear. He pulls back, making it snap against your hips. You whimper. “What’s that? Are you trying to say something?” Taehyung taunts you.

He cranes his head to look at you. He cups your face and makes you look at him. He makes a fake-worried face. “That’s odd, you were talking perfectly fine a few hours ago. Was it something in the food that’s making you feel sick or are you just embarrassed from being a possessive little slut in front of sir?”

His words make you shiver. He grins as he feels it against his own abdomen. “It seems like you’re really sick, Y/N. I guess we'll just have to go to bed.”

He begins to unwind his arms from around your waist, but you grab them, holding them against your skin. “S-Sir.” You whisper.

“There’s my girl.” Taehyung says proudly, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple. “Let’s talk about what you did wrong tonight, shall we?”

“I-I was possessive. I got jealous because you were talking to that model.”

Taehyung’s eyes flicker at the last word. “Oh, you heard?” He snaps the band of underwear against your skin again. You wriggle, but he refuses to let you go. “What a bad girl. Eavesdropping on sir’s conversations. What if she had been a potential colleague and you ruined everything? But you didn’t think of any of that, only your. own. feelings.” He emphasizes each of the three words with another smack. “You’re just an ungrateful little slut, aren’t you? I bet you would open your legs for any man that offered you this kind of treatment, huh?” He growls in your ear.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whisper, voice cracking.

Taehyung stops. “Colour.” He says, thumbs gently stroking at your sides.

“Green.” 

“Y/N.” He repeats more firmly. You sniffle. A tear rolls down your cheek. Taehyung thumbs it away immediately. “We don’t have to. I’m sorry. Do you want to take a bath together? We can cuddle after. Anything you’re comfortable with baby.”

You shake your head, looking away from him. “I’m really okay. I...I want my punishment.”

Taehyung turns you to look at him. He watches your face, looking for any unwillingness. He cups your face and makes you look at him. He smiles finally when he sees the familiar, hazy look in your eyes. You are already slipping into subspace.

“Follow me.” Taehyung says.

You walk behind him, still naked except for your panties. Taehyung is still entirely clothed in his suit and tie. He leads you to the fancy living room of the suite, and closes the curtains. You wait until he sits down to approach him. You observe his spread legs and the stern look in his eye. The air in the living room is freezing cold, but it only adds to it. This is one of the many things you love about Taehyung. How incredibly sexy he looks when he is in control.

Without being asked, you get on the sofa on your hands and knees. You drape your body over Taehyung’s lap, ass up in his lap. You fold your arms over the sofa’s armrest, turning your head to look at Taehyung. 

Taehyung’s warm hand caresses your ass. He kneads at the flesh roughly without breaking eye contact with you. On the outside, he looks indifferent, dark eyes sultry. He makes it look like he couldn't care less if it was you or another sub being bent to his will. But you know it’s part of the scene, that he’s watching you this intensely for your reaction and it is only your reaction he ever wants in a setting like this.

“You can safeword out if you need to.” He reminds you. You nod, putting your head against the armrest. “Count.” He tells you, before the first smack comes down.

You flinch on instinct, but his arm pins the backs of your thighs down. “One.”

Another smack but to the other cheek. You hiss under your breath. “Two.”

Taehyung gives the next three in succession. “F-Five.”

“Colour?” Taehyung re-checks. You reply green again. He delivers two more. “Six, ah, seven.”

The next two smacks are harsher. “Eight, nine一!” As you’re counting, Taehyung gives the final one. This one is the hardest of all, making the two of you sink a little lower into the sofa. “T-Ten.”

You are crying now, falling deeper into your subspace. Taehyung’s warm hands smooth over the places they hit. His voice murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, reassuring you.

“S-Sorry.” You continue to cry. “I didn’t mean to be like that.”

“I know.” Taehyung reassures you. He helps you up into a sitting position. It burns to sit on your still painful ass, but you do so anyway because it’s Taehyung who asks you to do it. “You took my punishment very well, Y/N, just like a good girl.”

You shake your head, sniffling. “I don’t wanna be ‘a good girl’, I wanna be your good girl.” You say. Taehyung frowns slightly as he wonders what that means, then looks shocked when he realizes what you’re saying.

“You are my good girl, baby.” He says softly, wiping away your tears. “No one but you.”

“But i-it was our a-anniversary dinner and you were letting her flirt with you. You just一just let her do it. And when I called you baby at the restaurant, you only called me Y/N.” You confess, giving up your fake confident act. The truth is that despite your anger in the moment, you had felt very insecure. It wasn’t like you could blame the woman for finding your boyfriend hot, anyone would. But the fact that Taehyung never said anything back and just put up with it instead of correcting her bothered you. Was it embarrassing to admit he was dating you in front of a woman who was so obviously his equal in elegance? This thought bothered you throughout the whole dinner. 

You didn’t plan on telling Taehyung about it, since he didn’t know you sometimes felt this way. One of the reasons you insisted on travelling to make up for your missed anniversary was this doubt. Maybe if you showed him around this fancy city and you made good memories with him, he might appreciate it. Maybe then it would ease your doubt of if you were worthy enough to be his.

You had never admitted this aloud to anyone, but you actually wondered If Taehyung had women in other countries that he went on dates with during tour. You know Taehyung is a good person but after all, he is a young man with sexual needs. And at that, a very attractive man who could get with just about any woman he wanted. So yes, seeing him talk to the very attractive woman had angered you, but it also made you feel like your worst fears might be true. 

“Y/N, talk to me, baby.” Taehyung pleads you, his worried brown eyes searching your face for any answers.

“...Can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course, my love.” Taehyung responds. “Ask me anything you want, baby.’

You sniffle. You play with his suit blazer. “Can you promise to not get mad at me?”

Taehyung looks like he might cry when you ask that. “I promise.”

“When you go away for tour...is there anyone else?” You watch your own tears fall onto Taehyung’s dress shirt. Taehyung looks shaken. “It might seem random but I’ve always wondered. I promise I’m not just acting up because of tonight.”

Taehyung continues to watch you, looking worried and at a loss for words. You put on a fake smile. “Sorry, it’s probably nothing. Let’s just go to bed.” 

Taehyung holds you by the waist, stopping you from getting up. “Y/N.”

“I said it’s fine. It’s okay. Really, even if you had another woman. I can’t control what you do when you’re not with me. A year is too long for a couple to spend apart anyway, it’s only natural that your feelings would change. It’s okay. Anyway,” You breathe shakily. “Anyway I’m still yours. As long as you like, of course.”

“Of course I like it.” Taehyung insists, tears glistening in his eyes. “I love you. Tell me how long you’ve felt like this.”

You hesitate. “Y/N.” There it is again, that firm tone that you hate outside of scenes. 

You look down at your hands. “Maybe two years?”

Taehyung is crying now, and he cups your face in his hands. “You’ve been thinking like this for two years? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“...I didn’t want to burden you. You’re really busy on tour.”

Taehyung purses his lips. “Can I show you there’s no one else?”

You nod. Taehyung lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He holds you by the backs of your thighs instead of your ass, careful not to hurt you. “The bed?” He asks. You consider the feeling of the rough sheets against your sore ass. 

You shake your head. “C-Can we use the hot tub?”

Taehyung kisses your forehead. “Anything for you.”

Taehyung sets up the hot tub for both of you. He takes your panties off for you, sliding them down your legs. He kisses you deeply, sweetly. You whimper into the kiss, his tongue completely in control of your mouth. When you part, a strand of saliva comes loose. When you part far enough, the saliva ends up on your chin. Taehyung wipes it with his thumb. A darkness has entered his eyes again. “Get in. Let me show you how much I love you.”

You get in the hot tub, relishing the feeling of the hot water. It stings a bit, but it’s easier to sit then the bed would have been. You sit with your legs spread slightly, calves tucked under you and feet beneath your ass. Neat and pretty. Just the way sir likes it.

Taehyung strips quickly once you’re in the water. Your eyes roam over his beautiful body, at the hard muscle of his chest, his bulging biceps, his caramel thighs, and his rigid cock. “Come here.” Taehyung orders as he gets in the water. You do so, climbing up into his lap. He kisses you hungrily, like this is the first time all night. You are surprised at the intensity of this kiss. You cannot recall a time Taehyung has ever kissed you so passionately in your years together, even in your roughest scenes. 

“So pretty.” Taehyung growls when you two part again. He wraps one arm around your waist to press your chest against his, then attacks your neck. You gasp as he makes love bites, all the way down your neck. He has never made this many before in total, yet he makes them everywhere tonight. He litters your collarbone and the top of your chest with them, making them bloom red at first but you know they will be a deep purple shade tomorrow. “How can you not know what you mean to me, when you’re this fucking beautiful? You drove me crazy in your dress tonight, no, you drive me crazy every fucking time I see you. Maybe even since the first time I met you.”

“S-Sir.” You moan at the praise, face heating up. Taehyung pushes you back against the wall of the hot tub. You tilt your head back against the tiles as he touches you everywhere. He uses his hands to tease at your nipples, making them harden. Even as he does it, he is grinding down on you. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. 

“You fucking know I am.” Taehyung snaps, losing the careful composure he wears during scenes. “You’re my one and my only. Look at yourself, so fucking lewd, all worked up by my touch. You have me wrapped around your finger and you still think I’d have another woman.” He continues, cursing in between his sentences at your sweet sounds.

“S-Sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry.” Taehyung cuts you off. You let out moans as he starts rubbing at your clit, hard and fast. You grind against his hand. In his dom persona, Taehyung would never tolerate you doing this, but both of you are too far gone tonight to follow the rules to a T. “I will clear this misunderstanding tonight. On your knees, princess.” 

You lean on top of the towel Taehyung placed for you on the tiles. Taehyung places his own knees outside of yours, and you feel his hard cock against your ass. Taehyung eases two fingers into you, wet from your arousal that it’s an easy fit. “Nnn, sir.” You plead, grinding down on him. 

“You won’t get more until you say what I want to hear.” Taehyung says next to your ear. He presses his chest into your back, pinning you to the edge of the hot tub. “Who do you belong to?”

“Sir! I belong to sir!” You cry out, and Taehyung picks up the pace.

“So fucking pretty.” Taehyung praises, kissing the marks he left on your neck. “Only you get treated like this, understand? No woman could ever be loved like this by me. Every time you forget I will bend you over my lap and make you come on my cock over and over until you get it in your head.”

You let out a particularly loud moan at that, making Taehyung smirk. “Does my princess like that, hmm? You want to get bent over and take my cock all the time? Want me to fill you up with my come, plug you with a pretty little toy, and make you go about your day?” Taehyung inserts another finger and the stretch has you whining. “Answer me.” He demands.

“I do. Ah, fuck, Taehyung. Please. I do.” You plead, tilting your head to the side. Taehyung meets you immediately in a passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth, completely different from Taehyung’s usual style. Is this really what he can do when he lets go? You wonder, getting drunk on his kisses alone. You thought Taehyung had been rough before, but it’s nothing compared to tonight.

“Turn around.” Taehyung says, withdrawing his fingers. 

He takes in your needy expression, leaning in to kiss you again like he can’t get enough of you. “Can I come in you, baby? Have you been taking your pill regularly?” 

“Yes. Yes.” You chant. Taehyung laughs breathlessly, grabbing a fistful of your hip in one hand and lining himself up to your entrance.

When he enters, both of you moan. “So good. Whose are you, princess?”

“Yours, only yours.” You answer breathlessly. Taehyung grips your thighs and lifts you slightly, allowing him to enter you more deeply. 

Taehyung abruptly picks up the pace of his thrusts. You grip at his shoulders for support, unable to stop the noises that fall from your lips constantly. Not only is Taehyung going fast, he is also going incredibly deep, rubbing right over your G-spot. 

“C-Can I come, sir?” You beg.

Taehyung nods, and you move one hand between your legs to rub at your clit. As you tip your head back, Taehyung holds himself deep inside you. Both of you come at the same time, you clench hard around him and Taehyung pumps his seed inside you. He kisses at the marks on your neck as he comes, and you dig your nails into his back. 

You move your hand to his hair once you finish, stroking it gently. Taehyung pulls back from the wall, his hand smoothing down your back to ease any discomfort you felt being pressed against it. You don’t even notice until the postcoital bliss dies down that your ass was now more sore than before. But Taehyung does. 

“Let’s take a shower.” He tells you, helping you up. You both get out of the hot tub. Taehyung runs a small handcloth under the tap. He comes over and wipes your vagina down first, then cleaning himself. 

The two of you get in the shower together. You let Taehyung wash your body down, scrubbing gently and avoiding touching your ass. You grab his shampoo off the ledge and put a good amount in your palms. “What are you doing?” Taehyung asks, surprised that you turned around while he was washing your back.

“Taking care of you.” You mumble, washing Taehyung hair for him. You grab the detachable showerhead from the side. You shield his eyes with a hand as you rinse the soap out.

Taehyung smiles fondly at how concentrated you look. “Baby, a dom is supposed to look after their sub following a scene. Not the other way.”

You shrug. You probably heard that somewhere. Your brain is too foggy right now to think. “But I want to.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yes.” You answer, smiling at how nice Taehyung’s hair looks now that it’s clean. “Because I belong to you.”

Taehyung lightly pecks your forehead. “And I’m yours.”

Later, when the haze of your subspace wears off, you two are laying in bed together. You’re wearing one of Taehyung’s shirts and a pair of panties. Taehyung is shirtless and in a pair of boxers. Taehyung has just finished putting lotion on your sore bottom to ease the ache for tomorrow. 

You lay on top of Taehyung’s chest, and Taehyung tucks the blankets tucked in around you. You snuggle up against his chest, content in his strong arms.

“Y/N, I know I already proved my point, but you really are my only one.” Taehyung tells you. You don’t reply so he cranes his head to look at you. Taehyung smiles fondly to notice you’re already asleep. He kisses the top of your head. “No problem. I guess I have the rest of my life to prove it to you.” He mutters to himself.

You smile to yourself with your eyes closed.

Requests are open (✿◡‿◡)

[justcourttee]

New prompt idea! Following the defeat of Hawkmoth, Jason is terrified of the idea of Bruce adopting the sunshine child that is Adrien (that and all the puns that the boy makes... Adrien can't meet Dick!!!). He, alongside Damian, decide to try to get Selina to adopt a new cat instead. Unfortunately for everyone (except Adrien), Jon tags along. AdriJon for the ship and maybe Marinette being having a sibling relationship with the Wayne children?

I’m back to writing and when I saw this prompt, I was so excited. If it hasn’t been hinted at enough in some of my pieces, I adore AdriJon. I hope you like it! @elements1999

Stupid Lovestruck Jon

As Gabriel Agreste was drug from his front gates, the crowds surrounding the manor erupted in yet another round of cheers. Even with the hero’s help, the police had trouble keeping them back. Jason and Damian stood on the edge, both wearing matching grim expressions under their hoods and glasses.

“You know what this means D?”

Damian nodded solemnly, the scowl on his face deepening as Gabriel disappeared from their view.

“Father mustn't meet Agreste until we have found a suitable host family for him.”

The idea of Dick and Adrien bonding over stupid puns and forcing Jason and Damian to join in on family game nights was enough to send shivers down the two Wayne’s backs. There was no question about it, Adrien could not be allowed to be adopted.

“What do you think Selina would say if we brought her a kit?”

Damian shifted his gaze to Jason’s face, doing his best to hide his shock that Jason could come up with a coherent idea.

“I believe she would enjoy Plagg very much, Adrien though? Well, that would take some getting used to. How do you propose we get the two to meet?”

Jason’s face darkened quickly.

“It’ll be risky, but we invite them to America. After all, he’s going to need an escape from the media.”

“Perhaps Metropolis?”

The boys nodded as if that was the most logical sentence before both heads snapped up, their eyes widening at the sight of the petite hero that had landed between them. Marinette threw her arms around the boys’ shoulders, dragging them down to her own height.

“There is only room for so much sunshine at the Wayne estate. Dick has monopolized all of it and for the sake of not only you but myself as well, Adrien needs a more stable parental figure than Bruce Wayne. Not that my first choice would be Selena, but I know that she has a soft spot for orphans, no matter what she says.”

Both boys tried to wrestle their way out of her grasp, but it was nearly impossible with Tikki to help her.

“Here’s how it will go. I will go to help the police finalize anything they need for this arrest and you will trail Chat Noir until he decided to transform back. I want to be there as well, but unfortunately, the police aren’t exactly understanding when it comes to personal relationships.”

With a nod, the sound of two smacks echoed as she disappeared into the sky, the only trace of her being matching red spots on both of the Wayne’s necks.

“I really despise when she does that, no matter how much I want to be impressed.”

Jason chuckled as he nudged Damian forward, both of them slipping into the nearest building to change before anyone from the media could catch sight of the American’s on the scene of what would become known as the greatest arrest in Paris’ history.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“You know, I caught the trail of you following me a couple of blocks back. You don’t have to stay hidden.”

Damian let out a small string of curses as he stepped out from behind the chimney and into view of the black cat.

“I hate magic.”

Adrien chuckled as he waited for Jason to step out from the other side, both boys looking a little sheepish that they had been caught.

“Did Marinette ask you to follow me? Cause that sounds like something she would do. Really, I’m fine guys. Once we started the investigation, so much more began to make sense. He wanted to disguise the fact that he was selfish, wanting just my mother for himself, no matter the consequence. Even if it meant sacrificing me..”

Damian swallowed awkwardly as he glanced between Jason and Adrien. Thanks to Dick’s persistent pestering, he had gotten slightly better at reading emotions and watching his tongue, but this was uncharted territory and as much as he hated to admit it, he had no idea what to do.

Adrien let out a shaky laugh as he stood, brushing off the imaginary dust from his suit.

“Whatever, so what is Maribug’s master plan for avoiding the press? I know she sent you here to collect me for that very reason, so what could it be?”

Jason cleared his throat as he stepped forward, his smile completely see-through as the worry shined.

“Well, how would you feel about a trip overseas? Metropolis perhaps? You’re a huge Superman fanboy, aren’t you? Well, Dami here is besties with his son and we thought it would be a grand idea for you to have a distraction. What do you say?”

Damian frowned at Jason’s choice of wording. Besties felt a little strong for the relationship that he held with Jon, perhaps tolerable coworkers was better suited?

“Okay.”

Both boys tried to hide their surprised faces. They knew he was desperate for an escape, but his response was still quick for their liking. Honestly, they thought it was going to take a bit more convincing than that.

“Let Marinette know that I’ll be on her balcony whenever she finishes up. I’m sure she has a long night ahead of her and will want to talk to me when she can and guys?” Both boys raised their eyebrows, curiosity, and worry nitpicking their expressions. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

And with that, he leaped off the roof leaving the batbrothers to wonder if Metropolis would be the best idea for the man who effectively was orphaned in one day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Dami!”

Before he even had a chance to throw his hands up in defense, Jon had already tackled him in a bone-crushing hug much to his annoyance.

“I told you not to call me by that stupid nickname anymore Kent.”

With much effort, Damian shoved Jon off and into Marinette’s waiting arms.

“Aw, but Dami it’s so cute.” The muffled laughter coming from behind him was not helping.

Damian cut his eyes to where Jason and Adrien stood, both chuckling to themselves. He knew it was Jason’s idea to call up Jon to make this impromptu trip more believable for his father, but when breaking it down, Damian wasn’t completely sure that this option was much better than taking Adrien straight to Dick’s side.

“Anyways, I know I’m just the cover story so that you can meet up with Selina and all that, but do you have time to spare? I’d love to show Mari and Adrien around Metropolis! That’s your name, right? Adrien? Mari used to have so many cutouts of you-”

A smack echoed through the airport lobby as Jon found himself in a headlock courtesy of one petite heroine.

“Oh, you wanna bring that up now Jon? I don’t suppose you remember asking for a couple of my magazines for yourself huh?”

There was an undeniable shade of red emitting from under Marinette’s arm, one all three boys noted. A sputtering Jon finally managed to free himself, the red more visible as he gently pushed Marinette away.

“Hey it’s okay, it’s the cost of being a celebrity right?” Adrien reached out, his hand gently brushing Jon’s arm.

A sudden realization hit Damian as he watched his friend jump nearly 100 feet into the air, the red seemingly brighter than before. As Jon linked arms with Marinette, hurriedly leading them out of the airport, Adrien gently coaxing the two to behave, Damian gripped Jason’s jacket pulling the two of them to a stop.

“What do you want brat? We’re gonna get left behind-” With one killer glare, Jason slowly quieted, curiosity seeping into his expression.

“Jason, is uh- does Jonathon- does he see guys as viable mates?”

There was a slight pause and for a moment, Damian felt a bit relieved that perhaps he was not the only one to fail to notice such a thing about the Kent boy. But the moment ended abruptly as Jason erupted in laughter, drawing the attention from some passing by.

“What is it you buffoon? People are staring at us, silence yourself, and answer me.”

“Me buffoon? No, no, no” Jason’s laughter slowly ceased, but the shit-eating grin that replaced it did nothing to ease Damian’s nerves. “You see, you are the only idiot here. What is Jon? An animal? His mating preference?”

Damian felt his face heating up as his grip tightened on Jason’s jacket, intent on tearing a small hole in his precious belonging.

“Now Damian, I know you are dense, but Jon has always talked about guys with you. Did you just think they were all besties? That your third-wheeling on his dates where they gave each other like pecks on the cheek or held hands was just because you hate physical contact and his other friends didn’t mind it?”

The more Jason talked, the redder Damian felt his face becoming. Sure he had noticed before, but it never felt like it was something that mattered much. Plus, it wasn’t like Jon had mentioned anything to him about coming along on his supposed dates. How was he supposed to know?

Letting go of Jason’s jacket, Damian huffed after his friends, ignoring his brother’s taunting calls. There was only one thought that was still left on his mind.

If Jon had a crush on Adrien Agreste, this could ruin the whole plan.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He was right.

What was implied to be a one day tour ended with them staying a week in Metropolis. And the worst part? Damian was completely powerless to do anything about it.

“Hey enfant démon, you seen my partner or yours for that matter?”

Damian scowled at Marinette as she leaned against his doorframe, her expression as exasperated as he felt.

“I told you to quit calling me that. Just because it’s in French doesn’t make it better heathen.”

Marinette stuck her tongue out at him, remaining firm in her spot as she waited for her answer. With a great sigh, Damian shook his head, glancing from his book to out the hotel window.

“They snuck out sometime early this morning while I was on my run. Jason was supposed to be keeping an eye on them.”

A slight protest echoed through the suite as Marinette shook her head.

“Do you think we’ll ever get Adrien to meet Selina at this rate? I know he needed this break, but I hadn’t expected to be gone this long. I just turned 17, if it wasn’t for Jason here being a technical adult, my parents would have never let me come. I’m honestly surprised that they haven’t shown up to drag me to Paris.”

Damian nodded slightly, his thoughts straying to the idea of an angry Sabine showing up at their hotel. The thought alone was enough to send a shiver down his spine. He opened his mouth, unsure how to respond when he caught the sound of a set of familiar giggles outside the suites’ door.

“We’re home! Marinette! You won’t believe how awesome the sunrise in Metropolis is when you’re so high up. Jon is awesome!”

The boy tried his best to hide his blush as he gently swatted Adrien’s shoulder, earning a giggle from the blonde.

“Okay lovebirds, how about you stop running off without the rest of us? At least tell us where you’re going, is that too much to ask?”

A simultaneous ‘yes mom’ came from the duo as they ducked out of Marinette’s reach, racing down the hallway.

“That’s it, I’m calling Selena right now. Damian, Jason, between the two of you, figure out a way to keep our rebellious teens in check. It shouldn’t take longer than thirty minutes for her to arrive, I’m sure the two of you can manage.”

Jason peeked his head into Damian’s room, his eyebrows raised matching how Damian felt. Did she have any idea how hard it was to hold down a Kryptonian without using Kryptonite? If only she hadn’t banned Damian from bringing it to Metropolis.

With a small huff of annoyance, Damian swung his legs off his bed, placing his book back on the nightstand carefully. This was going to be the longest thirty minutes of his life.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Dammit children, can’t you sit still for one minute!” Jason gripped both boy's collars as he tossed them back onto the couch that they had escaped from.

“Aw, c’mon Jason. I thought you were the fun Wayne! I just want to show Adrien a good time before he had to leave.”

Damian wasn’t sure how much more Jason could take. The vein on his forehead looked like it was about to burst from him resisting beating the two to a pulp. It was honestly a bit satisfying to look at.

“Can you at least explain why we’re on house arrest? The day has just started and we’re already wasting it.”

“I told you already Agreste, Marinette wants you to meet a friend of hers that lives nearby. We can’t have you skipping out before she gets here.”

Adrien sighed dramatically before falling into Jon’s shoulder.

“But waiting is boring!”

Damian felt his nose twitch while staring at the blonde. Honestly, he didn’t know how Marinette was able to keep up with this child-like energy for all the years she had. He was exhausted after a mere thirty minutes.

The sound of the doorknob rattling caught the attention of the four as a collective sigh of relief echoed through the room.

“Well hello there my kittens, long time no see.” Within a split second, Selina was already on top of Damian, pulling him into the biggest hug she could manage.

“Release me you heathen, I do not like being touched!”

Selina giggled as she tightened her hug before releasing him, allowing him to drop to the floor.

“Oh, I know. I enjoy giving you a hard time the most Damiboo.”

Damian cringed at the nickname as he allowed Marinette to help him back to his feet. While Selina was unbearable, he honestly had to applaud Jason for his thought. If anyone could reign in the energy Adrien had, it would be her.

“You must be Adrien. I’m Selina Kyle, so very nice to meet you.”

Adrien swallowed hard as he tentatively reached out his hand to shake hers. No one could blame him, the look on Selina’s face was terrifying as if she was admiring a jewel before shattering it into pieces.

“Now let’s cut to the chase. Do you want to live with me? You obviously need a parent figure in your life, but you also only have a year left until you can be on your own. I know it’s a big change from Paris, but between Zeta tubes and that little horse your friend Marinette carries, you’ll never be too far.”

Damian bit his lip hard, trying not to yell at Selina for her brashness. She was supposed to be gentle and coaxing. Get him to like her, spend the day with him, and then suggest it. Adrien looked as white as a ghost, as expected when someone you’ve only heard stories about shows up in your hotel room with adoption papers.

“Uhm, I don’t really want a guardian. My aunt said she would rent me an apartment wherever I wanted and when the time came for my 18th birthday, she’d sign it over to me-”

Adrien was cut off as Selina placed a finger over his lips, shocking him into silence.

“Honey, I can do that for you. Don’t rely on family who will want to steal your father’s fortune. However, I will have a few conditions.”

Adrien nodded slowly, his eyes glancing around frantically as if asking for help.

“First, you must visit Wayne Manor once a week for a family dinner, I refuse to let you off the hook with no real resemblance of a family. Second, you must rent here in Metropolis where you already have a good person looking out for you. And third, you must force Damian and Jason to participate in these once a week dinners.”

Jason and Damian shouted frantically for him to decline, their plans falling to pieces before them. They only quieted down after Marinette reached back giving them matching red bumps on their foreheads.

“What do you say, sweetie? I can tell you and Jon are already close and I think this would be best for everyone. You had already finished your studies in France so you can take this year to decide what you want to do next in life and I think between the Kents and us, we can help you with that.”

It took less than a minute for Adrien to agree and for Damian and Jason to be bested by two black cats. Selina insisted on lunch to celebrate, dragging Adrien and Jon with her and out the door leaving the three exhausted crusaders behind.

“Well, technically Bruce won’t be the one adopting him.” Marinette shrugged before plopping on the couch, the other two following suit.

“Yeah, but like, we went through all this trouble to stop Dick and Adrien from meeting, and now we will be having weekly dinners with them. Marinette, you are officially forced into this agreement as well.” Jason poked at her side, a small sigh of defeat escaping from his lips.

“Stupid lovestruck Jon.” Marinette and Jason turned their attention to where Damian sat, his arms crossed in annoyance. “I bet if they hadn’t had this week to hang out, Selina wouldn’t have picked up on their stupid crushes. Why do you women always feel the need to meddle?”

The air was silent for a moment before laughter erupted from Damian’s right side. Shaking his head, he couldn’t help the small giggle that came from his own mouth. Stupid Jon, making him attend family dinners with the likes of Dick and Adrien. He was happy for him, not to be confused with the utter annoyance he felt for him at the moment as well.

As they sat there joking about their shared fate and pondering how it could’ve gone differently, one thought was constant across all three of their minds:

Who could’ve planned for stupid lovestruck Jon?

Permanent Tag List 

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb @glitterflowercat

[lifesabe-ch]

game on - john b. (part 1)

request: can u write about being one of kies friends and u come to visit her for a little and u and john b end up rlly liking each other and u hook up at a keg party or something like that ??? thank uuu

summary: you and your parents decide to come to the outer banks for your summer break, visiting your old friend kiara, but things quickly take a turn when you take a liking to one of her friends

pairings: john b. x reader

warnings: smut 

a/n: okay I know I said I wouldn’t write smut but this came to me and I had too!! reply to this if you want to be tagged in further parts

Holding your phone up dramatically, you wander around a little down the road from the house you were staying in. It was apparently impossible to get any bars there, so you figured you’d try a little further down.

“You’re not going to get any service here.”

Glancing behind you, you sigh as you bring your phone back down to your chest. As you glance at it you realize that you, in fact, were not getting any service here.

Ignoring the boy who was now trailing behind you, you continued your walk, desperately hoping for at least one bar to hold you over.

“Seriously. A storm happened a couple days ago, half of the island still has no power.”

“The half I’m on, apparently.”

He chuckled, nodding, “The half without generators, yeah.”

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you took in his appearance for the first time. He was cute, in an island boy kind of way. He had longer hair and lighter colored eyes. He was ruggedly handsome, but he could tell that he knew it.

As he flashed you a smile, you realized that trouble was the word that came to mind.

“I’m John B.”

“Why not just John?

He shrugged, “It’s just what everyone calls me.”

You nodded, “Right. I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” he spoke, almost as if testing out the feel of your name on his lips. “What brings you to the Outer Banks?”

“I’m here on vacation. Visiting a friend.”

He only nodded silently, taking you in. He wasn't being subtle and he didn’t seem to care. The longer you felt his eyes on you, the more you began to squirm.

Clearing your throat lightly, you gestured in the direction you had just come from, “I should, get back. You know, unpack.”

“Or,” He paused. You realized he did that often.

“I could give you a tour. It’ll be as good as it gets, from a born and raised Islander himself.”

You wanted to say no. You did. You wanted to go home, unpack, and relax. But this boy piqued your interest.

So you let him take you on a tour.

Later that night you had found yourself at a kegger. John B. had invited you, telling you that it was happening just near his house and that it’d be small. But small was not the word that came to mind as you took everything in. People were scattered everywhere, some dancing, some drinking, others both.

You had tried looking for John, but gave up rather quickly. You weren’t too bothered by it, instead just finding a nearby tree to lean up against. As you took everything in, a small sigh left your lips, swallowed by the cup you had quickly brought up to your lips.

It wasn't that you didn’t like it here. Hell, you had missed Kiara so much that when your parents suggested going to the Outer Banks for the summer, you immediately agreed. But you missed your friends. Your home friends. Maybe these parties were better, but at least back home you wouldn’t be standing around by yourself.

Feeling a hand on your arm, you turn to find Kie on the other side of you, a cup matching yours in hand, “Look who it is!”

You laugh, pulling her close for a hug, “Hey! I was starting to think I’d never bump into you.”

The two of you had been friends for as long as you could remember. When you were younger you lived next door to each other, insisting on spending every second together. Even after you had moved away, you kept in touch. Things weren’t the same but, you still considered yourself friends. Which is why you were here after all that time.

Pulling you away, Kie wrapped an around your shoulder, “What’re you doing here?”

You shrugged, “Someone invited me.”

“Seriously? Who was it?”

Before you can answer, you spot him. You see John B. a few feet away, talking and laughing with some of his friends. Your heart practically beats out of your chest.

Kie doesn’t notice, instead quickening her pace, “Guys!”

You see him glance up, eyes meeting yours before looking to where Kie’s arm was around you. As you got closer, you flash the small group a nervous smile. Standing besides John B. were two other boys.

“This is the friend I was telling you about!”  

“I don’t remember you telling us about her,” spoke the blonde, ignoring the way she shoved him in return.

“I’m JJ,” He continued, before gesturing to the others, “That’s Pope, and John B.”

You avoided John B.’s gaze as you took in the other two, “It’s nice to meet you all.”

Kie and JJ did most of the talking, arguing about something that you honestly couldn’t even remember. To say you were uncomfortable was an understatement. You could feel John B. staring at you, but you refused to look at him.

Nothing too crazy had happened on the little tour he had given you, but the two of you had definitely flirted with one another. There was even an almost kiss. And now…

You cringed to yourself as you remembered the awkward situation you had gotten yourself into. One day into this and you were already trying to hook up with Kie’s friends. You didn’t know how she’d react if you told her, but you weren’t planning on finding out. You’d simply pretend it didn’t happen.

Pulling you from your thoughts, you watched as a boy approached your group. He was seemingly more put together than the rest, but you didn’t like the vibes he was giving off.

Apparently, neither did the others.

“What’re you doing here?”

Glancing between you and JJ, the first to have spoken, the boy rolled his eyes, “It’s a party, isn’t it?”

“He means here,” John B. cut in. “Why’re you coming over to us?”

He didn’t bother responding, instead fixing his gaze on you with a grin, “I’m Rafe. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“Don’t even Rafe,” Kie started, shaking her head as she moved to stand beside you.

“Don’t what? I just wanted to ask her to dance.”

Glancing over at Kie, you merely shrugged, “One dance won’t hurt.”

“No. She’s not dancing with you.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes at John B., “Says who? It’s just a dance.”

At this, he stayed quiet, only watching as you took Rafe’s extended hand and let him pull you towards where people were dancing.

You didn’t mind dancing with him. He wasn't a bad dancer, nor was he too hard on the eyes. Part of you wished it was John B. dancing with you instead, but you reminded yourself that that couldn’t happen. You weren’t ruining your friendship with Kie over a boy. This one would just have to do.

As you felt Rafe’s hands trail down to your hips, your eyes found John B.’s, staring into you. Without looking away, you turned so that your back was against Rafe’s front, arms linked around his neck.

He looked angry, and that only fueled your movements against Rafe, letting yourself move against him to the beat of the music as his hands roamed your sides.

As the song comes to an end, you flash John B. a wink, turning your back to him as you move to face Rafe. Flashing him a smile, you lean up to his ear to whisper some excuse of having to go get another refill, before moving away. You feel bad for leading him on, but all you can think about is how annoyed you’re making John B. And how happy that’s making you.

As you walk towards a keg, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist. You don’t even have to look to know who it is.

Tugging you slightly, John B. gestures in another direction. Presumably with somewhere in mind, but to you... well, it meant nothing.

“What?”

The boy only raised a silent finger to his lips in response, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he began pulling you inside the small house, shutting the door behind the two of you.

Realizing the two of you were now completely alone, you grinned slightly. You knew what he wanted. Hell, you wanted it too. But, you weren’t going to give it to him that easily. Besides... you were practically in public. His friends, your friends, could walk in at any moment.

So instead, you begin walking around the small kitchen he had dragged you into. The mess on the counter space was enough to tell you that cleaning up wasn’t his number one priority.

“This is where you live?”

He nodded, leaning against the center island, “Yep. Home sweet home.”

“Nice.”

The silence that filled the air was palpable and you were definitely not going to be the one to break it. Leaning back against the counter opposite him, you simply flashed him a smile.

Taking a step closer to you, you watched as his eyes trailed over your frame before meeting yours again, “You know, I wasn’t gonna pull you inside but... I saw you talking to Rafe.”

He paused, taking in your features in hopes of some sort of reaction. You were careful not to give him too much of one.

“And?”

“And it drove me insane. I didn’t like seeing him with his hands all over you.”

With a shrug, you twisted the bracelet on your wrist, “Maybe I liked it.”

Scoffing, John B. ran a hand through his hair. Out of everything you could’ve said, he was not expecting that.

“Did you?”

“Maybe,” You started, stretching your leg out to lightly tap his foot with your own. “Maybe I like the thought of having him all over me.”

Stepping closer to you, you watched as his eyes grew dark, the hazel shade now replaced with a deep brown.

“You liked feeling his hands running up and down your sides? His body pressed up against yours?”

He was close to you now. So close you could count out each individual golden lash if you wanted to.

He brought his face down to yours, tilting his head so that his mouth was just inches from your ear.

When he spoke, his voice came out soft, “Do you want Rafe?”

You didn’t answer him. You couldn’t, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Pulling away just enough to stare down at your face, he planted his arms on either side of your body.

“Who do you want, Y/N?”

“You.”

With that he pulled you to him fully, wasting no time as he began peppering messy kisses across your jaw, down your neck, and to your collarbone.

A breathy laugh fell from your lips, and you ran a hand through his hair, muttering about how hot you found his jealousy. Smirking slightly at your comment, he began to suck lightly on your neck, letting your legs wrap around his waist as he lifted you up onto the counter.

“Wait,” You mutter, pushing him away slightly, “What if the others come in?”

“They won’t,” He assures you, using a hand to gesture towards the entrance, “I locked it.”

Looking between him and the door, you nodded slowly. You trusted him, sort of. If he says he locked it, he locked it.

Pushing a piece of hair behind your ear, he recaptured your gaze, giving you a soft smile. His pupils were still blown, but his demeanor had shifted.

“Do you want to do this?”

Pulling him closer to you, you brought your lips to his ear, mouth only centimeters away from him, much like he’d done to you before. When you spoke you were quiet, but you know he heard you.  

“I want you to fuck me.”

In no time his lips found their way back to your neck, sucking at the soft skin there and undeniably leaving a mark.

His hands moved confidently, one dipping down the front of your jeans and into your underwear. His fingers quickly find your wet entrance, his thumb gently playing with your slit as he thrusts two fingers into you. You rock your hips against his hand as he curls his fingers inside you, your eyes fluttering shut as you lean your head back against the cabinet. His other hand snakes its way up your top, quickly unhooking the bra you were wearing.

“Do you think Rafe could make you feel like this?”

His mouth was still on your neck, and his fingers were now set at a relentless pace. Your response comes in the form of a moan, your brain hyper focused on what he was doing to you, on how you were feeling.

As he began to palm your clit, you felt yourself coming undone. You attempt to brace yourself on his shoulders, your face falling into the crook of his neck.

Your breath is hot against his throat as you moan out a, “fuck,” nails digging into his skin. You were close, you could feel it.

But before you can finish, he pulls his fingers out of you, a small whine leaving your lips. Your eyes follow his hand as he pulls it out of your pants and up to his lips, sucking his fingers lightly.

Shifting your eyes away from his mouth, you note the smug look on his features as he pulls his fingers out with a ‘pop’. His lips quickly find yours, but the kiss doesn’t last nearly long enough, John B. pulling away far too soon for your liking.

“Maybe Rafe can help you finish?”

Pulling away from you completely, he slipped out of the kitchen with a grin, the shock on your face obviously the reaction he had been hoping for.

As you heard the front door close quietly behind him, you hopped down from the counter, quickly readjusting your clothing, all the while muttering to yourself.

When Kie told you were going to be meeting her friends, you did not imagine this. But game on, John B. Game on.

PART 2

[outro-taer]

Post your favorite album by 8 artists you like and your favorite song from the album…

So, my precious darling @bangchanah tagged me (thanks dear!) in this Tag game and I‘m gonna have so much fun with this, so here we go!

1. BTS - Map of the Soul

Obviously, THE Album which earned the title of keeping me sane during the pandemic. I started stanning BTS in march 2020 and it changed my life ever since. My favourite song of the album is a really difficult question, but I‘m gonna go with Black Swan because I remember it so vividly as the first MV which really took me in and made me decide to watch more of them. Black Swan has a really special place in my heart.

2. Halsey - Badlands

Listen, this album changed me as a person. I discovered it in 2017 and it. changed. me. The lyrics haunts me til this day, especially the bridge of Colors. So it’s no question, that Colors is also my favourite song of the album. And this will never change.

3. Florence + The Machine - Ceremonials

I listen to this album every day since a decade. I made great memories of two concerts of Florence which were so dear to me and one of the most important people in my life. To choose my favourite song of the album is a really difficult, but I choose "No Light, No Light". But EVERY SINGLE ONE IS A MASTERPIECE.

4. Taylor Swift - Folklore

Taylor Swift has a huge place in my heart ever since my teenage days. I share many Memories with different people just because of her music - screaming Blank Space with a very dear friend of mine in a karaoke bar, crying at the "1989" Tour as she performed "Clean", a full packed car of people which sung "Me!“. But Folklore hit me like a truck. I remember clearly getting the notification of this album dropping during one of my workouts in the high phase of the lockdown, which made scream of excitement and my mother running to me because she thought I hurt myself. Now it’s my favourite album to listen to in a quiet, calm time. My favourite song is impossible to chose but I go with "The Last American dynasty" just be because of the lyrics "She had a marvellous time ruining everything." It changed my worldview. No lie.

5. Hozier - Wasteland, Baby!

Andrew writes the most tragic, haunting, wonderful lyrics. I had so many analytical discussions with my friends, where we talked about the mythology, the emotions, the genius of his choice of words. I go with "Shrike" as my favourite because… reasons. The whole thing is a masterpiece. I can’t choose!

6. TXT - The Dream Chapter: Eternity

TXT is one of my all time favourite K-Pop Bands. I remember clearly how "Eternally“, the 20-min. MV and the sudden Mood Change SHOCKED me as I first listened to them and the boys even made me love them more with every release. I just love them. I love every song. End.

7. Chase Atlantic- Chase Atlantic

A friend of mine introduced me to this totally underrated band last year and ever since they didn’t let me go. I turned 23 this year during a really, really difficult time and the song "23" reflected my depression during this time really well. I basically balled my eyes out listening to this song and "uncomfortable". These songs mean a lot to me. Until now they were basically my secret. But I can’t make this list without including them.

8. Bastille - Doom Days

With Bastille I share nearly as much memories as with Florence- a concert, many discussions. They ever been a favourite of mine and they are criminally underrated. "Million Pieces" will always be the number one song of this album for me. In both the official and the orchestra version. It’s perfection.

Sooo, here we are! I had much fun thinking about the albums, which shaped me. I tag @vive-lanuit and @starcatching. No pressure, if you don’t want to do it!

[let-it-raines]

Walking the Baseline (1/1)

He’s at the top of his game. She’s in the midst of a comeback. The Olympics are just around the corner, and there’s more than gold medals on the line. There’s secrets and personal lives and a lot more at risk than simply losing, but as most know, Killian Jones and Emma Swan hate to lose. 

rating: mature (just to err on the safe side)

a/n: Hello, hello, my darlings! I was informed of the @captainswanolympics as I’ve missed so much in my time of only checking messages and posting YWUSS, and I just had to write a tennis AU. If you know me, you know I played tennis back in the day, worked behind the scenes for a professional tennis tournament, and am an avid fan, so the fact that I haven’t written more CS tennis is surprising. lol. 

This one is short and sweet, and it’s the first CS I’ve written in months. So I genuinely hope you enjoy it. And no, you don’t have to know tennis to understand 🎾 

ao3: | here |

tag list: @qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @andiirivera​ @itsfabianadocarmo​

-/-

“My legs feel like jelly,” Emma sighs as she sinks into an ice bath. It’s never pleasant, and it may not even help, but it makes her feel better every time. “Like, I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk when I get out of here. I don’t think I can even stand now.”

“You say that after every long match,” David tells her, clicking away at his iPad. There’s no doubt he’s studying her stats and about to pick her apart in a friendly yet incredibly harsh way that is a David trademark. “Is your shoulder okay? Your first serve percentage was up, but your speed was down.”

Yep. He’s so predictable. She knew that was coming the moment she decided to change the speed on her serves.

“I’m fine. I’m tired. I mean, shit, David. It’s like the tour is trying to ruin our bodies. My last two-week break was when? March? It’s almost August, and it’s not going to stop there.”

“You’ve made it before. You can do it again.”

“That’s not encouraging.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me that I don’t have to do this.”

David looks up from his iPad, brow raised, and she knows she’s not going to get the answer she wants. He doesn’t tell her she can quit unless they’re in a heated argument after disagreeing on her service motion or her footwork, which will always be her downfall when she’s exhausted, or any other aspect of her game. That’s what happens when your coach is not only your couch but also your older brother.

“I’m not going to say that. You’re in the quarterfinals. You play against Svitolina, who you have an excellent record against, and then in the semis, it could go either way with French or Stephens. That’s who we’re worried about. We’re not thinking about the finals until we’re in the finals.”

“I’m not thinking about just the finals. I’m thinking about the fact that I played Madrid, Rome, Roland Garros, Eastbourne, Wimbledon, Washington, here. And now I’m supposed to fly to Rio for the Olympics, then fly to Cincinnati, and then New York. And after New York, we almost immediately fly to Beijing, and it doesn’t stop. I get, what? A month and a half off, but it’s not really off time because we spend that time fixing everything for next season. The only way I get a break is if I lose or I get injured, and I don’t want either of those things.”

Emma’s chest heaves as she finishes speaking, the words flying out faster than her mind can come up with them as she runs through her tournament schedule, and David doesn’t blink. He stares at her like he always does, and sometimes she swears it’s like staring at a male version of herself. And she knows what’s coming. She always does. David never got to play past college, the professional circuit too much for his body, and he always pulls the card of how much he would give to be playing right now, to be in her position. She gets it. If she was in his position, she would do the same thing, but right now, all she really wants is to cry.

“You have worked too hard to quit, Emma,” David sighs, giving her a patented big-brother condescending stare. “You are not going to quit. I know this part of the season is rough, but you push through it every year. And imagine how good it’s going to feel when you have a gold medal around your neck or when you have that US Open trophy in your hands. You don’t get to play forever, and you’re the one who said that you weren’t quitting when everyone would have easily expected it. Do you want to prove them right?”

Emma moves in the bath, sinking a little lower, and damn, her sports bra is going to be impossible to get off. Her gaze shifts from David to the TV where ESPN commentators are sitting at a desk, her Nike-approved picture on the screen beside them. They run through the stats of her match and then her overall career stats. She’s twenty-eight, which is apparently at the end of her career according to them, world number seven, which is also abysmal to them somehow, and she is not living up to her potential when she is a former world number one, six-time grand slam champion, and a gold medalist from four years ago in London.

She groans and tries not to think about how much she hates all the people who work for ESPN. They have their favorites and the ones they hate, and since she is not a mediocre American male or one of the all-time greats, she’s somewhere in between. Usually, she doesn’t listen to the comments, to the pundits, to the assholes. She tries to stay away from that because it will drive her into a deep state of negativity, but lately, it’s like she can’t get enough of listening to what people say about her as if it is going to give her some kind of insight to her game.

She doesn’t crave their validation, but maybe, in a twisted way, she does.

“She gave birth sixteen months ago,” Mary Jo sighs. “She came back a year after giving birth. She is not going to be who she was before she had a child. The fact that she’s won enough this year to be in the top ten is amazing when she started with no ranking since there are no tour protections for maternity leave. She’s a champion, and sometimes champions struggle as they get their form back.”

“Sixteen months is a long damn time,” Patrick says, and Emma’s vagina would beg to differ. “She should be back to how she was or she shouldn’t be playing.”

“Have you given birth, Patrick? Because unless you have, I don’t think you get a say.”

“It’s my job to say what I think.”

“Still, I think – ”

The television clicks off, and Emma’s gaze finds its way back to David. “We’re not listening to them. It’ll piss you off. Mary Jo is right. You’re doing amazing, and I don’t want you to forget that.”

Emma doesn’t know if she’s doing amazing, doesn’t feel that way a lot of the time. This job is hard enough, to kill your body while also having the eyes of the world on you, but adding in a baby? It’s nearly impossible. A few other women have done it before her, not all with spectacular returns or returns at all, and she wants to keep getting better and play for long enough that Olivia will be able to see her mom play and remember it.

She’s not just doing it for herself. She’s doing it for her daughter, whose entrance into the world was unplanned, terrifying, and the best damn thing to ever happen to Emma even if she doubts herself in motherhood every day.

“I miss her,” Emma whispers to David, reaching up to play with her necklace, Olivia’s initials engraved in the gold circle. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it two more weeks without seeing her.”

“Do you want me to get Mary Margaret to FaceTime you with her? They’ve been watching your match at home.”

“No, no.” She shakes her head and releases the pendant, her resolve back as she inhales and focuses on her job. “Let’s do the rest of my recovery and talk about the match. I’ll call them when we get back to the hotel. I don’t want to get my mind too much out of the game.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

-/-

She wins her next match. And the next.

She loses in the final.

It stings more than her losses usually do, and there have been a hell of a lot of them, but she wanted to win another premiere event. She’s only been winning small events so far this year and making it to the later stages of the bigger events, but she keeps falling short when it’s time for her to push herself over the limit. Emma knows that her time will come, but she’s exhausted.

-/-

She flies to Rio with the rest of the American team who were playing in Montreal and Toronto, and she sleeps the entire ride down.

It’s the most sleep she’s gotten since she gave birth.

-/-

The 2012 Olympics felt familiar for Emma. The matches happened at Wimbledon, a place she’s known since she was sixteen years old and has watched on TV since she was even younger than that. Tennis players were isolated from the rest of the sports and events, and they all stayed in their usual rented houses and apartments instead of the Village or other hotels. Rio is different and completely unfamiliar. She’s staying in the Village, and while the amenities aren’t the best, the spirit of the Games are everywhere. She’s seeing athletes she’s only ever seen on TV before, meeting dozens of people whose names quickly slip out of her mind no matter how hard she tries to keep them there, and it’s impossible not to get excited to see all of these great athletes gathered together.

When she was a kid sitting in a foster home with David, the two of them wondering if they’d ever have a forever home, they would watch reruns of the Olympics on the TV, just waiting for the live ones to come around. It was an escape to get to watch people only a few years older than them doing these great things, and even after Ruth adopted them and paid for them to play sports, they never could have imagined being here.

Emma, sitting on a park bench outside with prestigious gymnasts walking in front of her, still can’t imagine it, and she’s literally here.

“Am I allowed to sit here or is that considered fraternizing with the enemy?”

Emma glances up and sees Killian Jones already sliding onto the bench in front of her. He’s darker than the last time she saw him in person, his hair longer, teeth possibly whiter, and he definitely hasn’t shaved in a few too many days. But the cocky, almost a little too arrogant, smile is the same, and even if she said no, he would still sit across from her. She knows him well enough to know that now.

“As far as I’m aware, you’re not playing mixed doubles, so I don’t think you count as an enemy.”

“Ah, but, love, Americans and Brits have been enemies since the beginning. That doesn’t change here.”

“Everyone else gets along. You’re just a competitive ass.”

“Indeed I am.” He wiggles his brows and leans forward, smirk stretched across his lips. “So, I was handed a bag full of Olympic-themed condoms when I checked in. Would you like to go try them out?”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, kicking his leg. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Too many things to count.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, muscles ever-so-slightly bulging underneath his Team Great Britain t-shirt. She’s wearing a similar one with USA emblazoned in the biggest font she’s ever seen. Not a lot of subtly going on at the moment. “Where’s Ruby? David? Any of the other Americans? Shouldn’t you all be eating or practicing or doing something besides sitting on a bench by the water?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Touché, Swan. Touché. Will and I were on the way to eat, but I saw you and got distracted. I don’t have practice until later. Rob is forcing me to give myself a break so I don’t exhaust myself after Toronto.”

“Well, you do have old bones.”

“Oi, I am thirty-two and at the top of my game. How many people can say that?”

“Anyone who is not an athlete.”

Killian shrugs and tilts his head to the side, rolling his shoulders. He’s right, though. Killian is playing better than he ever has. He’s always been good ever since he was touted to be Great Britain’s next big thing. She watched for years as the British media slagged him off for not having won Wimbledon despite having won the other majors two times around, but six years ago, he won after a five-hour, grueling match and fell onto the ground. The image was everywhere, and now, every time she’s in London or Wimbledon, that image lines the walls. It’s how she felt when she won the US Open. All of the major are special, but winning your home one, if you’re lucky enough to have one, is something else. And now Killian is world number one once more, has won two majors in a row with several premiere events in between, and with his form, she can’t imagine him losing.

But that’s why you lace up the sneakers. You never know what’s going to happen.

She’s been around the game long enough to know that.

Killian too.

Their paths have crossed for years, mostly because they have the same sponsors and do a lot of promotional events together, but the more they both started winning, the more they’d see each other at tournaments and dinners and everything in between. It’s a busy life, and while there’s time to make friends outside of tennis, sometimes it’s easier to find people in the industry.

She’s not entirely sure she would call Killian Jones a friend.

“Have you eaten, love?” he asks.

“Not yet.” On cue, her stomach growls, and he smirks, not that he really stopped.

“Why don’t you come with me? You can sit with us before we take the bus to the courts for training.”

“What happened to fraternizing with the enemy?”

He leans forward and winks. “For you, I’ll make an exception.”

Emma laughs but nods and stands with Killian as they walk to the main dining hall. It’s packed, the room echoing with conversation and laughter, and Emma and Killian are stopped several times to take pictures and sign autographs, something she will never get used to, before they sit down with Will, Rob, and several other plays from all around the world. For a minute, it’s like they’re in their usual bubble that they live in for the rest of the year with only tennis players around, but then Emma sees Usain Bolt walk by and she knows they’re not.

This is weird.

This is wonderful.

This is almost everything.

-/-

The Opening Ceremonies are long and sometimes boring, and she hates the outfit she has to wear, but she doesn’t know if she’ll get to do this again in four years so she savors it.

She savors it all, walking side by side with Ruby, Ashley, and Anna, and she takes all of it in before her mind switches to work-mode as she runs through her opponent for her first match. The nerves have been pushed down in favor of the experience, but they’re back and in full-force.

She cannot lose in the first round.

-/-

She doesn’t. -/-

She doesn’t lose her next few matches either.

-/-

Emma’s made it to the quarterfinals in both singles and doubles with Ruby after several days of long matches and struggling to see the ball – whoever thought making a fully green court with green side walls for tennis has obviously never played tennis, and she never wants to play on center court again – and she knows she’s one win away from guaranteeing that she plays in a medal-winning match.

It’s a relief and pressure all at once, something she’ll never grow used to, and as the sun sets and the village begins to get loud, Emma sits on her balcony watching the fountains in the lake light up. Ruby is off with Mulan somewhere Emma would rather not know about and will probably not be back to their room until at least tomorrow morning if the look on Ruby’s face was any indication, so Emma thinks she might get a little time to sit down and breathe for a moment, watching different events on TV. She could go watch them, but she doesn’t think her legs will carry her there.

Until her phone buzzes with a text that she quickly answers, and not three minutes later, there’s a knock at her door.

Emma quickly opens it, pulling him inside, and Killian kicks the door closed behind him as he cups her cheeks and kisses her, long and slow but with enough heat simmering below the surface that Emma knows there could be a promise of more later.

She’s seen him nearly every day for the past week, but she’s missed him.

She’s missed this.

His mouth moves expertly over hers in a rhythm that’s been practiced to perfection, and she feels dizzy with his kiss and holds onto his hair to keep her standing up. The Brazilian summer air wafts through the room, coating it in a thick heat, but Emma doesn’t pay any attention to that as heat curls between her thighs, warming her more than the air ever could. Her legs ache from the match, her arms feel heavy, but Killian makes her forget those things as he lays her down on the bed and kisses every inch of her body, spending time with his dark head of hair buried beneath her thighs until she can no longer speak.

Until she can scarcely breathe as well.

She manages to laugh, though, when he pulls out one of the condoms that has the Olympics logo on it, and she and Killian makes jokes about it as he slides into her, a thick sheath of heat that she never gets used to. It’s slow at first, a gentle rocking that keeps her teetering on the edge, but their bodies are tired and worn, and soon, it’s a race to the finish line.

Emma comes in first, not that it matters.

(But it does feel good to beat him.)

(They’re both competitive asses.)

(Even when they shouldn’t be.)

After, they’re both slick with sweat that doesn’t go away as their bodies press together on the small twin bed. Emma almost wishes she had rented a house outside the village like David and some of the other coaches did, but she doesn’t want to give up the experience. And it’s fine, especially as Killian shifts behind her and lets her settle into him, her hips pressing back into his as his arm wraps around to rest on her stomach, fingers occasionally searching out for her breast.

Emma is exhausted, but this is the best she’s felt in weeks.

(She definitely couldn’t walk to any of the events now, and she did want to see Phelps swim.)

“You played bloody fantastic in your doubles match today.”

“Not my singles?”

“I played at the same time as you. I didn’t get a chance to watch.”

Emma hums and leans further back into him. She’s glad Killian did most of the work because just thinking about how much she’s got to move again tomorrow is making her sore. “I played well there too. Straight sets.”

“Atta girl.” His lips press into her neck, stubble scratching across the skin. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, that’s always dangerous.”

Killian laughs but nudges his knee into her, which really only settles his cock between her ass, but she’s too tired to think of doing anything else. “I’ve been thinking,” he continues, “that I’m going to withdraw from Cincinnati and fly home instead.”

“To London?”

“To Palm Beach. I think it might be nice to have a calm week between tournaments to spend time with my girlfriend.”

“Oh really? You’ll have to tell her your plan. I’m sure she’d like that.”

Killian tickles her stomach, making her squirm, before he lightly pinches her side. “Mhm. I thought we might also like to spend time with our daughter since FaceTime isn’t cutting it for me anymore. I swear she’s grown three feet since I last saw her.”

“Four, I think. She’s basically a full-grown adult now with all that walking and talking she’s doing.”

“Has she said any new words I’m not aware of?”

“Nope. She still can only say the three.”

“Good. I’m glad I didn’t miss anything else.” Killian kisses the side of Emma’s neck again, and she twists around, wrapping her arms around him and pressing their noses together as she stares into blue, blue eyes that aren’t diminished by the darkened room. “I think we should bring her to New York with us. Hopefully at least one of us will be there for three weeks, and that’s just too long to go without her.”

“We’re staying in a hotel in New York. In two separate suites, I might add.”

“But we don’t have to.”

“Killian…”

His hand brushes down her side, warmth permeating from the rough fingertips, before it rests on her hip, thumb moving in soothing circles. “I’ve already called and seen if they could give me the Penthouse. It’s an entire floor with private entrances and a private elevator. Our teams can stay with us or they can stay in the original suites we were designated. I know you bring her with you when you can and that I sneak in visits, but I want to be able to stay with my daughter.”

This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and if she doesn’t say yes to it, it won’t be the last.

Things between she and Killian are complicated. They’re relationship isn’t, not anymore. At first, she couldn’t stand him, thought he was genuinely this cocky asshole from the way he talked in matches and in off-court interviews, like he was God’s gift to the sport or something. Then they ended up both winning in Australia four years ago, and while doing press together, she saw a different, kinder side to him that she hadn’t previously seen when they worked together in Nike promotions.

Fast forward through a lot of early morning calls, late night rendezvous in their hotel rooms, and a heck of a lot of texts and FaceTime sessions, and somewhere along the way, the impenetrable Emma Swan fell in love with the impossible Killian Jones.

They kept it secret, the both of them knowing how vicious the media is to athletes that date each other, especially since Killian was going through a wrist injury that was somehow his fault according to the pundits and that he was getting hounded pretty hard at the time. They didn’t know if it was going to work, neither of them having stellar relationship records, but they figured eventually they would be okay with the world knowing.

Then came the positive pregnancy test, and Emma’s entire world shifted.

She was at the top of her game, at the top of her world, and as hard as it is for her to admit now, she didn’t want Olivia. She wanted to keep living her life the way it was. That was a possibility but not one she was willing to take, so she stopped playing but kept training as she and Killian figured out how they were going to do this.

They’re never home, rarely together, and they were both way out of their leagues. It would have been easier to tell the world they were together, that Killian was the father, but Olivia’s protection is worth more than their ease.

Now, though, looking at the crease between Killian’s brow and the sadness pooled in his eyes, she wonders if they’re doing the right thing.

“I know. I’m sorry. I – ” Emma’s lips quiver, and she nearly cries. She’s exhausted beyond belief and doesn’t know what to do, so she buries her face in Killian’s neck and wraps her arms around him. “Can we talk about this on the plane ride home?”

Emma says home as if they’re going to the same place after this. They’re not. But maybe she should listen to Killian and take the break she’s been craving.

“Aye, love, if that’s what you want.”

She nods and feels his lips ghost over the crown of her hair. “I want to lay here with you and not think about tennis or make hard decisions.”

“You want to talk about how bloody uncomfortable this bed is?”

Emma laughs. “It really makes you miss those awful ones in Paris.”

“You had to ask for a new one.”

“It was so worth it.”

-/-

They FaceTime Olivia in the morning. Mary Margaret has her in a matching outfit to Emma’s uniform, and Killian scoffs that she’s representing America instead of Great Britain.

Emma thinks it’s the best thing in the world, and it reminds her who she’s playing for.

It’s not for her country, not for herself. It’s for her daughter.

Their daughter.

-/-

The next two days drag by and yet she has a difficult time keeping up with them. Her practices are long, recovery longer as her shoulders are massaged and legs are iced, and Ruby has to drag her out onto the court for doubles when all she wants to do is sleep. She’s not used to playing this many matches in such a short period of time, and while having Ruby on court with her helps lessen how much she runs, her legs are still aching.

She’s almost to the finish line. She can make it.

“Those legs are too pretty for you to be dragging them like that,” Ruby jokes as they sit down during a changeover in the third set of their quarterfinal match. Emma reaches for her energy drink and takes a sip before biting into a banana while Ruby shakes her legs.

“I can’t make them move.”

“Yes, you can,” Ruby insists. “You already won your singles today, and we’re four games away from winning this match. I will kick your ass if we don’t win this.”

“Can you kick my ass if it’s already kicked?”

“I can indeed.” Ruby pats Emma’s knees and smiles. “Come on, hot mama. We’ve got this.”

And it’s tough, but they do.

Emma and Ruby go through recovery, and when Emma checks her watch, she sees that Killian’s match is just about to start.

“Do you want to get a bus across the grounds and go watch swimming?” Ruby asks her as David massages her calf. It’s not his job, so he obviously can’t stop complaining about doing it.

“I think I want to watch Killian’s match. Can we get seats in the stadium? Is his box empty?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” David asks her as her muscle spasms.

“If we all go, it won’t be suspicious. He’s playing Sam, so they might think we’re supporting the Americans.”

“Aren’t we?”

Her eyes roll. “Not in this situation. Come on. Text Rob and see if we can get into Killian’s box.”

David levels her with a stare, and she knows he’s going to say no, that it’s a bad idea. But then he releases her leg and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

They end up going still dressed in their match clothes, and Emma puts on a sweatshirt, a cap, and sunglasses to hide herself as much as possible. She knows it won’t work considering she’s literally wearing the outfit she has worn all week, but she can at least try. It’s been years since she’s gotten to watch one of Killian’s matches from somewhere other than the locker room or her hotel room, and she’s missed the magic of watching him play. He’s fluid with his motions, even if they are slower than they used to be, and his groundstrokes are powerful from the baseline. She knows from the moment that she sits down that he’s winning this match. She can tell by the way he’s carrying himself and the determination in his eyes. She grabs her phone and snaps a picture just as he looks her way, brow raised in question but a smile on his lips.

-/-

Killian wins his match, and she finds him in the tunnel afterward, his team creating a wall around them, and wraps her arms around him, not caring that they are both disgustingly sweaty or around other people.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“And I you.” The corner of his lips brush against her temple. “You’re amazing, Emma. Bloody amazing.”

“You too, my love.”

-/-

Emma wins the semifinals of both of her matches.

Killian wins his.

They’re both playing in gold medal matches – Emma definitely brags about how she’s playing two while Killian is only playing one – and she wants to vomit.

Holy shit.

-/-

“Say hi to your mommy,” Mary Margaret tells Olivia as Olivia keeps smacking her hand on the screen. “Your mom and dad are there trying to talk to you, Livvie.”

Emma leans her head onto Killian’s shoulder as they both stare into the screen waiting for Olivia to move her hand. She does with some help from Mary Margaret, and then bright green eyes show up. She has Emma’s eyes and dirty blonde hair that’s thick and wavy, but everything else about her screams Killian, especially her smile. Emma has missed that smile.

“Hello, little love.” Killian waves and tries to get her attention, but she couldn’t care less. “Don’t you want to talk to us?”

She makes a noise that isn’t a word, and Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m sorry. She’s been asking about you two, but now that you’re there, she doesn’t care. I tried to tell her what a big deal the two of you were, but she doesn’t care.”

“I’ll have to tell her how incredible her mother is later. She’s going to be the first women to win two singles golds in a row as well as the first mum to do it. And she’s going to have two more medals than me. Showing me up in every category.”

“That’s assuming you win, Jones. I could have three more gold medals than you.”

“I do love a challenge.”

Olivia starts giggling, Emma’s favorite noise on the planet, and she tries to memorize it to keep with her always. She knows Killian does too.

-/-

Emma’s gold medal matches are the day before Killian’s, and she’s jealous he gets a day off to rest. He tells her he’s going to spend the entire time training, sneaking in and out of other events, and watching her matches. She rolls her eyes at his texts because she’s sure he won’t have time to do all of that.

And yet he does.

She sees him in the stands during her doubles match. Ruby points him out when they’re in the middle of discussing serving spots, and Emma laughs at her calling him “lover boy” in a horrible British accent. She always calls him a ridiculous name, and of the few people who know of Emma’s private life, she’s glad Ruby is one of them.

Even if she’s still laughing and double faults on an important point.

It doesn’t matter, though, because within an hour and fifteen minutes, their shortest match of the tournament, she’s on the court’s floor with Ruby sobbing because they won a fucking gold medal.

She gets so little time to savor it, however, because the medal ceremony happens so quickly that she can barely take It all in. She also has press to do, and David has to practically force her into the media room where she and Ruby are hounded with more questions than congratulation as they clutch onto their medals. Ruby handles it like the pro she is while Emma’s nerves start to get the best of her as more people start talking about what she has on the line.

To be the first man or woman to win two gold singles medals in consecutive Olympics.

To win another gold medal for her country.

To be the first mother since Clijsters to win a major tournament.

To win her first big tournament since her comeback.

To have the possibility to win another gold medal in Tokyo in four years if she’s still playing.

It’s a lot, and she knows it. She’s been thinking about all of it every day this week, and her track record of choking in finals lately is pushing at the forefront of her mind.

She doesn’t know if she can do it.

And yet she does.

She laces up her sneakers, pulls her hair back, and takes a deep breath as she blocks everything out of her mind except for her game plan. She knows how the game is played. She’s been playing since she was twelve years old, and even though that’s a late start compared to most people, it’s gotten her here.

Emma walks out of the tunnel as her name is announced over the speakers, and even though all she can hear is the cheer of the crowd, she lets her mind go back to Olivia’s laugh, Killian’s smile, David’s pep talk, Ruby’s ridiculous texts. She thinks of all the things that push her when she wants to stop, and she reminds herself that no matter what happens, she’s done her best.

She could have given up the moment the stick said “pregnant.” She could have packed it all in, but she didn’t. She’s here, and she’s better than any excuse she could come up with not to be.

People have tried to tell her who she is her entire life, but she’s pushed back and said, “no, this is who I am.” Emma still has to do that now, no matter how many times she has proven herself.

The ice bath in Montreal where she wanted to quit seems years away when it was only eight days.

-/-

Emma looks to Ruby then David then Killian as she takes a deep breath on match point. Killian smiles and gives her a subtle nod, and then she raises the ball in the air, ready to toss it.

-/-

Game. Set. Gold freaking medal.

-/-

Afterward, she falls to the ground, her knees aching as they hit the asphalt, and her body can’t stop shaking with her sobs. She doesn’t know what she feels or how she feels or even where she is, and she only gets up from the ground when she hears her family calling for her. She slowly rises from the ground, runs across the court to congratulate her opponent on playing a good match, and then she’s running to the stands and climbing up with David’s help. She embraces him first. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. he’s been her rock for her entire life, and he keeps her steady. Then it’s her physio and her agent and Ruby. Then, over to the side, is Killian, and their conversation from a few nights ago comes back to her.

She loves him. She’s proud to be with him. They shouldn’t have to hide their family anymore.

They haven’t exactly been doing a good job of it this week anyway.

So Emma very literally pounces on him, her legs wrapping around his waist, before she remembers that he has a match tomorrow. She can’t miss his back up. He’d never let it go if she did. Her feet fall to the ground, but her arms stay wrapped around Killian’s neck as he whispers words of encouragement and congratulations that she’s always going to keep close to her heart, right next to the necklace with the initials O-S-J on them.

Two people thousands of miles apart were brought together by chances, a whole myriad of them. If Ruth hadn’t adopted Emma and David, they never would have picked up a racket. If Emma had never picked up a racket, she wouldn’t have found her purpose in this world. She wouldn’t have a job or a daughter or a man who loves her in spite of how hard she is to love. There was so much that could have derailed her, both good and bad, and while she could say none of it matters, in some way, it all does.

Because it led her here.

And she doesn’t want to be anywhere else even if she would give anything to be able to hug Olivia right now.

“You did so good, Swan,” Killian whispers, his voice the only one she hears.

“I know.”

He pulls back, and there are tears in his eyes that mirror her own. “So, I guess I have to win tomorrow so your bragging rights don’t get too big.”

“Oh, Jones, you are never catching up with me now,” she teases, all of the exhaustion melting away. “I’m miles ahead of you, but you better win. Olivia doesn’t need to be embarrassed by her dad.”

“Pretty sure that’s my job.”

“Right now, your only job is to help me back down onto the court and then go win yourself a gold medal.”

“Don’t tell the presses you’re rooting for a Brit.”

Emma shrugs as Killian thumbs away tears underneath her eyes. “I don’t care anymore, and I’m definitely going to be sitting in your box tomorrow, cheering louder than anyone else.”

-/-

When Killian wins the next night after a torturous four hours, his fall is almost identical to Emma’s. Though, when he climbs into the stands to get to the box, he immediately goes for Emma, cupping her cheeks and kissing her for the entire world to see.

“I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to embarrass our daughter in another way.”

“I think her parents making out on international TV might do just that.”

-/-

Two days after they get home – they spent the entire first day sleeping and holding Olivia – Emma puts on her three gold medals, Killian puts on his one, and they hold Olivia in between them, her toothy smile brighter than the gold as the photo is taken.

Olivia Swan-Jones has a pretty cool mom and a dad who has some catching up to do in the gold medal department.

It’s Emma’s most liked picture on Instagram, not that she cares about any of those things, and it’s the biggest news story for three days straight despite the literal Olympics still happening.

All Emma cares about, though, is that she has a week off – she opted out of Cincinnati after all, despite David’s protests – she can spend with her family before she and Killian are off to New York where the pressure will be the highest it’s ever been and the media will most likely be losing their shit over Emma and Killian’s announcements.

Olivia will be with her, Killian too, and in the end, that’s all that matters.

Oh, that, and the fact that Emma Swan is officially back, and it feels damn good.

-/-

-/-

Thanks for reading, my friends! Can’t wait for those 2021 Olympics 🤞and learning about sports I’ve still somehow never heard of. And if you want to talk to me about tennis, I’m fully here to talk about Rafael Nadal’s biceps and how his game is underrated despite being one of the most dominant athletes of all time 💚😂

[swissmissficrecs]

I want to start off by saying I LOVE looking at all the recs you give, and it sure helps pass the time! I was wondering if you knew any Johnlock recs where Sherlock helps John through PTSD or flashbacks of his time serving? Thanks again for everything you do on the blog!

Reply: Thank you very much, it’s nice to hear that the blog is useful.

I have a PTSD tag that you might want to look through, although it’s not always John who is suffering from it. From there, here are the ones I found that I think best fit what you are looking for:

Sherlock helps John with PTSD

A Christmas Soldier by Evenlodes_Friend (15K, E, Johnlock) John is unexpectedly invited to share Christmas with Sherlock’s family. But the seasonal celebrations bring back difficult memories for them both.  This is my attempt to understand something of the damage that binds these two men together, so angst, and hurt/comfort, but with a fluffy happy ending.  

Be Here Now by todesfuge (94K, M, Johnlock) John Watson was already fighting demons when he and Sherlock met. With Sherlock's suicide, it all comes flooding back, forcing Sherlock to intervene before he's solved the persistent riddles of Jim Moriarty and his game. Together they find that something darker lurks behind Moriarty, forcing Sherlock, John, and Irene Adler into an even deadlier game with a much more dangerous foe.  Begins six months after the events of The Reichenbach Fall.

Castle and Sand by grey853 (158K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock and John both have difficult pasts that affect their evolving relationship. When John prevents a mugging, it sets off a dangerous chain of events that not only impacts him, but his whole family. In the end there's a wedding and a honeymoon, but will there really be a happy ending?

Cooperative Principle by bendingsignpost (56K, E, Johnlock) As the newest instructor at St. Bart's, John has been explicitly warned to never do Sherlock Holmes any favours. Too bad the sex is so good.

Haunted by Vulpesmellifera (22K, E, Johnlock) Plagued by the past, John moves himself and his daughter to a new flat for a fresh start - and it's not 221B Baker Street.While he grapples with new knowledge and old guilt, he's confronted with odd neighbors and strange noises in the night. But is it the new flat, or is John Watson losing his grip on reality?

In Memoriam by strangegibbon (66K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock returns from his self-imposed exile to find a John Watson he barely recognises. Now he must solve the mystery of the disappeared man and try to rebuild their relationship as well as deal with his own return to a London that has forgotten him.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (91K, E, Johnlock) “I love you.”  Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force.  He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling.“I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can.  Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point.  This had to happen. Now it has.  Now they can see where they end up.The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily.  “Do you even know what that means?”

Long Ago and Far Away series by lotherington (62K, E, Johnlock) October, 1937. A chance encounter late one night leads to Sherlock following John home.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (95K, E, Johnlock) Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (87K, E, Johnlock, Warstan) "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face."Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Written from Sherlock's POV. If you like to see Mary as one of the good guys, you might want to stop reading right here.

Scar Tissue by 7PercentSolution, J_Baillier (191K, E, Johnlock) John has scarcely recovered from his Afghanistan tour when Sherlock is injured at work, putting their already strained relationship to the test.

The House on Rue des Boulangers by Berty (24K, M, Johnlock) After being invalided out of the army and without any other prospects, John Watson has relocated to a small town in northern France. Now he has to decide what to do for the rest of his life. One morning there's a mad stranger in his garden chasing a swarm of bees, and it seems John's decision is made.

Thunder, Skin-Silk, and Magic by SherlockWho (16K, E, Johnlock) In an effort to help John research a book he isn't really writing, Sherlock agrees to really bond with John, just like men in the armed forces would.  Things reach critical mass when John is abducted one time too many and Sherlock's distractions with the writing project lead to unforgivable mistakes.

Underground Rescue by khorazir (48K, M, Johnlock) All kinds of danger lurk in the disused stations of the London Underground. When Sherlock goes missing, John has to play detective to find him, while Sherlock faces demons both present and past.

Where the Sun Never Shines by teahigh (orphaned) (11K, T, Johnlock) John is a mess. Sherlock can't fix him, but he tries. That's good enough, John thinks.

With Careful Hands by Laura JV (15K, T, Johnlock) John returns to London with his mind irretrievably ruined. Sherlock Holmes just wants someone to go halves on a flat.And then there's a double homicide.

And in related news, here is a list of John!Whump with Sherlock helping him.

[novantinuum]

Shattering Atlas (a corrupted!Steven one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (TW: depression and body horror)

Words: 4.2K~

Summary: A boy can only carry an entire galaxy upon his back for so long before the weight of it all finally becomes too much.

Folks, here it is! I’m finally finished. AO3 link to be posted in the reblogs.

Disclaimer: This is absolutely far darker and more drastic than I believe canon would EVER tread if this theory had the faintest chance of being anywhere close to the truth, but sometimes you just feel like being super angsty for angst's sake, y'feel? It was an interesting writing experiment nonetheless. Not gonna lie, this is kinda a vent piece. Please do heed those tags. This delves into some difficult territory both mentally and otherwise, as it's written entirely from Steven's POV.

_____

Steven knows he’s messed-up.

It’s not something he tries to advertise to all the sweet, innocent people who somehow after all this time still choose to stand by his side, but he can’t lie to himself. Spending a significant chunk of your childhood actively doubting your own personhood shatters you in ways no amount of unconditional love can ever hope to mend. And sure, he’s not his mom. He knows that. Been there, had the mental breakdown, seen it, done it. The proof’s in his gem half. He knows. But as much as everyone in his life coddles him, gently tries to reassure him while he tirelessly works day and night to realign the foundation of an entire ancient civilization...

“You’re almost an adult now, isn’t that exciting?”

“Don’t worry about the future, the futures I see for you are as limitless as they are bright.”

“Take a break if you need to, ‘kay? You totally deserve one, little man.”

“Y’know, Schtu-ball, the wonderful thing about adulthood is that you can choose to fly wherever the wind takes you!”

...it’s clear none of that matters anyways. Because it’s not true, not for him. Because beyond his identity as a Crystal Gem, beyond that bottomless desire for belonging he’s been chasing all his life, ever since the fateful moment early in his childhood in which he finally realized— small, pudgy hands clutching at the oversized hand-me-down shirt right over the pink hand-me-down gem in his belly— that he isn’t like anyone else and never will be, the truth is that he genuinely doesn’t know what he wants. Who he is.

Everyone else does.

Connie has plans. Hopes, dreams. A future. She’s already thinking about college, and aims on double majoring in political science and environmental science. (A combination only she’s daring enough to pursue, but if anyone’s got the drive to succeed in that it’s her.) Dad’s still manager for Sadie Killer and the Suspects, and they’re going strong. Amethyst has been playing tour guide to all her fellow Prime sisters lately, galavanting with them all around planet Earth. Garnet is currently on the search for terrified cross-fusion Gems still in hiding across the galaxy. Pearl, Bismuth, and a number of the boardies have spearheaded a campaign to help slowly teach and integrate the humans of the Zoo into modern day society. Lapis and Peridot recently built another barn in the outskirts of Little Homeworld, and are enjoying each other’s company.

But him? When all is said and done, as the restructured Gem society stabilizes and soon no one will need him for anything anymore, when Gems and humans alike stop knocking on his metaphoric door with handfuls of their problems for him to drop everything and solve, he has nothing left. He’s no one. No future, no clue. He’s been drained empty.

He’s just drifting through life with the parking break on, continuously waiting— his nerves jittering at every quiet moment— for the next big crisis to crash into his universe and drop feed him even the tinniest shard of purpose.

After all, what is one to do when they’ve spent their entire life training to save the world, but the world has already been saved?

_____

He can’t recall exactly when his current predicament began anymore.

Time’s been hard to keep track of as of late— the days and weeks blending together in an incomprehensible fashion— and yet simultaneously, he might as well have lived a lifetime in the span of the blink of an eye. That being said, he’s pretty sure his most recent gem troubles didn’t truly kick into gear until after the incident with the, erm... cactus monstrosities.

He genuinely didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he didn’t. He only wanted to help... to heal. To try and repair but a shred of the damage Homeworld wrought on this innocent world. It worked when Earth was poisoned, so it should work in the Kindergartens too, right?

Wrong. Very wrong.

His stomach churns as he catches a glimpse of a silly photo of Peridot and himself hanging on the wall by the stairs. A static monument to his shame. Lapis is (still, days later— or is it weeks?) taking care of her gemstone at this very moment, sure, but remembering what happened before that... holding Peridot’s cracked gem in his quivering hands, biting back cries of hopelessness as he ran to the nearest warp pad, escaping from the malformed, hurting creatures born of his own magic... it‘s the kind of horror that he’s sure will linger in his dreams for a long time yet.

It’s like he’s broken. Like his powers just aren’t coming as naturally to him anymore. It’s not quite like that time with the rejuvenator. There’s no sickly glow flickering in and out of existence. No external force acting upon it. No, it’s deeper than that. It’s not a gem sourced problem, it’s him. He’s just... wrong. He’ll try to use his healing ability and it’ll backfire, he’ll summon his bubbles and shields but they’re noticeably less durable, he’ll birth life from his very soul and it’ll grow bitter and corrupt, every bit a mirror of his present mental state. He’ll jump up high in the sky to burn out years of repressed stress in semi-peace and before he can actually do so gravity will grab ahold of him like he’s a petulant, disobedient child and drag him back to the shore. It makes him want to scream, to grind his fingers into the sand so hard his knuckles go white as he sobs out every last one of his stupid, meaningless frustrations, but instead his house is always swarming with people, and his bedroom has no real door, (and he’s too embarrassed to ask for one), and in sum he can never find enough time alone to freely be his genuine messed-up self. It’s fine, though. He doubts he’s capable of crying at this point anyways.

“Dude, you okay?” Amethyst asks with brows furrowed in concern, snapping him back to reality.

His GameStation controller rests precariously in his loose grasp, entirely forgotten in the previous moment. The game they’re playing is paused. He must have blanked out again, and completely ruined their co-op fight. He lets out a shaky breath as he tightens his fingers around the plastic grips, digging into them as if they’re his sole handle on reality.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says swiftly, plastering a smile on his face with the ease of someone who’s been growing adept at this endless charade for months and months. “Didn’t sleep too well last night. Muscle cramps from training, y’know?”

He watches her closely, catalogues every minute shift in her features. Her eyes narrow so slightly that anyone else might’ve missed it. But he doesn’t. He’s observant. He’s gotta be. It’s the only way he’s kept going for this long, the only way he can ensure no one else knows. They don’t need any more worry. Regardless, Amethyst’s lack of subtlety betrays her, because it’s clear she’s searching his expression and body language right back. His chest pounds. Hastily, he holds up the controller, feeling his face go pale under her scrutiny.

Geeze, how pathetic.

No matter how hard he tries to mask it, he‘s already falling apart.

“So... we gonna play another round, or?” Right as he says this, his stomach chooses to let out an inopportune gurgle. He bites at the insides of his cheeks, inwardly cursing at the bad timing.

It’s thankfully enough to divert Amethyst’s attention from... other matters, though.

“Yo. Ste-man. Your stomach’s straight up monologuing. Have you even eaten today?”

He dimly considers this as he tries not to focus on how empty and faint his body currently feels, mind turning to fuzz. “Uhh...”

She frowns, and promptly pulls herself to her feet. “Yeah, so I’m gonna take that as a no. I’ll be right back, ‘kay? Gonna get us some cheese!” she declares bombastically, putting on a mock announcer voice.

He watches her leave his room, prancing downstairs like she doesn’t have a care in the world. A faint huff of sheer relief passes through his nostrils. Absentmindedly, his thumbs jiggle the controller’s joystick, unable to strike the earlier image of Amethyst— concern engulfing her usually carefree self— from his mind. He really should be more careful about what he says. How he acts.

He honestly couldn’t live with himself if he slipped up and became yet another emotionally taxing problem for them to deal with. Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl... all his family, his friends. They deserve peace. They deserve to be satisfied, they deserve their happily ever after. They certainly don’t deserve him, self-destructing all over the bright and shining future they’d won.

Or nearly shattering them.

Putting them in needless danger, danger that’s all his fault, because he’s broken.

His throat grows tight, airway constricted, images of black beady eyes, razor sharp fangs, and malformed limbs invading his thoughts, clawing away at insecurities long scabbed over until they ooze a bitter red. Peridot’s shrill yelp as she’s overtaken in an instant. That dreadful, immediately recognizable sound, a cracking Gem, seared onto his heart for the rest of time.

He... he can’t deny it anymore. His magic’s gone toxic. He’s toxic, bringing suffering and decay where once he brought healing. All his Gem powers are fading, maybe forever. And with them fading, he’ll soon be of no use to anyone, and when they realize why they faded they won’t want him around anyways, and y’know, it’s probably for the better they’ll have a concrete reason to finally push him away. He’s not stupid. He’s always known what an emotionally taxing strain he’s been on everyone, ever since the day Mom died for him to be born.

Steven grips the controller so hard that his fingers grow numb, mind stewing in the dark fantasies of what he’d like to do with himself when he’s left behind for good.

And then... his heart leaps in his throat as he dimly hears Amethyst begin to whisper to the others (they’re back? They’re back?? When did they return, why didn’t you notice them, how could you just miss—) downstairs.

“Y’guys,” he hears her say frantically, under her breath, “I think we really gotta talk with Steven. Something’s seriously wrong, and he won’t tell me what.”

“What, you mean to say he’s in danger? Garnet, do you see anything?”

“Hmm. I don’t foresee any external threats to Steven’s safety in the near future, but...”

“Amethyst, he’s clearly still upset about Peridot. And once she reforms in a few days, when she’s ready, he’ll be fine! Trust me.“

“No, trust me, I genuinely think this is more than just Peridot! It’s getting me super worried. He hasn’t been eating like he should, y’guys. I don’t think he’s showered in days. Sometimes it’s like he’s... I dunno, like, he isn’t even fully present. And y’know, thinking about it now? It’s been like this for a while. Since before all the cactus stuff.”

“Well, if he doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not sure how we could—“

“We need to call Greg over,” Garnet interrupts Pearl, a new, thinly veiled panic rising in her voice. “Right now.”

His eyes stretch open wide.

Oh.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no... Not here, not now, not— please, not now!

His breath hastens, his body outright shaking now. He curls tight into himself, the game controller dropping from his slackened fingers onto the floor as he clutches his knees to his chest. Sweat beads in droplets on his forehead. He outright yanks at his hair.

Amethyst, she can’t just waltz downstairs and!—

I don’t want to—

Peridot, getting cracked, I- it’s all my fault and she didn’t—

I- all of this- I’m so useless, careless, l- I’m losing my mind, what’s even wrong- why are you panicking!- I don’t—

T-they can’t know, they can’t know, they CAN’T—

He can’t fully bite back his cries as his gem flares burning hot, a rush of pure, unadulterated agony spiking through his hard light veins in an indescribably eternal split-second, the very experience of hypocrisy. Every single muscle in his body seizes. His ears ring, filled with a cacophonous clamor of sound that slashes through his mind with the deadly force of a long blade. Crippling. Debilitating. All-consuming. Hell. This is hell. Because then his head is pounding, and his limbs are all weak and shaky, and for a moment he’s bathed in a faint wash of pink, the glow enveloping him like his own corona of sickness as he succumbs to the pain he’s sequestered inside, bitterly festering for all these years.

Hell eventually recedes, both its note and its physical touch, but the dark clouds looming over his mind do not. Slowly, he loosens his grip on his curls, trying desperately to bring balance to his breathing. His ears are still ringing. His head is still cotton. Questions abound. For instance: what on Earth was that?? Stars, is something else wrong with his gem now, too? Thoroughly disorientated, he yanks up the hem of his shirt.

“Steven?!” Pearl calls frantically from downstairs, right as his trembling fingers gently trace the exposed facets of his gem. “Are you okay up there?”

He squints, features compressing in his sheer confusion. Visually, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. No imperfections, no flickering light, nothing. So then what’s—

“Hey, Steven? Yo?? You, uh- maybe wanna come eat downstairs, or?”

A shudder runs clear through his form, starting from his gem and coursing outwards to the furthest extremities. He grits his teeth as he rides through the stabbing discomfort, clutching at his stomach. It’s like he’s about to vomit. Sure, so maybe he was really hungry before, and maybe that has a little to do with what he’s experiencing now, but... this... still doesn’t feel right. Spots swim in his vision as he glances down again.

And that’s when he sees it, slowly creeping across the skin of his bare forearm as clear as day.

It’s a patch of dull, pinkish hide. Not human skin, hide. He runs his index finger along its perimeter, all of reality screeching to a halt as his brain performs somersaults in a desperate last-ditch attempt to contextualize the information his eyes are sending him right now.

“What?” he whispers in disbelief, (even though he has a few terrifying theories), frantic heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum.

“I’m checking on him,” Garnet says, just loud enough that he knows for certain she intends him to hear. Solid footsteps creep across the floorboards, advancing towards the foot of the stairs.

It’s frankly impressive how fast a single stimulus can turn panic to outright paranoia.

He almost trips over himself diving to retrieve his jacket off the floor, forcing his arms through the sleeves faster than any of the Gems could ever summon their weapons. Hide it. Hide it away. They can’t see you, they can’t know you’re corru- NO! Stop.

Bathroom. He needs to get to the bathroom.

His bare feet solidly connect with the floor, toes curling inwards as he shudders again. A pulsing ache settles into the bones of his skull. Then a prickle at his neck. Reflexively, he slaps his hand against the affected locale. There’s another spot steadily growing there.

Alone, NOW.

The whole world’s spinning as he turns on his heels and flies across the length of his bedroom— sprinting past the TV, shoving past Garnet, who’s already halfway up the open stairwell, and leaping clear over the couch from midway down the last set of steps. (Everyone’s shouting in blind panic as he enters their sight. Fear. Needless, unwanted worry. Calling his name, calling for peace, but his ears are still ringing and their voices are overlapping and he can’t distinguish any of it.) When he reaches the bathroom his hand grips the knob so hard that the metal almost crumples under his force, and he swings himself through the doorway, slams it shut, and turns the lock with pink-splotched fingers faster than any one of the Gems can move to stop him.

For a split moment, things are okay. He’s alone. Moreover, he’s safe.

(But are you really?)

His head is pounding again, the pulsing at his temples soon coalescing into a constant inescapable misery. Letting his eyes flutter shut, he lets his forehead lull against the door. Flexes his knuckles, imagines the splotches disappearing from sight as easily as eye bags under makeup. He tries to calm his breathing in the meditative way Garnet once showed him. In for four counts... and out. In... and out. Come on, just ride it out, Universe. You’re a Gem- a diamond, for cripe’s sake! Control it. Conceal. Move on.

“Steven?!” Amethyst calls from outside. “Please talk to us, what’s goin’ on?”

"Whatever it is, you don't have to be alone!" Pearl adds. He doesn't even have to see her face to know that she's crying.

A renewed burst of panic spikes through his veins at this realization.

“Stop worrying about me, I’m fine!” he bites back on impulse.

“No, you’re NOT!” Amethyst hollers, and then... after a thoughtful pause, her tone softening: “I- I know you’re not.”

He stares down at his hands, brows threading together, watching as the patch of hide continues to inch across his skin. The genuine concern interlaced in every syllable of her speech is enough to make his gut churn with guilt.

“Steven, I... stars, I know you probably overheard me talking to everyone jus’ a second ago, and I know I probably betrayed every scrap of trust we ever had ‘coz of that, and I wanna say I’m sorry, but I can’t just stand aside and watch you treat yourself like garbage. Please, the door’s jammed. Let us in. We just wanna help!”

His lip quivers, despite himself. “I don’t need any help!” he insists, stubbornly pushing past the crack in his voice. “I’m just—“

He’s interrupted by a rush of crippling agony radiating upwards from his gem once more, the ache at either side of his head intensifying into three points. Hands rush to the site on automatic. Fingers grasping, searching. Discovering.

There’s something growing at his temples, he realizes with a rush of horror. Something hard, faceted. Disturbingly cold to the touch.

There’s no way to bite back his screams as the growths fully protrude, none at all, even with his mouth clamped shut, and even though he can’t see them he can sense their weight as they wind upwards and back, up and out of his curls, and he’s shaking, oh stars is he shaking, chest heaving up and down so hard he’s not sure he’ll ever be free of these awful tremors ever again, and— A hoarse sob forces its way to the surface as a third growth crowns his forehead. Trembling fingers scrape down the length of the door as he collapses to his knees, nails sharpening into gnarled talons as they sink further and further into the wood, carving through it like butter. He clenches his jaw back together so hard that with any greater pressure he might shatter his own teeth.

Still quite woozy under the threat of hyperventilation, he slowly turns his head. Extricates those dreadful claws from the door. Dares himself to look. Forcing himself back up to his feet, he gazes deep into the depths of the mirror. And as the creature trapped on the other side stares back through sickeningly pink irises— blotches of color steadily creeping up their jawline and across their cheek, inching to meet the base of those glistening crystalline horns— all known reality shatters into smithereens.

Not me, not me, not me, is the mantra he chants to himself like a prayer, stubbornly clinging to any vestige of normalcy as if this is all but a vivid nightmare he can stir awake from.

(As if deep down, a tiny, beaten-down part of himself still wants to believe he deserves a future too.)

But the darkness reflected in that mirror is following his every jerky, erratic movement as all the despair and guilt and self-hatred festering within continues to consume him like a matchstick to fire.

Not real. It’s not real! I don’t need help. I don’t need the Gems, they don’t need to know, I’m fine, I’m FINE, this isn’t corru - NO, DON’T THINK ABOUT IT! YOU CAN’T—

They’re yelling outside. Arguing, probably. (And true to form, Pearl‘s cries are the shrillest.) But he can’t be certain of anything anymore while smothered under the fog’s thickening surface, with the rest of the world relegated to mere static and stimuli. Not a word, not a clue. No way to know if it’s an argument about him or with him.

And in his mind their distress stands as yet another sign. Just another slice of proof that they truly are at their happiest without him, that his continued existence only serves as a complication. He can’t deny it anymore. He can’t lie, can’t tiptoe around the inevitable truth; like this, he’s nothing but a liability. A ticking time bomb, set to shatter everything and everyone in his path. Shaking like a leaf, he unfurls his fists, watching as the dull pink hide overtakes the last clear patches of flesh upon his misshapen, monstrous fingers.

They’re better off without you.

The passing seconds cease to exist as he convulses again, this time centralized at the base of the spinal column. He doubles over, leans into the pain. Rides it through vertebrae by vertebrae, raking his claws deep into the wood floor as a fifth limb emerges from where the spine left off, steadily lengthening— fortifying itself with jagged crystalline spikes as it grows ever longer. Its weight is entirely foreign, yet it shifts upon his slightest command. Panic overruling all logic once more, he thrashes about, the tail swinging across the bathroom counter like a whip. His toothbrush, comb, and other various toiletries he hasn't made use of in days clatter to the floor, abandoned.

R u n.

The thought rampages through his shattered soul like an avalanche. Yanks him by the horns. Consumes his mind and body like a trance. He has to escape from here, from the house, the Gems, has to run quick, before it’s too late and you can’t do anything more but wordlessly scream.

He doesn’t stop to question this impulse. Doesn’t stop to peer at that poor tortured creature in the mirror again. For a moment his claws struggle to grasp the crumpled door knob, fumbling in failure’s wake.

When he finally forces the door open, the whole world holds its breath.

Pearl’s eyes blow wide upon the no-doubt horrifying sight. Her hands fly to her mouth. “Steven?!”

Even Amethyst reacts in an adverse manner, stepping back towards the support of the wall. “Holy...” she breathes, face paling.

And just knowing he’s out here now, every gnarled, nightmarish feature exposed in front of his family like a raw nerve, makes his blotchy, spot-covered skin crawl.

“DON’T LOOK AT ME, I’m FINE!” he hollers as he sprints to the warp pad, barbed tail whipping wildly behind him. Pearl yelps in alarm as she only barely dodges its mace-like swing. Unable to hold back his sobs anymore, he collapses to his knees on the hard crystal. Coils his tail around himself by sheer instinct. Hides his face away behind arms. Hot tears spill from his eyes, vision blurring and sharpening in rhythm to the unbearable ache pounding in his head. “I’m fine,” he whispers pathetically, voice catching.

He can practically feel the vibrations through the floor as someone approaches. It’s Garnet. He doesn’t know how he knows, but it can only be her. His breath hastens against his better wishes. Can’t stop, won’t stop, can’t stop... The vision of the temple door begins to pirouette in dizzy circles around him as he arches his back, and with a sharp gasp feels something tear its way through his shirt and jacket right above his spine, all jagged and spiked and— NO! He grinds his jaw together, shrinking further into himself. Not real. It’s not real, not real, not—

“Steven,” she says in a measured tone as he heaves for air. (No, with hesitation. Fear. She’s hesitating because she’s afraid of you, she’s afraid because you’re a monster NO.) “I know you’re hurting, but I need you to take a deep breath with me, and try to calm down. Please, let us help you...”

A heart wrenchingly familiar hand reaches out to him, adorned by a ruby gem and a golden wedding band. His fingers clamp around thick, greasy curls, brushing against the horns protruding from his temples. A keening cry slips out from his mouth against his better wishes. They want to help. They only want to help...

He peeks at her through the crook of his arm, his most likely reddened, blotchy eyes meeting hers. She’s taken off her visor. She’s crying too.

For a glimmer of a second, he considers reaching out. Taking her offered hand with his own clawed one. But then...

Haven’t you been a burden enough already?

His face screws up, and his hands clench into fists.

“NO,” he shouts, slamming them down upon the warp pad. It activates, (blessedly still accessible at this early stage of corruption NO don’t think about it!!), glowing a bright cyan as he envisions where he wants to go: no particular destination in his mind but away, away, away.

After all, he already knows he’s a monster.

So... he might as well become one too.

_____

Notes:

Some days you just gotta have an entire mental breakdown and go full wyrm, y'hear?

HCs I tapped into for this fic:

After being healed, formerly cracked Gems take longer to reform than Gems who were only poofed. Peridot will be okay eventually, she just hasn’t reformed quite yet.

Steven is still able to warp because he hasn’t quite passed the threshold of corruption that prevents a Gem from accessing the warp stream. I imagine it's very much a matter of mental connection, and having the right presence of mind to tap into it. Probably a few minutes after this, if Steven were to continue going downhill and his mind fully fell into the fog of corruption, he’d no longer be able to warp. He got super lucky here.

This potential future blindsided Garnet because previously- like how Steven’s newfound maturity threw her off as discussed in Pool Hopping- she hadn’t factored in the idea of Steven being in such a low mental state. Amethyst was the first to really see past his attempts to mask it because she personally had dealt with depression like this before and knew what it looked like.

Maybe one day after SUF airs I'll write more on this topic, but as for now this will remain a one-shot. I 100% imagine Steven would ultimately be okay in this timeline, though. They'd be able to help him, stop the corruption. Steven goes to heckin' therapy. He'll live on, he'll begin to recover and cope. But that's a whole 'nother story.

Thank you for reading!

[tallulahchanel]

Beautiful Ones (Prequel/Prologue)

Notes: I already was going to write a fic to go with the deleted scene, but I decided to feed two birds with one loaf by making this fic into the prequel/prologue of a fic I was working on called “Beauitiful Ones”. Enjoy!

Fandom: Black Panther

Words: 1k

~~~

"Watch your step," T'Challa instructed Everett as they entered his office, making sure he didn't trip over the step-down.

Nakia instinctively pulled Kya close before she saw Okoye ready to address their king.

 "It is my understanding that we would keep him alive, then send him on his way. Now he gets a tour of the palace.

 "Mr. Ross, this was my father's office," T'Challa addressed him before turning his gaze to the Dora general. "General Okoye, this is the most secure place to keep him while we deal with our visitor."

 "And Kya and I will stay with him," Nakia reassured Okoye, not seeing Kya's quirked brow—questioning Nakia's right to volunteer her for babysitting the colonizer.

 "Keep your patrols away," T'Challa instructed his general.

 "Yes, my king," Okoye replied respectfully before narrowing her eyes at Everett.

 As T'Challa, Shuri, and Okoye filed out of the room, Nakia patted Kya's shoulder and told her to sit down and read or do whatever on her beads. The awkward silence that ensued was inevitable, and Nakia just stood there and watched Everett set the blanket to the side before looking over the city from the office balcony.

 "I've seen Gods fly....." Everett's voice cut through the silence, but Nakia barely paid attention to his words while she studied his body language, looking to see if there was anything that would make him tick.

 "Do you think T'Challa would let me go after seeing all of this?" Everett asked, finally gaining Nakia's attention.

 "I wouldn't," she replied while sauntering over to him. "But I'm not T'Challa."

They fell into a game of cat and mouse. He said something to get information, masking it as small talk, and she immediately shut him down. Nakia knew that tactic all too well and she wasn't going to let him use it on her.

 "So you didn't want to go to the big meeting?" Everett broke the silence that fell between them for the second time.

"I'm not into politics. I rather be out there doing something about it instead of sitting in a room talking about it."

 "Distastes for politics. You broke it off with him."

 Nakia opened her mouth to scold him for prying into her personal business, but he cut her off.

 "That was a guess, but I'm right, huh?"

 Nakia scoffed. "What about you?"

 "What about me?"

 "You married?"

 "Divorced. Just not ready to take this off yet." He held up his left hand in reference to the gold band on his ring finger.

 "Hmm! Sentimental type."

 "You could say that."

 "Who'd of guessed?"

 "Not me."

 Nakia locked eyes with him, and his expression softened as if he warmed up to her. She wondered if he had, or if this was a ploy to get her to let her guard down.

 Everett's gaze shifted from her and back down to his ring before turning towards the city again. "My wedding day, the happiest day of my life—next to the birth of my daughter. Such a great cake."

 Nakia smiled a little at his words, admitting to herself that he was funny. "Tell me about her."

 Everett locked eyes with her. "My wife?"

 "Mhm," Nakia answered with a nod. "Why did you marry her?"

 "Best friends since childhood. Everyone was sure the marriage would last."

 "So, what happened?"

 "One day we realized we wanted different things, and the partnership we once had vanished."

 "Tsk!" Nakia released as her eyes found the city again. "Sounds familiar."

 "You and T'Challa?"

 "He wanted a wife who could stay here and be a queen for the people. I wanted to be out in the world actually helping."

 "I can understand that," Everett said with a nod while turning towards the city.

 "And your daughter?"

 "Her name is Salina. The day she was born, she wouldn't stop smiling at me. Right now she's attending a Law School in Paris, but she wants to join the CIA like her old man."

 Nakia smiled and looked at him. "I can tell you're proud of her. You glow when you talk about her."

 "She's my pride and joy," Everett replied while locking eyes with her. "Do you have any children?"

 "Can't. An accident on a mission ruined my chances of ever having children."

 "I'm sorry to hear that."

 She shrugged as if it was nothing. "Happens. But I raised the best child anyone could ever have. She's a bit hellion, but she's wonderful."

 "Who?"

 Nakia inclined her neck to point her eyes at Kya, who was currently sifting through the office bookcase.

 Everett glanced at her then returned his eyes to Nakia. "Adopted?"

 "Little sister. I've been her motherly figure since she was nine years old. It wasn't easy, especially those teenage years."

 He chuckled. "I know all too well about those teenage years. Salina pulled a prank involving firecrackers. I've never seen so many angry neighbors in my entire life."

 "Just last year, my omncinci blew up a science lab. By accident, of course." She smiled at her baby sister's antics as her eyes found Kya perched on T'Challa's desk, flipping through the book she found. "What would we do if those two ever meet?"

 "Call the SWAT team," Everett joked, causing Nakia to giggle—something she hadn't done since dating T'Challa.

 She felt a pair of eyes on her and she turned to her sister, who had a curious brow cocked at her. "What?"

 Before Kya could answer, Nakia received an alert on her beads from Shuri and she pressed on them to see a message from Shuri that T'Challa accepted a challenge declared by the outsider.

 "Can you excuse me for a moment?" She left him on the balcony and walked over to Kya, pulling her out of Everett's earshot. "Listen, I'm going out there and I need you to stay here with him."

 Kya's eyes widened. "You're leaving me alone to babysit the colonizer?"

 "Kya, please. I need you to do this for me."

 Kya's eyes moved as if she was scanning Nakia for information. "What's going on?"

 "I'll explain later, but for now, I need you to do this."

 Kya nodded. "Okay, usisi."

 "Thank you." Nakia gave her a hug and a kiss on her temple before leaving Kya and Everett alone in awkward silence.

~~~

Tags: @terrablaze514​ @lady-olive-oil​ @marvelheaux​ @yoyolovesbucky​ @iliketowrite1996​ @thekrazykeke​ @ginghampearlsnsweettea​ @martinfreemanisababe​ @niobechris​ @masterofhounds​ @my-marvel-musings​ @dversstark​ @princessoffireflies​ @martinmotherfckingfreeman​ @letreceksworld​ @hey-im-rory​

[bastillewolf]

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (Epilogue)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: Here it is; the final chapter. Short, but sweet. I want to thank everyone for reading, liking, commenting and reblogging. You seriously made me feel a lot better about my writing and I couldn’t be more grateful. This will most definitely not be my last Alex Turner fanfic as I have another series in the works, as well as a fic for a different fandom.

Again, thank you. You’re the best readers I could’ve hoped to have.

Tag list: @edgythought​​​ @iwannabemorethanme​​​ @he4rtbre4khotel​​​ @juga-42​​​ @alexbandguy86​​​​ @imagine-that-505​​ @billskarsgard-is-gorgeous​

Chapter XVI - Anyways

She gently set her pen down, her eyes trailing across the numbers she’d written down one last time before finally taking a break from her work. Hours like these were common for her, spending most of the morning doing the bookwork until she was able to have lunch. After that, she went through her checklist, making sure each and every little detail would be perfect for when new guests arrived.

She’d have a chat with Nick to see if all was well, then with the gardener, the head of cleaning, and if she had the time for it, with Jamie too. Now being well acquainted with every single staff member, including the new ones she personally would hire, it was a piece of cake getting around and making sure everything was still functioning properly. Like a big family, who conveniently all worked together.

As of right now, she was leaning against the doorway of her office, taking in the scene that took place in the lobby before her with amusement.

Alex was giving a tour of the hotel, something he’d set on doing each time a new group of guests popped in, to be able to get closer to the people he was having. However, as proud to show his hotel off as he was, he couldn’t help but get annoyed by the continuous repetitive questions that were asked, especially by the younglings.

“When did you start the hotel?”

“About 8 years ago.”

“Did you sell the other one?”

“No, it’s still open, if you want to visit it.”

“Are you shagging the author of that book?”

“Don’t say shagging, you sound ridiculous. And yes, I am.”

All the while keeping a straight face as he spoke to the young lad. His parents automatically apologized, which Alex shrugged off, before scolding their son.

As if he’d expected her to be there, he turned and met her gaze, and winked at her.

Cheeky bastard.

“Don’t forget about that meeting,” she reminded him, tapping her golden watch, which was now polished with a new leather strap; a gift from the hotel owner himself.

He nodded. “I’ll be done in a few.”

 When he finally landed in the seat across the table from her in room 505 after having kissed her, he looked tired enough to fall asleep then and there. His hair was messier than usual, which seemed to be one of the only things about his appearance that could tell her if he was in a state of disarray, apart from his eyes. His beard was always groomed and well-kept, his suit dry-cleaned and ironed, and his shoes polished and tied. Only his hair could tell a tale or two.

“We could always postpone that meeting, you know,” she muttered, taking his hand in hers and gently running her fingers over his knuckles.

“I know,” he said, “But I wouldn’t want to keep Miles waiting. It seemed rather important when I spoke to him over the phone.”

“Alright, but let’s not make it too long.”

“Agreed.”

After a formidable lunch, they headed down to the garage, where a familiar black Cadillac was waiting for them. Alex raised his eyebrow at her, to which she shrugged. “Thought it might be nice to take it out for a spin again.”

He only smiled in response. But when he was about to take a step towards the vehicle, he was greeted with a familiar face that rounded the corner.

“Matthew?” Alex asked, giving the man a hug, “What are you doing here?”

Matt patted him on the back and embraced her before answering him with a raised brow. “I’ll be your chauffeur for the day. Now hand me the keys.”

“What? We have a meeting to go to, Matthew.”

She felt her lips quiver into a mischievous smile, something Alex had yet to notice.

“Hand me the keys.”

“I really don’t have time to play games right now, mate-“

“The keys, now.”

“No.”

“Do you want me to beat you up again?”

“What the-“ he stopped mid-sentence, his eyes finding hers to look for some kind of support in them, but he found none.

“Just hand Matt the keys, love. I’m sure he’s very capable of driving us to our meeting,” she simply said.

He furrowed his brow, but finally relented. She knew it took more than Matt’s persuading to get him to let someone else drive. He barely ever allowed it, taking too much pride in his own chauffeuring skills and having way too much fun with it, but for this occasion, she had to make sure he would. It would ruin the surprise otherwise.

It took him a while to realize they were going the wrong way.

“This isn’t the direction to the town hall, Matthew,” he grumbled, clearly annoyed by the man’s incapability to remember clear directions. “If you hit the gas any harder, you might as well drive us to the next town over.”

“Don’t worry, Al, I know a shorter route. We’ll be there in no time,” Matt replied.

She had also specifically asked the driver to keep his composure, no matter what the hotel owner threw at him. She was glad to have done so.

“Shorter route my arse.”

It took him even longer to realize they weren’t heading to town hall at all. She had expected him to start swearing at Matt this time or something, and yet, he sat there quietly, her hand in his, as if giving in to whatever was going to happen now, which somehow worried her. Even her driver shot her a concerned glance through the rear-view mirror. This wasn’t like Alex, and she knew her plans had transpired at the exact right time.

The car rolled onto a familiar pathway, and she could slowly see that spark lighting up in his eyes as they were glued to the scenery outside.

He looked back at her, as if he was questioning his sanity when they stopped in front of the Grand Tranquility Hotel.

She smiled at him. “I thought we could both use a break. I asked Nick and Miles to take over for a bit, and they said to take as long as we need.”

As if a deadweight had been lifted off his shoulders, he leapt forward and kissed her passionately.

Matt groaned, stepping out of the vehicle. “Get a room.”

Ignoring him and the door slamming after, he ran his thumb over her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

It was small thing like this that made their lives easier, at times when she looks at him and knows exactly what he’s gonna say is: it’s just another race to anyways.

The end.