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#just pretend the missing chunks are still gone-
lovebugism · 3 months
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the proposal au with stevie 🥰 during the holidays with friends and family
ok so there were two different proposal aus in the prompt list and i'm realizing now you probably meant the fluffier one but the angsty prompt really sparked something in me. feel free to send in another request if this isn't exactly what you wanted!
summary: despite a called-off engagement, you and steve pretend to be together for a new years party (fake relationship-ish, angst, but also fluff, 2.4k)
blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚
Steve watches you duck into the passenger seat of his car and feels like a teenager again. 
Suddenly it’s 1983, and you just snuck out through your bedroom window ‘cause your parents don’t want you seeing him. He’s parked a few houses down, too, so the headlights don’t give either of you away. He’d take you to Lover’s Lake then, or maybe Skull Rock — wherever you wanted to go, really. All he wanted to do was spend the night beside you because sleeping meant missing you too long.
It’s been five years since then. He loves you just the same, but he’s not entirely sure you do. It’s complicated now. Everything’s complicated now. 
Because you’re not sneaking out to meet him anymore, he’s picking you up from a hotel because you couldn’t stand to be in the same house as him. And he’s not taking you to Lover’s Lake like he used to, either. Robin’s throwing a New Year’s party at her place instead — ‘cause you’re all adults like that now. 
Things change, but not the way Steve feels about you. He still looks at you the same way he did when he was sixteen, like he loves you so much he can’t help but wear it in his eyes.
“Are you ready?” he asks after he’s shoved thoughts of how pretty you are to the back of his mind. 
You’re wearing the same silk dress you wore for your third anniversary — or was it fourth? It hugs you perfectly just the same anyway, falling over you like drops of summer rain. You’re in the white tweed coat he got you for your birthday, too. He spent a chunk of his salary on the thing after seeing you ogling it from a too-expensive shop window. He doesn’t know how you could possibly think he doesn’t care about you like he used to. 
“Yep,” you answer in a distant monotone that makes his chest ache. 
You don’t even look his way as you flip down the sun visor to glance at yourself in the mirror. You swipe your ring finger over your bottom lip, trying to clear where your lipstick had smudged.
You used to do that a lot, too, ‘cause Steve would always kiss you stupid before you left the house. His mouth aches with the longing to do that even now, with his chest stinging at the sight of your bare finger.
“Where’s your ring?” he wonders with pinched-together brows. 
The words spill from his mouth like venom. He’d sooner blame his anger on you abandoning the thing he spent his savings on rather than how upset he is to see you without it.
Your pretty, made-up eyes go wide. You press your palm against the air and gape at your naked fourth digit. It takes you a moment to remember even taking it off — the night before, in a wine-drunk rage, on the phone with an equally unsober Nancy, ranting about your floundering love life.
“Fuck…” you huff.
Steve doesn’t understand why you’re so shocked. There are only so many things you could’ve done with it — only so many reasons you could’ve taken it off. “You were always the organized one,” he scoffs to hide his distant seething. “What happened to that?”
“It’s probably in my purse. It’s fine.”
His scruffy face swirls with jealousy because — “Why is your engagement ring in your purse?” 
He didn’t mean to say that out loud. The simmering jealousy popped into a full boil before he could blink, and the words fell out accordingly.
He figures you must’ve gone on a date the night before. Maybe with Sebastian from accounting — the obscenely handsome asshole that works in your building, who you repeatedly told him not to worry about. Or maybe it was Diego, the barista from your favorite coffee shop who knows your regular order and always flirts with you like Steve isn’t standing there. 
You probably put the ring in your purse before you asked them out. And they probably said yes because they’d be idiots not to. You probably took them back to your hotel after, too. 
Maybe they’re still there. Maybe that’s why your lipstick is smudged — not from Steve’s mouth, but from the mouth of some other undeserving schmuck.
He paints a story in his head and sparks wildfires in his chest accordingly.
“Why is yours still on your finger?” you sass absentmindedly as you rifle through the bag between your feet. “I think that’s the better question.”
Steve falters for an answer. 
He doesn’t know why. Only that he tried to take it off a couple days after you called off the engagement and that it felt too wrong — like a really, really bad gut feeling that made him sick to his stomach. 
He was going to go without it when you met with him for coffee, since you were the one who wanted double engagement rings, anyway. He felt like he needed to show you that he didn’t need it — that he was doing just fine without you.
He did need it, though. 
‘Cause he wasn’t doing just fine without you.
He slid the golden thing back on his finger and cursed himself for the tears stinging his eyes. This was right before he drove to the café to meet you, of course — only to find Diego taking your order and smiling at you with all his perfectly straight teeth.
“Because— I’ve been wearing it for almost a year— and now I have a really weird tan line,” Steve replies, stammering because he’s still trying to be cool about the whole thing. He shrugs and fidgets with his grip on the steering wheel. “I’ll take it off in the summer. It’s whatever.”
“That’s six months away,” you retort, flashing him a half-hearted glare.
It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you sat down. Actually looked at him. Not some measly glance from the corner of your eye. And even though you’re glowering at him, it still takes his breath away. The same way it did when you were a couple of kids, when you smiled at him with heavy eyes and kissed lips.
“I know,” Steve nods with a rosy smile hinting at his lips. His deep honey eyes melt when he looks at you, full of mischief and adoration he can’t hide. “Maybe you’ll change your mind before then.”
You meet his quiet grin with squinted eyes. “Shut up,” you mutter under your breath as you turn back to your purse. 
Steve did that a lot — refused to take anything you said seriously. It’s one of the many reasons you broke off the engagement, actually, which he still seems utterly aloof to. What kind of asshole brings you three lemons when you specifically asked for ten for a lemon cake he wanted, anyway?
You find the ring at the very bottom of your purse, sandwiched between a compact mirror and a new book. You slide the diamond-encased sapphire back on your finger and try to ignore how familiar it feels.
“Better?” you wonder, sarcasm dripping from your smiling lips as you flash him your less-naked hand.
Steve scoffs and puts the car in reverse. He pulls out of the parking spot with a hand on the back of your seat. The expensive cologne he wears drapes over you like a blanket, the sudden closeness of him swaddling you instantly. Something warm stirs in the pit of your stomach, and you figure it has to be annoyance because it’s definitely not affection.
The car jolts when he puts it back in drive. It knocks you from your stupor.
“You’re the one who wants to lie to all of our friends,” Steve says. “Not me.”
You huff and tilt your head until the crown of it meets the headrest. You’ve explained it to him a thousand times since Robin invited you to the damn party. It’s like he refuses to hear you sometimes.
“I already told you that I don’t want anyone asking questions. They’ll see us without our rings, and then they’ll find out we’re not engaged anymore, and then the entire night becomes about us, and I’m…” You trail off with a heavy sigh that deflates your chest. You turn your stinging gaze to the window and focus on the dying trees passing by. “I wanna have one night where I’m not worried about us.”
Silence engulfs the car in an empty embrace. The radio, playing halfway on mute, becomes suddenly louder in the quiet. It’s the sultry beat of Surrender by Suicide, the song Steve was adamant about dancing to on your wedding night. I’m trying hard, baby— the deep voice croons— Too tired to fight for you…
The thought makes your chest sparkle. You have to remind yourself that he hardly helped with the planning of said wedding. All he cared about was a single song, an open bar, and absolutely no garden venues.
After a moment or more has passed, Steve finally gains the courage to ask, “So you’re saying you’re not sure?”
Your brows furrow when you turn to him. You find the boy smiling softly, pink and quiet and warm. His twinkling gaze flits between you and the road ahead of him. 
“What are you talking about?”
He shrugs and adjusts his clammy grip on the steering wheel. 
“It’s just… if you were sure about all this — you know, not wanting to marry me — you wouldn’t care about telling anybody, right?” 
You can’t tell if the question is rhetorical, but you decide to stay quiet anyway. 
He continues. “Like, then it would make sense not to care about all the fuss. But you do care… So you’re saying there’s a chance?”
You blink at him for a second, trying to formulate an answer inside your racing mind.
He’s sort of right. In a strange, roundabout way that makes you irrationally angry. It’d be too easy to let people ask their questions and then get obscenely drunk bringing in the new year. No one would care, too obsessed about their own resolutions to worry about your failed one.
It’s less easy to stir up a whole fuss about a breakup you’re not totally sure about. Like “hey guys, remember when I said I was fine on my own? Well, turns out I have a bleeding heart and no backbone.”
You won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting any of this out loud, so when he smiles at you, you scowl.  “Don’t push it, Harrington.”
His rosy grin widens. “Yes, ma’am.”
—————
Robin and Vickie’s quaint two-story house is squarely in the suburbs, painted canary yellow with a deep blue door. There’s a picket fence lined with flower beds in the front, a bright green garden in the back, and a wooden swing on the porch. It’s all so perfectly domestic. 
You try to ignore the distant feelings of envy swirling around in your stomach ‘cause this is exactly what you were supposed to have with Steve.
Eddie’s a pretty good distraction, though. 
He manages to talk you into shots twice before the clock hits nine. He keeps you company when your skin starts to sparkle from the alcohol by ten. The two of you sit together on the couch, glittering beneath the Christmas lights still hanging, and talk about nothing until hours start to pass by like minutes.
You figure Steve must be doing the same. You hadn’t seen much of him since you got here. Robin pulled him away before you had to tell him to give you space, and the two of them spent ample time catching up since they don’t get to carpool to work anymore.
He comes out of the dining room a while later, sees your empty glass, and makes a B-line for the kitchen. You don’t expect him to bring you another until he’s putting one in your hands.
“For the lady,” he croons and descends on the couch beside you, uninvited and utterly uncaring. He leans in to kiss you on the cheek and doesn’t realize he’s not supposed to do that until after his plush lips brush your warm jaw.
You don’t mean to grimace, but it happens so suddenly that you can’t help it. You flinch softly away from him before you can stop yourself, burning red hot and hoping Eddie hadn’t noticed. 
He hadn’t, too unaware and faraway from the alcohol. “Where’s my refill, Stevie?” he pouts playfully and with his wild head tilted to his shoulder. Steve shoots him a glare that makes the other boy beam.
“Go get your own, Munson. I’m not your maid.”
Eddie rises, still sulking. “Rude,” he huffs and rounds the back of the couch to muss with Steve’s messily styled hair. The brunette dodges it a second too late. The older boy narrowly misses the arm swung his way.
Steve sighs, readjusts the thighs of his slacks, and settles more intently next to you. With the sleeves of his button-up pushed to his elbows, he throws an arm around your shoulder — trying to play the part you wanted him to play.
He leans in close to you, smelling like whiskey and Robin’s homemade veggie dip. His breath fans warm and familiar against your cheek. “You know, if you wanna pretend we’re still together, try not to act totally disgusted when I kiss you,” he teases.
You roll your eyes and turn to face him. “I wasn’t disgusted. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“I kiss you on the cheek all the time!”
“You haven’t done that in months.”
Steve tilts his scruffy cheek to his shoulder and shoots you a lopsided grin, weighed down by the alcohol and the love he tries to hide. “And who’s fault is that, honey?”
Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You’re making the decision not to take you back really easy right now,” you joke, only partly serious.
Steve nods with a wider smile. “Okay. Wanna go makeout?”
“Where?” you scoff, lips quirking before you realize. “In Robin’s bathroom?”
“We’ve done a lot worse in her bathroom— remember her old apartment? And the really spacious counter?” His eyes sparkle at the memory and his rosy lips curl into a petal-soft smirk.
“Steve,” you groan, face screwed in disgust even though your crossed legs squeeze a little tighter. 
You could lie and say you don’t miss him — in the utterly human sense and the properly physical one — but your body will give you away every time. 
“Just keep your arm around me and keep your dick in your pants, alright?”
Steve listens to you like he always does, because he’d follow you forever if you asked him to.
“I wish I could be as mad as you…” he confesses, trailing off with a deep sigh as he turns to nose at your hair. You still smell like home, even though you haven’t slept there in days. “…But it still really turns me on when you’re mean.”
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ragingbookdragon · 1 year
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Alejandro sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, tiredness pulling at his bones as he looked over the files and reports his men had compiled. “This isn’t enough,” he muttered, looking at Rudy who was just as tired.
“Ale, we don’t have the manpower to gather more intelligence. No one is opening their mouth on Valeria’s movements since she was released.”
“If she gets out of Las Almas, we’ll never find her.”
“What if she already is?”
He gazed at Rudy and let out another sigh as his phone started ringing. “Let’s pray she isn’t.” he raised the phone to his ear, a tired smile on his face as he answered, “Mi alma, how lovely it is to hear your voice. I’ve missed you today.”
A beat skipped over the line before a young woman’s voice followed. “Uh…Seño—Colonel Vargas?”
Immediately, the sleepiness was gone from his demeanor as he stood up and demanded, “Who is this? Where is my wife?”
“Oh, oh she’s right here, sir—Señora Vargas, say hi—HIIII—This is Nurse Lisa at Saint Maria’s, um, your wife is on some pretty heavy pain medication at the moment so she’s not fully here.”
“What happened?” Rudy was already rounding the table with his keys out.
“She had an unfortunate accident at work with a box cutter. Took a good chunk out of her hand, so we had to stitch her up. Legally, we can’t dismiss her given the amount of medication and local anesthesia we had to give her. Can you possibly come get her or send someone to release her?”
Alejandro let out a groan and waved Rudy to follow. “I’m on my way.”
“Good, we’ll just—wait! Señora Vargas you can’t eat that! Sir, I have to go!”
***
As he helped his wife into the backseat, he looked back at the nurse still giggling away at them. “How long until this wears off?”
“Oh, just an hour or so. Give her a hydro before she goes to sleep. She’ll be out like a baby.”
Before he could say anything, his wife poked her head from the side and pointed at Alejandro. “This is my baby,” she grinned, wide and toothy. “I caught this big fish all on my own. Didn’t even have to show my boobs either.”
“Mi alma!”
The nurse didn’t even seem to be fazed. “Really? Did you show your butt?”
She waggled her brows and pointer at him. “More like my pus—”
“OKAY GOODNIGHT!” Alejandro shouted and pushed her in the door, shutting it behind her. “Goodnight, Nurse Lisa, and thank you.”
She waved at them. “Come back in a week to check her stitches!”
***
“Rudy!” she shouted as she saw him in the driver’s seat, leaning up to hug him around the neck rather lopsidedly. “I’m so happy to see you.”
Rudy smiled and patted her arm. “As am I, Señora Vargas. How are you feeling?”
“Do not call me Señora Vargas. That’s what we call Mama Vargas.”
“What should I call you then?” he mused, and she winked.
“I dunno…what do you want to call me?”
“Hmm…” he pretended to think as he started driving around the bend. “How about… Señora Vargas?”
“Rudy!” she whined, laying her head on his shoulder. “‘s’not fair…you call Alejandro Ale sometimes…I want a nickname too.”
“How about bombón?”
She blinked. “Did you just call me baboon?”
He snickered. “No, bombón.”
“Bombón?”
“Mhm.”
“What does that mean?”
He looked at Alejandro who was grinning. “Oh, just sweet and soft.”
“I like it,” she smiled, kissing his cheek. “Se gracias, Rudy. Eres un amigo maravilloso.”
Rudy felt his cheeks warm, not at the kiss but at the affection in her voice, the real love. “De nada, bombón.”
She patted his head and turned her attention to Alejandro. “Mi amorrrrrrrr.”
“Mi almaaaaaaaa,” he cooed back and she tried to wiggle into the front seat and he held her upper body as she laid her head on his chest.
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said, kissing her head. “How do you feel?”
“Sleepy…and hungry.” She looked up at him. “You’re so beautiful, Alejandro.”
He chuckled. “Not as beautiful as you, mi alma.”
“Shut up, I’m being serious.” She lifted her bandaged hand and with her two fingers still poking out, gently touched his face. “I’m so lucky to have you. You mean the world to me and more. I could lose it all, be broke, homeless, and nowhere to go, and I’d be okay if it meant I still had you with me.” She smiled at him, hazy and drunk on pain medication and love. “Whenever I think about us growing old, I’m not scared of going before or after you. I know that wherever we end up next, we’ll be together. Every life, me and you. How it’ll always be.”
Alejandro felt the corner of his eyes begin to sting and he gently brushed her face and nuzzled his nose into her hair. “Mi alma, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, mi amor,” she whispered back and pressed her lips to his vest; for a moment she lay there, and Alejandro had figured she’d fallen asleep until she popped up and asked, “Will you make me a margarita when we get home?”
“Absolutamente no.”
“But Alejandrooooooooo!”
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alovesongtheywrote · 3 months
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Heyyyy I just read Nightmare Academia, and I LOOOOVE IT!!! You're such a talented writer!! 🩷🩷🩷
♥ Summary: I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the fic :D In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, your author presents you a series of vignettes about you and Reid sharing an office. In other words- you and Reid share an office. Shenanigans ensue.
♥ Warnings: none? that i'm aware of?
♥ A/N: heyyyyy, what's uppppp, it's meeee. sorry this fic took 20 years, lmao. finals hit, im sure you understand. ANYWAY, enjoy the chapter. it's like, 3,000 words, i hope that makes up for it lol
♥ Word Count: 3,336
Series Masterlist
♥♥♥
Working out of Spencer’s office was strange.  It wasn’t difficult, as one might expect.  You did not struggle to exist in the confines of that office- if anything, the opposite was true.  Working with Spencer was easy.  Being in his space and working by his side was as easy as breathing.  Despite the pranks, the general bitchiness, and your lingering guilt after the stabbing incident, you and Spencer were a good team.  You could put aside your feelings and get work done when it mattered.  
It was all very fucking weird.
That said, when it didn’t matter, absolutely no constructive work could be completed within your office.  By inviting you into his space, Spencer had unlocked a new universe of pranks for you.  You knew the password to his computer.  You had the key to every cabinet.  Everything you could ever dream of stealing was within reach.
You behaved accordingly.
-
Where most normal laptop-havers set their desktop images to pictures of family, friends, and/or big-tittied anime girls, Spencer left his desktop image on the factory setting.  It was the same default shit that came with any piece of new tech- but this hunk of metal and wire wasn’t new.   He’d had it for years and it was still the same image.  Boring.  Blank.  Impersonal and unrevealing.  Honestly, you weren’t sure if Spencer knew he could change the image, but that didn’t really matter.  Whether or not he knew, you would take the liberty of changing it for him.
You had to move quickly and strike carefully.  Despite being a technophobe, Reid wasn’t the type to leave his shit lying around.  You had to wait patiently for an opportunity, and when one arose, you had to make the most of it.  Spencer Reid would not have a sweet image of capybaras in an onsen.  He would not get a desktop image of sweet sleeping dogs.  That motherfucker would not be on the receiving end of anything wholesome or sweet.
You picked an image in advance.  You waited patiently- and when the window of opportunity finally swung open late one Tuesday afternoon?
You almost missed it.  It wasn’t your fault.  When Reid finally got up and left the room, you were a touch busy stealing one of the books off the shelf behind him.  By the time you noticed he was gone, you’d already placed some horny chunks of text bound by a tasteful cover in its place.
You could hear his footsteps down the hall.  You had to move quickly.
Every inch of your body seemed to crackle with a sort of electricity.  Your heart pounded in your chest, urged by the knowledge that you could be caught any second.  Your fingers raced over the keyboard as you found your chosen image.
When Reid returned to the room, you were back at the bookshelf, scanning the titles and pretending you hadn’t done anything wrong.  It was kind of hard to do when you were staring your smutty novels in the face, but still, you managed.
Your teeth grazed your lip as Spencer stepped into the room.  You could hear him place something on his desk, but you refused to look at him.  His eyes burned holes in the side of your head, you could feel it-
“Here,” he reached out to you, paper cup in hand, “I got you a coffee.”
“What?  How?  Why?” You stuttered out, completely failing to hide your shock.
Spencer raised an eyebrow, “Coffee.  With money.  Because it’s late and you’ve been working all day.  You know, the traditional thing to say in this situation is thank you.”
“I- Thank you,” you accepted the coffee, wrapping your hands around it tightly as if you could squeeze out your shame.
He smiled, smug and smarmy.  Your shame immediately dissipated.  This fucker deserved the cursed bullshit you’d set on his screen.
“You’re welcome, (L/N).”
He turned away from you, switching on his laptop and entering his password.  You watched him, silently sipping on your coffee.  It was perfect.  He’d memorized your coffee order.  Of fucking course he had.  That didn’t mean anything, right?  Spencer could memorize anything, it was all a part of the eidetic memory package.  He probably memorized every coffee order of every person he’d ever stood behind in every coffee shop he’d ever been to.  The fact that he knew your order meant-
“GOD-” Spencer pushed back from the desk, almost pushing his office chair right into your leg.  You looked up, a grin crossing your lips as you saw what had caused his outburst.
A hydra-like creature with a long fleshy body, several long slender necks, and multiple Furby-style faces stared out at you from the glowing screen of Spencer’s computer. 
It was the worst thing you could find, a terrible monster from the very depths of the internet- and it had the intended effect!  Spencer glared at his screen with horror and confusion, his face contorted by whatever rush of emotion he felt upon seeing the cursed thing in front of him.  A sense of euphoric joy spread through your body, burning away all the shame and confusion you felt.  
“You really can’t act like an adult for two seconds, can you?”
“Apparently not.  Thank you for the coffee?”
-
Whenever Spencer got on your nerves, you reorganized his files.  You hid folder upon folder of paperwork in the wrong place.  You switched files with other files on purpose.  You didn’t re-label anything- you weren’t a monster- but you did create such a mess that Spencer had to stay late for a few nights.  He didn’t mind, really.  In messing up his files, you had made a little mystery for him to solve.  He liked little mysteries.
Besides, on the nights he had to stay late, you stayed with him.  
On the floor.
That wasn’t too uncommon, honestly.  Reid’s office didn’t come with two desks- therefore, when one of you needed space, the other usually offered to take the floor as their dominion.  Re-arranging files took lots and lots of space, hence, you often found yourself on the ground.
One such late night, you sprawled yourself across the floor and angled your head to get a better view of Reid’s sorting.  His eyes darted across the page at a speed that some would call inhuman.  (You wouldn’t call it inhuman.  You would just call him a speedy boy.)  As he flipped through the papers before him, those eyes of his turned to you.
“Hi!” you greeted, “How goes the search?”
“You know you don’t have to stay late, right?”
“I know!  But I like watching you work.  Besides, the floor is comfortable.”
“I doubt that,” Spencer said, turning back to his sorting, “If you ask me, you’re here because you feel guilty for making me stay late.  I told you it’s fine, I-”
“Yeah, you like a paper trail, I know.  But I promise, Reid, I do not feel guilty.”
“Then maybe you just enjoy my presence?”  He looked back up at you, a shit-eating smirk painted on his face.  You wanted to smack it off of him.  Or maybe kiss it off of him?  However, if you were to kiss it off of him, you would definitely do so with unnecessary aggression.  Perhaps violence.
You let out an unconvincing laugh, “That’s ridiculous.  Be less ridiculous, Reid.”
“I don’t think I’m being ridiculous.  I think you’re in denial, (L/N).”
“Pft, denial.  You’re silly.  You’re a silly little guy,” you stood up, pulling yourself up and brushing yourself off.  You didn’t notice the way Spencer’s eyes followed your every movement, didn’t catch his gaze lingering on the small patch of skin that revealed itself as your shirt rode up.  
He almost snapped his neck when you turned back towards the desk.  He couldn’t let you catch him staring the way he was.
“My dear, dear Spencer Reid, I do not stay with you because I feel bad for making you work late,” you placed your hands on the desk, “Nor do I stay because I enjoy your presence.”
You pulled yourself up onto the desk, perching atop it.  This time, you noticed where Spencer’s gaze went and how it lingered on your thighs.  You had never felt more powerful in your life.  With a smirk, you reached out and placed two fingers beneath his chin, forcing him to look at you.  He took a deep, nervous breath, and you could feel him breathe beneath your fingers.  
“So why-” he choked, “Why do you stay here?  Just to try and flirt with me?”
“No,” you said, objectively flirting with him, “My darling doctor, I stay here because the floor is really fucking comfortable.  And I have work to do.”
His brows drew together as the cutest little pout crossed his face, “I don’t believe you.  There’s no way it’s that simple, I am sure you have an ulterior motive.”
You did.  You had several.  You felt bad for making Spencer work late, and you enjoyed his presence, and above all else, you wanted to make sure he got home safe and un-stabbed.  You weren’t gonna let Spencer know about that, though.
“Aw, pretty boy.  If I have any ulterior motive, it’s that I get to watch you suffer,” you lied.
With a huff, Spencer pulled his face from your grip and returned his focus to the mess you had made for him.  You smiled, but the grin on your face was nothing more than plastic, porcelain, fake material posing as real joy.  
“I still don’t believe you.”
Fucker.
“If you want to live in a world of delusion, that’s your decision.  All I can do is sit here and watch.”
He smirked, “Wow, (L/N).  I never pegged you as a voyeur.”
You responded to his quip like any reasonable mature adult would- you made a little sound and swatted some of the papers off of his desk.  Spencer just smiled and let his eyes move to a new paragraph.
You were going to kill that man.  Not that night, nor the nights that followed, but you were sure.  One of those mother fuckin nights, Reid would meet his end by your hand.  Or maybe by your thighs.
-
Spencer Reid might’ve been a renowned doctor with multiple PhDs, but he still wasn’t smart enough to hide his property from your thieving gremlin hands.  Before you had moved into his cozy little office, your acts of petty theft were limited to small things.  Mugs, for example.  Or books.  Now, though, you had access to all his worldly possessions- or at least all the worldly possessions that he kept in his office.
You’d taken his keys a few times.  The first time you’d done that, he practically kicked down the office door in a panic.  He’d searched the office desperately, throwing papers around and checking every drawer, only stopping when he saw your smiling face.  
The most recent time you took his keys, he’d just sighed and stared at you expectantly, his hand open and waiting.  You were super tempted to lick him, but you held back.  You just gave him back his keys.  
Mugs, books, and keys weren’t the end of it, though.  You stole chess pieces, office supplies, a desk lamp, and at one point, you nabbed one of Spencer’s fucking degrees.  (It was just hanging on the wall, taunting you.  You had to take it.)
Your favourite incident of theft, though, was a scarf.  During the colder months, Spencer usually wore a purple scarf, but this one was different.  He didn’t wear it as frequently- it was long, generally tan with stripes of orange, purple, and green.  The wool that made it up was unbelievably soft beneath your fingers.  You never wanted to let that scarf go.  So you didn’t.
You took it.  
And you kept it.  
You were cold, your neck was scarfless, and he left a lovely soft scarf right in front of you for you to grab.  So you grabbed it.  And you wore it.  And you looked hot.  And you were hot- literally.  
It was a good thing that you’d nabbed the scarf when you did.  The very next day, the heating system that kept the campus warm during the colder months mysteriously broke down.  You came into work expecting the usual warmth only to find that everything was fucking freezing.  You were fortunate.  You still had the scarf in your bag.
Without another thought, you wrapped it around your neck and curled up into a tiny ball behind the desk.  
Spencer was not so fortunate.  You see, dear reader, our sweet former FBI agent hadn’t realized his scarf had been kidnapped.  Upon returning home the night before, he noted the lack of scarf and assumed that he’d left it in his office.  That’s right.  The man with the eidetic memory just assumed he’d forgotten something- not just something.  The nerdy scarf that he’d spent months working on.
Please forgive him, he’s secretly like, half a himbo.  A half himbo in disguise.  A halfbo incognito.  Anyway.
His assumption left him scarfless, and that morning, Spencer burst into the office, desperate and searching once more.  And then, he saw you wearing his scarf.  The Doctor Who scarf.  The scarf he’d knit himself, the scarf that had spent hours and hours in his hands, that scarf wrapped around your neck.  He froze.  The panic he had felt in the moments before faded away to nothing.  
No.  Not nothing.  It just faded to a different kind of panic.  An, “Oh my god, my cute co-worker is wearing a scarf I made,” type of panic.  A, “Holy shit, my mortal enemy is wearing something rope-like that I made around their neck what kind of day IS THIS,” type of panic.  
An, “Oh god, oh man, my cute co-worker is wearing something I made around their neck to keep warm in the cold,” kind of panic.
Put another way, Spencer went from one kind of panic to several kinds of panic, all before you looked up from your paperwork to catch his wide-eyed gaze.
“Good morning, Dr. Reid,” you said, reaching up to tuck the scarf tighter around your neck, as if you could hide it with such a simple gesture, “How are you?”
“I-” he stood there for a few moments, staring at you and willing the blush on his cheeks to stop burning.  It didn’t.  It burned harder.  Finally, Spencer choked out something, “Is that my scarf?”
“Perhaps,” you drew out the word, curling further into the chair and away from Spencer, “Why?”
“Well, first and foremost, the temperature is thirteen degrees lower than normal-”
“Did you check the thermostat?”  Your words were quiet, mumbled underneath your breath as an expression of genuine confusion rather than a petty, bitchy quip.
“Secondly, my scarf- my scarf that looks suspiciously similar to the one you’re wearing now- is missing.  At first I thought I misplaced it, but then… well,” he gestured vaguely to you, to the fabric draped around your throat, “I managed to put the pieces together.”
You pulled back further.  Spencer just rolled his eyes and stepped into the office.  He slapped his hands down on the desk, letting a loud bang echo through the room.  He smirked at the tiny squeak that escaped you.  Fucker.
“Well?” you asked, voice quiet and hands tight around the scarf, “Care to share, profiler boy?”
He scoffed, though the smile on his lips was genuine, “It wasn’t that difficult.  I came to work missing my scarf and the first thing I saw was my scarf wrapped around your neck.”
“Ah.  The case solved itself,” you paused, biting the inside of your cheek.  Another shiver ran through you, “I suppose you’ll want this back?”
Before you could move to remove the scarf, Spencer held up a hand to stop you, “Keep it.  At least, for now.  It’s cold, and I’ve got a sweater around here somewhere, and you-”
“Are a sweaterless bitch, yes, that’s an accurate take.”
Spencer choked and spluttered, his pink-toned cheeks burning an even darker red, “I- I wouldn’t put it like that-”
“That’s cool,” you shrugged, unfurling your body from the confines of the office chair, “I put it like that.  I am a bitch sans-sweater.  Sweaterless bitch.”
He put a hand up to his face, covering his eyes as he whispered a tiny little curse word.  You just smirked, pulling the scarf tighter around your neck as you stretched your legs out beneath the desk.
Spencer was pretty sure he was going to combust at this point.  You weren’t aware of this- but even so, you still managed to make his day harder.
“So, where did you get this?  It’s soft as fuck, I want, like, fifteen of them.”
Somehow, Spencer managed to avoid choking again, “I, uh, I made that.”
The smile that crossed your lips was blinding, “No shit?  Fuck.  You’re more talented than I thought, Dr. Reid.”
“Thank you?” He paused, awkwardly shuffling into the room and setting up for the day, “So, do you watch Doctor Who?”
“Oh shit,” you looked down at the scarf as it cascaded down your body, “Is this a Doctor Who thing?”
“It’s a replica of the scarf worn by Tom Baker who portrayed the fourth doctor from 1974 to 1981.  The original scarf was actually twenty feet long- the woman who made it wasn’t told how long the scarf needed to be, so she used all the yarn she was given.  It was only shortened slightly for the show’s production, but overall, the end result was very well loved by- oh,” he cut himself off, “Sorry.  I’ll-”
“Wait, why did you stop?”
Spencer raised an eyebrow, “Because I’m rambling?  And I’m sure you have work to do?  And you don’t watch the show, so-”
“Work?  Work is boring.  Give me the scarf lore.”
“The scarf lore for a show you don’t even watch?”
“Yes!  Look, I’ve always taken a more Rocky Horror route when it comes to sci-fi, but I might have to get into Doctor Who because of this.”
“You should!” Spencer lit up, practically glowing with excitement as he took a seat on the desk, “Especially the newer stuff, I think you’d really like what Russell T Davies has to offer as a showrunner.”
“Do you?” you leaned forward, trying not to grin, trying not to show that you were just as excited as he was.  You failed, “Tell me more, then.”
He did.  The two of you whiled away that morning, ignoring the cold in exchange for an impromptu lecture about British television.
-
A few hallways away, Professor Belker (the head of the criminology department) sat at her desk.  Before her, in two chairs, sat professors Peters and Evans.
“So…” Evans began, rubbing his arms as a weak defence against the cold.
“So,” Belker agreed.  None of them needed to state what they were agreeing upon.  Peters stated it anyway.
“Spencer and (Y/N) are fucking, right?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“It’s practically a guarantee at this point.  You don’t share an office with your mortal enemy unless you and that enemy are having… relations.”
“Wow, ‘mortal enemy.’  That’s intense, Belker,” Evans’ eyes got wide.
“It is.  I’m quoting them directly,” Belker replied, her body weighed down in a way that told the other profs that she had heard that quote a million times.
“Well, it was a good move to shut the heat off.  I saw (Y/N) with Spencer’s scarf, so…” Peters gave a large and unsubtle wink.
“I didn’t shut the heat off.  I thought about it, but-”
“It couldn’t have been you, Belk,” Evans interrupted, “I saw the preliminary report.  The power shut off in the middle of the night.”
“Huh.  That’s odd.”
“Odd indeed.”
A few more hallways away, a book fell off one of the many shelves in your office.  Your office.  The haunted office.  The ghost was getting her way, and lord help anyone who tried to stop her.
♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, @currentfications, @ilse235, @emagen, @foolishwaitersblog if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know :D
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Karma - Silvio Ricci x Reader (Ikemen Prince)
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A/N: Part of Visions of Temptation 2023 hosted by @xxsycamore
Pairing: Silvio Ricci x Reader
Prompt: Against a Wall
Word Count: 1205
Tags: NSFW; Minors - DNI; sex against a wall; overstimulation; begging; creampie; piv; female-bodied reader (no pronouns used)
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Absence makes the heart grow fonder – or that’s how the saying goes.
Silvio had been away from the palace on three separate extended trips in as many months. You understood when you entered into a relationship with Silvio that a chunk of his time would be spent away working. 
But, damnit. Just once you wanted him to feel how you felt when he was away – the ache in your heart knowing it would be days until you saw him, the loneliness of going to bed alone each night, and the torment of being without his touch for days on end. 
Every month it was you standing alone at the palace gates, waving goodbye to your lover as he set off for adventure. Sure, not every trip was glamorous or exciting – most times, Silvio was busy making deals to help his country. You knew that Silvio was a hard worker, and that while he was working, he had little time to dwell on missing you.
And that is exactly why you had worked so hard this week. Each and every day this week, you had done everything in your power to avoid him. If he asked you to join him for lunch, you conveniently had other plans you had forgotten about. If you saw him walking down the hallway, you immediately turned, and scurried the other way. And if he came to bed late at night, you rolled over and pretended to be asleep. 
This was all part of your master plan – to make Silvio miss you like you missed him. You wanted him to beg and plead and cry just to feel your touch on his skin, for your lips to graze against his in only a hint of a kiss, for your body to be so close to his he could feel your warmth.
Lucky for you, this experiment was ending tonight. Your plan was working. You saw the small frown that flashed across his face when you declined his lunch plans; you heard his sad sigh when he found you already asleep the other night. 
And after the ball tonight, all your wishes would come true.
Or so you had hoped.
*****
“With me. Now!” 
Silvio’s voice was a low growl in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin as he grabbed your wrist. The hint of a pleased smile spread on your lips as his thumb pressed down on your pulsepoint, practically dragging you from ballroom to bedroom.
Silvio kicked down the ornate doors leading to his bedroom, roughly pushing you inside before him.
“Silvio!” You feigned a sad frown as you rubbed your wrist, lamenting the loss of his touch upon your delicate skin. “What’s gotten into you?” you asked, batting your eyelashes innocently.
Closing his eyes, he let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “You did, woman,” he huffed out,  his eyes still closed. 
Your heart sang with joy, ready to celebrate this small victory. But victory was over as soon as it came; pressed up against the wall, Silvio’s imposing frame loomed over yours, his arms caging you, leaving you with no escape.
Cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb gently stroked your soft skin. “I know what you did,” he whispered, his face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin. Your heartbeat quickened as he dragged his hand down your face, his fingertip tracing a line down your throat and along the slope of your shoulder. 
“I know you have been avoiding me all week.” His hand fell from your shoulder down your arm, his calloused hand rough on your bare skin, your body trembling from his touch. He pushed his hips against yours; your core flooded with warmth, the outline of his erection pressing against you. 
“I know you were awake the other night.” Any sense of tenderness now gone, Silvio stared at you, his ocean eyes darkening like a storm out on sea. 
“Turn around. Hands against the wall.”
*****
Karma was a bitch.
It was supposed to be Silvio begging for you – but instead it was you.
“Silvio….ahhhh….”
His cock was buried deep inside you, his hips thrusting against yours at a merciless pace, your body this close to being wracked with your second orgasm of the evening. 
Your cries spurred him on, encouraging him to rail you harder and faster, if that was even possible. His stamina was normally very high, but tonight it was boundless.
Moaning loudly, the waves of pleasure overwhelmed your body as you reached your peak. You felt weak in the knees; Silvio’s cock, still inside you, decreasing his pace. 
He leaned over your back, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I know you have more in you,” he whispered, leaving a biting kiss on your neck. You let out another moan, softer, resigned in knowing he was not done with you yet.
Pulling his cock out, your arousal trickled down your thigh slowly. He roughly spun you around, a wicked grin adorning his handsome face, his hair slicked back, sweaty. 
“Silvio…” Your voice was breathless as you spoke, his name the only word on your tongue. A shiver ran down your spine, your body trembled. Your eyes lidded, you looked away, not wanting him to see how badly you desired him.
He slid a hand up your skirt, his fingers teasing your clit. Your lips parted as you sighed softly, your body betraying you.
Removing his hand, he smirked at you. “All this and you still want more?” 
Your head bobbed, an imperceptible nod. But a nod, no less. Lifting you in his arms, he pinned you against the wall with one arm, while the other lifted your skirts, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist.  
He cupped your cheek, bringing your gaze to his. “I want to see your face when I ….” He easily pushed his cock in one swift thrust, your back arched, the stretch rough and pleasurable 
No need to wait for you to adjust to his size, he immediately began to rock his hips against yours, his pace just as merciless as before. Moans slipped from your lips as he ravaged your body, waves of pleasure quickly building in your core.
Closing your eyes, you succumbed to his movements, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to last much longer like this. Silvio grunted a few times, his cock hitting deeper inside with each thrust.
“Look at me,” he said, demanding that you open your eyes. Blinking, you found him smiling as you let out a strangled moan, the pleasure cresting inside you.
“Ahhh…” he groaned as his cock twitched inside you. His body tensed as he stayed inside you, spilling his seed. 
Gathering you in his arms, he carried you over to the bed, gently laying you down on the plush coverings. He helped undress you, doing much of the work as your body rested blissfully. After he undressed and got ready for bed, he returned to your side, pulling you close to him, your head resting on his chest. 
“I’ll have to make you miss me again soon,” he whispered, placing a kiss on your temple, your eyes already closed, barely registering the implications of his words.
Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage @nightghoul381 @itsjudesfault @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu
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my rewatch of broadchurch has reminded me of how much i love the idea of hopper taking on steve as an intern and showing him the ropes of policework. so, uh, here's a little thing i might make into an actual fic one of these days:
it's not steve's first choice of job. but it was offered to both him and robin, it pays well, it gets his dad off his back. or maybe worse. ("finally getting your life together, are you? finally got yourself an actual career.")
at first, it's simple, easy. reports, paperwork, sometimes some leg work. hopper oversees steve and robin's training personally. he says it's because they show potential; while that may be true, steve also suspects that hop's been told to keep an eye on the two of them by the shady government agents who have been lingering around hawkins—most of them pretending to be regular people, but the townspeople know better. everyone knows everyone in a small town like hawkins, and after the hellscape the town became, people have their own theories about what happened. most of them are pretty close, almost all of them including a government conspiracy.
for the few months, that's all they do. chase after the people who get too close to the truth, hush them up before the papers can snap up the story. they can't stop them all, but for the most part, people outside of hawkins write it off as lunacy. steve and hopper are thankful for that.
two years. two years of pure silence from any related to the upside down; no demodogs, no labs, no doctors, no psychic children. just eleven—jane, now—with the hopper-byers, and she hasn't used her powers for anything other than making max's life easier. the party's gone back to playing d&d together regularly, even though their parents tease them they're too old to be playing it in mike's basement.
and then, a couple months after the anniversary of will's disappearance, the world starts to crack again.
not really, not literally, not like it did when vecna split hawkins into four chunks of hell. but it's close, because steve can feel the world shift and begin to fall, just like it did then. it's worse this time, though, because he didn't really notice last time. he was too wrapped up in himself, in high school, in tommy and carol, in nancy. but this time? this time steve is fully aware of just how disastrous the world is.
it's a body. it's a young boy. all of hawkins stills because it's a little too similar.
when he's found, nobody knows who it is. the body's in the quarry, found by a group of young kids playing a little too close to the edge. (the town starts to get uneasy.)
the police retrieve the body. the family's contacted privately. the mother screams and wails that she was right, that she knew, that if they had just listened to her—
they realize, too late, that a missing persons report was filed about the boy two days ago. hopper hates how much the woman reminds him of joyce.
the autopsy is performed, and it confirms that the boy is really this woman's son. hopper insists on being present for the autopsy, just a little too worried it would be another fake.
for a while, steve is convinced it has to be related to what happened in the early 80s. hopper is, too, until that autopsy. after that, he tells steve it's a perfectly normal murder case.
it takes a while before steve believes him. only after that does he start to think that a regular murder case is even worse.
"i hate these small town murders," hopper says to him one day. "too many secrets about too many people get uncovered. things we never should know."
"but we're the police, shouldn't we know these things? if people are threatening and blackmailing and committing petty crimes, shouldn't we know?" steve asks, confused as to why hopper seems to be okay with these things—small compared to a murder, but big to a small town—happening all the time under their noses.
because that's what has been happening. backs are turning quickly. the town is becoming violent, accusing anyone and everyone who is slightly suspicious as the boy's killer.
"in a regular small town, it wouldn't be as big of a deal," hopper says. "even then, some things are just better left unsaid. but here? there's too many secrets we need to keep. secrets unrelated to this case. secrets that could get the soviets interested again."
and the idea of that makes steve shudder, his body remembering pain he had never really gotten rid of, always feeling it when it's too cold or raining.
robin shares similar ideas to hopper. "all these accusations," she says one night, when it's just them in the office because hop sent everybody else home and he's in the next room making coffee, "doesn't it scare you? like imagine if somebody turns on...i don't know, jonathan or...or nancy? i mean nancy owns guns and people know about it—"
"the boy wasn't shot, robs."
"—and jonathan, i mean, everybody who went to school with us heard about you breaking the camera and why you did it. they might..."
steve shakes his head. "i wish i hadn't, robs. especially now."
"i know that, that's not what i'm saying. my point is, we've all got dirt, every single one of us. eddie's been accused of murder before, who's to say they won't do it again? even if it doesn't make sense, neither do the people they target now. anyone who's done any wrong is in the risk of it being made public. and if that happened to us? if people find out about el, about vecna, about will? what happens then?"
she's worked herself up into a panic, steve can tell. but this time, he doesn't really know what to say. he doesn't know what will happen. the government agents who watched them for months before they disappeared all at once never made verbal threats, but the threat of their presence was enough to silence everyone.
the only thing he can think to say is "eddie's on tour with the guys right now, he's safe from all of this."
"until they get back, then everyone will become the next jason carver," robin says, and steve begs her not to bring him back up.
secrets get dug up as the case drags on, only getting further and further away from closure. affairs, bullying, threats, drugs, alcohol, robbery. whatever small, dirty secret the town could possibly have, it does have, and it gets dug up and aired out like dirty laundry.
steve watches the town pretend to be shocked at every new revelation. it doesn't hurt very much until he watches the entire town pretend that they—and he—didn't know his dad was cheating on his mom and has been for years; that still doesn't hurt as much as the pitying looks they give him when he shows up to ask questions or to take their statements; and that still doesn't compare to the looks everyone gives his mom.
he watches his mom lose her love of life. it was fine, or they could pretend it was fine, before everybody knew (officially) about his dad's infidelity. they could pretend it wasn't happening. they pretended it was some big business meeting or a dinner with a client or whatever it was, except what it actually was.
that's what hurts steve most about policework. watching people go under for things that have nothing to do with him. watching people lose family and livelihoods over mistakes made years ago. watching the life drain from a community, replaced by suspicion and anger and hatred.
because if he stops and thinks about it, steve doesn't really mind it otherwise. he likes the thrill, the facts fitting together, the possibility that they might actually be right.
and when they are right, even after countless wrong leads, steve feels the relief deep in his bones. he feels it in the town, too, feels people start to breathe again and start to go back to normal and live their lives again.
he knows it's not normal again, not really. how can it be? but he watches the case go to trial, he watches it go right, he watches the killer go to jail. he watches the family finally breathe again, hears the mother thank him and robin and hopper, sees them try to go back to their lives and do they best they can.
it's not normal, but it's better. it's better than it was, because the accusations are gone now, what's been dug up has either been forgotten or left alone or maybe it has changed lives, but people are moving on. sweeping it under the rug like it never even happened.
there are some divorces in the following weeks—the couples whose infidelity was discovered. the police chase a few domestic abuse reports. steve handles a few of them, because he's learned to handle the punches now. there'a crackdown on illicit substances. steve and robin are glad eddie's quit all of that now, that he had given it up years ago.
the world stops ending. steve knows it'll end again someday, more often if he ever ends up in a big city. but for now, it's over and he can go back to his boring old police routine.
steve likes "boring" these days. boring is a safety net, something to fall back into when things get exciting.
the other thing steve likes about policework—it is exciting. sometimes. sometimes, it makes him feel alive again.
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Alexandra's Evolution Chapter Eight: Fare-Dodging Creepy-Crawly - Part Three
Fandom: Primeval Wordcount: 3.5k Warning: Hospitals
Alex, Nick and Leek negotiate with Lester while Stephen recovers. The complications of working for the ARC make themselves present in Alex's personal life
Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
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“Arms up.” Alex shakes a soft grey shirt at her uncle. 
“I understand why you got so offended by this when you were three.” Stephen, sitting up in the hospital bed, pulls a disapproving face. There’s still a great wad of gauze strapped to his shoulder, the strips of bandage wrapping around his chest to keep it in place. Doctor Lewis is worried about the wound reopening and bleeding again.
“Up!” Alex insists, grinning.
“Christ.” Stephen groans, rubbing his eyes. Reluctantly, he lifts his arms so Alex can help him. Not above his head, he hasn’t got that mobility yet, just to be level with his shoulders. The shirt she’d picked out for him is at least very stretchy, so he doesn’t have to move much to get it on. 
“This is your punishment.” 
“If we’d let you dress yourself you’d have gone to nursery in nowt but tutus and wellies.”
“I stand by my decisions. Cold?” she asks, rummaging through the bag.
“Cold. Blue jumper?” Stephen asks. Alex pulls it out of the bag by the sleeve, “You lived in those wellies.”
“The spotty ones?” She remembers those wellies, bright red with symmetrical black spots and a smiley face on the toe. Her ladybug boots. Always covered in mud. Sand. Soil. Grass. Eventually her grandmother had given up hosing them down every time Alex traipsed home from wherever her explorations had taken her that day.
“Yeah, the spotty ones. Nonna was worried you’d have mould down there if we ever got them off you,” in response, Alex pushes her trainers off and wiggles a foot at Stephen, “God, don’t make me pass out again.” Alex laughs and pretends to smother him with the jumper she’s helping him get over his head. Stephen’s laughing too. It’s nice. “What’s the time?” he asks once the clothes are on, letting himself lean back against the pillows of the bed.
“Two. ‘s long as the trains work Nick should get here before three,” Alex answers, settling back into her hard orange chair and pulling her shoes back on, “Then when they kick us out of here we can go back to Battersea, take your laundry.”
“Like bloody maids,” Stephen says, in his best mimicry of Nick, “D’you finish your essay?” he asks, indicating the notebook Alex had left on the bedside table, thick with notes and constant thumbing-through.
“Managed a good chunk while you were asleep.”
“Good. What’s it on, again?” His memory’s been spotty since he came round. He has little to no memory of the day he’d been bitten, or the attack itself, and he’s been struggling to remember things since. He’d gone through a couple scans after the anti-venom had taken effect to make sure the venom hadn’t affected his brain. There’s no serious damage, and Doctor Lewis says his memory should snap back soon.
“Mammoth teeth.” Alex answers. It’s the fourth time she’s told him this week.
“I look forward to marking it.” Stephen remarks, pulling at the plastic bracelet with his name and birthday stated on it. 
“Ah, think Teach’ll let you off this onc-” Alex is cut off by a clatter outside the room, as though someone’s bumped into the lunch trolley she’d pushed out there when Stephen’s appetite had reached its currently rather limited end. 
“Oh, told you you shouldn’t put it out there, go make sure no one’s done themselves an injury.”
“Didn’t think anyone would miss it sitting there, did I?” Alex asks, but she pushes herself up and towards the door. When she pushes it open she certainly sees the lunch trolley, the plastic tray upended on the floor, but no one around who would have knocked it. “Hello?” she’s reminded of the day Stephen had been bitten, she’d thought she’d heard someone out here then. Ah well. Probably some other shuffling patient catching it on their way past. Alex curses quietly and squats to pick up the ham salad sandwich that has fallen to pieces on the floor. At least Stephen had drunk all the orange juice. The quiet squeaking of sensible shoes pulls Alex’s concentration upwards. Doctor Lewis is making her way down the corridor, looking up from her clipboard when she finds an obstacle in the plastic cup that’s rolled away from the crash site.
“Are you alright, Alex?” She asks, crouching to pick up the cup.
“Fine, yourself?” Alex asks in return. Doctor Lewis gestures at the mess with her pen, “I dunno, heard it fall but didn’t see what happened.” Alex collects the last of the sandwich, dumps it on the plate and puts the plate back on the trolley, pumping sanitiser onto her hands as she rises to her feet. “He’s doing alright. Mobility’s good, memory’s still a bit fried. No bleeding.”
“All good to hear, Alex.” Doctor Lewis says, letting Alex into Stephen’s room first. He’s just put his phone down. A message from Nick. Alex gathers her things while the doctor does her routine checks on Stephen’s breathing, heartbeat, oxygen levels and so on. Alex isn’t really paying attention. “Did you hear me, Alex?” she looks up from her phone, wide-eyed,
“Uh. No?”
“I can go home tomorrow.” Stephen says.
“As long as your physical state doesn’t deteriorate, which is unlikely, yes, you can go home tomorrow.” Doctor Lewis elaborates. Stephen narrows his eyes a little,
“Will we know someone with a working car tomorrow?” he asks. The exhaust had dropped clean off Nick’s company pick-up the day before yesterday, and has since been diagnosed with several other problems that he’s going to have to bill the university for.
“Should do, yeah.”
“Should?” 
“I’ll work something out.” Alex promises. Doctor Lewis nods at her, smiling, and notes something down on her clipboard before she leaves.
“What’s the message?” Stephen asks, indicating Alex’s phone with his chin.
“Nick.”
“Car?”
“Still fucked, as far as I know. Leek’s got him that meeting with Lester early though.”
“How early?”
“This afternoon. He’s checking in on Connor down the Underground then he’s going to come get me,” Alex squints at her phone, “Oh shit, we’re going to the Home Office. Leek’s taking us.”
“That…sounds serious.” Stephen remarks, relaxing further into the bed
“It does,” Alex agrees. Her phone rings, McFly, “Gotta take this, Steve.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Stephen waves a dismissive hand. He’s tired, wanting to rest. Alex takes the waving hand and squeezes it once before lifting her bag up onto her shoulder,
“Nick’ll check in, I’ll see you tomorrow!” she calls back to him on her way out of the room, pushing her phone up to her ear with her shoulder, “Juke, yeah, can you give us a hand tomorrow? Or two hands and a set of wheels?”
***
This meeting is indeed serious. Nick had brought Helen’s old funeral suit for Alex to wear and she’d damn near toppled onto the floor of the car trying to get into the pencil skirt. Her shirt has been deemed suitable for the occasion as long as she covers it with Helen’s dusty blazer, which she gives a good shake before sliding on.
“You still have your wife’s clothes?” Leek had asked at one point, eyes resolutely fixed directly ahead of him. He got a very cold look from Nick. 
Alex, in Helen’s skirt suit, now stands between Nick in his Serious Meetings great-coat-fresh-shirt combo and Leek in a suit no one’s quite sure if they’ve seen him in before. Government officials sit around a circular table. Neither Alex or Nick can name anyone but Lester, who paces slowly around the table. Nick has his hands in his pockets, glancing at Alex occasionally to see the notes she’s taking on the slim police-style notebook she’s been permitted to have. It’s going to be checked after the meeting. Alex lifts her foot to rub the back of her calf. A screen on the other side of the room is playing a video Connor had recorded while Leek had been driving to the Home Office.
The magnetic field is remaining consistent at about five Tesla, Leek clicks his little clicker remote,
“And that is what, exactly?” he asks, gesturing vaguely towards his team. Alex scrawls a couple quick numbers and answers,
“Just over three times the magnetic strength of your standard MRI scanner, which is already enough to cause injury between jewellery and internal metal devices such as-”
“Thank you, Alex.” Lester cuts her off and presses play on Connor’s video,
At this point there’s no sign of deterioration, he demonstrates with his own water bottle, tapping it with nails to prove it is in fact metal before he lets it go. The anomaly sucks the bottle in, startling the hazmat suit that had been trying to take a reading. Connor whoops and strikes an impulsive pose when the bottle disappears. As Lester passes Nick he whispers,
“We may be standing on the brink of Armageddon but at least we have a couple of irritating students on our side,” he waits until Connor draws the video to a rather surprised close that the cameras hadn’t yet been cut to raise his voice and address the room as he takes his seat, “The previous anomaly proved to be temporary, but as you’ve just heard this one shows no signs of weakening-”
“The anomalies may be intermittent,” Nick isn’t supposed to cut in here, “And they fade from time to time but they never completely disappear.”
“The first of our official anomaly sites still measures zero-point-six Tesla on average,” Alex adds, nodding to Leek to move on to the next slide that holds the graph charting magnetic flux at the first anomaly site compared to the second, “However it did spike at point-nine-two on Wednesday, which was the first time I took the measurements after the appearance of the second anomaly.” She’s following the numbers of her script. 
“It’s incredibly likely that anomalies have spun into existence before, you were noticing these patterns months before you took us on. They might have existed for centuries. Those ancient civilisations that spoke of monsters and dragons, maybe they weren’t as naive as we think they were, creatures of the past were coming through to them as they’re coming through to us now,” Nick hesitates, considers, “These anomalies are conclusive proof that the past exists in a fourth dimension as real and solid as those we already know. Our job is to predict and contain them to prevent the past from unravelling.”  Leek steps forward, settling into the public speaking posture Alex has come to recognise. It’s how he had approached them at the bar in the Forest of Dean,
“It’s the classic conundrum of the butterfly effect. All a creature has to do is step through the anomaly and the path of evolution may be altered. Destroy that creature, destroy the timeline, in essence. We didn’t understand that before and rather unfortunately took a guns-forward approach, but we now understand that this is neither sustainable nor humane,” Alex and Nick have to admit, it’s a smooth little speech. Nick hadn’t practised his words much, but had Leek? The next click of his remote brings him to a slide displaying a number of headlines that have cropped up during the ARC’s first year of operation. Tabloids mostly, with blurry photos of something unknown. Monster Hoax Or Truly Beastly is among them, and beside it the enhanced photograph of the Gorgonopsid, “Plus, if this operation did ever come to be in the public space, a record of intentionally attacking and killing creatures from our own past will not put us in a good light. We want public safety, support and cooperation. We won’t have that if we continue to act as we do.”
“Alright, Leek, get to the point, what’s the idea?” Lester. A set of heels and a pen are tapping impatiently, though attention had certainly been caught at the suggestion of negative public opinion.
“The idea is we get rid of the military escort,” Nick says, his irritation at not being taken seriously starting to crack through, “Stephen Hart, Alex Hart and Abby Maitland all hold valid gun licences and are all trained in the use of tranquiliser darts, with the Harts also having trained in the use of live rounds. They’re all the protection we need to investigate an anomaly and determine whether any creature that may have come through is actually dangerous or not. Alex, you have some numbers?”
“I do,” Alex answers, trying to remember the percentages Lorraine had messaged her on the way here, “In the case of the Gorgonopsid, yes, having soldiers available was helpful because that creature was actively hunting a small child. In the case of the dog in Madame Tussauds, however…not so much. Somewhere between seventy and eighty percent of our creature reports in the last two months have actually stemmed from bogus sightings of big cats or lost dogs, and on three occasions a flock of peacocks escaped from their stately home-” she’s losing their attention, she knows it, but she doesn’t know how to get it back. She glances at Nick, but the look he returns is encouraging. Leek, however, picks up on it and takes the reins,
“Frankly, it’s a waste of money. Tax-payer money. You all voted to take a scientific lead on this, but that hasn’t happened yet. You asked for an update two months after hiring this team, and this is it.”
Silence falls. They’ve concluded their presentation. There’s nothing left to say, nothing that they managed to go over on the car journey here. Lester raises his eyebrows, questioning. Nick opens his mouth. Lester’s eyebrows settle in a hard line,
“This is a debrief, not a lecture, professor. Off you go.”
***
Tomorrow comes more slowly than expected, as if it knows Alex is waiting. She’s delayed once, twice in getting to the hospital. The car park is so full that on the fourth rotation she pops the door open and tumbles out. When she finds Stephen’s room, she hears another voice coming from it,
“You really can’t remember a thing?” Connor. Alex doesn't know why Connor’s here, he doesn’t have a car or really anything useful to offer Stephen right now, but he’s here.
“Not a thing after I went into the tunnels.” Stephen answers gamely.
“Feeling alright then?” Alex asks, stepping through the door to find Stephen shoving every one of his belongings into his bag.
“I’m fine,” Stephen insists before addressing Connor again, “Still, they say it should be only short term, you know?” Connor looks confused, “The memory, Connor.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Connor leans against the nearest counter space. Alex toes her shoes off and settles cross-legged on the bed Stephen has vacated. Turning to her, Stephen gestures drinking and Alex picks up his bottle from the nightstand and tosses it to him. “It’s all been a bit scary, innit?” Connor asks, “You know, it’s not until you got bitten that I thought that one of us might actually die from doing this,” these are quite bleak words coming from someone dressed in a shirt patterned with peace signs, “It really upset me.” Stephen looks up from his packing. Considers. Then decides on, 
“You must have gone through hell!” Stephen says, voice dripping with mock-concern. Without missing a beat Connor agrees with him, nodding. A brief moment passes before all three of them let themselves smile, a quiet laugh leaking from Connor. 
“It did make me think about what’s important though, you know? Sorts out your priorities a bit.” Connor goes on.
“Does it now?” Alex asks, still smiling, waiting for the punchline.
“If you get killed, can I get your iPod?” There it is. 
“Fat chance, I stand to inherit everything!” Alex laughs, picking at the hospital blanket.
“Everything, she says,” Stephen remarks, “Old band shirts and a gun.”
“And a DVD player.” Alex points out.
“And a DVD player.” Stephen repeats in agreement. He pauses in his packing and rubs his chest.
“Sit down, old man.” Alex tells him, reaching out to tug at his sleeve. He relents and perches on the side of the bed.
“There’s only ten years between us, Allie.” Stephen reminds her. Connor watches them like a tennis match, excited to be learning more about these people he’s been watching from afar for so long.
“Ten years?” Abby breezes through the door. 
“At least warn me before Leek arrives.” Stephen sighs, but Alex knows his sighs. He’s happy to see them, happy they’ve come.
“But really, ten years, is that all?” Abby asks. She’s wearing the same grin as Connor. Alex pats her uncle on the head,
“You should nearly die more often, look at this outpouring of affection for you.”
“Yeah, did you all come here just to make fun of me?” Stephen asks. Abby moves to stand next to Connor, leaning against the same countertop. 
“Don’t flatter yourself, some of us just like to hang out with the nurses.” The nurse in the next room is doing a very good job of pretending not to hear them. Abby elbows him sharply before pulling keys out of her pocket. They give off a light sound reminiscent of Tinker Bell,
“I came to take you home. Professor’s car’s still out of order, right?” she says. Stephen turns to look at Alex,
“Alex’s boyfriend is picking us up, Abby.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Thanks, Connor.” Alex drawls, eyes rolling. Abby elbows him again and whispers, Rude! Alex’s gaze shifts from Connor to the door, and the widest smile of the day spreads across her face, “Juke! Got the car parked okay?”
“It’s about three miles away, but it’ll work,” Juke smiles back, moving towards Alex, “Alright, Steve?” Stephen nods. Juke rests a hand on Alex’s shoulder, fingers sneaking under her hair to sit on the nape of her neck.
“Juke?” Connor whispers. Connor can’t whisper.
“Better than Jezza, trust me. Jeremy McCall.” He leans over the hospital bed to shake hands with Abby,
“Yeah, I’ll stick with Juke,” she says, “Abby Maitland.” Connor shakes hands with him too, saying his own name.
“Connor’s on my course and Abby works at the zoo, they’re on the research program with us.” Alex jumps in with the explanation she’s given Juke before either of them try and cover for how they know Stephen.
“Still waiting for my invitation to this program.” Juke says, still smiling. He and Alex are almost equal in height when standing together, no more than two inches between them. His hair’s almost long enough to be tied up and could be described as red if one was struggling for any other word. 
“I got in through nepotism, I think significant others of nieces of significant others is stretching that a bit too far.” Alex’s nose scrunches, tipping her head back to look up at him. Juke wrinkles his own nose in return before pushing Alex’s head upright. He points at Connor with his free hand,
“So, you’ll be on your last year of the whole Palaeontology with Cryptozoology too, right? You going the full PhD like Al?” Juke fiddles with the neck of Alex’s shirt.
“Uh, I…I dunno…uh. Abby, want to tell him what you do?”
“Oh, I studied zoology, I was going to specialise in a branch of herpetology, but I got the chance to work at the zoo.” Abby jumps in for him. Connor lies as well as he whispers, and any talk of his future would involve the ARC and he doesn’t know how to work around that subject yet. Abby seems happy to fill in, “What, uh, do you study?”
“Oh, I’m a vet student up Camden way,” Juke rakes his free hand through his hair, subtly checking his watch, “And this lot are lucky I have a working car or they’d be up shit creek without a paddle.”
“Exactly where did you park the car?” Alex asks sweetly.
“In one of the ambulance bays.” Juke answers.
“Oh that, that’s definitely illegal.” Connor says, twisting to see if the nurse is still pretending not to see them. Stephen taps Alex’s arm before he picks up his bag and she leans forward to pull her shoes back on,
“Guess we’d better scarper then.” He says.
“Either of you need a lift?” Juke offers.
“Abby has the car, she’s taking Connor!” Alex blurts, trying to disguise her panicked words and quick hop off the hospital bed with a wide smile.
“I am?” Abby asks, then, “Tone, sorry, yes, I am. Taking Connor home.” Abby smiles too, baring a few too many teeth to be genuine. When Juke moves to take Stephen’s bag off him, Abby shrugs theatrically to Alex over his head. Connor gives them an encouraging thumbs-up. They’ve put their smiles back on by the time Juke straightens up and pulls Alex’s bag from her shoulder.
“Ready, then?” he asks. Alex lets him take her hand. Stephen’s a little miffed about being fussed over, he’s a bad patient, but he admits,
“Ready.”
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aprilisque · 1 year
Text
I'll miss you forever
It's been over a week and time hasn't felt real. The days have morphed into a mess of tears, pain, regret and pretend. The temperatures have since then lowered, the weather has gotten colder and the world has lost its color. It's been raining a lot. And that rain has eventually turned to snow. It's as if nature itself has been grieving the loss of one of its brightest souls. Yours.
It's been over a week and it still doesn't feel real. Or maybe I just haven't come to terms with accepting that you're now gone forever, stripped of life and buried six feet deep. The sun continues go up and down, despite the grey weather and the night sky doesn't look any different. The world keeps moving. Life keeps going on. It's as if nothing ever happened. It feels cruel. The way the world doesn't stop for anyone or anything, even though it feels like my world has stopped on January 27th, dragged around piece by piece each passing day.
You were my best friend and the man I'd grown to love in the nineteen years I've been alive. You were the one I told everything to, the one who truly listened and remembered, the one who supported me no matter what I did and the one who was always proud of me, even when there wasn't much to be proud for. You were the one that made me laugh with your silly jokes, saw me as the mature person I've always been, cared for my thoughts and opinions and showed me nothing but love. You paid attention to me and entertained me when I was bored. You were always down to play chess, cards or dominoes with me, even when you didn't feel like it. You could never say no to me. You would help me with my math homework growing up, finding the same textbook from one of your friends so you could follow me over the phone or writing things down as I read them to you. You would always be so patient, never judging me for the mistakes I'd often made. I was never that good at math, but you always made me feel as if I was. You always supported my hobbies, especially writing. You always told me I had a gift, even though you'd never read any of my english pieces since you didn't understand english. But whenever you'd see me write, you never failed to praise or encourage me. Remember the walks we'd take every summer I would visit? How you'd always buy me ice cream, even though we already had ice cream at home. How we'd sit on cafes every now and then and you would tell me to order whatever I wanted. How you would tell me stories from your youth and things no one else in our family knew. But you liked to tell me things. And I liked hearing them.
And now I'll no longer be able to hear them again. Nor will I be able to hear your voice, see you, hug you and tell you how much I loved you. And how my heart is now missing a huge chunk of it, because it went with you. You were the best grandfather I could've ever asked for. You loved me unconditionally as if I was your own child. And though you may no longer be with us, I'll always keep you close and make sure your memory stays alive for as long as I am alive. I love you. Always and forever.
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albertxylin · 1 year
Text
Hector
“Ah, thank fuck you’re still here.” Jack wheezed as he approached the beach, thongs slapping like a ballsack on a perfect ass. He hefted the folded up beach chair back onto his shoulder, as it threatened to slip off his sweaty, red skin.
He’d never been the type of bloke to slip slop slap, and he wasn’t starting now, even as he started to look like a roast ham. As long as he didn’t start smelling like one.
He put down the esky he’d been carrying, pulling at and flapping his singlet to try and cool down even a smidge. “You’d think there’d be more of a breeze at a fuckin’ beach, but I guess I can’t complain.”
Jack opened the cooler, letting out a groan as he reached down and felt his back pop in two different places. He grabbed a chunk of ice, the kind you buy in bags that look like cheezels that always end up fusing together into bricks of glass coral you need to break up with a hammer, rubbing it on his face, over his arms, and his pits.
In that order.
He reached for the true prize, cracking open a can of VB with a practiced motion. The green and red can glistened with spots of condensation, sparkling in the summer sun.
He drained half of it in one go, letting out a belch he was proud of. He took out another one, popping the tab and placing it on the sand.
Jack sighed, putting down the nectar of the gods in order to set up the beach chair, metal frame digging into the blazing sand as he settled into the fabric backing.
“It was a fucked trip up here, hey? Sorry I’m so late, had to come a lot farther than last year. I’m glad I didn’t miss you. Got myself a gig in the big smoke!” He chuckled to himself. “I know, right? Me, in Sydney. Fuckin’ hell.”
Jack shook his head, a slight cheeky smile that didn’t reach his eyes renting his face.
“Think you’d like it, it’s chockablock with wankers. The beaches are crowded and frankly Bondi and Manly aren’t as good as they look on the telly, but it’s still nice. Lots of fancy food options that taste pretty decent, even if they cost fuckin’ four times what they should.”
He paused, shifting in his seat and hearing the metal groan.
“Mind you, working in a skyscraper is fucked. Every time I look out the window, my heart damn near stops! You know the Sydney Tower, right? The place I work is half as tall. It’s ridiculous. People look like ants down there. They’re so fuckin’ tiny and, idunno but it puts things in perspective. How small we all are, if you think about it.”
Jack thought about it.
He sat there, staring at nothing, absentmindedly sipping the beer long past the point of emptiness.
He came back to the present, hollow can at his lips, and lowered it.
“Guess we’ve both got our heads in the clouds hey?”
He howled, laughing until it hurt, until his stomach cramped and tears started to form in the corners of his eyes.
Jack forced himself to laugh, even as it turned into a wail, until there was no way he could brush off the fact that he was actually just crying now. He had always been hurting; the laughter just gave him an excuse to feel it without being ten drinks deep, sitting alone in an empty apartment.
He drank the next three beers in silence, refusing to acknowledge the wet spots on his face, and if anyone asked he’d swear it was just oddly placed sweat.
“I know you’re not there. I know I’m talking to the clouds like I’m fucked in the head. But, idunno, pretending for a moment that this Hector is you…it makes me feel like you’re not gone, yknow?”
Jack knew. The Hector he knew was an urn in the ground and no amount of delusion or conveniently named meteorological features was going to change that.
“I wish I didn’t miss you. But it, it...” He hesitated, as if complaining would make the hand of god come down and slap him across the back of his head like his old supervisor.
“It wasn’t fair,” he whispered, as if to remind himself that Hector deserved better.
As if he could ever forget.
He looked down, eyes unfocused, seeing his neon orange shorts that he’d bought for a laugh with all the other brickies. With Hector.
Some things never leave you, and Jack was still lightning quick at building walls.
“You’re a good listener, anyone ever tell you that?” The smile he forced onto his face was still fake, but it was enough to stop him from crying.
Jack stayed there, drinking in silence until the sun had set, and Hector the cloud had dissipated for the day.
He picked up that beer he’d set aside when he sat down and tipped it upside down, turning the dry sand below into a clumpy brown mess.
“See you next time, Hector. I miss ya, you bastard.”
He packed everything up, kicked some fresh sand over the wet spot, and buried his heart along with it. He’d find it again next year. And if not, it wasn’t like he was using it anyway.
---
“Get up to much on the weekend?” Michael, his boss, was in the elevator with him, wearing a grey suit and sipping from a keepcup of coffee.
Jack stood in the nest of steel and chrome, of sharp angles and cold echoes and dead stone, and tried not to fidget in his itchy, ill-fitting black suit. Nobody had mentioned it, out of pity more than politeness he was sure.
He stifled a yawn, taking a sip from his own cup of terrible coffee.
“Not really, just went to see an old friend.” He shrugged, trying not to wince at the way fabric dug into his shoulders. He wouldn’t mind having to wear a piece of shit if it wasn’t an expensive piece of shit to boot.
“Sounds nice.” Michael replied, turning away from him to indicate that this session of small talk was over, and that it was time to stand in the elevator in silence for the remaining half a minute until they got to their floor.
“Yeah, it was.” Jack smiled, and though it only lasted for a second, it was the realest display of emotion he’d ever shown in this building, and nobody saw it.
That was fine by him.
As the door opened with a chime he was already sick of, as thoughts about the beach were replaced by spreadsheets and emails, Jack prepared himself for another day of sucking corporate dick and doing nothing of substance or significance.
But when 3pm rolled around, when everyone started to bite back yawns and search for caffeine, he looked out of the floor-to-ceiling window in his too-high office. He didn’t look down, not at the city and its circuit board of buildings, but up at an empty void of blue.
Jack closed his eyes for a moment longer than he needed to, and imagined the sky three thousand kilometres away.
He saw a cumulonimbus cloud start to form, and his beating heart nestled in warm sand under its gaze.
0 notes
tfrohock · 1 year
Text
The stages of grief and yes I'm writing about Twitter again
I know some folks are still locked in the denial, anger, bargaining, depression stages over the loss of Twitter to Elon Musk’s ego, but I’ve moved to acceptance. I got there about the time Musk allowed the rabble to take over again, and whether you decide to stay or go, I have some thoughts for you.
This is going to be long, so buckle up.
I want to begin by saying that Twitter did and does matter to a lot of people, especially to those who use the platform to market their own small businesses. If those people choose to stay because of the online collateral they've built over many, many years, no one should judge them for that.
Before Musk took over, I had almost 3,000 followers. That definitely made it worth my time to stay, I will definitely miss Twitter. It was a great place to pop in, catch up with friends and business, and pop out again.
Unfortunately, with Musk's continued degradation of the site and its brand, I've lost a good chunk of my followers, who have fled for what they perceive to be safer online communities. If I've lost the everyday users, who are there because they enjoy following authors, I've lost my audience, and while I enjoy being with my colleagues, I also follow many of them on various sites that lack the clown-car-on-fire/rage-machine Twitter is about to become.
I, like many others, cannot deactivate my account. If I deactivate my account, I lose the username @T_Frohock on Twitter, and that name can be assumed by anyone who wants it. That username is associated with me and my novels, so I consider it part of my brand, and I’m loathe to let it go. Maybe that’s part of my ego, but I also don’t want people pretending to be me contacting my agent or publisher on Twitter.
What I will do is remove any links to Twitter from my digital footprint wherever I'm able to do so (my website, my Goodreads page, etc.). I also won't be posting on Twitter. I will be checking my username/brand from time to time and also checking in with publishing professionals and other authors who have chosen to stay for as long as Twitter remains online.
However, I won't be spending a great deal of time there. Musk is counting on controversy to generate users and clicks, but I, for one, am exhausted by rich-people posturing and playing victim. I'm sure others are, too.
And those people who are sick of the controversies will leave.
What Musk doesn’t seem to understand, or doesn’t care about, is that advertisers will leave, too. The majority of advertisers don't want their various brands associated narcissistic-Nazi-vaccine-denying weirdos and their disinformation. Companies, whether they be big or small, tend to protect the sanctity of their brand as zealously as they guard their corporate secrets. Because of Twitter's degradation, they’ll choose to spend their online marketing time and advertising dollars elsewhere.
For those who choose to stay:
You are in charge of your feed and what you see. Cultivate it carefully. When it comes to trolls, block liberally and frequently if the need arises. Don’t engage. Also, let your followers know that you're not going to tolerate disinformation or the spread of fascist propaganda—even to dunk on it. Then act accordingly and mercilessly.
Set boundaries and stick to them. None of us need people around us, either IRL or online, who do nothing but try to antagonize us. Personally, I'm angry enough without anyone's help.
If you have any apps connected with Twitter, I highly suggest you revoke all permissions immediately if you haven't already. Twitter's security team is all but gone, and while some like to say Twitter is still there and isn't going anywhere, it's just coasting until a major hack takes the site down.
Begin looking for another site in which to build community. I know many have said that Twitter is their last stand, and that's okay, too. Trust me, I feel your pain in starting over somewhere, and like I said earlier, many have built a great deal of collateral on Twitter. Hang onto it as long as you can.
Just keep in mind, free websites/social media sites never remain free or stable forever. You're in control, so I always recommend that authors diversify their digital presence as much as possible and always have a Plan B. That way, you can begin moving your followers to your new site before Twitter goes down completely, and it probably will.
Musk will most likely file for a Chapter 11 bankruptcy. This will give him a chance to renegotiate many of his loans but keep control of Twitter. During this process, Twitter might experience downtime. Be ready for that eventuality, especially if you depend on Twitter for sales.
Also keep in mind that Musk is now in violation of several other countries' labor laws and the EU's Global Privacy Compliance (GDPR). These countries will take down access to Twitter, which won't hurt people who can access VPN's, but many will have a great deal of difficulty accessing the site. And in the US, Twitter has made itself so much a part of everyone's daily lives that even Congress is threatening to bring the FCC into the fray, which could affect all social media through regulations. Regardless of where you are, your reach will impacted governmental changes, whether they are in your country of origin or not.
With the amount of Russian and Chinese influence that will soon be flowing through disinformation, Musk is also opening the gate to national security issues. There’s nothing like having the FBI and NSA following your money trails with the scariest of agents: forensic accounts.
They don’t have guns, they have brains, and they know how to find your secrets and your off-shore accounts.
Talk about a rich person’s horror story.
Anyway, whether they find anything or not, the legal and accounting fees will be stunning, but I suppose that doesn't bother anyone with money to burn. For folks like you and me, the security issues will eventually result in congressional oversight and regulation, so keep one eye on any forthcoming legal changes and how or if they may impact you.
The lack of moderation and the reemergence of extremists might cause Google Play and the Apple App stores to drop Twitter. (See also, Truth Social.) That, too, will limit your audience and reach, because not as many people will be able to download the app.
None of this will happen overnight, or maybe it will. I know I honestly thought it would be a year before Musk destroyed Twitter, but if he remains on course, it may be gone by the end of the year. There are so many nails that can go into this coffin, it’s hard to determine which one will be the final one.
As for me, I think I will be landing on Hive Social as my post-Twitter spot for interaction. I’m @tfrohock there. Be patient. It’s a new site and there are only a few people manning it. They weren’t quite prepared for Twitter to go down so soon, so it’s kind of glitchy right now.
They have a moderation policy, and in a lot of ways, it feels clean and nice. If you followed me on Twitter, you may follow me there and I’ll usually follow back; although, I need to see something in your profile and your timeline. The app works great on an iPhone, but it’s glitchy on an android right now. They don’t have a web version of the site yet, either. I’ve marked my spot and when they get a web version, I’ll be there much more often.
In the meantime, I’ll watch for you.
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raymett · 3 years
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It’s literally 3 am here and i just finished this-
But yeah my computer anxiety is down a bit c: finally-
I’ve been making fake screenshot stuff recently, and wanted to draw some for my Tacoleaf AU, also added a version without the text too. 
Decided to experiment a bit, mainly with the type of brush I was using for the lineart and coloring, as well as only using vector layers to draw the characters. 
I actually think it doesn’t look too bad, especially since I wasn’t sure how to use vectors at first??? I hope you like it :>
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pagesfromthevoid · 2 years
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would sam ever meet matt and how would that go down?? maybe she’s the one that has to bail out sam and bucky during that one scene in tfatws and she’s forced to bring matt along w her since you mentioned in the peter blurb that he’s the one that helped bucky out with a pardon & she’s still listed as a contact for sam 👀
So Bucky and Sam get picked up in Baltimore because that’s where Isaiah Bradley lives. That’s about 3 hours of a drive from New York City. Realistically, Sam probably calls her and she hits the road because that’s what you do for people you care about. Matt insists he comes, only because the last time she went somewhere without him, she was gone for five years.
He just won’t let her go anywhere alone.
They get to the station, and Sam’s already out because he didn’t commit any crimes. Bucky is the one that missed his therapy session. So Matt is trying to see if he can lawyer his way into anything while she’s posting bail for the idiot.
“I can’t believe you took him back,” Sam says.
“He can hear you,” she responds simply, signing the paperwork for Bucky. “It’s been long enough that I’ve forgiven him. It’s just a bit complicated sometimes, Sam.”
“It’s always complicated.”
“What is?” Matt asks as he returns to her side.
Matt’s not jealous of Sam by any means. After everything Matt has put her through, the only thing he can do is trust her to be better than him. And besides, she talks highly of Sam. They’re friends. So Matt doesn’t have any negative feelings towards Sam at all.
But Sam does. They’re not super strong; he’s not pining for her or anything. But he cares about her; he saw what this guy did to her back when Elektra was around and they broke up. After all, she left and started coming back with him and Steve for a bit. Also, Bucky doesn’t particularly like Matt either but they’re more secondhand because he’s just heard the stories of the guy; after all, he was almost willing to face jail time than have Matt Murdock represent him in court.
“Dating you,” Sam comments.
“And that’s my cue to go collect Barnes,” she quickly excuses herself and walks away, definitely not interested in that interaction.
The two men would sort of stare each other down.
“She’s one of the good ones.” Sam says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’m very aware, Mr. Wilson. I have been with her since 2016.”
“Check that math again, Murdock. I’m pretty sure you spent a good chunk of time begging for her forgiveness.”
Matt would fidget some, less than thrilled about being called out.
“I get you have whatever you have going on. We all do. But until otherwise noted, I don’t trust you to not hurt her again,” Sam would explain, looking down the hall as she returns with Bucky. “And I ain’t afraid to hit a blind man.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Matt challenges. “She told you herself. We worked it out.”
“Nah, she said it was complicated. You’re going to do your best to make it less complicated though. Understand?”
“If you’re threatening him, I want in,” Bucky chimes in as they approach. “Asshole.”
“Good to see you too, Sergeant Barnes.”
“If we’re done drowning in testosterone, I’d like to go home and pretend you’re not working with Zemo,” she says, taking Matt’s hand. He’s tense. She can feel it. But she’s a little too okay with Matt being picked on by her ex and her friend.
They’re about to leave when Sam grabs Matt by the arm. “I mean it. Don’t let her get away; you’ll regret it.”
Matt blankly watches Sam, his statement not registering as a threat anymore. No, now it was a simple warning from someone who seems to regret his own choices.
“I’ve lost her twice; I won’t ever again.”
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thefanficmonster · 3 years
Text
Bumpy Road
Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)
Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Depression and Relationship struggles as well as Health Problems
Genre: Mild Angst, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)
Summary: On a live podcast discussing his rise to fame and how its affected his personal life, Corpse stumbles over the topic of his romantic relationships, more specifically his relationship with Y/N.
Requested by Anon. Hello dear! Thank you so much for your wonderful request and so sorry you’ve had to wait for it to be posted so long. However, here it finally is and I hope you come across it and read it an if you do I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤
“Right, ok we’re officially live!“ Exclaims Anthony as he waves to one of the cameras - the one turned to him - and leans closer to the mic placed on the table in front of him. “Hello everyone, thanks for tuning in today. I’m here with the internet sensation and mystery known as Corpse Husband.“ He turns away from the camera to look across the table at his guest, “Corpse, I hope you know how much effort is being put into editing that sticker over your face for the duration of this whole podcast.“
Corpse, whose face is hidden by a sticker of his avatar, chuckles, “So you’re insinuating that I should probably not move so much.”
“Exactly.“ Anthony laughs, “My guy would be very grateful for that curtesy. Yeah, I have an actual person who I assigned to move around the sticker so there goes an extra paycheck.“
“In that case I promise to give you worthy content. A lot of never previously heard scoop.“ Corpse says, mocking the very words he uses, laughing about them afterwards, “Ask away, man.“
Anthony briefly looks down at a printed sheet of paper before pushing it to the side with a slight furrow of his brows, “You know, these are all cookie-cutter questions you’ve probably been asked many times before. So, I think it’s for the best I ask you something no one has had you talk about. Or something I hope no one has had you talk about yet. If you feel uncomfortable with any question just say so and we’ll skip it right away.“
The sticker moves up and down to mask Corpse’s face as he nods, “Got it.”
“Ok um...“ Anthony falls in thought for a moment, thinking of a question, “The first thing off the top of my head, um, what part of the dark side of fame have you had the displeasure of experiencing?“
Corpse lets out a laugh dangerously close to a scoff, “Almost all if not totally all of it really. There’s such a big chunk of privacy being taken away from you on social media. I got to that point where I felt so naked and seen I felt I was losing myself as my fandom grew. I know it’s many YouTubers’ dream to blow up and have a ton of fans and followers but I never wanted that. Don’t get me wrong, I love each and every one of my fans, I just never expected to accumulate so many of them. I’m such a private person, it was so anxiety inducing in the beginning but I sort of learned how to cope with it, you know? Sometimes, in order to stop people from reaching into my real privacy, I created a fake one that I’d feed into and let them enjoy.”
Anthony’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Wow, how do we know what’s real about you anymore, huh?” It was said more as a joke but he truly meant it. If a person can fake a whole reality for people not to touch into their real one, Lord knows what else they can do.
Corpse huffs, “I’ll give you a hint: If it seems pretty, pink, peach and perfect it’s fake.“ The sticker may be hiding his face from the viewers but it’s most definitely not doing anything to shield the change in expression that occurs on his face from Anthony who’s sitting right across from him and notices the shift right away but before he could question it, Corpse prods on, “Y/N, my partner, can tell you just as much. They know better than anyone what’s the difference between what people know and what the reality is. They know that our relationship isn’t the sunny skies we put on display for our fans. I have my mental and physical health issues, my trust issues and paranoia play a big role in the ‘rains’ in our day-to-day life but they understand it’s all a part of me and a part I can’t control. It actually controls me sometimes and it’s so fucking annoying. But they understand. And while we pretend it’s perfect even though it isn’t, we find our happiness wherever and whenever we can. When it rains so often, you might as well look for a little hint of sunlight. That sunlight can create a rainbow after all. Believe me when I say, that rainbow is the most beautiful thing, makes you forget about the storm that just took place or might even be still raging all around.“ He sighs, preparing to bring his outpour of honesty to a close, “It may be a bumpy road 98% of the time even though on social media we pretend it’s the complete opposite, but that 2% of honest happiness we get from the tiniest of things are more meaningful than I could describe to you with words.“
And he’s more than right, words are often not enough. But the ones he used to describe what he just did were perfectly enough to bring one particular viewer to tears. That particular viewer who knows exactly what he was talking about. Because they are his other half and they’re going through it the same as he is. They’ve gone down that bumpy road side by side with him, ignoring the pain and turmoil while focusing their gaze on the rainbow above. That analogy was theirs from the very start after all. They both knew Y/N is the better one at finding the deeper meaning in everything even when there was nothing to be found.
They always found something. And Corpse will always cherish that trait as one of their best - always finding something to keep them both afloat.
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sinner-as-saint · 3 years
Text
when no one is around.
Butler!Steve x Reader AU
Run-through: You have had a shameless crush on your butler, Steve, ever since your parents hired him. And you’re even more shameless when it comes to showing it. Poor Steve always has to put up with you no matter what. He didn’t have much of a choice; mainly because he was in charge of your household, consequently, in charge of you but also because he likes you, even though he shouldn’t. Yet he always resists you and your charms, for multiple reasons. However, the man finally breaks and gives in to you, following some unholy circumstances… 
Themes: age gap, smut, masturbation, slight voyeurism, slight daddy kink, bratty!reader, dom!Steve, daddy!steve, fluff, Butler!Steve, angst
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You woke up to the sound of Steve’s voice, like you did every morning. 
“Miss, it’s past eight thirty. If you don’t wake up now, you’re going to be very late for work and your father will not be thrilled.” 
You groaned and tried to hide under your blanket knowing that that would buy you at least another minute or two. And it did. A couple of minutes later you heard Steve sigh. 
“Miss, will you please just wake up?” 
You peaked from under your blanket and stared at the eye candy standing right beside your bed in a white shirt, black tux with a bow tie and white gloves. You couldn’t understand how he was a butler when he belonged on the front cover of a magazine. Tall, handsome and older. Just your type. 
“Can’t you be a little more loving, Steve? I don’t know, wake me up with a kiss or flowers or something romantic like that.” You teased, sitting up in the middle of your bed and stretching your arms and ignoring the way your thighs clenched together at the sight of him.  
He stood there watching you, trying his hardest not to stare while fighting back a smirk. “That would be highly inappropriate, Miss.” 
You sighed, reluctantly getting out of bed and stood right in front of him. “What’s highly inappropriate is you having the nerve to look like that all the time.” You took the liberty of leaning in and pressing yourself against him. He raised an eyebrow at you. “Do you have any idea what it does to me? Do you know how bad I wanna just-” 
He gently pushed you away. “No.” He shut you up softly. “Now be quick, you have little time. Breakfast and your car will be waiting downstairs in thirty minutes.” 
You rolled your eyes at him and rushed into your bathroom. As you got ready, you thought of the past almost six years. Steve has played a huge part in your life. 
You still remembered the day your parents announced that they had hired a butler who would handle the household better since they were always away. It was important to have someone to look after you too, given you were the only one who lived in the big, empty house most of the time. 
And in walked Steve, straight into your home and your heart. Upon hearing the name ‘Steve Rogers’ you had expected an older gentleman, much older. But then upon seeing Steve for the first time, you were swooned. Totally whipped at the sight of the muscular, suave and drop dead gorgeous man. Brownish blond hair, blue eyes, dashing. He carried himself with elegance. Just his gait was enough to make your heart go all crazy. 
You remember thinking to yourself, how the hell would you be able to stay sane with a man that gorgeous around you all the time? Obviously you knew you had a crush on him since the very start. But as the days went by, that meaningless crush morphed into something a little more solid without you even knowing. 
You liked Steve, more than you intended to perhaps. Unfortunately, for him you were just his masters’ daughter. He dodged every attempt you made at flirting with him. He always let you down gently though; always with a smile or a smirk or a soft look in his eyes. 
And the more he pushed you away, the bolder you got. And you began hearing these phrases more frequently;
“Miss, this is highly inappropriate.” - Whenever you shamelessly flirted with him. 
“Miss, I am too old for you.” - Which wasn’t that big of an issue for you personally. He wasn’t old, old. He was in his early forties and you were in your twenties. You knew people with age gaps bigger than that who were happy together. 
“Miss, for the love of God, behave.” - your personal favorite. 
You never crossed the line though. You sure did tease him a lot, day and night. But he always kept his calm and composure, never breaking. Although there were times when he almost did. 
Like the time you were getting ready for a party and you needed some help with your dress. You called out for him and he appeared in your bedroom instantly. He couldn’t help but let his eyes roam your half exposed body. 
“Can you zip me up?” You stood in front of your mirror, your back exposed, waiting. That was the first time he seemed really nervous around you. He walked up to you and zipped up your dress, slowly, taking his time. His soft, white gloves lazily grazed your skin while he pulled the zipper up, leaving goosebumps behind on your skin. He stood behind you for a moment or two, just staring at your reflection with his lips parted after he was done. “How do I look?” you asked, mischief in your eyes. 
He swallowed audibly. “Beautiful.” 
Then there was the time when you felt really bold and wore a see-through white, oversized t-shirt over some bright red underwear while parading around the house casually going about your day. Steve saw you and almost dropped the tray he was carrying. 
“Oh hi Steve.” You smirked when you caught his gawking for a moment or two. 
He recovered and peeled his eyes off you, looking down at his shoes before looking back up at you with a defeated look in his eyes. “Where are the rest of your clothes might I ask?” 
“In the laundry bin.” 
He sighed. “I had fresh laundry sent to your room just this morning.” 
“They’re all dirty.” 
“All of them?” he sounded frustrated. Not necessarily because of the topic of discussion but because of your rather scandalous appearance; sprawled on the couch carelessly while dressed like that. You knew just how to make a man lose his mind. 
“Yes.” 
“How?” 
You pretended to think for a moment. “I soiled them while painting this morning.” 
“You don’t paint.” He knew you were lying, being a brat as usual. 
“I started this morning.” 
He sighed, allowing his shameless eyes to take you in one last time before he walked away shaking his head mumbling under his breath about how you were incorrigible. You made it hard for him to go about his day in peace with your little antics, in more ways than one. 
Then there was the very famous: “What would you like for breakfast today?” he’d ask almost every morning. 
To which you replied, “You.” on a daily basis and it earned the same reaction out of him each time. He’d roll his eyes at you, resisting the urge to have indecent thoughts as best as he could. 
Steve was torn between wanting to be strictly professional and wanting to give in to your relentless attempts of seduction. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t into you, or had never had an immoral thought when it came to you. 
He thought of you all the time, mainly because his job required him to but also out of genuine concern for your well-being. You were a kind, smart, courageous and beautiful young woman - or rather you could be all this when you weren’t being a brat. Steve had seen the kind of dedication you put towards your work; while handling a huge chunk of the family business. He always admired you for how well you managed the burden your parents placed on your young shoulders. 
He sometimes caught you letting out tears of frustration when the stress got too much. Or when you missed your parents because they barely ever came home. You basically lived alone here, in this big, empty house your parents owned. Steve often wondered what would happen to you if he wasn’t here to take care of you. He liked you, a lot. But there were factors which didn’t let him reciprocate what you felt for him. 
First being his job, then his age, then the fear of your parents finding out and what they would do to him if they did. Besides, he thought, you were young. Young people feel things for people left and right without ever truly meaning it, correct? 
Though that never stopped him from feeling the tension that exists between the two of you. Fiery, hot, burning; it was always there. Even when there were other people around, or when your eyes met for a brief moment. Even on days when you weren’t being a little brat, when you weren’t seeking his attention all the time, even then he couldn’t ignore it. It was there, present loudly. 
This flirty, tension filled bond between the two of you remained constant for years. But it wasn’t always just inappropriate and sexual. Steve had been a friend, a confidant, a good listener to you more times than you could count. 
With your parents always gone, and you having to bear some of the burden of your parents’ companies, it left you with little to no time with friends and family at all. Some you unfortunately drifted away from due to work, others just stopped reaching out or simply refused to understand your busy lifestyle. 
But the one person who was always there for you, always fiercely loyal and constant; no matter how much of a brat you were, no matter how much you annoyed him all the time, no matter how dirty your jokes were, was Steve. Naturally, you unknowingly fell for him at some point - despite knowing that this would go nowhere.
Or would it? 
-
Your daily routines barely changed. It always started and ended the same way. Steve would wake you up, you would annoy him a little, get dressed and ready for work, get to work, go to lunch with your assistant almost every day, get back home, annoy Steve a little more until he leaves. Only for him to come back the next day and repeat. 
The days you hated the most were Steve’s off days. Fridays. 
With him not around, your days weren’t as animated and fun. No one to tease, no one to be a brat to, no one to annoy. Your other staff members were great, but none quite like Steve. 
So Friday, you turned in early for the night. Your housemaids and everyone else had already left so it was just you in an empty house. You tried reading, then got bored. TV wasn’t really helping either. 
You tossed and turned in bed until you realized what was wrong; you were feeling frisky. You groaned, if only you had someone to take care of those needs of yours. More precisely someone with bronde hair, blue eyes, and a taut, muscular body which was always found under a crisp black tux, white shirt, black bow tie and white gloves… and a voice which made you feel things you hadn’t felt before. 
As you thought of your sexy butler, your hand found its way in between your legs. Your other hand toyed with your breasts; fingers pinched your erected nipples as your back arched off the bed slightly. You sighed in pleasure. 
Your flushed, naked body writhed on the silky, cool satin sheets as your fingers toyed with your wet folds. You moaned as your two fingers slipped inside your entrance with ease given that you were dripping already. 
You moaned at the thought of a certain pair of blue eyes, and soft lips as your back arched off the bed again, the cold air mercilessly hit your bare chest and caused your nipples to erect even further. Your fingers effortlessly slipped in and out of you; your fingers ever so gently stroking your walls making every nerve of yours tingle. The palm of your hand rubbed against your sensitive clit over and over again as your moans got louder and louder. 
What you didn’t know, was that hidden in the shadows just outside your partially open bedroom door, stood Steve. Lips parted, short breaths, heart racing, his blood rushing downwards as he watched you. He was too aware of everything; his body and yours, his immoral thoughts and your own, how your lust and hunger ignited him. Aware of your soft moans, and the fire in his loins. 
He felt guilty, and very ashamed of himself as he took in your bare body. But he couldn’t stop looking. He was entranced; hungry just to have a taste. He begged his body to move away from your doorway, but he didn’t budge. It wasn’t like he was purposely peeping or being a creep. 
It was his day off, and yet he dropped by for a casual check, like he had the habit of doing even on days when he wasn’t working because he still had to make sure you were alright. But normally when he dropped by, your bedroom door was always shut so he knew that you were fast asleep. 
But today, he found soft, golden light coming through your bedroom. He had to make sure you’re okay but then he saw that the door was almost halfway open, and he investigated further and saw something he wasn’t supposed to. You. Naked on your bed. Touching yourself. And now, he couldn’t look away. 
His cock was throbbing at this point and it was difficult to ignore it. He shamelessly drank in the sight of your naked body against the silky sheets. The way your back arched off the bed, the way you bit your lip to hold back your sinful moans, the way he could just tell that your shorts breaths would feel so warm against his skin… fuck, he had goosebumps and a shiver danced down his spine. 
He begged himself to slowly walk away, and he almost did. But then he heard you moan his name. And he lost his mind. 
“Steve… daddy, please…” you mewled, whimpering under your breath as you took yourself higher and higher. 
Steve froze in place, he had never known his name could sound so gentle and vulgar at the same time. He was almost panting as he let his sinful eyes roam your naked body, and he wasn’t even being stimulated in any way, just the sight of you and the sound of your voice was bringing him on the edge. 
He was a mess. 
He could just walk into that room and give you all that you’ve been practically begging him for all this time, but that would mean risking all that he has now. Or he could simply leave, and pretend this never happened. Self-abuse under a cold shower once he gets back to his apartment would work best. However, he’d have to come back here tomorrow, now with the recollection of what he was currently seeing. 
How will he be able to resist you from now on when he could barely take his eyes off you now?
That’s enough, Steve. He managed to slowly back away from your doorway and into the corridor which would lead him to the staircase. As he walked away, he heard your slightly louder moans as you came. Fuck. He stood at the landing, in the dark and groaned internally. Oh how pretty you must have looked, coming undone all over your pretty fingers. It drove him crazy just knowing that he’s the one you think of when you touch yourself. 
As discreetly as he could, Steve walked out of your home, rushed into his car and drove past the gates as fast as he could. Needless to say, he had quite some trouble falling asleep that night. 
---
You noticed some changes in Steve’s behaviour the next day when he showed up. He was avoiding you, you noticed that the minute you saw him. He wouldn’t look you in the eyes. He would barely be able to hold a conversation for too long. He seemed… shy and timid, definitely not his usual confident self around you. 
You tried to start up a conversation but his replies were just dry. You thought that perhaps he was having a bed day, or he woke up feeling grumpy. So you let him be. You didn’t annoy him all day. But at the same time, having him around but not having his attention was driving you crazy. You hated it. 
“Steve, what’s wrong?” you asked him at some point during the day. You were in the kitchen at the time and he walked in. 
He wasn’t expecting to find you there so he seemed visibly nervous. “I… uh, nothing. Everything is fine.” He cleared his throat and straightened his back a little more. “Did you need anything, Miss?” 
You could tell he was avoiding the topic, whatever it was. “No,” you answered, “nothing.” You walked out of the kitchen feeling a little troubled by his behaviour. You frowned as you walked upstairs into your study room. Since you were feeling gloomy, you decided to do some boring work until you figured out what to do with yourself. 
Checking the security camera footage was something your father insisted on. You had people for that, but your dad said that it was important you did it yourself just to make sure everything around the house is in order. So you sat back in your seat, rewinding all the footage of the week and sped through it, bored out of your mind. 
Surely you wouldn’t find anything because your staff members were all- 
You almost fell out of your chair when you saw the footage of last night. 5th indoor camera which surveilled the spacious corridor which led to your bedroom. You checked the time on the frame, it was around 11 p.m and you saw Steve walking up to your partly open bedroom door. 11 p.m ish, around that time pretty sure you were… oh… 
You were very well aware that Steve has the habit of coming by to check up on everything even on his days off, you just never knew at what time he came by. Apparently last night he came at the wrong time. Or not...? 
You watched the footage of him standing there frozen in place. He took a step back from your door, then inched forward again. Then backed away, then leaned forward again, and you could tell he must have debated turning back around and leaving multiple times but he didn’t. Oh?  
Your lips lifted up in a smirk as you pieced it all together. So this is why he’s been acting weird all day? Your devious mind came up with a plan. 
-
Steve left that evening, after ignoring you for the entire day and you decided to be a little bit more of a pain in his lovely ass. So you waited for an hour after he left, and then drove all the way to his apartment. Nothing but mischief on your mind. 
When you showed up at his doorstep, he was surprised but still maintained his calm and composure. You shamelessly checked him out; he looked like a god even in his sweatpants and white sweater. His damp, messy hair gave away that he must have just stepped out of the shower. Hot. 
“Hello Steve.” Your smirk gave away that you were up to no good and he caught on pretty quickly. He gave you a faint smile. 
“How come you’re h-,” You cut him off by opening his front door wider and taking the liberty of stepping into his home like an insolent little brat. He sighed as he shut the door behind him and followed you in. “Do you know that it’s considered quite rude to just barge into someone’s home?”
You stopped right before entering his living room. You turned around to face him with a sly smirk. “And do you know that it’s considered rude to come into someone’s home at night and openly spy on them while they’re naked and touching themselves? Hmm?” You had no shame. Also nothing to hide given he had seen it all. 
The look on Steve’s face was priceless. He was less bothered about how you figured and more worried about what would follow now. His job could be at risk yes, but what must you be thinking? He couldn’t figure you out. 
“That’s not what… I was-,” He looked frustrated and nervous, but also guilty. “I wasn’t spying, I didn’t…” He sighed, trying not to stutter. “Listen, that’s not what-”
You cut him off again by walking up to him. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” You said with a flirty smile. “In fact, it would’ve been better if you just walked into the room.” You heard him gasp as you leaned in closer to him, whispering in his ear, “Because I was thinking about you while I was pleasuring myself,” you giggled, “but I think you know that already.” You pulled away to look at him. He was flushed. Troubled. Dare you say, aroused. 
The memories of last night filled his mind. He remained silent, still processing your words and wondering how he should handle this situation. You spoke again, “If I had known you were there watching me, I would’ve put up a better show.” His handsome face was void of any emotion. He was confused, but also burning. 
He was feeling too much at the same time, he didn’t know how to act. Not to mention that your words sent chills all over his body. He was barely able to maintain his calm demeanor any longer. 
Silence. 
You spoke up again. “If you want, I can do it right now.” You noticed how his hands flexed at his sides. He was struggling. You smirked. “What, you shamelessly watch me get off and now you’re acting all calm and collected?” You reached out and gently trailed a finger down his forearm. You watched him shiver for a moment. “Come on Steve,” your hand moved right to the bulge in his sweatpants, “admit it, you want me.” You teased him by gently feeling his erection. It excited you just as much as it did him. 
He finally spoke up. “Y/N… we shouldn’t.” Fuck but he wanted to. He was dying to just reach out and touch you. He kept thinking about how you looked last night; bare, lying in your bed and touching yourself so gently. Your moans… they had tormented him all night even after he got home. His accelerated heartbeats echoed in his ears as he stood unmoving under your wild stare. He swallowed audibly, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist you for long. His primal, feral desires surfaced more and more as you spoke and he was hungry. Like a wild animal in heat. 
You rolled your eyes at him. “Oh?” You walked around him, circling like he was a prey. When you stood right behind him, you stood on your tiptoes and leaned in to whisper again, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “But what you did was highly inappropriate Mr. Rogers. Can you imagine what that would do to your reputation, should people find out?” You kissed down along his neck, from his ear to the side of his lower jaw where you could feel his pulse. You scoffed, “Your heart is racing, Steve. Give in. I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.” You whispered softly. 
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath while trying to ignore the pressure in between his legs. His cock was throbbing. His hands were almost shaking as he held back from touching you. He could so easily just pin you to the wall and have his way. He so desperately wanted to. But… he shouldn’t. You were his bosses’ daughter. 
Despite knowing it was futile because you had the reputation of getting whatever you wanted, be it in your personal or professional life, he still tried to act responsibly rather than just giving in to his burning desire and instincts. 
“I’m not one of your business deals, Y/N. You can come in here and talk terms with me in my own home.” He sounded frustrated and… hot. 
You walked back around and stood right in front of him. Judging by the look in your eyes, he knew what was coming and he silently accepted defeat. “Why? What’s so special about your home?” 
He stepped closer, stopping at just inches away from you. “Careful, Y/N.” His tone caused you to stop smirking. “My home, so I make the rules. When I tell you to stop being a little brat, you stop being a little brat.” The way he looked down at you only made you want to misbehave even more. 
“Else what?” 
And that was it. There went all the self-control he had. His eyes, dangerous and mean stared into yours as he stepped closer, grabbed you by the throat gently and pulled your face closer to his. Your lips parted as you struggled to breath right - not because of his grip around your throat, but because of the proximity. You could feel his body heat and it made you whimper. 
“Else you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences. I’m gonna have to teach your bratty self how to behave.” He chuckled darkly. “But something tells me you’d like that, wouldn’t you babygirl?” He could tell by you whimpered that you would most definitely love that. 
“Steve,” you were at a loss of words. But you were so ready. “Please…”
He smirked. “You’ve been a bad, bad girl for so long. Teasing me, tormenting me,” He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “touching yourself while thinking of me. Who said you could do that? Hmm? Did you ask for permission?” 
“No…” you felt your arousal drip out of you at the sound of his lewd words. 
“From now on, you will come to me when your greedy, little cunt needs to be taken care of. Or you will touch yourself only when I give you permission to. Do you understand?” 
“Yes.” Your voice sounded shaky already. 
“Yes what?” 
Your walls clenched around nothing down there as you uttered the words, “Yes daddy.” 
He smiled. “Good girl.” He whispered and as he looked behind you, you saw how his deep blue eyes lit up once he saw something. “But since you’ve been such a brat lately, you still need to be taught a lesson. Don’t you think?” 
You nodded. He let go of your throat. “Anytime you want me to stop, just say so. Okay?” You nodded again as he slowly walked the two of you back until your legs hit the couch. He caught you by the arm before you fell backwards. “Bend over the armrest.” 
You did what he asked, supporting yourself up with your elbows. And let out a soft moan when you felt his warm hands slipping under your little dress and kneading your butt
“Daddy’s gonna spank you until your pretty little cunt is dripping, is that okay babygirl?” His voice got you all flustered and whiny. 
“Yes daddy.” 
“Good.” He dragged your underwear down till your ankles, waited for you to step out of them and lifted your dress up. He lifted his hand up in the air and brought it down to spank your ass. You whimpered in pleasure as the tingles died down eventually. “That’s for being a bratty little girl all the time.” 
Spank! “That’s for torturing daddy, and teasing him all day when he’s just trying to get work done.” 
You let out a little moan as he spanked you again. “That’s for always doing the exact opposite of what I ask you to, causing you to then ask for help for every little thing.” Spank! You moaned louder as his fingers trailed down to your wet folds, teasing you. “Daddy has to help you out with every little thing, isn’t it?” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck, “That’s okay. Daddy loves it.” 
Your skin burned under his lips. You were breathless, desperately wanting more. 
Spank! His hand lingered on your skin a little longer this time, caressing where it felt sore. “That’s for being a whiny little brat when you don’t always get what you want, when you want it.” Spank! “Such a spoilt brat, aren’t you babygirl?” 
You let out a breathless moan. You wanted more. He could tell by the way you pushed your butt out more and more each time after each spank. “Please…” 
He smirked and slid his hand further down, stroking your wet folds. “You’re so wet.” He cooed and lifted his hand and spanked you again. And again. And again. You whimpered in pleasure and slight pain. 
Spank! He smacked your dripping core instead of your butt. Your whole body tingled as he pulled you up against him again, your sore ass pressing into his erected cock, making both of you groaned under your breaths. “You did so good, babygirl.” His hand traveled to your front and under your dress and he touched your wet core. “You’re so wet for daddy,” He mumbled in your ear, “but you can’t cum yet.” You whined again. He chuckled. “Now you know how it feels when you tease daddy all the time. It’s not fun, is it babygirl?” 
“No.” You answered as he gave you space to turn around and face him. “It’s not. I’m sorry.” You stared at his lips and he noticed. 
“You know what would make daddy really happy though?” That made you look up into his irresistible eyes. “If you got down on your knees like a good girl, and sucked daddy’s cock and made him feel good.” He leaned in to brush his lips against yours. “Won’t you do that? Won’t you be a good girl for daddy?” 
You nodded frantically. Excited. But also needy. 
He plopped down onto the couch, manspreading and making you whimper just looking at him. “Come here,” he pointed in between his legs. “Kneel.” 
You did as he asked. He took your hand and placed it right on his erection. You bit your lower lip as you felt him; big and hard. Your hands hurried to lower the waistband of his sweats to free his erected cock. The sight of his perfect cock had you whining with need again. 
“Go on babygirl. Suck.” His voice was deeper than usual and it sent a shiver along your spine.
You wrapped your fingers around his cock and placed your mouth on his tip; your tongue slowly circling his tip. Steve held your head gently and slowly pushed himself deeper into your mouth. You bobbed your head around his tip; taking him in slowly until he hit the back of your throat.
He gripped your hair gently, moaning as he told you how much of a good girl you were. The sounds of his moans and grunts only made you whimper with his cock in your mouth. Your ass was sore, but that was the last thing on your mind. Right now, you needed to be Steve’s good girl. 
He twitched against your tongue and you tasted some of his pre cum which signified that he wasn’t going to last very long. His taste was all you could focus on; his raw taste and the feeling of his smooth skin against your tongue and the top of your mouth. 
He looked down at you and moaned again, he loved the sight of your spit coating his cock. You looked perfect on your knees, taking him so well just like he wanted you to. 
You looked up and met his wild, blue eyes. Just to mess with him, you took his cock out of your mouth and teased him a little bit more; licking his length from bottom to top while your hands toyed with his balls. He swore under his breath as you dragged your warm tongue over the slit of his tip lazily. 
He looked down at you with a smirk and a warning in his eyes and that was all it took for you to take him back into your mouth and suck on his cock until he came undone all over your tongue.
He gripped your hair, moaning loudly as he came. “Fuck.” He threw his head back to catch his breath. “Such a good girl.” he mumbled, looking down at you as you licked him clean; pulling his sweats back up before you climbed onto his lap, wiggling on purpose. 
He pulled you closer, making you grind against his semi-erected cock. You whined in need. “Aww, what is it babygirl? You want daddy?” he cooed, mocking you. He loved the effect his voice had on you. 
You nodded, pleading with your eyes as best you could. You needed him so bad, it hurt. “Please daddy.” 
He cupped your face and leaned in for a kiss. You felt his tongue stroke the top of your mouth, and his hands touched you wherever he could. A gentle, deep kiss; the kind that made your heart flutter and made your knees weak. He undressed you slowly, and you him. 
Once done, neither one of you could keep your hands off each other. 
“Steve… please,” you mumbled against his lips. He could feel your hunger, which then fueled his. Skin on skin, the desire burning between you two could no longer be ignored. 
He smirked. “I know baby, I know...” He whispered against your lips before flipping the two of you around and asking you to turn around and grip the back of the couch.
He got up and stood behind you. You knelt on the couch in front of him, legs spread apart, hands gripping the back of the couch with your back to him. You could feel him right there behind you. 
He gripped your hair gently into a makeshift ponytail, and pulled your head back just enough to take your breath away. His soft, warm lips hovered over the side of your throat, kissing along your neck as his other hand reached around and toyed with your folds; his fingers furiously toying with your clit and making you moan. 
“This is all you wanted, huh? To be fucked, and owned. You wanted my cock so badly, didn’t you?” His voice was deep and raspy when he spoke, his tongue licking along your neck while he abruptly stopped toying with your folds. “All this time, you’ve been practically begging me to fuck you. Well now’s the time baby. Go on, beg for me.”
You whimpered. Your body was on fire. You couldn’t take it any longer. You begged; wantonly, shamelessly.  He chuckled and tugged harder on your hair, making you whimper and moan even more. “That’s a good girl.” 
He gripped each side of your hips, tightly; spreading your legs apart a little more as he aligned his cock to your entrance. You shivered in anticipation as you waited. You couldn’t see him, and in front of you, through the large glass floor-to-ceiling window, you had a lovely view of the city lights but that didn’t matter anymore. 
He hand reached around and gently grabbed you by the throat again. “Are we good, babygirl? You okay?” 
You nodded quickly, heart racing, your body heated. “Yes, yes please...” You mumbled. 
He gave you a gentle kiss on your cheek, his stubble pressing into your skin. You closed your eyes and bit your lower lip as his soft lips kissed along your lower jaw. “I’m gonna fuck your sweet little cunt until you’re shaking…” he murmured, more so to himself. 
With a slow, steady push, he inserted his length into you. He groaned and grunted as he filled you up entirely. You heard his ragged breaths right by your ear as he removed himself out and pushed himself back into you again; your ass cheek pressing into his pelvic bone as he pounded into you. 
You shuddered as you felt all of him, while he mumbled about how good you were. He panted in your ear, kissing the side of your face as his hand left your throat and roamed around your body, touching you wherever he could, memorizing the shape of you until he finally cupped your core and played with your swollen clit. Your moans were incessant, you could already feel a sore throat coming. 
“You feel so good, baby…” he mumbled, slamming into you relentlessly, stretching you out and pounding into you like his life depended on it; the sounds of your skin slapping one another resonated around the room. 
“Fuck…” his voice cracked as he moaned under his breath. 
You could feel your walls clench around him, and tighten around his thick member; making him swear out loud. Your body moved along with his, your legs felt numb as he relentlessly slammed into you. 
Your moans got louder and he bent down to kiss along your shoulder blades and the back of your neck. “Take me, babygirl. Take all of me like you’ve dreamt of so many times…” he whispered against your skin as he rocked into you, faster and faster. He could barely hold it together himself but he had to give you what you’ve been wanting this whole time. 
You were a teary mess, he couldn’t see but he could tell by the sound of your voice. The view of the city in front of you was now getting blurrier with each passing second. Yet, you still wanted more. 
You cried out loud in pleasure as his hands gripped your hips, pushing you into him more and more each time he filled you up. You felt a sweet pressure forming in between your legs, intensifying each time the tip of his cock brushed against your sensitive spot. 
“Steve…” you cried, unable to handle the pleasure. It was overwhelming. 
He slowed down for just a second. “I’m right here, baby.” He kissed the side of your face. “I’m here, it’s okay. Are you gonna cum for me? You’re gonna be a good girl and cum for daddy? Hmm?” 
You nodded, now a whimpering, tear-stained mess. He took you higher… and higher… 
“Cum for me.” his voice was all it took for you to come undone. You came hard without any warning.
He didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, he kept pounding into you as your eyes rolled back; kept slamming into you, chasing his own orgasm as your walls clenched around him, squeezing him like he had dreamt of last night. 
He gripped your hair in his fist and tugged on it again, moaning right in your ear as he felt his orgasm forming. Your walls tightened around him, and he groaned as he came undone right after you; buried deep within you. His warm cum shoot at your walls and trickled out of you when he carefully removed his length from your entrance.
You were struggling to hold yourself up, your legs shaking and your body trembling. But Steve held you against him as he threw himself on the couch, pulling you into his lap. His body was damp and warm, and you loved the feeling of his strong arms around you. You buried your face into the crook of his neck. 
He rubbed along your sides as he whispered comforting words in your ear. His hands rubbing your body everywhere he could. “You did so good, baby.” 
---
You don’t remember getting to Steve’s bed the previous night, but that’s where you woke up; under his warm sheets, a pair of lips kissing your face gently. 
“Wake up, Miss.” 
You groaned. “Don’t call me that.” You mumbled from under the sheets. You tried sitting up and you felt sore in places you didn’t know one could feel sore. Steve caught the frown on your face and when you looked up and to send him a death glare, he just chuckled. 
You noticed that he was dressed already. 
“Come on now. We have to go.” 
You hid under the blankets again. “No.” 
He sighed. Of course, he should’ve known he’d have to deal with all your antics again. “You need to get home, and I need to get to work. Now come on, we have to go.” 
You peaked from under the blankets. “Give me a kiss first.” You bargained. 
He rolled his eyes and walked up to his bed, leaning over you. “You’re just gonna pull me back into bed with you and then we’re both not going to want to leave at all.” 
You held both your hands out, “Just one kiss, I promise.” 
He gave in, he leaned in and cupped your face with one hand and pressed his lips to yours. It started out all gentle and slow but then you pulled him closer by the back of his neck and he accidentally let out a moan. You tried pulling him back under the covers but he pulled away right before he gave in completely. 
“No.” He pulled away. “Home, now.” He used the same tone as he did when waking you up for work each day. 
You groaned and eventually, reluctantly, got out of his bed. 
 ---
Everything was going great after that night. 
Your days just got a whole lot better with Steve around. Sure, you kept being the brat that you are, just so he could drag you all the way to your bedroom and ‘teach you how to behave’ at any time during the day. 
It was safe to say that you began catching feelings for each other. You brightened up Steve’s days and him yours. Bathroom quickies, morning sex, and spending nights together quickly became more frequent than you expected. 
You teased him just the same, and it almost always resulted in him fucking you just how you wanted him to. 
All was well. 
Until your parents came home for a weekend out of nowhere. And they left just as quickly as they came but their arrival made Steve feel terrible. Steve couldn’t help but feel guilty when your father asked him if he was taking good care of you. Obviously, he guarded your little secret well. But he felt terrible, like he was betraying your parents. 
He wasn’t supposed to do this. Above all, he shouldn’t have even thought that he could be with you. Really, what was he thinking? This was wrong. He worked for your parents, and you. This was unprofessional. Inappropriate. 
You noticed that his stand-offish manner remained even after your parents were gone. So you confronted him about it one morning. 
“Is everything okay between us?” 
He looked up at you, and nodded. Truth is, he didn’t know how to let you down. 
“Steve, seriously.” 
He sighed. He walked over to where you stood and faced you with a look which gave away what he might have been thinking all this time. “This has to stop.” 
Your heart raced. “What does?” 
He pointed between you and him. “This.” 
You were sure you could fix whatever was wrong. “If you’re worried about mom and dad finding out then-,” 
He cut you off. “No. Listen to me. I feel like I’m doing the wrong thing here, like I’m leading you on because… let’s face it, we can never be together.” He could visibly see how he was breaking your heart. He took a deep breath. “I should have tried to make you see sense. I shouldn’t have… used you. I can’t help but feel like I’m using you, I-,” 
You cut him off this time. “Steve, you’re not.” He stepped forward to cup his face but he caught your hands before you could, pulling away from you. 
“You don’t understand. This… this can’t happen. It probably isn’t real. What you feel for me could be something else and you’re mistaken and-,” 
You couldn’t believe him. “How dare you?” You got defensive really quickly, trying to hide how it hurt. 
He got quiet. Maybe this was the wrong way of dealing with this situation? 
You straightened your back and took a step away from him. “Look, if you don’t want me anymore then just say so. Don’t make silly excuses, we’re not children.” 
He spoke up quickly. “All I’m saying is that you’re young. Perhaps you’re not thinking straight. Look, I’ve mistaken lust for love too in the past, when I was younger. It’s not-,” 
You stopped him before he hurt you even more. You were hurt, but mostly angry at this point. “Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean that my feelings aren’t real or valid, or that I don’t know what I want. Also you have no right to water down my feelings like that. Who are you to tell me what I feel? How fucking dare you?” 
He realized he must have dealt with this differently. But it was too late now, he hurt you. The sight of your watery eyes was unbearable, knowing that he’s the one who caused it. I’m sorry, babygirl. “Y/N, I’m just-,” 
You raised your voice. “Enough!” You didn’t let your tears fall in front of him. “Screw you, Steve.” You grabbed your bag and made your way out of your house, got in the car and drove to work in anger and your heart aching. 
You cried in the car before you got out. What happened? Everything was so perfect. Why did he feel this way all of a sudden? To a point where he made himself believe that what you felt for him wasn’t real? Where did that even come from? Did he think that you were just a confused young girl, seeking attention? 
That bit really hurt. It hurt more because you fell for him, hard and it wasn’t something you could control. 
You started your day rough, and it seemed it was only going to get worse because you’d be replaying the scene from the kitchen this morning all day long. 
 As for Steve, he was equally a mess as you were. He kept cursing himself as he tried his hardest to go about his day but the thought of your teary face this morning was haunting him in broad daylight. 
He could’ve been less mean, more understanding. You were human after all. How could he have hurt you like that when all he ever cared for this whole time was your well-being? 
He was upstairs doing something when your bedroom door caught his eye. He stepped in and immediately regretted all that he did this morning. It was unfair towards you and now he felt even more guilty. 
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, standing in the middle of your room. It smelt like you; floral, fierce and enticing. His favorite girl, how could have hurt you so much? He felt guilty, but perhaps he failed to see how happy he actually made you. 
His eyes fell on your freshly made bed. In the past month following that night at his apartment, he had spent quite some nights here. Memories of all times spent with you, not just for the past month, but the past years as well flashed in his mind. 
Oh he had fucked up. 
He walked out of your bedroom, already taking his gloves off. He needed to change and go find you and apologize before it gets worse. 
-
You were in the middle of yet another business call when you heard a knock on your door. You quickly wrapped up the call and called out in annoyance, “Come in.” You had been quite moody since this morning. 
Steve was the last person you expected to enter your office this afternoon. You stood up immediately; not having the heart to tell him to get out. All your anger vanished the minute you saw him standing there, all that was left was the hurt. And fuck did it hurt. 
He closed the door behind him and lingered around the door itself, still wondering how he should start his apology. Also the broken look in your eyes felt like a thousand daggers piercing him all at the same time. 
“Came to tell me some more about how much of a stupid, young and confused girl I am?” You sassed. Your go-to method of dealing with emotions was to be as sassy and as ruthless as humanly possible, Steve was aware of that. 
He sighed. “I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have said all that.” He took a deep breath and kept going. “I felt terrible when I spoke to your parents.” He finally confessed. “They trust me to take good care of you, like a guardian. But I have been…” he couldn’t find the right words. “I felt guilty. And it’s not your fault, but I couldn’t figure out how to deal with all this. I thought maybe if I push you away it would… I don’t know. I don’t know, Y/N. I’m sorry I hurt you.” 
You listened, trying to grasp the reasons why he said what he said this morning. 
“Then what made you think that I might be confused about what I feel?” You questioned. 
He took a step forward, feeling terrible now that he was voicing out everything. “I don’t know, I thought that you- that maybe you… I-,’ 
You cut him off, repeating your question because you could tell he had an answer but didn’t want to tell you. “What made you think so, Steve? The truth, please.” 
He stared into your eyes for a few seconds. “I thought that perhaps you weren’t sure about your feelings… for me. Why would you fall for someone like me, I mean, I work for your parents.” He let out a dry chuckle. “I thought that maybe you were mistaking everything that’s been happening since that night at my apartment to be… something it’s not.” 
You scoffed. You simplified and rephrased what he had just said, “So you think that I’ve been going on about how much you mean to me just because you fuck me good?” 
That felt like a slap across his face. “That’s not-,” 
“Do you even like me? Or is it just… I don’t know, convenient sex to you?” 
He had the same look of hurt on his face which you had this morning. “Don’t you dare say that. You know how I feel about you.” He had told you many times how he feels and he meant it. The fact that you even questioned him hurt. 
You scoffed and nodded. You walked around your desk, stopping at the side of it. “Take a seat.” 
He looked confused for a moment. “What?” 
“Take a seat, Steve.” You pointed to one of the chairs and he walked right over without any question. 
Your heart burned as you looked at him, wanting to just shower him with tender love and affection but you had to clear some things up first. 
He looked up at you with his deep blue eyes, wondering if he had lost you for good. It would kill him if that were the case. He could no longer imagine his days without you. 
“Do you remember the night of my 20th birthday, Steve?” You asked. 
He looked down at his lap and cracked a little smile. “That was 6 years ago, Y/N. It’s a little blurry.” 
You smiled at the memory. “Mom and dad were away, as usual. But they promised they would make it back before the night ends, for my birthday dinner. But then, they both forgot about it and later blamed it on the workload. I went to bed crying that night, like I had all day.” As you narrated that day, it helped him remember a little bit. You continued, “But then someone knocked on my door. It was you, standing there with a little cupcake and a candle. It was your day off but you were the only one who didn’t forget that it was my birthday.” 
He remembered it now. He remembered how he found your little teary face when you opened your bedroom door and how you jumped in his arms. 
He remained quiet. 
You kept going. “The year after that, I begged mom and dad to be home for Christmas because I was dying to have some family time with them. But they called and said they couldn’t make it. Do you know who put with my shit and helped me decorate the entire house with obnoxious Christmas music on? You.” 
He smiled a little bigger at the memory. He remembered how you pouted and followed him around the entire day, asking him to help you with decoration. He remembers the way his heart fluttered when he saw the biggest, most genuine smile on your face after he agreed to do so. He would do anything just to see that same smile on your face right now. 
You stepped a little closer. 
“Do you remember the times when I used to go clubbing almost every weekend? And you would have to track me down and bring me home safe at like three in the morning every time?” You chuckled at the memory. “And then you sat me down one day and asked me to get my shit together.” 
He remembered that as well. That was one of the only times he had been so strict with you. He simply could not watch you waste your life away like that and put yourself in danger. He was glad you listened. 
“And all those times when I missed mom and dad but I couldn’t call them because I knew they were always busy, so I called you. At odd hours and you would always show up. And you’d stay for as long as I needed you to. And I’d drag you along to go get ice-cream with me in the middle of the night. You remember that?” 
He looked up at you and his smile vanished. You had tears streaming down your face. “Y/N…” 
“It was you, Steve. It’s always been you.” You fought the need to cry. “I didn’t fall for you because of that night at your apartment. All these years, all those mundane things added up to now, when I can finally tell you how I feel and how important you are to me. And when you try to reduce it to nothing but lust and confusion, it really hurts.” 
He got up from his seat. “Baby… I’m so, so sorry.” 
You wiped your tears away. “It’s okay if you want nothing to do with me. None of this will affect your job, and my parents will never find out. You can walk out of this, I’ll understand. But don’t tell me what I feel for you isn’t real. Because it is. I love you, and that’s real.” 
He closed the distance between the two of you, grabbing your face and to pull you closer gently. “Shh…” he whispered, one of his arms circling your waist and pulling you closer, “I’m not gonna walk out. I’m not going anywhere.” 
He pressed his lips to yours, gently. He kissed you passionately; arms wrapping around your body, tongue stroking the inside of your mouth while he occasionally bit down on your lip. Your hands found their way into his soft hair, you tugged on it gently while moaning softly into the kiss. 
He gave you a second to catch your breath. “I adore you, babygirl. And that’s real too.” He mumbled against your lips before kissing you again while gently pushing you against the edge of your desk until you got on top of it. He stepped in between your legs and deepened the kiss. You gripped his hair and tugged a little more and he let out a quiet, breathy moan. 
His warm hand caressed your thigh, given your dress had bunched up higher than before. His other hand gently held your lower jaw as he kissed and nibbled on your skin, down your neck; making you squirm and forget all about the world outside. Here, with him now, was all that mattered. 
You felt his fingers lazily making their way across your inner thighs. His knuckles gently stroked your clothed core and you leaned your head back at the sudden wave of pleasure; letting out a soft moan. 
Steve gently toyed with your still clothed, now wet, core. Your hand tugged on his sweater and you pulled him closer, placing your lips on his again. Your other hand dipped in between your bodies and you unbuckled his pants as quickly as you could. You felt him bite down on your skin when you palmed him through his underwear. 
“Steve… I want you…” You whispered in his ear. 
You moaned as he kissed his way up to your neck. “I know, baby. I know…” he pulled away to look at you with hooded eyes. 
You lowered his underwear and pulled out his cock. He rapidly dragged your underwear down your legs and threw them somewhere behind him. He spread your legs open and aligned his cock to your core. 
You could feel his tip, leaking with precum, slightly pressing against your clit. Slowly, he slipped inside of you, groaning at how tight you were. You felt his length stretching you out entirely. He started rocking in and out of you slowly, then eventually, he sped up. 
“Steve…”You moaned out loud, feeling all of him; stretching you, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you to the point where the only thing you could focus on was his body.
“I’m right here, baby…” he whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, as he bent down to kiss your open mouth, swallowing all your moans and mewls in the process. 
You whined upon hearing the wet, slapping sounds your bodies made when they came in contact with one another. Mixed with his scent and the growls leaving his mouth, it was all too sinful, too good. 
“You’re all mine.” He stared down at you, his ocean blue eyes showing you all the love he had for you. You could only nod, unable to form coherent sentences while he pounded into you like he owned you. He leaned in again, kissing you softly. “Say it, babygirl. Tell me you’re mine.” he whispered against your lips.
Something about how he sounded so calm even while he was fucking you hard made you tremble under him. “I’m yours…” you whispered, shuddering under him. He smirked and sped up into you again, relishing the feeling of you wrapped around him like you were made for it.
Hearing you moan and squirm under him only encouraged him to thrust deeper into you, he wanted to feel all of you and he wanted you to feel all of him. He wanted you to know that he was here, and was not planning on going anywhere. He was relentless. He moaned right in your ear as his body moved perfectly against yours. “I’m so sorry baby, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you so, so much...” 
You whined; feeling a thin layer of sweat covering both your bodies as your walls milked him perfectly. A tear fell from your eye, out of pleasure. He was quick to wipe it away. He bent down and kissed your lips, pounding into you rapidly like his life depended on it.
“I love you more…” 
He felt you clench and tighten around him, “Cum for me, baby...” He whispered, his voice strained and raspy. Your mind was foggy by now, and it took your brain a few seconds to even process his words.
Not even a few moments later, you felt him twitch inside of you; his cock throbbing against your walls. He came with a growl, gripping your hips. You whined as you came around him as well, hard and fast. 
He didn’t pull his cock out of you as he engulfed you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin as he held you against his warm body. You could hear his frantic heartbeats, and he could feel yours. 
“I’m sorry.” He whispered again. 
You pulled away from his hug just a little so you could look at him. “Hey,” you reached out to touch his face. “Stop apologizing. We’re gonna be okay.” 
He smiled down at you. “I’m gonna have to love you in secret.” He leaned down and rubbed the tip of his nose to yours. You giggled. 
“Not for long. We’ll figure something out.” You grabbed him by his face and pulled him closer, and whispered dramatically, “Or maybe we could run away.” Your words made his smile. You pulled him in for a kiss, and whispered, “Till then, I’ll love you when no one is around.” 
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theunsinkablesappho · 2 years
Text
We're Gonna Talk About Bruno
Encanto Spoilers
Okay so, I have a lot of feelings about Bruno.
We now know that he never really left. He was living inside the forgotten parts of the house, trying his best to stay close to and take care of his family. Because he loved them. He's been patching the wall. Who knows how long he's postponed the collapse of the magic with his efforts? We don't.
It's so heartbreaking though. He's got himself his little table so he can pretend he still eats dinner with his family.
Let's think about what he hears, in those years, and what he doesn't hear.
He doesn't hear his family miss him. He doesn't him them mourn him - I mean, he probably does some, but certainly Abuela did not allow any large displays of grief. There's no... hole left. The family just goes Mum about him and blames him for leaving.
And what he does hear? Let's have a hard think about how he probably heard all of the song We Don't Talk About Bruno. He heard Pepa say that he ruined her wedding "with a mischievous grin". We heard Camilo describe him like some kind of terrifying monster. Some of the lyrics are slightly more neutral in perception of him. For example, Isabela's portion almost sounds positive (although again, as we learn, his vision for her has been rather wildly misinterpreted). Dolores seems both frightened and sympathetic. It's worth noting that he's been gone about 9-10 years at this point. Dolores and Isabela would both have strong independent memories of Bruno. (As would Luisa, but she doesn't feature in this song... I wonder what her perception of him was?) Camilo and Mirabel, meanwhile, would have much weaker memories given they were 5-6 when he vanished. But we've got a huge chunk of a town and a household singing about how this man ruined their lives and they are basically glad he's gone.
And a good portion of that song happened INSIDE the Casita. He fucking heard that, you just know he did.
Outside of the song, you know he heard Abuela telling Mirabel that Bruno didn't care about them.
Like fuck... poor Bruno. He's just wanted to help and like so many seers, he is hated for it. He just wants to help. Imagine hearing your loved ones sing about how you ruined their lives.
That whole fucking family needs therapy.
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bkdkology · 3 years
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A Katsuki Meta
Howdy, I am back on my shit again after Atsushi’s twitter post of Horikoshi’s drafts made me cry for two hours and sleep for three.
Let’s get to it!
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While there is obvious symbolism in this draft of Katsuki letting go of his past self, you have to appreciate just how much planning has been dedicated to this series, and how Horikoshi has managed to take a character that could’ve strictly followed a checklist of stereotypes for a hot headed, short tempered deuteragonist and build him to become just as complex and important as the protagonist.
He kept true to the promise he made when the chapter releases were still in the single digits:
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Katsuki’s character is one of the easiest to mishandle. He was introduced as a bully, and maintained an explosively vile personality throughout a good chunk of the series. His most obvious traits are the marks of a FOIL to Deku, and he could have well stayed that way and still ended up becoming a good pro, with the usual AHA moment that a deuteragonist like him experiences: a moment where he learns that power isn’t everything.
Except he didn’t have a moment, he had several. He was kidnapped, tossed around, ripped to shreds, challenged, loved, trusted, admired, understood and practically reborn. The fact that he’s managed to stay true to himself after everything means he always had the makings of a great hero in him.
I wouldn’t say I’m a person who’s particularly capable of insane and correct deep level thinking, and on top of that I’m INCREDIBLY EASY to impress. For me it’s like:
You know how Earth needed to be at the exact distance it is from the sun and have the perfect atmosphere to create life? Katsuki’s story is much like that.
If anyone else but Deku had been telling the story, if Deku hadn’t been as persistent, strong willed, and caring as he is, and if everything that happened to Katsuki didn’t happen in the exact order and manner it did, he wouldn’t have been as great as he is now. And while that’s simple enough to say, it’s truly such a beautiful thing to bear witness to.
We’re 300 chapters and nearly 6 years into MHA and we’ve seen.
Katsuki go from refusing to work with others to becoming a great team leader.
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His focus has always been on one thing: victory. In almost every situation, he’s had his eye on the win. It wasn’t always the case when Deku was involved, because Deku was so different from him in a way that made him feel threatened. And it’s something that has most likely been on his mind for a long time.
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He’s become more comfortable with his vision since his fight with Deku, and it was probably liberating in an emotional sense too. His fight with Deku didn’t just realign and solidify his own views on life, but made him more accepting of himself and absolved him of some of his heaviest insecurities.
Katsuki letting go of his superiority complex to better himself.
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In the days leading up to his fight with Deku, he was also fighting an internal battle for “being the reason behind All Might’s end.”
I wouldn’t argue that he was feeling guilty. While it was surely part of it, it shouldn’t be minimized to only guilt. The expressions on his face throughout the fight were incredible, he was angry, frustrated, confused, scared, quite clearly as he claimed, he just didn’t know what the hell he should do, so he fought.
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By the time he interned at Endeavor’s agency, he was already well aware that he had faults, which is a huge step for him, and he was beginning the process of pinpointing those faults.
His unwillingness to work with Deku dissolves
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After reaching a certain point in the manga, it’s become hard for me to imagine a time when Katsuki full on rejected Deku. In the first few volumes Katsuki got worse before he got better. He was in a comfortable position bullying Deku in middle school, but when he started to experience failure, when he witnessed Deku becoming stronger at a faster rate than him, he couldn’t even enjoy the fact that he was going to school where his favorite role model was teaching.
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Now, after everything, Katsuki was opening up to Deku. They started training together to help Deku gain control of OFA. And not just that, Katsuki was invested in the long term. While he shared the secret of OFA with Deku long before anyone else found out about it, he later started to shoulder some of the weight too, and he was good at it.
He called small might out for keeping secrets from Deku, claiming Deku trusted him with his life, but he wasn’t as easily convinced, pointing out a detail in the descriptions of the past users that might’ve gone over Deku’s head. He’s always been brilliant, but now he’s using that brilliance to actively try to become involved with Deku’s burden.
He’s changed in obvious ways, but in subtle ones too.
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After so much time, this panel is still really hard to look at. If you’ve ever suffered at the hands of bullies, you probably feel like there’s little satisfaction in their story even though so much has changed between them, there’s still a long way to go, there’s still a huge piece missing. Deku is way too forgiving, I don’t think he ever held anything against Katsuki for the way he treated him in the past. Katsuki is still hard with words, since the last time he bullied Deku, he has never said anything he doesn’t mean.
Katsuki has never been the type to lie. He doesn’t beat around the bush, he doesn’t pretend to be somebody he’s not, and while that part of him hasn’t changed, the way in which he delivers has. His heart has changed, and while I don’t recall a moment where he hasn’t been able to live up to his big claims, his confidence has changed from being used to mask his insecurity, to a healthier confidence that can lead, support, protect, and save.
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To think that this moment is the moment that solidified Katsuki’s path to greatness, the fact that his capabilities and brilliance have always made his future bright, he’s gone above and beyond his own expectations of the world and how it works. In the world of scientific journals, there is always a gap in the knowledge of the scientific community, a gap in the understanding of how the world works. When you find that gap, something incredible happens.
He let go of the past. Katsuki, who envisioned a life where he made it big because he knew he could. Katsuki, who was always self driven. Katsuki, who loves the taste of victory. Katsuki, who categorized the world and people around him in terms of power. Katsuki, who believed only the powerful could become strong.
Deku was the one thing in his life that didn’t fit in his picture of the world. To him, his understanding of how the world worked was defined by the strong, the weak, the good and the bad. He couldn’t understand how empathy and vulnerability could make someone strong.
I’m really excited to see where Katsuki goes from here. There’s still so much for him to discover, and he’s so, so close to the end stage of his metamorphosis.
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mypoisonedvine · 3 years
Text
Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 2)
(part 1)
series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  
word count: 3k
chapter warnings: kinda smut? (male masturbation), stalking (not bucky lol), a bit a violence, angst
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It had been a month.  Well, 29 days, to be exact; he’d been counting them.  29 days since he’d seen so much more than he was supposed to, and he was pretty sure you’d seen him too.  29 days of tense silence as he wondered if you were ever going to say anything about it.
It must have been that you hadn’t seen him, if you hadn’t said anything for so long.  But god, it really did feel like you were looking right into his eyes as you came that night.  He knew the reality was that it was a horrible mistake and he was a terrible person for looking at you like that, and that he was never going to be any closer to you than watching someone else pleasure you; he knew that truly.  But regardless, that moment had been playing on repeat in his mind for 29 days.
And now, as he took his shower, he prepared to finish off day 29 and start day 30.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, head falling back against the cool tile as his hand stroked slowly over his cock.  He’d dreamt about you (again) and woken up so hard that it actually hurt; so this wasn’t a continuation of his perversion, or his unhealthy obsession, no, it was pain relief.  It was medicine, really.
In his dream, like always, it had been him between your legs in the back of the car and not that other guy— who he’d seen on TV the other day, dying in the first five minutes of an episode of some awful CW drama, by the way.  It killed him that he couldn’t know how you really taste, or how you really would sound saying his name, but the best guess of his subconscious would have to do.  He tried to conjure in his mind how you sounded that night, each frame of the memory burned into his brain until it was what he saw every time it closed his eyes.
Baby.
That was what you’d said first, and it still made his heart stop every time it echoed in his head.  Baby.
The word itself was sort of innocuous, but it was the way you said it— just below your breath, deep but airy— and what it meant.  It was a plea: you were begging him to touch you, to make you feel good, to help you.  Bucky could listen to you beg for hours, it would be like music to his ears; like poetry, even.  
Later that night, when he’d given you the rest of his sandwich, he’d gotten the closest he ever would to hearing you moan his name.  What you’d said originally was just ‘oh my god, Bucky, this is so good’ and it was just generic enough that he could imagine it being a little more specific.  Sure, it was stupid to get off on memories of you praising a sandwich (that you ate while drunk in the shower) but it still did wonders for him as his hand pumped his length faster and faster.
Oh my god, Bucky, it feels so good— you feel so good.  You’re so good.  Oh my god, Bucky—
He bit down on his lip, already so close to the edge that there was no turning back, toes curling underneath the stream of hot water as his breathing moved just as quick as his thoughts— thoughts of you in the back of the car, or in the shower with your foggy silhouette just barely visible to him, or doing all sorts of things that he’d never seen you do but he’d love to pretend he had.  
“Oh my god, Bucky!” you yelled as you swung open the door, a choked moan jumping out of his throat in shock as his eyes shot open, come starting to spill down over his hand.
You couldn’t see him through his shower curtain, thank all that’s holy, but it was a sort of sensory overload as he tried to process what was going on mid-orgasm.
“What?!” he yelped, voice clearly rougher but hopefully not in a way you would find suspicious.
“Come quick,” you requested.
Already did, he thought to himself with a shudder of guilt.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s somebody in the yard,” you explained frantically, “it’s probably nothing, but I don’t know how they got past the gate—”
Your mitigation was lost to him as he was already turning off the flow of water, the evidence of his misdeed already washed away, leaving only the ringing in his ears and the burning in his cheeks as reminders.
You stepped out into the hall to give him just enough privacy to slip on a robe, which he was certain he looked ridiculous in but he really had no choice.  Storming out of the bathroom, he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront a potential threat while dripping wet and barefoot, but the whole point of him living here most of the week was so he could keep you safe at all times— apparently, shower time included.  
“Stay inside,” he instructed you quickly, “and stay out of the line of sight of any windows and doors, got it?” 
You nodded, and he could tell you were scared.  He hated that you had to worry about this sort of stuff.  He was glad to be there to help, yes, but he would rather this line of work didn’t need to exist at all even if it put him out of a job.  You waited for him there as he pushed past you and moved through the living room, considering whether or not he should grab a weapon from the safe he kept hidden in this room— but then he glanced to his left arm, drying quicker than the rest of him, and remembered he already had a weapon.
By the time he reached the door he could hear someone shouting your name outside.  As Bucky flipped on the damn-near-blinding security light on your porch and entered the yard, he saw a guy— smaller than him, but not exactly tiny— who seemed to ignore him and the light completely as he continued his desperate attempts to get your attention.  
“This is private property, you need to leave,” Bucky told the man in his best ‘stern but not quite yelling’ voice. 
“Is she home?” he asked him instead, totally unfazed by the warning.  As the fan looked back up and called your name again, Bucky shivered with the realization that he was looking up at your bedroom window.  Had he already seen you there?  Or, worse, did he have some other way of knowing which window was your bedroom?
“You need to get out of here before I call the police.  You’re trespassing,” Bucky continued, pushing the man back towards the gate.  Sadly, Bucky knew from experience the police weren’t that concerned about celebrity stalkers— you and him had both called to no avail once they learned the name of the homeowner.  It made his blood boil just to think about it.
“Hey, let go of me!” the man resisted, pushing Bucky back.  He seemed to sober up a bit when Bucky’s face changed, though, but it was too late.  He tried to duck but totally missed, and Bucky’s right fist made contact with his jaw.  “Ow!” he screeched, cowering and trying to cover his face.  “What the fuck?!  That’s assault— you just assaulted me!”
“And you’re trespassing.  And harassing.  And probably stalking,” Bucky listed, continuing to guide the man back towards the gate.  “Tell me how you got in here.  Did you hop the fence?”
He couldn’t go any further back as the man was pressed back against a stone column, squirming a bit but otherwise putting up little fight— or maybe he was actually trying his best, and it was just lost on someone as strong as Bucky.  
Unamused by his stammering and lack of an answer, Bucky brought his metal fist to the column right beside the man’s face, hitting hard enough to break off a sizable chunk of the stone.  “Tell me!” he demanded.
“There’s a tree out back, I climbed it!” he explained with a whimper, “I’m sorry!”
“Don’t come back here, you hear me?  Or this—” Bucky pointed to the dent in the column that he’d made— “will be your face!”
Letting him go and swinging open the gate a bit, the man ran away of his own volition, stumbling down the street and out of the glowing light of the streetlamps.  Bucky let out a low sigh, hoping it was the last of him but terrified that it wouldn’t be.  He made a mental note to call a landscaper about trimming this mysterious tree in the back, or maybe chopping it down altogether, as he made his way back inside.  He found you in the living room, chewing your nails nervously and watching him step closer with wide, watery eyes.
“He’s gone,” Bucky informed you quickly.
“Thank you,” you mumbled.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
“Um, yeah,” you decided, but you didn’t seem so confident.  Even so, he wasn’t sure what more he could do.  
“Oh, I broke your pillar, by the way.  Sorry.”
“I saw that,” you smiled a little, but he frowned.
“I told you to stay out of sight of the windows,” he reminded you.
You sighed.   “I know, I know, I just…” you trailed off, lip quivering a little as you got emotional again.  “I know it’s stupid but—”
“No, don’t say that,” he interjected.
“— but I was so scared,” you finished, voice wavering as you ran towards him, suddenly pulling him into a tight hug.  It took him by surprise, but he figured it was okay to hug you back.  He was only wearing a robe, he suddenly remembered, and your face was against the exposed portion of his bare chest.  If he hadn’t gotten off just minutes ago, he certainly would’ve gotten hard just from that (embarrassingly enough).
“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed gently, indulging himself in resting his chin on top of your head as he stroked your hair.  
“Thank you,” you mumbled against his skin, pulling him even closer, “god, I don’t even know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here.”
A pang of guilt rattled in his chest; you trusted him so completely and he was crushing on you, spying on you (only the once, but still), taking advantage of your need for protection, staying in your guest bedroom and jerking off to you in your shower— when had he turned into an unstoppable pervert?
“Will you stay in my room tonight?” you asked him suddenly, looking up at him with those big shiny eyes and a pouty lip.
“Oh nonononono,” he shook his head, instantly recognizing that trap.
“No, Bucky, please,” you whimpered, “that guy might come back, I don’t want you all the way across the house.”
“I shouldn’t— I’d be overstepping—” he stammered.
“Please,” you sighed, and he sighed too, because when you said it like that, he couldn’t say no to you.
//
Bucky had insisted on staying on the floor as opposed to getting up on your bed, which was a drag but whatever.  At least you had a lot of good spare blankets and pillows to make him a comfy-looking pallet.  He seemed to agree when he appeared behind you in the doorway to find you on your knees on the floor, putting it all together.
“You didn’t need to do that, I’m pretty good at sleeping on floors as-is,” he dismissed.
“No, I’m happy to!” you beamed, turning around and choking a bit when you looked up at him in his pajamas.  Even though they were still pretty conservative, specifically sweats and a scoop neck sweater-y sort of top, it was probably more than you’d ever seen of him since his uniform was very concealing.  You were kind of hoping to catch a glimpse of his metal hand— you didn’t get to see it much because he wore driving gloves the vast majority of the time, and you hadn’t really been paying attention when it was exposed earlier by his just being in a robe— but he was noticeably leaning against the doorframe in such a way that you couldn’t see it.  The thing that really got a reaction out of you was his dog tags, though; you’d never seen him wear them before and there was something perfect about the way the silver chain dangled over the slight peek of collarbone visible above his neckline.  “Aren’t you warm wearing that much to bed?”
“No, it’s fine,” he dismissed.  You hoped he wasn’t wearing more just for your benefit.  Shirtlessness would’ve benefited you more, certainly.  In fact, now you felt kind of bad that you were just wearing a thin, silky short-and-tank set.  Hopefully it didn’t make him uncomfortable.
Getting up from the floor, you slipped under your covers and motioned for him to do the same.  He turned off your lamp first, stealing your last chance at a good view of the hand, and you heard him get comfortable on the floor.
“Thank you for this,” you mumbled quickly into the darkness.  “I don’t think I’d be able to fall asleep if you weren’t in here.
“Oh, of course,” he replied softly.  
“Goodnight,” you whispered.
“Goodnight,” he answered back, and his low, sleepy voice was somehow both soothing and energizing.
You weren’t sure if you even tried to fall asleep, or how long you laid staring out into the void of the darkness.  It was so dark in your room that you saw purple spots dancing in the corners like static as your eyes adjusted, incomprehensible shapes forming to make up for the lack of visual stimulation.  You wished that there was enough ambient light to be able to see Bucky’s shape on the floor and know he was there; instead, you settled for the subtle sound of his slow breathing.  When you heard him adjust slightly, you decided maybe just the breathing wasn’t enough to be sure it was really safe.
“Bucky?” you whispered under your breath.  “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” he answered, making you sigh with relief.
“I can’t sleep.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to sleep if I wasn’t here.”
“But I never said you being here would make me sleep,” you pointed out.
“Then I should go,” he decided.
“No, please,” you hissed, “don’t go.”
“Okay.”
You took a deep breath.  “Tell me something,” you requested.
“Tell you what?”
“I don’t know, anything.”
He paused for a moment.  “Will it help you sleep?”
“Maybe,” you shrugged.
Bucky sighed, and you heard him turn on his side.  “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?” he asked, sarcasm noticeable even in a whisper.
“Yes,” you announced with a smile.
“Okay,” he pondered, “um… once upon a time—”
“Good start,” you rolled your eyes.
“No interrupting!” he scolded.
“Sorry…”
“Anyways, once upon a time there was a princess, who lived in a castle in the Isle of Manhattan.”
“A castle?” you asked excitedly.
“A somewhat modest castle, but yes.  One with big golden gates and marble columns.  The princess didn’t live all alone in her castle though— at least, not all the time.  She had many royal attendants, and servants, and plenty of friends of course.  But the problem with being a beautiful, kind, generous princess is that sometimes people get too friendly and want to visit her in the castle when she’d rather be alone.  Thankfully, the princess had a last line of defense—”
“Let me guess, a knight in shining armor?”  Or more like knight with shining arm.
“Wish I could say so,” he disagreed.  “No, this princess needed something a little fiercer, and that was why a dragon guarded the castle.”
“A dragon?!”
“Mhmm.  A big, scary dragon with sharp teeth and big wings, that breathed fire on anyone who got in his way.  The thing about knights is that they’re noble, and handsome, and righteous.  But righteousness prevents people from doing bad things, and sometimes bad things need to be done to protect good things.  So, knights can’t protect princesses like they should.  That’s what dragons are for.  They’re mean and nasty— it’s their nature, after all— and sometimes you need somebody burnt up, so you call a dragon and he’ll deal with it for you.  And this dragon was the meanest and nastiest of them all, and he’d burnt a lot of people in his time.  Oddly enough, the princess was still nice to him, but she had a lot of knights and princes and kings who wanted her hand.  Good thing the dragon was there to pick off the worst ones.”
You giggled a little, even though your heart was racing.
“The dragon watched over the castle every night— well, five nights a week… cause the princess wanted weekends to herself— but, still, he was very dedicated and did his best to keep her safe.  Sometimes he would take her to whatever lavish ball she had been invited to that week; she would ride on his back as he flew there, even though he was pretty scared she would fall off or something.  And sometimes…”
Your breath caught at the pause, waiting anxiously for what would come next.  
“Sometimes the dragon wished he wasn’t a monster.  But if he wasn’t a monster, then he couldn’t keep her safe.  So, he resigned himself to a life outside the castle, because at least he could be near her— even if she was impossibly far away.”
You swallowed as you tried to process it, finding yourself at a complete loss for words.
“The end,” he whispered gently, before giving you a goodnight and saying your name in a way that he’d never said it before— at least, you’d never heard him say it that way before.  But you really, really hoped you’d get to hear it again.  You did manage to fall asleep eventually, dreaming about flying and wishing you didn’t have to wake up.
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