#october is big fucking busy for me and its nice to be reminded i enjoy hobbies

[nixknacks0-0]

Trick or treat!

Oooh a treat for you dear, a little Roudise sneak peek of my wip

#damn thats crazy #i wonder what she said though #bob's burgers #writing stuff #fanfiction #wip #but actually thank you for asking #october is big fucking busy for me and its nice to be reminded i enjoy hobbies

[hilariouslyedgy]

tgfmtif headcanons

hi, if you read my fanfic this godforsaken mess, this idiotic fool then this post may be for you. (if u haven’t read the fic maybe check it out before reading this list.) on ao3, I asked if anyone wanted a list of hc’s I have for this fic and a few of y’all said YES so. here it is. enjoy. I may go back and add things I think of later on.

-yakko is a leo (aug 10), wakko is a sagittarius (nov 30), and dot is a pisces-aries cusp (march 20)(if you ask her she’ll say she’s an aries)

-(this ones more for me) but if I were to describe the warners in this fic as tarot cards it would be this

-yakko: the hanged man

-wakko: six of swords

-dot: queen of swords

-(look em up)anyways

-yakko started working at that starbucks in that target at the age of 16

-he really enjoyed it there. the chaos reminded him vaguely of the movie lot and keeping his mind busy was nice

-the transition from “I do what I fucking want” to “yes ma’am right away” was difficult, it got him written up a couple times

-he was so good at his job that his boss couldn’t fire him

-now that he transferred into the store it’s less chaotic but he can have more time with a customer

-he actually likes helping elderly customers, they have so many questions and he has a lot of answers (and patience)

-he gets along pretty well with Shawn and playfully flirts with him. shawn is straight but he still jokes about running away with yakko

-shawn and annalise are very happy together, despite their vast differences. it’s actually annalise’s first healthy relationship

-yakko called annalise “Lisa” the first time he met her but then switched to “Annie bannanie” after seeing the face she made at the nickname

-“I got ᵘᵘᵘᵘʰʰʰʰʰ a venti mango dragonfruit with lemonade for ANNIE BANNANIE”

-annalise doesn’t really like teenagers but her education in psychology is changing that. yakko changed that too. she took it upon herself to keep tabs on him when he first started working at target. now they’re good friends.

-its still 2 years away but she’s planning things for yakkos 21st birthday

-when the 2 younger sibs started school they texted each other during class to make sure they were okay

-wakko immediately wanted to join orchestra, playing violin, naturally

-he met charlie in this class, she plays the flute. wakko noticed her after she let out a well timed belch after a piece

-wakko met astro in algebra 2. they both have an interest in a particular band and bonded over that

-charlie and astro share classes together and that’s how they know each other

-despite his grades, wakko adapted really well to going to school. as stated in the main fic, school becomes his escape from home when things are hard

-dot, on the other hand, is not such a big fan. classes are boring and her teachers are mean.

-however dance class is fun, and she got to participate in the homecoming parade, and that’s where she met chessie, who also took dance

-dot also adores her dance teacher, miss mercer (it’s my other oc, aria uwu)(idk if y’all will ever meet her tho)

-miss mercer can pass off as a student she looks so young and shes short af, but shes really cool and youthful and you can tell she loves her job, and that’s why dot loves her

-dot makes sure to stand in the very front of the class when they’re doing warm ups and learning new routines for the winter recital

-the winter recital was really exciting, dot got to stand in the front for her class’s dance and she heard her brothers cheering for her from the audience

-miss Mercer told dot that she has potential to join the dance team, and you bet your patootie she’s gonna audition at the end of the year

✨and now some hc’s for my oc’s, annalise and bella✨

-they each have their own respective fics,,,,,i created them for other fandoms 😅 bellas origin story is here, and annalises is here 🙂

-you don’t have to read them but both fics exist in the same universe, and it’s different from the one in this fic!

-anyways (pt2)

-annalise doesn’t really talk to her parents. she’ll see them on their birthdays and holidays but overall,,,,meh

-Bella hadn’t spoken to any of her relatives in years,,,,it’s a sensitive topic

-while bella isn’t an alt girl, she does follow the colorful hair/bold makeup/gamer boyfriend trope ☺️ (and if you peeped at her origin story [third installment] you know Who that bf is)

-annalise is a goth but her bf is “normal” bc that’s the relationship dynamic she saw growing up. so it stuck with her.

-she is the one who introduced dot to little mix, but Bella introduced annalise to them 🤣 you think a goth is gonna find a pop group on her own??

-oh and ann n bella are bisexual 🥰 and yakko is too 💖💜💙

-anyways ann and yakko try to get their lunch breaks at the same time to hang out

-Annalise has picked up the little ones from school a couple times

✨and now thing that were originally supposed to happen but didn’t✨

-in chapter 6 when it’s mentioned that dot spent the night with annalise while wakko was in the hospital?? yeah there was supposed to be a deep, profound, but nice conversation between them but a bitch fuckin forgot the dialogue 🙃

-I was originally going to have Ann’s n Bella’s roles swapped in this fic. Bella was going to be the Human Best Friend to yakko. she’s quiet and he’s loud and it would have been quite the dynamic

-I don’t know what happened tbh. I think Annie bannanie popped into my head first.

-this fic was supposed to take place around october or november but I knew I wanted dot’s birthday in there somewhere AND i wanted her star sign to be aries so it just ended up being late march

-and bc of that she’s accidentally a year older than I planned. so she is one year apart from wakko and 4 years from yakko. oopsie whoopsie

-and finally, the one I’m most 😤 abt bc I’m a dumbass who FORGOT TO WRITE IT IN

-in chapter 12 when yakko comes home he was meant to dig thru the cabinet n eat goldfish crackers (iykyk)

#animaniacs #animaniacs headcanon #animaniacs fanfiction #tgfmtif fic #mine #can u tell i didn’t edit this

[smellysluna]

The one where Luka is a clown | Fictober19 #1

Prompt number: 「 one 」“It will be fun, trust me.”

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Luka Couffaine & [YOU]

Rating: T (Teens And Up)

Warnings/Tags: none

Summary: you’ve always had a crush on him bcs he simply was your type but nothing really happened unitl You & Luka get set up as project mates

Side note: I know that it’s the twelth of october but i just started it, i’ll write some more for fictober but i’ll use the prompts as i see fit bcs i’m just like that so yeah. anyways i hope this makes some kind of sense, its been a long time since i finished something i began writing. okay so i also wanted to write luka because there’s not many fics with him with an “x reader” tag. okay talk over, enjoy the story babes!!!!

"Hey."

I turned around in my seat and smiled. "Hi, Luka."

"So... how'd you wanna do this?"

I cocked an eyebrow. "Do what?" Luka shared an amused smile. "Oh!" I face-palm. "The project! Right." I picked up the notebook with my notes from my desk and slammed it on his desk. Then I rotated it in his direction. "This is how we're going to do it."

"Wow, you've really thought this through already."

I rest my face on my hand and smirk. "It's no coincidence that I ace my presentations."

"I guess I'm lucky then."

"More than you think." I straighten my back. "Okay, no funny business tho. You fuck up and I'll make you suffer all the way to June. Take a picture of them notes so you have a copy and have a slight idea of what's going on."

He puts up a half-amused smile, "this ain't my first rodeo."

"But it's your first bullfight, so keep up." He laughed and I bit my lip. I might've gone overboard. 

"I'll do my best," he assured in a soft voice. Holy shit. He's so mellow. As soon as I was sure he had a picture of my notes, I took his phone. I entered into his contacts and added my number then dialed myself. 

I show him the screen of my phone. "Now we have each other's numbers." He smiled before I turned around just in time for the teacher to get in. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

I was watching dessert recipes on YouTube when I received a message from Luka. The popup appeared from an Unknown number which reminded me that I forgot to add him to my contacts.

"hey"

     "hi"

    "what's up?"

"i went through ur notes"

    "yeah?"

    "they're amazing, aren't they"

"u made those in class"

"how???"

"they're too good"

You sent an image:

Unknown sent an image:

"anyhow"

"i wanted to know when you want to get the project finished"

"i thought that you'd want to finish it asap"

"u look like you have a busy schedule"

    "i'm free whenever, really"

    "but i don't want to finish it in one go"

    "so we'll spend a couple of days on it"

    "if u dont mind that is"

    "btw you give me too much credit"

"right"

"it's fine, yeah"

"more time to clown around"

Unknown sent an image:

    "> AUDIO (laughter)"

    "IM DYING"

    "WHY IS THIS SO FUNNY"

"i took clown courses in my childhood"

    "where's the diploma huh?"

"wait, lemme look"

"wait"

    "ur serious???"

"photo(clown certificate)"

    "I CAN'T BREATHE"

"clown code: never joke about being a clown"

    "AND HERE I WAS"

    "THINKING YOU WERE THE COOLEST GUY AT SCHOOL"

    "BUT ALL THIS TIME YOU WERE JUST A CLOWN"

    "I WAS SO FOOLISH"

    "ur now officially added to my contacts as clown boy 🤡"

"coolest guy huh? ;)"

    "don't let it get to your head, clown boy"

    "as much as i'd love to know about your clown career, i have to go make dinner"

    "we'll talk more about it at school"

    "don't vanish on me"

    "i'll snap my fingers into Thanos' ass if i have to"

"right 😂"

At dinner, I couldn't stop thinking about Luka. We might've never talked much to each other but I always had the hots for him. He was just my type: tall, supposedly long hair for a boy, dyed hair, punk-like feel and especially (these just get me going) those black gauges in his ears. Anyways, I'd lie if I said I never got distracted in class because of the smell of his cologne.

"Thank you for dinner, [Y/N]," said my mom after she cleaned the table.

"Don't forget to do the dishes, love."

"Yes, Dad," I chuckled.

"We're off to bed, then. Goodnight, [Y/N]."

"Goodnight, mum. Goodnight, dad."

That night, I fell asleep thinking about how nice that chat conversation with Luka was.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

I groaned loudly when I got into class. I ran because I was late for geography. When I got to class, the lack of a teacher at the desk made me want to kill myself. My classmates were scattered around the classroom in groups, as usual when a teacher was absent. Done with life, I walk to my desk, drop my backpack and accommodate my face on the desk. Suddenly, somebody is standing next to me. But I really just wanted some sleep so my first intention was to ignore whomever until well, it's self-explanatory.

"Looks like someone spent all night thinking about me."

"What!?" I see Luka. Now fully energized and heart pumping, I stutter: "No, no. What are you even saying?"

He laughs and takes a seat on the vacant spot in front of me. He rests his arms on my desk. "I'm just messing with you, wanted to see the reaction I'd get out of you. I wasn't expecting to fully wake you up." He smiles broadly and I stare into his eyes.

Have you ever met that person, no matter who they are, their eyes are so enthralling that you just can't help but keep staring at them? These kinds of eyes just have something... Something I'm unable to describe. And when I stare at them, they're so glossy and shiny.

"I think you'd look amazing if you wore eyeliner."

"Huh?" Half of his face moves upwards in sync. "That's very random."

"I mean, yeah." I look away, fidget with my bracelet and then look back. "I just thought it'd bring your eyes out even more."

"Ooh," he exhales knowingly. "Because they're blue, right?"

I knit my eyebrows together. "No," I say offended. Had this boy never realized how nice his eyes are?

"Why then?" He asks and nods his head onto his arms.

"Well," I lick my lips, "I don't know." I shrug "It's not because of the color, which is beautiful just so you know." I caress my arm and try very hard to maintain eye contact, occasionally looking away. "Your eyes, I don't know, they just have something."

He smiles at my words, "look who's talking."

"Not a clown, that's for sure." He groans in a boyish way and it melts my insides so warm I almost let it show.

"You won't let it go, won’t you?" He lays defeated on my desk, arms sprawled.

"You did that to yourself." He hummed in a way that seemed a mixture of displeasure and annoyance. His long hair was sprawled in every direction of my desk. I could tell that he washed his hair either last night or this morning —it smelled so nice. Luka smelled really nice and I couldn't help but bite my lip to restrain myself from sniffing him all over like I was some kind of dog-bred. I started playing with his hair and it was so much softer than I expected it to be, it was dyed after all. He let a pleasurable groan slip through.

"Does this bother you?"

Luka abruptly opened his eyes and forced my head to rest on the desk as well. With very soft caresses he ran his hand through my locks and I understood what it was that he intended.

"What about you?"

I stared into his eyes for a moment and closed them, then resumed playing with his hair as he did the same. We were so close, I could hear his silent breathes. I wondered if this could be considered as cuddling. Honestly? I didn't care because I was enjoying it.

"Hey, guys, look at [Y/N] and Luka."

"Woah, when did that happen."

"Never thought [Y/N] liked that type of guy."

"You're kidding, right? Luka's definitely her type."

We spent the rest of the hour like that. Somewhere in between, the rest of the class noticed us but, frankly, we paid them no mind. But it made me anxious. Not because of what they said but about what Luka might've thought about it.

"I kind of like this," he whimpers softly as if scared he'd break whatever we had going on.

I agree with him softly, just as scared to ruin the mood.

When the bell rang, we hesitantly broke apart. Luka returned to his assigned seat behind me and then class started. The moments the teacher repeated subjects the class already went through, Luka played with the ends of my hair.

After the school bell rang for the last time that day, Luka approached me. He asked if I wanted to start on the project today. Luka was so cute while he asked. He didn't do anything particularly cute but the way he looked when he leaned on the wall had sent me flying. Obviously, I said that it was a good idea. Not desperately, of course, even though I wanted to grab him and steal him away. I kept my cool.

"What time?"

He grimaced to hide a grin. "I was hoping, like, right now?"

"Uh, well... On any other particular month, I'd agree and take you to my house. But we're getting reformations done so it's a very big mess."

"We can go to my place." He states like it's a universal fact.

"But all my shit's at home, and I'd want to empty my backpack, grab some money, etcetera."

"Okay, I get it. I can take you home and we'll head right over to mine?"

Even though I might pass out any moment out of pure embarrassment, I cross my arms in an 'X' in front of his face.

"No way that's happening, clown boy."

"What? Why?" He frowns.

"No way in hell I'm letting you drive me on your motorbike."

A small laugh escapes his lips. "You've never been on a motorcycle?"

I act displeased.

Luka laughs with a hand on his stomach. "You haven't!" I scowl and his laughter subdues. He waves his hands in front of him and apologizes for laughing. "I'll be careful, just for you." He assures.

"Even if I agreed... I doubt you'd have a second helmet. And we all know that police officer which has an obsession for the law."

"I got us covered on that one, I have two."

I stare at him. "You had this all planned out, didn't you?"

"No," he grins, "it just happens to be that I usually pick my sister up from her school."

"Oh, so she's gonna have to walk all the way back to your house. We can't let her do that, can we?" No matter how much I crush on Luka, anything that can get me out of sitting on that devil's contraption, I'd go with.

"I said 'usually', didn't I?" I can feel his smirk soaking right through me but in a much more softer tone he said "it'll be fun," and smiles "trust me."

It was his goddamn smile that convinced me to agree.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"I never knew you could live in a boat."

I looked around the main deck and, for some reason, I felt very lightweight and free.

"You don't like it?"

"The contrary, I love it!" I smile at him, "it adds to your charm."

Luka smiles back, "thanks."

Both of us walked inside the boat. I took everything all at once. You rarely get the chance to be inside a boat-home. But the most surprising thing was that it was stable —at least more than I thought.

"My room's the one at the end. Get yourself comfy —I'll be right there."

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Okay."

Once I get into his room, I relax and take a look around. I leave my backpack by the door and head straight for the most valuable thing to me in his room. Luka had one of the nicest guitar stands available on which laid the most basic electric guitar ever... but since looks can deceive, I pick it up.

I make myself comfortable on his bed along with Luka's guitar and a guitar pick I snatched from the wall. Without thinking twice, I started to play. It didn't matter to me that I hadn't plugged the guitar into an amplifier, this particular tab didn't need the magic of electricity. I suppose I should have asked first if I could play but it's too late now-

"That's 'Lonely Day', right?"

"Ah! Shit! Sorry!" I stood up hastily, the guitar pick went flying to the floor and I placed the guitar back where it was supposed to be. I turn to him to apologize, "I should've asked-."

Luka walks past me, grabs the guitar by its fretboard and puts the strap around himself. He shuffles around me and I was too confused to realize what he was doing. Then he hands me the guitar fully-tuned-connected-to-an-amplifier guitar. He lifts it by the fretboard again and hands it over to me as if telling me to take it. I stare into his eyes and do exactly that.

At that moment, we didn't need any words as I accepted his silent offer. I strum dumbly and then start fidgeting with the knobs on his amplifier. I bite my lip, it doesn't have as many options as mine and it's smaller than the one I have at home but I managed to get the right sound.

I started playing a song that I had played countless times and felt very confident. This moment was about impressing Luka and I was determined to blow him away. But the moment I started playing, I couldn't keep up the cool-girl act and grinned as I played around the room.

"Wow," he said amazed after I finished. "I never knew you played guitar, let alone that well."

"I'm amazing, I know," I wink.

"What did you play?"

"You don't recognize it!?" I gasp loudly. I put my hands over my heart. "Oh, my heart! It hurts! I have never been so hurt before!"

He holds back an embarrassed smile. "Guilty as charged."

"It's Crowd Chant, by Satriani," an exaggerated sad smile adorns my lips.

"Oh, right! The guy from 'Surfing with the Alien'!"

"Yes, that one! I love him, he's my idol!"

"He's good."

"Good? He's a GOD." I pout at him. "Your idol is Jagged Stone, that's why you have so little appreciation for him."

"Right."

I playfully punch him. "Just kidding."

"I thought I was supposed to be the clown around here."

I laugh very loud at that. "Yes! I will - haha - leave - ha - the rest to you."

During the week we were making the project we had gotten really close and we kept hanging out at each other's houses even when the project was long ago finished. I met his very cool mum, and his sister, who is physically exactly like him but both of them don't seem to admit it. And he met my small family too.

"I keep telling you! You do look alike! Genetics is no joke."

"I agree with [Y/N]!" Juleka's friend said one day over dinner. I can't remember what her name was but I always thought there was more than 'friends' between her and Juleka.

"We do not look alike; you both must be very blind," Luka jokes and I pinch him very hard. "Ow! Stop!" He pinches back.

"No! Luka! That was payback for yesterday!" He stuck his tongue out at me and I growl. "You're very mean."

He shrugs, "whatever you say, [Y/N]."

"Oh, 'whatever I say' it is, is it?" I crossed my arms and pondered without breaking my staring contest with Luka. "So if I said you're ugly, you'd agree?"

He smirked, "sure." I felt how triumph tasted and literally a second later I tasted defeat. "But it won't affect the fact that my eyes have 'something'."

I became a blushing mess and everyone at the table stared at us.

"So..." Juleka started, unsure. "Does that mean that [Y/N] confessed first?"

Juleka's blonde friend nodded, "I knew it!"

"I'm happy for the both of you," Mrs. Couffaine cheered with a very sweet smile.

There was a problem with their cheers which made Luka and me quite uncomfortable. It was wrong. Nothing had happened between us.

"It's...! It's not like that!" I attempt to defend ourselves and turn to Luka. "That's not what that was, right, Luka?"

He was looking in the opposite direction, scratching his crimson red neck. "I mean..."

I hide my face in my hands. "Oh my God, I want to kill myself."

"You know what? We will leave you both to work out whatever misunderstanding there might be, okay?" And with no answer, all three of them left.

"Let's go outside." With no warning, Luka took me by the hand and guided me to the main deck. It was chilly outside and I shivered but kept it to myself. "Here." Luka handed me his jacket.

"Thanks," I smile and put it on. It still smells like his cologne.

"About what Juleka said..." He avoided my gaze by looking into the river. "I might've told her that I like you," he turns to me and takes my hands, "a lot." Luka squeezes my hands out of nervousness. "The way you and I understand each other, without any words, just the music is enough. I feel like we're connected through it like we are the power-chords to any rock song."

My heart was melting, I always knew deep down that Luka's a very sweet romantic and he was killing me with his cuteness. I never knew you could look cute and hot during a confession. "Luka, I-"

"Remember when we sang 'Anything better than you'?"

"Yeah."

I recalled the memory. At the end of the song, when the part that goes "I can sing anything sweeter than you" our lips were so close... I couldn't stop thinking about it before I fell asleep every night.

"I wanted to kiss you so badly, but I just couldn't do it." Luka pulled me in and we were as close as that other time, my heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears. "Until now."

Luka kissed me and I kissed back. We kissed each other so desperately and I ran my hand through his hair. Fuck, how I loved the softness of his hair. We break apart for a kiss and stare at each other's eyes, dumbfounded. We kiss again except this time it wasn't as desperate. It was softer, a kiss only Luka could make amazing. Luka had thin lips but made up for it with the way he kissed. I wanted to kiss him more, I wanted more from Luka so I kissed him harsher. Then he broke apart the kiss, clearly taken aback from it.

My heart stopped, "I... I'm sorry-!" He cut me off by kissing me harsher than I did and I loved every second of his harshness. I began feeling his neck, his back, his chest and pushed myself closer to him as every second that passed it became hotter.

We broke the make-out apart. Our flushed faces appreciated the cool night breeze. We keep wrapped around each other. "I think we should get back inside."

I listened to his pounding heart through his chest. "Not yet, clown boy."

"Whatever you say, love."

#fictober19 #miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #luka couffaine x reader #luka x reader #fictober19 day 1

[caps-lockdown]

Candy Corn Blues

Hey everyone here’s another one shot for Spooktober! It’s short and sweet (pun intended) hope you all enjoy it!

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Female Reader

Ratings: PG 13 (Language, booze). All Fluff, already established relationship with Steve.

Words: 2,447

Summary: Why does everyone have to pick on Steve about his candy choices?

(Don’t own anything, except the reader. This was not endorsed by any candy companies. No beta either, so have fun finding mistakes. I’m sure there’s some.)

Candy Corn Blues

It was the second week in October when you arrived home from a mission with Steve. It had gone easy enough. Some minor cuts and bruises, but you returned to the Compound with the information you needed to stop a known terrorist from blowing up another building full of important people at another important gala in Washington. You’d care more if they hadn’t gotten so predictable lately. You were happy to do the job, but this mission was cutting into your favorite time of year. That bugged you.

You were entering the loud living area after a much needed shower, smile on your lips as you overheard your teammates continuing the discussion from earlier in the Quinjet.

“I’m telling you guys, Snickers is OBVIOUSLY the best Halloween candy.” Bucky rolled his eyes, sipping from his mug of coffee. How that man could drink that sludge this late was beyond you. But then again, it had been a pretty long night for all of you. And it’s not like alcohol would do anything to him. Sam remained firm in his opinion, shoulders tense as he stood his ground.

Tony scoffed, “Again you’re wrong Wilson, Reese’s pumpkins are by far the better candy for this time of year.” You high fived the man as you took the seat next to Steve on the overstuffed couch, giving him a quick peck before settling into his side, his arm going over your shoulders as if it had a mind of its own. “See? Y/N’s got the good sense to agree with me! Always knew you had good taste.”

“I see the debate is still in session.” You giggled as Steve fake groaned, leaning into you and resting his head on yours as you cuddled on the couch. You hadn’t really gotten a lot of time to each other the last couple weeks, the Avengers splitting up to help cover more ground on this terrorist situation. “I’ve missed you.”

The blonde man sighed into your hair, trying to ignore the scene behind him. “And I you Sweetheart.”

“Seriously Stark? Reese’s? Those taste like sawdust coated in those cheap chocolate candy melts and then left to rot for a year before they’re put on shelves.”

“Oddly descriptive Sam, “Nat pulled a face, reaching for a beer Thor was holding out for her. “Do I want to know just how you know what sawdust tastes like?”

“Har har, very funny. Just admit it, I’m right.”

“I have to disagree Samuel, I quite enjoy the taste of a Three Musketeers bar.” Thor shrugged, Bruce clicking his tongue between his teeth as he shook his head.

“Nah man, you guys are forgetting about Milky Ways!” Wanda nodded enthusiastically, not having said much most of the day, but you figured out pretty quickly she hadn’t actually eaten a lot of the candy that had been in the conversation.

It was Tony’s turn to make a face. “Banner those are almost as bad as Snickers. They might as well be sister-wives in the family of gross.”

“What about Sour Patch Kids! Ya’ll are sleeping on a classic!” You piped up from your position with your beau, the group collectively groaning and muttering “no”. “Well screw you too.”

“Hey we haven’t heard from Mr. Perfect teeth yet.” Tony jolted the man next to you out of his dozing mindset, a sheepish grin covering his face as he refused to speak. “What’s up Cap? Y/N got your tongue?”

“Crude Tony, but no. My favorite candy is none of your business.” You turned your head to look at him, swallowing his comment in your brain. You had no idea what his favorite candy was, not that he was a huge fan of sweets to begin with. You hadn’t even been dating that long, but you were certain you hadn’t asked him. “Don’t look at me like that Y/N, I’m not telling you.”

“Oh come on darling,” You cooed, trying to bait an answer out of him. “It can’t be that horrible. I’ll keep the big bad Stark away from you if it’s Snickers.” You rubbed his large forearm soothingly, the man’s face turning a slight shade of pink as he took a deep breath.

“Alright,” he sighed out the breath as if it was his death warrant, shutting his eyes to avoid everyone else’s as they waited. “It’s chicken feed.”

Your face was priceless. “Uh, what?”

“Sorry, it hasn’t been called that for awhile now I guess,” He chuckled, “Candy corn. I really love candy corn.”

The chorus of “WHAT?” and “THE FUCK ROGERS?” was deafening, Steve’s jaw tensing as he kept his eyes shut.

“Jesus Steve I know they didn’t have much back in the forties but my man, some things you can leave in the past. I wish they had left those travesties back in the eighteen-eighties.” Sam groaned out, Bucky laughing at his friend’s miserable features as Tony fake gagged.

“For once we agree Sam. Candy corn is the absolute worst thing to happen to this world since the black plague.”

“It’s just so…basic! Bland! There’s nothing to it! It’s like they made all of it back in nineteen twelve and have just been selling that one batch this whole time!”

“Pretty sure dirt has more flavor to it.”

Your face tensed as the men continued to berate your boyfriend’s choice, your hand coming over his to squeeze it gently. You knew he would shrug it off, but it still managed to get under your skin, even if they were right. “I’m sorry I asked, I don’t know how you can eat that stuff.”

“It reminds me of a simpler time. I mean there wasn’t tons of great tasting candy that was cheap back then. My ma always managed to get her hands on some and it’s just another way to remember her.” Your heart swelled as he smiled at you, blinking his eyes open. “I know it isn’t incredible, but I don’t need a bunch of ingredients or gimmicks. It’s just candy.”

“You’re sweet enough as is Rogers, I promise you that.” You muttered, watching his smile widen as he gave you another cavity inducing kiss.

Another two weeks went by in a flash, before you knew it Steve was leaving with Bucky, Sam, and Nat to go take out the terrorist. You had elected to stay behind with Tony, not feeling up to the adventure and it was going to be over too quick anyway. You had been nice enough to send him pictures of candy corn on the thirtieth, as it was the national day for it. He was quick to rub it in Sam’s face. Snickers didn’t have a holiday after all. You didn’t want to be parted from Steve, but you also didn’t want to risk missing movie night. Especially when Nat, Pepper, and you had all decorated the Tower in scary lights and creatures. Hell, Steve didn’t even want you to miss that, knowing this was your thing.

So they went to catch the bad guys while you, Pepper, Tony, and Peter Parker all sat crunched together on the sofa, watching everything from Hocus Pocus to Saw. You laughed when Pepper and Peter clung to each other, you and Tony egging on the classic slashers and cheering when teenagers met their end in terrifyingly awful and supremely dated ways.

“Holy shit!” You jumped, quickly dissipating into laughter as FRIDAY announced the team had stopped the terrorist, your heart rate calming at hearing everyone was fine and would be back tomorrow night after a meeting with the president. You opened the text window on your phone, smiling as Steve had sent you a picture of him with the team, all carving pumpkins in their hotel room a few hours later.

“Wish you were here Pumpkin.” The caption read, you snorting into your handful of popcorn, quick to take a picture of a woman mid scream on the T.V and sending it back with the attached text.

“You’re a real scream Sweetheart. See you soon.”

“Have a dreadfully good evening Doll.” Was in your window less than two seconds later. He was getting faster with his texting. Tony huffed a louder than needed “ahem”, drawing your eyes back to the T.V to watch Jamie Lee Curtis limp towards the safety of a closet.

“Man fashion sure has changed for the better hasn’t it Mister Stark?” Peter asked, the older man looking at him as if he was crazy. “What? You were alive in the seventies right?”

You and Pepper were in tears as the outraged Tony threw popcorn at the young man.

The next day you were helping Pepper take down the decorations in the tower, humming some Halloween tune to yourself as you placed the giant fake spiders and bats back in their correct boxes. The team would be back early morning tomorrow and you couldn’t wait to get some cuddle time with Steve. Tony had promised you two some R and R and you were going to have it. Even if the holidays were approaching like a bullet train. Picking up your phone you pressed the green icon next to your favorite Captain’s name, his voice coming in within a ring and a half.

“Hey Doll, you have a good night last night?”

“Yea, you? Looks like you were up to your hips in pumpkin guts.” You laughed, imagining him covered in the sticky substance.

“It was a lot of fun, you would have made it better though.”

You could feel the smile in his voice. “Well duh, this is me we’re talking about. I make everything better.”

“That you do. Going to go ransack all the stores of their Halloween clearance?” The blonde asked, frowning from his own position on the globe as yet another store didn’t carry his preferred candy. That was the fourth store. Had they stopped making it? “Hmm. This isn’t right.”

“You know me too well.” You smiled as Tony jingled the keys to his car at you, throwing you a pair of flats as you balanced the phone on your shoulder. “What’s not right?”

“I can’t find any candy corn. I was going to pick some up to hold me over til the Christmas kind comes out.”

“Awww poor baby.” You could hear Sam’s sarcasm from the other side of the line, stifling your own laughter as you got in the car. “I see they actually have sense here in Washington. Which is a big deal when you think about it.”

“Shaddup Sam,” Steve’s tone had a frustrated edge to it, and you were beginning to suspect that this was not the first comment Wilson had made during your boyfriend’s plight. “I can’t wait to see you , I’ll let you get to shopping. Tell Tony we’re gonna have pizza tomorrow so you don’t have it tonight.”

“But it’s Pizza Friday.” You complained weakly, knowing the older man was bound to throw a fit over a change in the routine.

“He’ll get over it. He likes you the most anyway, so he won’t be angry if you tell him.”

“Man you are so lucky you’re cute.” You muttered, Steve chuckling into the receiver.

“Don’t worry doll, I’ll make it up to you.” Your heart shuddered at his promise.

“You better. Sorry about your candy corn blues.”

“S’alright. Maybe you were right about me being sweet enough already.”

The two of you said your goodbyes and hung up, an idea popping into your head as you buckled your seat belt, admiring the leather of Tony's expensive car. You were even more excited to go shopping now, the billionaire almost looking worried as you bounced in your seat all the way to the first store.

The next day Steve and his team dragged their exhausted bodies from the Quinjet, the mission that took nearly a month to complete heavy on their minds as they decompressed from the stress.  The press event with the President had been worse. How that was possible none of them knew. To say they were happy to be home was an understatement. Rogers had actually dreamt of his bed the last couple nights, more specifically the woman who was in the bed. You hadn’t been dating for more than six months yet but he was already head first and heart deep in love with you. Everything you did was so effortless and gentle. You always thought of him, putting him and others before yourself. He admired your strength, as you didn’t need serum or powers to kick ass. He always had a weakness for powerful women though.

He didn’t bother turning on the light when he entered his room, stripping off his clothes and promptly passing out on his bed, taking note you weren’t there to greet him. Probably smart for you to sleep in your room, as it was nearly three in the morning.

He woke up to the biggest shock of his life.

The light streamed into his room like the sun had made it its own personal mission to make sure Steve would go blind. Standing up, he yawned, rubbing his eyes before they widened in surprise.

His room was crawling in candy corn. Containers and bags of it flooded his floor and chair next to his bed. There were even a couple of bags on his bed. How could he have slept through all of this? He must have been more tired than he thought. There was a pumpkin shaped container nearly overflowing with the sugary confection on his nightstand, little packets meant for trick or treaters hanging out of his shoes. A knock at his door startled the man, Steve carefully stepping over the obnoxiously bright orange bags on the floor as he opened the door.

You lowered a large pillow in the shape of his favorite treat, large grin on your face. “Morning. Do you think this will hold you over til Christmas?”

He laughed hard at that, pulling you into his arms as he kissed you breathless.

“Doll, you’re the absolute sweetest. Thank you.”

“Anytime Captain. Now as I recall you have some making up to do.” You whispered suggestively, Steve taking the hint and closing the door behind you, smile never leaving his eyes.

The End.

Taglist: @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts @pies-wands-and-more

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers #captain america fanfiction #captain america #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

[dashielldeveron]

A Prologue in Venom

Part One of the Viper AU: a Mob!Tom Holland AU in which you are a political author, Tom’s personal lawyer, and eventually his consigliere. 

Warnings: violence, swears, the law.

Summary: an introduction to the ongoing AU of you working for the mob tirelessly out of your innate sense of justice and thirst for the mob boss. You have an incredible mentor who is pushing you down a path of crime in order to do the right thing. Your mentor forgot 1) to mention that your new employer is so fucking charismatic and 2) that you’re a dramatic little bitch.

From: Tracey Prine To: [email protected] Subject: article attached

Thought you might want to see this. You’ve made the papers for your real job for once, although your name still isn’t mentioned—but I expect you enjoy that. It’s all over the news stations, and NPR is currently airing the story. Congratulations. There’s a nice quotation from Polson near the bottom that you’ll get a kick out of.

Additionally, I’m going to need your piece on the refugee crisis within twelve hours if it’s going to be published this week.

Thanks, t.

[attachment]

FALSELY ACCUSED, JULIA LAURENS ACQUITTED

In the late afternoon of October 17, the protracted trial of Julia Laurens came to a sudden end in light of new evidence. Laurens, on trial for the murder of Moira Herrington, daughter of celebrated actors Jay and Melissa Herrington, walks as an innocent woman this morning.

As Moira’s violin teacher, Laurens would have had access to the Herrington residence during lessons on Mondays, but, it turns out, she was not the only one. It seemed like an open-and-shut case when Moira’s body, dismembered, was found in various black bags in Laurens’s garbage bins, along with the ice pick used to gouge out Moira’s eyes under the seat in Laurens’s vehicle on the day Laurens was stopped on the route from the Herrington residence. Laurens had said that she had driven to the lesson without being able to find Moira and was returning home, but the body had already been discovered.

However, as the defence exposed, all supposed evidence was a plant by perpetrator Johnson Mays, a colleague of Laurens who had a secret, unhealthy obsession with the underage Moira. Mays, a mechanic, had attended the weekly game night at Laurens’s apartment on Sunday and had sabotaged Laurens’s car and planted an ice pick similar to the one used. With this setup, Mays would have time to commit the murder during the scheduled violin lesson, while Laurens would have to attend to her car.

You kicked your feet up on the coffee table and flicked through the article. Fucking yes. You’d made national news for being a lawyer, for once. You were the one who’d done the intricate research to discover Mays’s connections, and when Dr. Prine gave you leave, you had driven upstate to investigate Mays’s house under warrant, posing as a general lackey. You had felt the need to see his place with your own eyes, and you had struck gold: not only had you found the real ice pick in his wood pile, but you had found one of Moira’s contacts stuck to the back of his freezer. Her fucking contact. When the lab reports came back, complete with the drop of blood on the ice pick matching Moira’s, you forwarded everything to Dr. Prine, and she sent it to her attorney acting defence in the trial. Mays wasn’t even a player in the game before you, and now the rightful murderer was going to jail. An innocent woman walks free because of you.

Justice felt fantastic. Your work being in the national headlines felt a little better.

You scanned the rest of the article until you reached the quotation Dr. Prine had told you about.

…Out of the clamouring press following the trial, only this was squeezed from a fuming Prosecutor James Polson: “I [redacted] had them. Whoever dug up the dirt on Mays, they’re a [redacted] viper, sinking their fangs into the status quo and letting their venom spread.”

Grinning, you took another bite of Ben and Jerry’s, straight out of the carton. Dr. Prine was right. You were going to have to find a hard copy of the Times so that you could post this on your bedroom wall. You had to bite your lip you were smiling so hard.

You set your ice cream on the coffee table and lay back on the couch to compose a response to Dr. Prine, but you called her instead. As your phone rang, you kicked back and stared at the ceiling fan, its pull making small circles as the blades spun.

“Dr. Prine,” you said when she picked up, “Holy fuck! Holy fuck!”

“Congratulations,” she said, her smile coming through over the phone, “I’m proud of you. You did some really solid work.”

“I didn’t think this would happen! I saved someone’s life! Julia Laurens can go to fucking Hobby Lobby, and no one will accost her. It’s my fault, and she doesn’t even know me,” you said, sitting up to grab your ice cream again.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Well, yeah,” you said thickly through a chunk of frozen brownie, “It is. I wish I could tell my mother, though, but it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Is she still doing all right?”

You swallowed, choking a bit to get it down. “Yeah. How’s work for you?”

“The freshman students write the worst papers I’ve ever seen,” said Dr. Prine with a clattering in the background, “Damn, I just—hold on. Dropped the binders.” A door creaked shut on her end, and Dr. Prine spoke more loudly after. “I miss your work. It was nice grading it, since I didn’t have to mark it up much. These kids can’t even handle a mock trial yet. I worry for your generation.”

“Don’t worry. We’re all just tired,” you said, “Speaking of my work, I’ve almost finished the refugee piece. Once I get a solid closing statement, I’ll send it your way.”

“Well, don’t procrastinate. Your deadline’s soon. You got anything lined up this evening?”

Scrunching your eyes shut, you winced. “Don’t remind me. Polson’s got me doing menial work again. Something totally useless with spreadsheets and the expenses of the fucking break room and secretarial offices. If he knew what I was capable of—”

“If he knew you worked against him in the Laurens trial? I know,” said Dr. Prine, her voice softening, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something. It’s your ticket out of Polson’s firm. I’ve found a place where your talents would be…much more appreciated. You could start within the week.”

“Say more right now.”

***

2,132.

2,132 rejections via mass email, starting in your second year of law school. All from different firms that didn’t want you. Rounds upon rounds of interviews, competing with your friends and total strangers who held themselves like they were Croesus, reaching the final interview, only to get rejection emails three days later from firms you would have quite literally killed people to work for. Years of working for and studying under Dr. Prine, editing her national law journal, diligently dotting the is of her excruciating cases late into the night. Getting a taste of the allure of wealth and entrenched power, and never having it want you outside of the knowledge that you were her student. All of it—from the cases you and she never could crack and stood outside in the rain pulling your hair out over, to the parts of your life you missed out on, like your best friend’s wedding and your mother’s last birthday before you started growing apart—leading up to this: walking into a high-rise building with mirror-like windows in the middle of Manhattan and staring up at an embossed, brass nameplate on a door that read Harrison Osterfield.

The next chapter in your life, and it sank like a stone in your stomach. You raised your fist to knock, but before you could, someone snatched it away.

“Ripley,” said the bony man maybe a decade older than you, pulling on his collar and dropping your hand, “and you’re not getting my first name. We’ve got to get upstairs before they see you. No time to lose. I’m the lawyer you’re replacing.”

Glancing back at Osterfield’s door, you followed behind Ripley up a few floors (the elevator was too risky, he told you.) and into a crusty, windowless office with water damage dripping in a back corner. After closing the door, he sat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk (one leg was propped up by a book) and gestured for you to do the same.

“You’re Dr. Prine’s student, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you said, sinking into the leather, “She also told me that you’d be waiting for me, but considering this business belongs to a Mr. Thomas Holland, one would think I’d be meeting him on my first day.”

Ripley pulled a leg into his lap, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “With any luck, you won’t have any direct interactions with him. Nasty man in a nasty business.”

“Being in an IT consulting company can’t be that bad,” you said, head snapping towards a bucket against the wall once water dripped into it from the ceiling. “What’s with the, uh…?” You nodded your head towards the leak.

“They shoved me down here while the real office is getting renovated, or so they say. Doesn’t matter,” said Ripley, “You and I have a lot of work to do. You’re one of Dr. Prine’s. So am I. They’re working me to death here, and apparently you’re a masochistic workaholic. I need to get out, and this is—well, what we’re about to do is going to be easiest for everyone in this room.”

You tapped your fingers against the split leather, each landing with a dull thum. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to be needlessly complicated?”

“Please, trust me, or at least trust Dr. Prine,” he said, untwisting the cap of a nalgene from his desk, “It was her idea. I can call her up, if you want.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Shaking your head, you said, “I’ve already seen your credentials. Dr. Prine gave me more information on you than I need to know, Jerome Ripley. I know you’re trustworthy. What’s the plan?”

“I hear you’re into anonymity.”

You always were a dramatic little bitch, so you agreed to the plan: you and Ripley would collaborate on the job until you knew much more of the rope of Osseous Enterprises, and Ripley would fade out as you took on the job by yourself. The plan was sketchy, and everything reeked of ulterior motives. You found yourself addressing stranger and stranger things sent to you in the emails (a lousy lawyer@osseous, how lame) right up until you opened an email from Holland before Ripley could get to it.

Inside were photographs of a human skeleton with the flesh freshly ripped off of it, and that lay to the side of the bones. Boss shot him through the neck, it was labelled, Had me skin it. Wants you to send it along to H. Jones in Queens and cover the death. Victim lived in… And then addresses, social security, et al.

You were supposed to cover up a murder. A murder committed by—oh, um. Hm. You didn’t sign up for this.

Ripley walked into the office right as Dr. Prine picked up on your phone call, and he slapped the phone out of your hands.

Both of them talked you through. The mafia. You were working for the mafia. Not the whole thing, obviously, but you were working for the most prestigious mob family in—fuck, they covered multiple countries, but their base was right here in New York, in the very fucking building you’d been working in for a month—oh, fuck. Were you in the mob? No, you had to be inducted, and to be inducted, you had to be trusted, or at least, even fucking noticed. Osseous Enterprises was a front corporation for Holland’s dealings in the mob, even though it made a lot of money—but significantly less than what was officially recorded. No wonder Ripley was taking certain tasks. He was easing you into it, letting you deal with the surface level shit before you really knew what you were getting into (an aside: this explained why Dr. Prine seemingly sent you to work in business when you specialised in criminal law).

It took hours and hours of skype calls with Dr. Prine and talking with Ripley outside of work to convince you to stay. Dr. Prine appealed to your better nature, damn it, and talked about how even though Holland worked selfishly, he confronted people and solved problems the government was too scared to commit to. All she had to do was talk up your innate sense of justice, and you started changing your mind, albeit with extreme reluctance, especially with the threat of returning to Polson’s firm. Not to mention your first paycheque had your head spinning, and that didn’t hurt your cause.

So, you worked for the mob, and no one knew you did, not even the mob. If Holland knew Ripley were leaving, Ripley would have a knife in his back within the next minute. It was safer for Ripley to phase out, with you proving your worth secretly, until you deemed it time to reveal yourself, after Ripley left.

“It’d be odd if all areas of your life were perfect in tandem,” Dr. Prine would remind you, and you’d affectionately flip her off and get back to writing your next Epiales piece. Deadlines were always too soon.

***

The Epiales project was the only thing going for you right now, aside from the sudden income from Holland. It began your final semester of law school, when you shouldn’t have been taking on anything new at all. You had written, quite frankly, a fucking astonishing article on modern feminism as it functions in the government and in law, and Dr. Prine had featured it in her law journal. You hadn’t wanted recognition, because your views differed drastically from your family’s, and you didn’t want your peers making fun of you, either. You’d decided on Epiales as your penname, because, even though you wanted to follow in the footsteps of political authors throughout history, you couldn’t find a Greek philosopher whose views you agreed with. So, you went with the personification of nightmares, just because it’d be your family’s worst nightmare if they knew you were this politically different from them.

Just as a joke.

But then, the New York Times had bought your article from Dr. Prine and published it on the front page. Eventually, through repetitions of this and an endless string of emails, you had a monthly feature in the fucking New York Times, so long as the article was original to their newspaper and not a republished one from the law journal. They conceded to your continued posting to the Epiales website on the basis that you posted online after they began selling that day’s edition. You didn’t care. You were in the New York Times, for Christ’s sake.

And no one knew it was you. You were completely safe, from hecklers, from your family, from disgusting men threatening to ruin your life and/or end it. You had taken too many precautions. Hell, if someone tried to trace your IP address, it’d relocate to the middle of a sulphur pit in Yellowstone.

Through a series of accidents, you garnered respect.

***

The day you should have been waiting for comments to roll in for your latest instalment on the refugee crisis, Tom Holland needed his lawyer present at a tennis match in the Hamptons. Holland intended to ensure political ties with Senator Hernandez, whose daughter was playing in the tennis tournament. A sizable crowd at a public outing, all distracted and getting steadily drunk? Holland could make his move easily.

Thus there you stood under the scant shade of a pine tree in the ninety-seven-degree heat, sweating through your jet-black blazer, sucking on a piece of ice, and damning Tom Holland to his grave. You glared daggers into the back of his pretty head as he leant against the railing of the pavilion, laughing with the crowd and swirling an old fashioned in his palm against the muted sounds of rackets hitting the ball in the background. When Harrison bent in to whisper to Holland, Tom took off his amber-tinted sunglasses and cleaned them on the inside of his suit jacket, and once finished, he nodded and started weaving his way through the spectators.

Holland wanted his lawyer here yet wasn’t doing anything worthwhile, you thought bitterly. You were too good for him, really, because you’d planted yourself near Senator Hernandez’s bench as he watched his daughter. While Holland flirted, you were eavesdropping and sweating your fucking skin off.

Near the end of the second set, you caved and shrugged off your blazer when you caught the latter half of something Hernandez was saying: “—read it? It’s brilliant. Next time Congress is in session, I’m bringing in that Epiales article.”

Your jaw dropped, and so did the ice from your mouth. Your blazer hung limp from one hand, and you steadied yourself against the tree, your high heels sinking into the earth. Fumbling around for your phone, you barely had time to get to Dr. Prine’s contact entry before someone gently nudged your arm from behind with a glass tumbler, condensation sticking to your skin.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here,” said Tom Holland, his voice hot in your ear, while he’s standing a little too close for comfort and holding out an old fashioned identical to his, “I can offer a distraction, at the least.”

You don’t drink, but you took what was offered. “Am I that transparent?”

“Like glass, sweetheart. What’s bothering you?” He leant against the tree trunk, slumping a little, and tapped his index finger against his tumbler.

“Afraid I’ve been dragged here for work.”

“On a Saturday?”

You met his gaze, completely fixated on you through the amber sunglasses. “My boss is a bit of an ass.”

“Sounds like it,” Tom said, cracking a grin, “Forcing you to come to some silly tennis match on the hottest day of the month and flat-out ignoring you.”

“It’s better than putting me in a sundress and having me on his arm.” Like Polson did once that summer. You had kicked his ass, verbally, about it, but since he threatened to smear your name through the mud for the rest of your life, which he was capable of doing, it had to be done. “At least I’m here for a reason, supposedly.”

“Who treats his employees like that? Wouldn’t dream of it.” Tom brought his glass to his mouth as his eyes flicked up and down your body, taking his time about it. “Though I’d put you in a green sundress. Something that shows off your shoulders.”

“And I’d put you in navy, in something with a high neckline. Anything to accentuate those pretty-boy cheekbones you’ve got,” you said.

At this, he ran his tongue over his lower lip, pushed off the tree, and took a step closer to you. He may be enjoying it now, but this motherfucker would regret this conversation in about five minutes. To be honest, you were enjoying it a little too much. To have someone as powerful, confident, and attractive (the grey tweed suit buttoned over a tight, white button-down was doing things to you) as Tom was having his complete, unadulterated attention on you? It was a taste of something you denied yourself. But no matter how fast his charisma held you, it was time to wrap it up. You planned to work for this man a long time.

“Listen,” said Tom, “Why don’t I give you a tour of the country club?” He trailed two fingers from your wrist over the back of your hand to take your drink. “It’s not much, but we’ll get you into some air conditioning. We could find a place to talk without anyone overhearing, if you like.”

You rolled your shoulders back, and for the first time, you began to smile. “Hardly professional, Holland. To think I expected better of you.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Shouldn’t you be giving this attention to Senator Hernandez’s daughter? It’ll be easier to get to him through her.”

And there it was: his face hardened, his eyebrows furrowing and lips puckering very slightly, the brief clenching of his jaw and the flush around the tops of his ears—the face your opponents got in court when your research that would pack the case into a tight box was brought to the stand. “Who are you?” Tom asked flatly.

“You’re going to have to work for that information, Holland,” you said, “Be careful about how you respond. As much as you should like to, you can’t make a scene with so many witnesses.”

“I own all of these people,” he said through his teeth.

“Go ahead, then,” you said, and you clasped your hand behind your back, waiting.

After a beat, Tom sighed exasperatedly and grabbed you by the wrist to pull you somewhere, but before he could take two steps, you yanked yourself out of his grasp. He didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder. “Are you going to follow me?”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

He turned his head enough to look you in the eye. “You’re going to talk.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You appear to know who I am. Use your imagination.” He jerked his head towards the country club’s restaurant, not far from the tennis courts. “C’mon.”

Death sounded good at all occasions for you, but since someone needed to feed your cat this evening, now wouldn’t be the best time to die. Not to mention you still had half a croissant left over from that morning, and you couldn’t let that go to waste. You followed behind Tom at a couple of paces, checking to ensure no one was watching you leave, because it sure looked like you were sneaking off to give him a blowjob behind the ice machine.

He made you go first once you reached the stairs to the upper storey restaurant, and he cornered you at the far end of the balcony, trapping you against the iron railing with the metal pressing into your back and his hands planted on either side of you. Tom stood close enough that you had to lean backwards a little over the railing, and you had to grip the railing just inside of his hands to stay upright.

His mouth twitched. “Why are you here?”

Your gaze flashed from his lips to his eyes. “I’m here to supervise the contract you’re making with Senator Hernandez, and I’m ensuring that he does sign it.”

“And why’s that?” When he jerked forward in an attempt to make you lose your balance, you stifled a cough at the wave of the oversaturated cologne that hit you.

“Like I said, my boss is a bit of an ass.”

“Damn it,” Tom said, breaking eye contact for the first time. Freshly determined, he moved closer, his hipbones poking into you with one hand gripping your waist. “Who’d be stupid enough to provoke me? Who do you work for? Fletcher? The Fratellis?”

“You,” you said, and you left your lips pursed as he flinched away from you and bent over the back of a wrought-iron chair, pressing his fist to his mouth.

“I’m your lawyer,” you said, stifling a smile, “I wrote the Hernandez contract. I’ve also been managing your affairs for some time now, specifically covering your tracks for fucking murder—”

“What’d you do to Ripley?” Tom straightened up and removed his sunglasses. He tucked them over his collar.

“Ripley’s gone,” you said, “of his own free will. Or of his will, at least, since he wasn’t free to leave under your—”

“Where is he now?”

“Sorry. Privileged information. What matters is that Ripley’s gone completely off-grid so that you can’t find him. Even I’m not able to reach him.” You tentatively slid from your corner along the railing nearer to the chair he had propped a foot on. “I’ve been working for you for over a month now. You really should keep better tabs on your employees—though, I suspect, that’ll be part of my job soon.”

Tom snapped his fingers twice. “Name.”

“Paul McCartney.”

He narrowed his eyes, his nose wrinkling in the process, and said, “Your name.”

You didn’t hesitate in saying it, a first for you, and as he mouthed the syllables slowly, you said, “And don’t bother looking me up. I don’t have any social media, nor do I have an online presence at all.” Under your real name, that is. “You can find me in a list of interns for a certain renown professor, but I’m about to give you that information, anyway.”

Tom stared up at you, a curl dangling in front of his eyes. “A freely given piece of personal information?” His fingertips pressed above his left lapel. “I’m touched,” he said, his voice dark.

“My mentor for the better part of my life now,” you said, stepping closer to drag the back of your hand over the iron pattern in Tom’s chair (he jolted backwards, just barely, but you caught it), “has been Tracey Prine.”

He tilted his head, and his jaw hung open slightly, his tongue lingering on the edge of his top incisors before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Want me to call her?” You dug your phone out of your pocket and unlocked it to her contact entry, just where it had been before Tom started talking to you. Your thumb waited above the call button for his decision, but whatever. Fuck with him. You pressed it anyway and put it on speaker.

It rang twice before she picked up, and at the sound of her voice stating your name and telling you she’s got a class in two minutes and to check on the Times (you didn’t react to that part), Tom inhaled sharply and straightened his shoulders.

“Not much, Dr. Prine, but I’m here with my employer,” you say, the phone lying flat in your palm between you and Tom, whose gaze flickered from it to you.

“Tell Mr. Holland I appreciate his work ethic and that he should value yours to no end,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Tonight?”

“Tonight,” you said, and you hung up on her.

“What’s…?” When you shook your head, he held out his hand. “Let me see your texts.” He swore under his breath as he scrolled through them, going through months and months of casework for notable trials, and he read the attachments you had sent recently. “Lab work, blood results. An ice pi—holy shit,” Tom said, the hand with the phone falling limply to his lap, “The Laurens trial. You.” The corner of his mouth twitched before breaking into a smirk. “You’re the one that solved everything. You’re that viper.”

Oh, my fuck; he’s heard of you. Tom Holland has heard about you. He’s familiar with your work. Oh, holy fuck. You held it all in for the moment, but if you made it home alive, you were going to marathon Star Wars and call in for takeaway. “That I am,” you said coolly, accepting your phone when he offered it, “and what does that mean for you, Mr. Holland?”

Any evidence of doubt about him evaporated, and his charisma returned almost instantly. He was smiling now, his teeth on display, and he leant towards you. “I want you at my side, Viper,” he said, his hands dangerously close to yours on the back of the iron chair, “I want you to do for me what you did for Laurens. Exclusively. I’ll be your only client. I want you to tear apart my enemies and pick their bones clean. I want you to be merciless, and I want you to be mine.”

That’s a lot of subtext you’ll be thinking about in the shower later. But show nothing; be nothing. “You want an awful lot.”

Tom took a deep breath and moved to sit on the wrought-iron table. “That’s why I’m giving you an out,” he said, crossing his arms loosely, “before you’re in. Because once you’re in, you can’t leave. I’ll make sure of that.”

You took a moment before clasping your hands behind your back and taking a step around the chair towards him. “I want my privacy.”

“I can’t guarantee that. I’ve got to keep a close eye on you, since Ripley slithered away,” he said, “You’re a shot in the dark despite your accomplishments.”

“You will guarantee it,” you said, leaning against the table with the iron pattern pressing into your palm, “Addresses, bank accounts, social security, everything that I don’t give you.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t—”

“You will. It’s all I’m asking. I’ll be covering your dirty work from the world, so why can’t I hide mine?” It was your turn to be too close, for your breath to be hot against his skin as you said softly into his ear, “Tell me, Holland: are you afraid of the dark?”

tags: @presidentbttrflyfreak @magstorrn @imstarwarstrashokay @infamous-webhead @starksparker @starksmile @pparkerwrites @softspideys @spidereyhes @bi-writes @iron-spiderr @laurfangirl424 @wheremyotpat @valar--m0rghulis @upsidedownparker @hollandroos

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